while every one looked to another without speaking, but him in no very measured terms. Johnnie Lesley the most blank of any.

"Hey! gueed be here!" cried Janet, "fwat are ye a'gupping and glearing that gaity for, as if ye seedit a ghast? Gueedman, I thunk ye be gruppit wi' the glinders tee; fwat are ye leeking in that keemical way for ?"

"Trith, gueedweef, I had a bittock of a strim-strimming in mee head, and abut me hurt; for do you kene I thought you wur aiblins dead."

"Fwat? dead? And you are lukking so blait, and so stringe, and so blue, because you find me leeving? Thunk you, gueedman-He-he-he-be! Dud ye never heard stich a compliment, me Lurd ?"

"Ay, ay, Mistress Janet, are you here already? I thought you wur to bide tull I cum'd back."

"I dunna ken what you mean, John," said she; "I havena been ower the deer-threshilt the day, accept for a wee drappie of water in the fore-day."

Johnnie's heart grew cold within him. He saw that he wandered in a world of enchantment, and durst not say that either his senses or his life were his own. He only stammered, and said something about glamour being in his een, but that he would be at the bottom of this affair; and, making his escape once more, he fled with all his might to his friend Andrew Chisholm's. But no

"But tuld me this, Shunnet," said Johnnie, still keep-sooner was he entered, than he found there another Jenny ing at a distance, and laying the points of his two forefingers together; "have you been at heem in all your pursonal preeperties own sunce I gaed awa?"

Elphingston, who had sat long awaiting his arrival, determined to have him home with her to his own house that night, while Mistress Chisholm also took her part with great energy. Johnnie could not speak a word, but he began to wink with his eyes, and rub them; then stare wildly at every thing around him, suspecting that he was in a dream. "This is werry udd," said he; "I think there will seen nae be a wummens in the warld wha isna a Jenny Elphingston. Wull ye be sae gueed, Mistress Janet, as bite my finger, før I'm surely in a drim. Hooh! ha! gueed futh, ye're nae ghaist, however."

Johnnie fled with precipitation down to the quay, unchained his yawl, and, without calling assistance, rowed away to his vessel in the offing, but, on reaching her, the only person who appeared on deck to receive him, as he mounted the ship's side, was another Jenny Elphingston, who had already begun to abuse him for leaving her so long aboard by herself. But Johnnie answered her only with a loud bray, and flung himself back into his yawl, resolved to make another attempt to escape from this phantom of a wife, that waylaid him everywhere; and as he rowed back, he prayed to the Virgin Mary in this

"In truth, gueedman, and I hae nut, for I hae been over the meen, and over the sturns, and over the seas sunce you gaed awa. And fwat do you thunk of that?" "Aib, Gueed preesarve me fra sich an a wucked wunmon! It was no wunder I was fruchtned on beerd!" And so saying, Johnnie and his messmates retreated to the ale house, and left Jenny Elphingston and her adored young Lady Elizabeth to converse at freedom. From that time forth, Jenny paid no more attention to the household and affairs of her husband. She attached berself again to her young lady, and waited on her at all times, and strange were the reports that circulated of the two. The connexion between them must now remain a mystery till the end of time. Whether the lady Elizabeth had the power of ventriloquism, then unknown in this land, and the art to disguise her person and voice so completely as to personify any acquaintance, or whether she had a familiar spirit who appeared at her command, in the persons of these acquaintances, there seems to be no doubt remaining that she had the personal appearances of these per-wise :-" O thou gueed Ledy, whae tuck'st vile amung sons, their several voices, manners, and qualities, entirely at her command, no matter at what distance removed from them. Of Jenny Elphingston in particular, or her shade, she had the complete command, and the whole land was kept in agitation by their auguries and pranks, of which the following was their first after the lady's return; and, when compared with those already recounted, and with others, convinces me that the Lady Elizabeth had the rare art of personifying any person with whom she was intimately acquainted.

The fright that Johnnie Lesley had gotten by the apparition of his wife on board, and a sort of vague idea that she had two existences, impressed him with the notion that the seldomer he came in contact with her it would be both the better and the safer for him. Accordingly, he came no more home to his own house during the time his vessel lay at anchor, but boosed away with his companions, and slept either on board, or in the house of his friend, Andrew Chisholm.

