jaunty in a soldier,—a kind of _je ne sais quoi_ air, that makes them more agreeable than all the rest of mankind.’ If this is the case, we are to be excused for being subdued by the gay epaulet. "Lord Hyndford has been down here residing with us for some time past, enjoying the grouse-shooting with papa. He is a very nice old gentleman, with white hair and a purple face,—the last occasioned, I suppose, by his drinking so much of port; for every day after dinner he takes for his share a bottle of papa’s own ’particular.’ He has become very peculiar and marked in his attentions to me of late, (the idea of the thing!) and, dear Ronald, it would almost make you jealous, could you but see him hanging over me with a sentimental expression on his droll old face, when I am playing on the harp or piano. But I love to tease him, and always sing, "He’s coming frae the north that’s to marry me, He’s coming frae the north that’s to marry me; A feather in his bonnet, and the kilt aboon his knee: He’s a bonnie Highland laddie,—but you are no he." "Indeed he annoys me very much, as I cannot be troubled with his attentions, and you know I never flirt. In this affair, that which annoyed me most was a notice which appeared in a newspaper about his proposals to me. Such horrid prying creatures those news-people are! But the editor came here to Inchavon, and made so many apologies, that he got off free, although papa had threatened to horsewhip him. But I shall soon be rid of Hyndford, as the grouse-shooting ends to-day; and he must soon go to Edinburgh, to attend a meeting of Scots peers at Holyrood. "Your father, poor man, must feel very lonely now without you, especially as he lives so far up the glen, in that dreary old tower, surrounded by heather hills, water, and rocks. I wish greatly that papa and he were good friends; but he is so very proud, and so very distant, that I see no chance of its ever coming about. Attended by my servant, Jessie Cavers, I rode up the glen one Sunday, and went to the old kirk of Lochisla to see him; and I declare that I could with pleasure have given him a kiss for your sake, Ronald, such a noble-looking old gentleman he is! He sat in his dark old oaken pew, with his white hairs glistening in the sun, which shone through the western window, and he often bowed down his head on his huge clasped bible. It was to pray for you he did so—I am sure it was, because I saw his lips move and his eyes brighten. He never looked once towards the pew of the Corrie-oich family, with whom I sat, and so I never encountered his glance; but his fierce-looking old piper, who stood behind him, accoutred with dirk and claymore, stared at me fixedly during the whole service.