"I have been so frightened about you, Major. You must have met with something; you are so heated, and-do tell me what has happened; I see you have met with something."

My dearest girl, I do assure you I have met with nothing. I have been rather on a wild-goose chace to be sure, trying to overtake my charge, the Countess there; but," turning to Colonel Delmour and her, “I could not make you hear, me at all, though I had you in sight almost all the way." At this remark there was a smile on Colonel Delmour's lip, and a slight blush on Lady Rossville's cheek, which Miss Pratt did not like, and a sort of vague tremour ran through her frame.

"That was very odd," said Mrs. Major recovering-"I never doubted you were all together.-I shall take care another time how I trust you to walk without me.-O! you have got yourself heated to such a degree, I am sure you will catch your death of cold.-Pray, Miss Pratt, shut down that window ;-now, Major, do sit away from the door, and, I beseech you, don't think of taking off your cloak till you are cooler."

'My dear Bell," gasped the almost suffocating Major.

"Now, Major, I entreat of you

"But-'pon my soul, this is a thousand degrees hotter than ever I felt it in Bengal."

"Well-but, Major, you know very well how ill you were in consequences of throwing off your cloak suddenly one sunny day, when you had got yourself over-heated, and you promised me, that you never would do so again."

"But, my dear Bell, this is absolutely like a day in June."

"Now, Major, I can only say

But happily for all concerned, the lady's sayings were here stopped by the sound of the dressingbell, and half-distracted betwixt her desire to superintend the cooling of the Major, by keeping him in VOL. II.-M

a hot room enveloped in his cloak, and her anxiety to dedicate the full three-quarters of an hour to the duties of her toilette, and the display of her Oriental finery, she felt much at at a loss which to choose -at length, the woman prevailed over the wife, and the Major was allowed to be-take himself to his dressing-room, while the lady repaired to hers.

CHAPTER XXII.

Ah! sure as Hindu legends tell,
When Music's tones the bosom swell,
The scenes of former life return,
Ere sunk beneath the morning star,
We left our parent climes afar,
Immured in mortal forms to mourn.

Or if, as ancient sages ween,
Departed spirits half unseen,
Can mingle with the mortal throng,
'Tis when from heart to heart we roll
The deep-toned music of the soul
That warbles in our Scottish song.

LEYDEN.

AT dinner, Mrs. Major re-appeared in a dress which might have done honour to Cinderella's godmother; but which, even with the aid of Hyder Ally's carbuncle, had no effect in subduing uncle Adam's flinty heart towards her. He, however, received her salutations with tolerable composure; and, moreover, permitted her to touch his hands, but as for shaking them, that was an effort little short of tearing the limpet from its native rock. As for the Major, he was too much exhausted by the toils of the day to be able even to offend, being reduced to a state of perfect passiveness.

"What a pretty woman your niece, Mrs. Waddell, is," whispered Miss Pratt, as uncle Adam and she stotted along, as usual, to dinner.

"Pretty!-what makes her pretty?-wi' a face like a sooket carvey!"

“Ah, to be sure, she's not like Lady Rossville;

but where will you see the like of her? such a distinguished-looking creature as she is; for you see, although she has but that bit myrtle in her hair, that she brought in in her hand from the green-house before dinner, how much better her head looks than Mrs. Waddell's with that fine pearl-sprig, that must have cost her many a gold rupee;-as Anthony Whyte would say, she's really very classical."

"I wish you wud nae compare them," interrupted Mr. Ramsay, impatiently; as his temper was still farther irritated at seeing the haughty, but graceful, air with which Colonel Delmour led the Countess to the top of the table, and, as a matter of course, placed himself by her.

"There's a bold stroke for a wife playing there; but it won't do," again responded Miss Pratt, with a slight palpitation at the heart; which she would have scorned, however, to have admitted, even to herself.

Dinners are commonly dull things, unless when there is some bel esprit to take the lead, and act as sauce piquante to the company; but here was nobody (except Miss Pratt) who could, or would, lay themselves out to talk; and even she was somewhat damped, as the thoughts of her five guineas came across her, now and then, with a qualm. As if to counteract that, her chief business was in calling forth, and then construing, Lady Rossville's most common civilities towards Mr. Lyndsay, to the great annoyance of both, and the repressed indignation of Colonel Delmour.

Mrs. Waddell thought neither the Major nor she met with that attention that was their due. She, therefore, sat very stately with Hyder Ally's carbuncle, emitting dark and lurid gleams, as if it shared in her displeasure. In the evening it was somewhat better, though, in any way, it was difficult to get such incongruous materials, as the company was composed of, to hang together; but, then, they were more at liberty to follow their own devices,

and if music has not always charms to sooth a savage breast, it has at least, the merit of keeping civilized beings sometimes in order. Although Lady Rossville had little expectation of deriving any pleasure from an exhibition of Mrs. Waddell's musicial powers, yet she was too polite to pass her

over.

"Pray, sing me a Scotch song," said she, seeing her preparing to execute an Italian one; "I have taken quite a fancy for Scotch songs."

"Scotch songs!" repeated Mrs. Waddell, with astonishment and contempt; "I hope, cousin, you don't think me quite so vulgar as to sing Scotch songs. I assure you, they are quite exploded from the drawing-room now: they are called kitchen songs," with an affected giggle.

"Call them what they will," said Lady Rossville, "I shall certainly learn to sing the songs of my own country, and to sing them, too, in my own way, con

amore.

"If so, you will sing them better than any mere taught singer will do," said Mr. Lyndsay.

"But, I assure you, cousin, nobody sings them now," said Mrs. Major vehemently.

"The more shame, then, to every body," said Gertrude.

"To every body who can sing them," said Lyndsay; "but I believe it is much more difficult to sing one's national music well in their native land, than it is to discourse most eloquent music' in a foreign tongue; the first speaks to every one's heart and feelings, the other merely addresses itself to the ear or the taste, or, it may be, the ignorance of the audience. To sing Scotch songs well requires great compass of voice, a clear articulation, and the very soul of feeling."

"Pray, Mr. Lyndsay, were you ever abroad?" demanded Mrs. Waddell, abruptly.

"I spent two years on the Continent; one of them in Rome."