A few weeks after this, Catherine, the daughter of our old Leveller, was married to a young weaver, named William Crawford, who then wrought in the neighbourhood of Stirling. He was a man according to James' own heart; for he had wrought in the same shop with him, and, when a boy, received his principles from him. James, therefore, rejoiced in his daughter's marriage; and he said "there was ane o' his family--which wasna large--that hadna disgraced him." Yet he took the abdication and the exile of Napoleon to heart grievously. Many said that, if he could have raised the money, he would have gone to Elba to condole with the exiled emperor, though he should have begged for the remainder of his days. He went about mourning for his fate; but, as the proverb says, they who mourn for trifles or strangers may soon have more to mourn for--and so it was with James Nicholson. His son was abroad--his daughter had left his house, and removed to another part of the country--and his wife fell sick and died. He felt all the solitariness of being left alone--he became fretful and unhappy. He said, that now he "hadna ane to do onything for him." His health also began to fail, and to him peace brought neither plenty nor prosperity. The weaving trade grew worse and worse every day. James said he believed that prices would come to nothing. He gradually became less able to work, and his earnings were less and less. He was evidently drooping fast. But the news arrived that Napoleon had left Elba--that he had landed in France--that he was on his way to Paris--that he had entered it--that the Bourbons had fled; and the eyes of James again sparkled with joy, and he went about rubbing his hands, and again exclaiming, "Oh, the great--the godlike man!--the beloved of the people!--the conqueror of hearts as well as countries! he is returned! he is returned! Everything will go well again!" During "the hundred days," James forgot all his sorrow and all his solitariness; like the eagle, he seemed to have renewed his youth. But the tidings of Waterloo arrived. "Treachery! foul treachery!" cried the old man, when he heard them; and he smote his hand upon his breast. But he remembered that his son was in that battle. He had not heard from him--he knew not but that he was numbered with the slain--he feared it, and he became tenfold more unhappy and miserable than before. A few months after the battle, a wounded soldier arrived at T---- to recruit his health amongst his friends. He had enlisted with George, he had served in the same regiment, and seen him fall at the moment the cry of "The Prussians!" was raised.