had made out what he considered to be the rafters of his former abode, he was still at fault. Day after day he rode over from the nearest post-town, threaded each winding ravine, and penetrated each hollow cavern, in search of the desired spot. In vain he toiled: he gained new and delightful aspects of scenery, but the glen, and the particular rock of his secret, eluded all his attempts. Weary and disheartened he proceeded to Edinbro', to communicate with his legal adviser, foreseeing much delay, or disappointment, to his hopes.

Misfortune, however, seemed to have found other victims, and ceased her persecutions. With the exception of losing the right of the fishery along the rather extended coast, owing to the absence of certain proofs, that he shrewdly guessed were contained in the iron box, he, as a matter of course, was established in the possession of his uncle's estates. He wooed and won the gentle Kate, and became a happy man. One summer's day he took a stroll along the beautiful shore. The waters were, at that time, studded with innumerable boats engaged in the productive herring-fishery. Elphin, his faithful servant, was running to and fro the beach, smelling and poking his nose at and in every possible hole and corner, like the meddlesome dog that he was, dragging from out a mound of earth, a dead mole, and then, from a heap of stones, a large live water rat; busy as a bee, in the very prodigality of his idleness; determined, as it seemed, to ferret out all secrets, and to bring into the light of open day all delinquents. As the creature thus gambolled by his side, and then scoured away, half a mile off in a minute, Maclune's thoughts reverted from the fishery to the dog's wondrous

sagacity, and then to the possibility of turning that quality to the discovery of his iron box buried at Dundronheil. It was not long before Maclune was again in Rosshire, this time accompanied by his dog. As soon as they had reached the ruined hamlet, Elphin, with a bark of recognition, broke away among the ruins, smelling and examining, till he stopped, wagging his tail, to wait for his master to come up. As Maclune did so, he became assured that the mossy stones, upon which his dog was so profoundly fixed, were those of his former habitation. At last, his tail ceasing to wag, gravely he turned upon his master his honest canine physiognomy, wherein was traced, plainly as looks could speak, that he grieved to see the spot so desolate. Maclune then shouldered his stick, and, according to his preconceived arrangement, made up a bundle of papers, which he took from his pocket, put them into a wooden box, which, after calling Elphin to attention, he locked, and, carrying it, proceeded up the hill, carefully pursuing the dog's lead, who, as though gifted with intuition, guided him through divided, rocky, and water-worn chasms, into the old glen. He never swerved from his course. Though often distancing his master, he waited patiently, or ran back on his trail, till he was again in sight. He winded the rocks; he entered the long-sought cavern; he ran up to the sheltered niche, where he seized upon the old iron box, rusty, and covered with crystals, as it was, with a loud bark of exultation, and there crouched at Maclune's feet. He had made his master a rich man. May not the latter be forgiven, that he often glanced at the possibility of the transmigration of souls, although, in the idea, he was manifestly

Y

unjust to his friends of the canine race, their qualities being precisely those we do not abundantly discover in human beings? The North American savage is keen of sight, and swift in chase; but where, in the human subject, shall we find the speed, the unerring sagacity, the temper and teachableness, the vigilance, fidelity, and the instinct (that rival of reason) of those quadrupeds? Where find their gratitude for kindness, their unresenting submission to illusage received from their master's hand? We may ir vain seek a response; only echo answers- -"where!"

"DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND."

BY THE EDITOR.

BEFORE the construction of the Grand Junction Road, the coffee-room of the Albion, at Brighton, was, in my estimate, the completest summer chamber of the kind in Christendom. On a broiling noon, in the month of July, 1831, it was occupied by a party, busy in discussing the merits of things in general, together with prawns, cutlets, Burton ale, and the other accompaniments of the breakfasttable, in especial. In one thing they were unanimous. Brighton was voted a bore, seeing that it was intolerably hot, and afforded no shade in the which a gentleman might cool himself of an evening. London was talked of, and somebody suggested Cheltenham, when a neat little man, with hair rather inclined to pink, and very white teeth and hands, asked, with an accent which was not of May Fair, "And what's the matter with Leamington, that nobody spakes of giving it a turn?" Whoever chooses to take the lead in an idle party, is sure to be followed; the little man with the rose-coloured head had it his own way, and the next morning's sun shone on as frolicking, smokeative a half dozen, as ever occupied two travelling carriages, that turned into the Windsor road at New Timber Holt Gate.

Not the least remarkable productions of civilized life

are those curiosities in economics, specimens of which are to be daily met with in the coffee-rooms of Steven's, Limmer's, Long's, or, indeed, any of the fashionable hotels in this or any other metropolis. These constitute a class, or genus, whose property consists in being enabled to dispense with the vulgar provision of the law of nature, which declares "ex nihilo nihil fit." Not only out of nothing do they accomplish an excellent fit, but they are better suited and supplied from less than nothing, than any other portion of society at any cost whatever. Upon this principle alone was I able to account for the status of the little exquisite, who, I learnt, represented what was the carrotypolled, shabby-genteel, Connaught inelegant extract, that infested Morrison's, and similar Dublin rendezvous, during my sojourn in that city, in 1828. In Leamington, I found him decidedly the best-dressed, the best-mounted, and the best-appointed of all the aspirants to figure in that aristocratic resort. "And so," said my informant, "you did not recognise S, eh? Well, I am not surprised at it, for, if he were turned loose into his father's haggard, I am satisfied the house-dog would eat him."

What with picnics among the ruins of Kenilworth, visits to "baronial Warwick's castle grey," and such like lion-hunting, the mornings were pleasantly disposed of, and the evenings were always rife with engagements. All would have been admirable, but for the irregular hours kept, or rather the regular irregularity of their observance. It was in vain that our parties would separate at twelve, one, or two. S had a caitiff of a Swiss, whose style of constructing an iced compound of brandy, shrub, and a trickle of the element, was the most irresistible spell ever