house, and I was in the habit o' gaun at night to smoke my pipe and hear the news about Bonaparte and the rest o' them; but it was very seldom that I exceeded three tumblers. Weel, among the customers there was ane that I had got very intimate wi'—as genteel and decent a looking man as ye could see; indeed I took him to be a particular serious and honest man. So there was ae night that I was rather mair than ordinary hearty, and says he to me: 'Mr Stuart,' says he, 'will you lend your name to a bit paper for me?' 'No, I thank ye, sir,' says I; 'I never wish to be caution for onybody.' 'It's of no consequence,' said he, and there was no more passed. But as I was rising to gang hame, 'Come, tak' anither, Mr. Stuart,' said he; 'I'm next the wa' wi' ye—I'll stand treat.' Wi' sair pressing I was prevailed upon to sit doun again, and we had anither and anither, till I was perfectly insensible. What took place, or how I got hame, I couldna tell, and the only thing I remember was a head fit to split the next day, and Jeannie very ill pleased and powty-ways. However, I thought nae mair about it, and I was extremely glad I had refused to be bond for the person who asked me; for within three months I learned that he had broken and absconded wi' a vast o' siller. It was just a day or twa after I had heard the intelligence, I was telling Jeannie and her mother o' the circumstance, and what an escape I had had, when the servant lassie showed a bank clerk into the room. 'Tak' a seat, sir,' said I, for I had dealings wi' the bank. 'This is a bad business, Mr. Stuart,' said he. 'What business?' said I, quite astonished. 'Your being security for Mr. So-and-so,' said he. 'Me!' cried I, starting up in the middle o' the floor—'Me!—the scoundrel—I denied him point blank!' 'There is your own signature for a thousand pounds,' said the clerk. 'A thousand furies!' exclaimed I, stamping my foot; 'it's a forgery—an infernal forgery!' 'Mr. Such-a-one is witness to your handwriting,' said the clerk. I was petrified; I could hae drawn down the roof o' the house upon my head to bury me! In a moment a confused recollection o' the proceedings at Luckie Macnaughton's flashed across my memory, like a flame from the bottomless pit! There was a look o' witherin' reproach in my mother-in-law's een, and I heard her mutterin' between her teeth, 'I aye said what his three tumblers wad come to.' But my dear Jeannie bore it like a Christian, as she is. She cam forward to me, an', poor thing, she kissed my cheek, and says she, 'Dinna distress yoursel', David, dear—it cannot be helped now—let us pray that this may be a lesson for the future.' I flung my arm round her neck—I couldna speak; but at last I said, 'Oh Jeannie, it will be a lesson, and your affection will be a lesson!' Some o' your book-learned folk wad ca' this conduct philosophy in Jeannie; but I, wha kenned every thought in her heart, was aware that it proceeded from her resignation as a true Christian, and her affection as a dutiful wife. Weel, the upshot was, I had robbed mysel' out o' a thousand pounds as simply as ye wad snuff out a candle. You have heard the saying, that sorrow ne'er comes singly; and I am sure, in a' my experience, I have found its truth. At that period I had two thousand pounds, bearing six per cent., lying in the hands o' a gentleman o' immense property. Everybody believed him to be as sure as the bank. Scores o' folk had money in his hands. The interest was paid punctually, and I hadna the least suspicion. Weel, I was looking ower the papers one morning at breakfast, and I happened to glance at the list o' bankrupts (a thing I'm no in the habit o' doing), when, mercy me! whose name should I see but the very gentleman's that had my twa thousand pounds! I had the paper in one hand and a saucer in the other. The saucer and the coffee gaed smash upon the hearth! I trembled frae head to foot. 'Oh David! what's the matter?' cried Jeannie. 'Matter!' cried I; 'matter! I'm ruined!—we're a' ruined!' But it's o' nae use dwelling on this. The fallow didna pay eighteenpence to the pound; and there was three thousand gaen out o' my five! It was nae use, wi' a young family, to talk o' living on the interest o' our money now. 'We maun tak' a farm,' says I; and baith Jeannie and her mother saw there was naething else for it. So I took a farm which lay partly in the Lammermoors and partly in the Merse. It took the thick end o' eight hundred pounds to stock it. However, we were very comfortable in it; I found mysel' far mair at hame than I had been in Edinburgh; for I had employment for baith mind and hands, and Jeannie very soon made an excellent farmer's wife. Auld grannie, too, said she never had been sae happy; and the bairns were as healthy as the day was lang. We couldna exactly say that we were making what ye may ca' siller, yet we were losing nothing, and every year laying by a little. There was a deepish burn ran near the onstead. We had been about three years in the farm, and our youngest lassie was about nine years auld. It was the summer time, and she had been paidling in the burn, and sooming feathers and bits o' sticks; I was looking after something that had gaen wrang about the threshin' machine, when I heard an unco noise get up, and bairns screamin'. I looked out, and I saw them runnin' and shoutin'—'Miss Jeannie! Miss Jeannie!' I rushed out to the barnyard. 'What is't, bairns?' cried I. 'Miss Jeannie! Miss Jeannie!' said they, pointing to the burn. I flew as fast as my feet could carry me. The burn, after a spate on the hills, often cam awa in a moment wi' a fury that naething could resist. The flood had come awa upon my bairn; and there, as I ran, did I see her bonnie yellow hair whirled round and round, sinking out o' my sight, and carried awa doun wi' the stream. There was a linn about thirty yards frae where I saw her, and oh! how I rushed to snatch a grip o' her before she was carried ower the rocks! But it was in vain—a moment sooner, and I might hae saved her; but she was hurled ower the precipice when I was within an arm's length, and making a grasp at her bit frock! My poor little Jeannie was baith felled and drowned. I plunged into the wheel below the linn, and got her out in my arms. I ran wi' her to the house, and I laid my drowned bairn on her mother's knee. Everything that could be done was done, and a doctor was brought frae Dunse; but the spark o' life was out o' my bit Jeannie. I felt the bereavement very bitterly; and for many a day, when Margaret and Andrew sat down at the table by our sides, my heart filled; for as I was helpin' their plates, I wad put out my hand again to help anither, but there was nae ither left to help. But Jeannie took our bairn's death far sairer to heart than even I did. For several years she never was hersel' again, and just seemed dwinin' awa. Sea-bathing was strongly recommended; and as she had a friend in Portobello, I got her to gang there for a week or twa during summer. Our daughter Margaret was now about eighteen, and her brother Andrew about fifteen; and as I thought it would do them good, I allowed them to gang wi' their mither to the bathing. They were awa for about a month, and I firmly believe that Jeannie was a great deal the better o't. But it was a dear bathing to me on mony accounts for a' that. Margaret was an altered lassie a'thegither. She used to be as blithe as a lark in May, and now there was nae gettin' her to do onything; but she sat couring and unhappy, and seighin' every handel-a-while, as though she were miserable. It was past my comprehension, and her mother could assign nae particular reason for it. As for Andrew, he did naething but yammer, yammer, frae morn till night, about the sea; or sail boats, rigged wi' thread and paper sails, in the burn. When he was at the bathing he had been doun aboot Leith, and had seen the ships, and naething wad serve him but he would be a sailor. Night and day did he torment my life out to set him to sea. But I wadna hear tell o't—his mother was perfectly wild against it, and poor auld grannie was neither to hand nor to bind. We had suffered enough frae the burn