Well, one afternoon, as Johnnie and his associates were carousing away in the Blue Bell Tavern, in came Jenny Elphingston, and upbraided him for his continued dissipation, and disregard of all family and social duties; and, finally, she took a seat beside them, and declared her resolution to remain there till her husband accompanied her home. Johnnie durst not say much, nor refuse to go home, though there was nothing farther from his intention; but as he particularly wanted some things out of the house, he determined to go there in her absence, secure these articles, and escape with them aboard. In accordance with this plan, he said to Jeany, if she would sit still a few minutes, and take a glass with his friends till he made a call, he would then go home with her. In this she acquiesced without hesitation, and Johanie flew home on the wings of the wind, to secure the treasure he wanted; but any person may judge of his feelings, when, on entering his own house, he found another Jenny Elphingston there, gloomy and discontented, and upbraiding

the wummens, I dunna pree to thou for a deed weef, or for a liffing weef; all that I pree for is, to hae but ane weef, whether she be deed or lifting; for a weef wha has the power of multiplying herself, is eneef to pit a man beside himself."

"Hilloa, dear John!" cried the wife in the ship; "will you no stay, an tuck me ashore vit you?”

66

Na; you may come ashore in the same way you came there," said John.

Johnnie landed once more, and, from instinct, locked his boat to the ring; but he had nowhere now to go where there was any hope of escape, so he returned to his comrades at the Blue Bell, in a state of mind fairly wriggling. with distraction. His wife was still there, waiting his return, and on the instant began abusing him for making her wait so long, in which she was joined by all present, who declared her to be an obedient, sensible, and goodnatured dame, who deserved other sort of attentions. Johnnie, in utter desperation, began to defend himself, but his defence rather made matters worse. Gueed bless you all!" he exclaimed; "you dunna kene fwat you're ackeesing me of! It isna ane weef, nor twae weefs, that I hae, but I hae a weef in ilk ane house I dit the deer of. I have met with nane fewer nor feeve o' mee weefs in this place alreedy, and I luttle kene how munny mae I hae."

"Och!

"O fie, John! fie for shame!" cried Janet, "to expose your wuckedness in that gaite, and affrunt baith yourself and me! I dreeded as much,—at least I dreeded that you had ane or twae mistresses, but neever that you had half-a-dozen weefs. Alaik, that uvair I should have been wedded to such an unconscientious man !"

Here Janet Elphingston fell a-crying; and her asseciates, being by this time half-seas-over, every one of them opened upon John like hounds on a hot track, for the manner in which he had wounded his wife's feelings; and, in the meantime, Jenny, who wished not to bear farther explanations, went away home, discharging her,

profligate husband from ever again coming under the same roof with her, and, at the same time, warning him to take care of his tongue, else it should prove the worse for him. This last was a severe restraint on John. He would at once have told his messmates that his wife was a witch, and had the power of appearing in any place she chose under heaven; but he had already suffered severely for speaking freely of her, and, dreading her appearance as death, he held in his words, although often like to burst with the effort.

(Part II. in our next.)

A MEETING SADDER THAN A PARTING.

are, on the other hand, repelled from the regions of poverty and disgrace by the sight of a great many wretched, persons, who having, under the influence of some unhappy star, permitted their good resolutions of industry and honour to give way, are sunk from their former high estate, and now living-if living it can be called-in a state of misery and ignominy almost too painful to be thought of. There may be a use in this as there is a use for beacons and buoys at sea. But oh, the desolation: of such a fate! As different as the condition of a vessel which ever bends its course freely and gallantly over the seas, on some joyous expedition of profit or adventure,' I compared with one which has been deprived of all the means of locomotion, and chained down upon some reef of rocks, merely to tell its happier companions that it is to be avoided ; so different is the condition of a man still

By Henry G. Bell, from " Summer and Winter Hours," engaged in hopeful business, and one who has lost all its

now in the press.

VICTIMS.

1

prospects.

1

The progress of men who live by their daily industry, through this world, may be likened to the march of an army. through an enemy's country. He who, from fatigue, from disease, from inebriety, from severe wounds, or whatever cause, falls out of the line of march, and lays: him down by the way-side, is sure, as a matter of course, to be destroyed by the peasantry; once let the column you belong to pass on for a little way a-head of you, and death is your portion. It is a dreadful thing to fall, behind the ever onward march of the world.

