that all the gradations in manner, from coolness to shyness, and from shyness to neglect, kept pace, remarkably, with the changes in my appearance. My master was, at length, the only individual who paid any respect or attention to me, after most of his old acquaintances had ceased to notice him. I have heard him exclaim, "Oh, that mankind would treat me with as much constancy as my old true blue! Thou hast faithfully served me throughout the vicissitudes of fortune, and art faithful still, now both of us are left to wither in adversity." I could make a long story of it, were I to detail all my adventures; they may, however, be easily imagined from what has been stated, and from which it is evident, that in too many instances, the world pays more respect to _the coat_, than to _the man_, and therefore that a man would often derive more consequence and benefit if he had the advantage of having for his patron--_a tailor_ instead of _a man of rank_. J. B. * * * * * THE NOVELIST. NO. CIV. * * * * * THE COTTER'S DAUGHTER. It was a cold stormy night in December, and the green logs as they blazed and crackled on the Cotter's hearth, were rendered more delightful, more truly comfortable, by the contrast with the icy showers of snow and sleet which swept against the frail casement, making all without cheerless and miserable. The Cotter was a handsome, intelligent old man, and afforded me much information upon glebes, and flocks, and rural economy; while his spouse, a venerable matron, was humming to herself some long since forgotten ballad; and industriously twisting and twirling about her long knitting needles, that promised soon to produce a pair of formidable winter hose. Their son, a stout, healthy young peasant of three-and-twenty, was sitting in the spacious chimney corner, sharing his frugal supper of bread and cheese with a large, shaggy sheep dog, who sat on his haunches wistfully watching every mouthful, and snap, snap, snapping, and dextrously catching every morsel that was cast to him. We were all suddenly startled, however, by his loud bark; when, jumping up, he rushed, or rather flew towards the door. "Whew! whew!" whistled the youth--"Whoy--what the dickens ails thee, Rover?" said he, rising and following him to the door to learn the cause of his alarm. "What! be they gone again, ey?" for the dog was silent. "What do thee sniffle at, boy? On'y look at 'un feyther; how the beast whines and waggles his stump o' tail!--It's some 'un he knows for sartain. I'd lay a wager it wur Bill Miles com'd about the harrow, feyther." "Did thee hear any knock, lad?" said the father. "Noa!" replied the youth; "but mayhap Bill peep'd thro' the hoal in the shutter, and is a bit dash'd like at seeing a gentleman here. Bill! is't thee, Master Miles?" continued he, bawling. "Lord! the wind whistles so a' can't hear me. Shall I unlatch the door, feyther?"