VICTIMS-the word placed at the head of this articleis a designation for those woe-begone mortals who have had the misfortune to drop out of the ranks of society. Every body must know more or less of victims, for every body must have had to pay a smaller or greater number of half-crowns in his time to keep them from starvation. It happens, however, that the present writer has had a great deal to do with victims; and he therefore conceives, himself qualified to afford his neighbours a little illumi-, nation upon the subject. It is a subject not without its moral; nor, with deference to the feelings of humanity, is it without its humour.

A victim may become so from many causes. Some men are wrong-placed in the world by their friends, and ruin themselves. Some are ill-married, and lose heart.. Others have tastes unsuited to the dull course of a man of business, as for music, drink, the company of men out of their own order, and so forth. Other men have natu ral imperfections of character, and sink down, from pure inability to compete with rivals of more athletic constitution. But the grand cause of declension in life, is inability to accommodate circumstances and conduct.

Suppose a man to have broken credit with the world, and made that treaty of perpetual hostility with it, which, quasi lucus à non lucendo, is called cessio bonorum,—what is he to do next? One thing is dead clear-he no more appears on Prince's Street or the Bridges. They are to him as a native and once familiar land, from which he is exiled for ever. His migrations from one side of the town to the other, are now accomplished by channels such as Leith Wynd and the Cowgate, which, however well known to our ancestors, are in the present day. dreamt of by nobody, except, perhaps, the author of the Traditions of Edinburgh. I once came full upon a victim in Croftangry; he looked like the genius of: the place! But the ways of victims are in general very occult. Sometimes I have altogether lost sight of one for several years, and given him up for dead. But at length he would re-appear at a midnight fire in the High Street,

By Robert Chambers, Author of "The History of the as salmon come from the deepest pools towards the lighted

Scottish Rebellions," &c. &c.

THE industrious classes of the middle rank are, on the one hand, attracted onwards to wealth and respectability, by the contemplation of men, formerly of their own order, who having, as the saying is, feathered their nests, now live at ease, a kind of conscripti patres; while they

sheaf of the fisherman, or as some old revolutionary names that had disappeared from French history for a quarter of a century, came again above board on the occasion of the late affair at Paris. At that said fire in the High Street, I observed several victims, who had long vanished from the open daylight streets, come out to glare with their bleared eyes upon the awful scene--perhaps unroost

ed from their dens by the progress of the "devouring ele- two fishes amongst the five thousand. ment." But-what is a victim like?

At length, when Walter Tait begins to find his barrels run dry, with little return of money wherewithal to replenish them, and when the joint influence of occasional apparitions of sixpence, and the stance of the hay-soo at Pennycuik, has no longer any effect upon him, why, what is to be done but fly to some other individual, equally able and willing to bleed?

The progress of a victim's gradual deterioration depends very much upon the question, whether he has, according to the old joke, failed with a waistcoat or a full suit. Suppose the latter contingency; he keeps up a decent appearance for some months after the fatal event, perhaps even making several attempts to keep up a few of his old acquaintance. It won't do, however; the clothes get worn-threadbare-slit-torn-patched-darned, let ink, thread, and judicious arrangement of person, do their best. The hat, the shoes, and the gloves, fail first; he then begins to wear a suspicious deal of whitey-brown linen in the constitution of his cravat. Collars fail. Frills retire. The vest is buttoned ad extremum, or even, perhaps, with a supplementary pin (a pin is the most squalid object in nature or art) at top. Still, at this period, he tries to carry a jaunty, genteel air; he has not yet all forgot himself to rags. But, see, the buttons begin to show something like new moons at one side; these moons become full; they change; and then the button is only a little wisp of thread and rags, deprived of all power of retention over button-hole. The watch has long been gone to supply the current wants of the day. The vest by and by retires from business, and the coat is buttoned up to the chin. About this period, he perhaps appears in a pair of nankeen trowsers, which, notwithstanding the coldnessness. of the weather, he tries to sport in an easy, genteel fashion, as if it were his taste. If you meet him at this time, and enquire how he is getting on in the world, he speaks very confidently of some excellent situation he has a prospect of, which will make him better than ever; it is perhaps to superintend a large new blacking-manufactory which is to be set up at Portobello, and for which two acres of stone bottles, ten feet deep, have already been collected from servants in the New Town of Edinburgh; quite a nice easy business; nothing to do but collect the orders and see them executed; good salary, free house, coal, candle, and blacking; save five pounds a-year on the article of blacking alone. Or it is some other concern equally fall of the cock-and-the-bull, but which the disordered mind of the poor unfortunate is evidently rioting over with as much enjoyment as if he were once more what he had been in his better days. At length-but not perhaps till two or three years have elapsed-he becomes that lamentable picture of wretchedness which is his ultimate destiny; a mere pile of clothes without pile -a deplorable-a victim.

What are a victim's habits? They are intimately connected, as may be supposed, with the way he contrives to keep up existence. Victims hang much about taverns in the outskirts of the town. Perhaps a decent man from Pennycuik, with the honest rustic name of Walter Tait, or James Gowans, migrates to the Candlemaker Row or the Grassmarket, and sets up a small public honse. You may know the man by his corduroy spats, and the latchets of his shoes drawn through them by two pye-holes. He is an honest man, believing every body to be as honest as himself. Perhaps he has some antiquated and prescribed right to the stance of a hay-soo at Pennycuik, and is not without his wishes to try his fortune in the Parliament House. Well, the victims soon scent out his house by the glare of his new sign-the novitas regni-and upon him they fall tooth and nail. Partly through simplicity, partly by having his feelings regarding the stance of the hay-soo well tickled, he gives these gentlemen credit. For a while you may observe a flocking of victims towards his doorway, as clear as the gathering of clean and unclean things to Noah's ark. But it is not altogether a case of deception. Victims, some how or other, occasionally have money. True, it is seldom in greater sums than sixpence. But then consider the importance of sixpence to a flock of victims. Such a sum, judiciously managed, may get the whole set meat and drink for a day. It becomes like the five loaves and

The existence of a victim is the most precarious thing, perhaps, in the whole world. He is a man with no continuing dinner-place. He dines, as the poor old Earl of Findlater used to say, at the sign of the Mouth. It is a very strange thing, and what no one could suppose à priori, that the necessitous are greatly indebted to the necessitous. People of this sort form a kind of community by themselves, and are more kind to each other mutually than any other particular branch of the public. Thus, the little that any one has is apt to be shared by a great many companions, and all have a mouthful. The necessitous are also very much the dupes of the necessitous; they are all, as it were, creatures of prey, the stronger constantly eating up the weaker. Thus a victim in the last stage preys upon men who are entering the set; and all prey more or less upon poor tradesmen, such as the above Walter Tait or James Gowans, who are only liable to such a spoliation because they are poor and anxious for busiWe have known a victim, for instance, who had long passed the condition of being jail-worthy, live, in a great measure, upon a man who had just begun a career of victimization by being thrown into jail. This creature was content to be a kind of voluntary prisoner, for the sake of sharing the victuals and bed of his patron. It would astonish any man, accustomed, day after day, to go home to a spread table at a regular hour, to know the strange shifts which victims have to make in order to satisfy hunger-how much is done by raising small hardwrung subsidies from former acquaintance—how much by duping-how much by what the Scotch people very expressively call sheching-how much by subdivision of mites among the wretches themselves. Your victim is often witty, can sing one good comic song, has a turn for mimicry, or at least, an amusing smack of worldly knowledge; and he is sometimes so lucky as to fall in with patrons little above himself in fortune, but still having something to give, who afford him their protection on account of such qualifications.

As a picture of an individual victim, take the following-My earliest recollections of Mr, refer to his keeping a nursery and seed-shop in an eastern district of the New Town of Edinburgh. He was a remarkably smart active man, and, as I particularly remember, could tie up little parcels of seeds with an almost magical degree of dispatch. When engaged in that duty, your eye lost sight of his fingers altogether, as you cease to individualize the spokes of a wheel when it is turned with great rapidity. He was really an ingenious tradesman. I remember his inventing a curious tall engine, with a peculiar pair of scissors at top, for cutting fruit off trees. This he sent through Prince's Street every day with one of his boys, who was instructed every now and then to draw the string, so as to make the scissors close as sharply as possible. The boy would watch his men-broad-skirted men with top-boots-and, gliding in before them, would make the thing play clip. "Boy, boy," the country gentleman would cry, "what's that?" The boy would explain; the gentleman would be delighted with the idea of cutting down any particular apple he chose out of a thickly laden and unapproachable tree; and, after that, nothing more was required than to give him the card of the shop. Mr, however, with all his cleverness, was not a man of correct or temperate conduct. Above all things, he used to indulge in meridian potations. Opposite to his shop there was a tavern, to which he was in the habit of sending a boy every day for a tumbler of spirits and water, which the wretch was carefully enjoined to