and the young Laird when at home, cut, and raked, and spread with the men, and Mary Macdonnel and any young companion within the house, tossed, and at a later stage beat down the hay with the women. Mrs. Macdonnel had been the best worker of any, within Mary's recollection; but now she only saw the ample refreshments served out, and led out lame Niel and sick Annie to look at the family dining among their vassals, and surrounded by the congregation of dogs, on the tedded masses in the meadows by the loch, or on the rising russet stack which flanked the black peat stack and the brown pea stack-all of them covered with their green roofs of broom behind the offices.

However, at Croclune it was more than a family or glen, it was a neighbourhood who worked, out of honour of the great pasture tribute of the hili countries, and from the zest and glee of labour. And it was a mixed company-one might not be suited in one's partner, and there were contending and clashing influences. Altogether it did not afford the freedom, relaxation, and affection of haymaking in Glen Aldour. There was one thing, it was not a feigned object which convened the company. Haymaking at Croclune was particularly difficult, and it was of extra importance to the proprietor or tacksman of Croclune, and Captain Robertson could not serve his end so expeditiously and economically in any other way as feasting his whole acquaintances and converting toil into frolic. It was at least a more creditable means of spending a

morning than the cock-fight, the ring, and the gamingtable which then engrossed the early hours of men of fashion; it was sometimes a substitute, a welcome substitute even to poor, fantastic, extravagant townsmen. Ah! don't you remember poor Oliver Goldsmith making hay in company with the Jessamy belle? and beautiful Lady Sarah captivating honest King George?

Oh, Mary, this is fairy land!' exclaimed Anne Macdonald, as they stood on the foremost terrace-to which representatives from all the glens and hill sides for a score of miles were converging as to a grand centre, and looked abroad on knolls and rocks and luxuriant trees.

'Yes,' Mary answered decidedly, ‘it is fairy land— a bigger fairy land.'

'Of course, Mary, it is not altogether like Glen Aldour,' explained Anne quickly, 'I mean in seclusion, repose, and comfort.'

'Now, don't soothe my wounded vanity for my glen's sake,' protested Mary a little impatiently. 'I know that to a Lowlander, a young lady of taste, in short, there can be no Highland place like Croclune.'

'And what do you call yourself, Mary?' inquired Anne, amused at the manner in which Mary disclaimed her reparation.

'Well, I call myself an old Highlander about the glen, and a Macdonnel of Aldour to boot. No one can regard the glen-our glen, as we do.'

'No one can consider Ben Falloch as the highest

mountain in Great Britain but the old Miss Macdonnels, or believe that after all your fenced garden produces better blackberries than the peaches in the gardens at Hamilton Palace, because they tasted so to him in his youth and maturity, like Mr. Cormac Macgregor-but I, too, claim a little connexion with the glen, Mary. I have a sincere preference for it in many things, though I was not so fortunate as to be born. within its bounds.'

Mary shook her head provokingly.

'I think it is quite true what John Dunglas says,' persisted Anne, 'that every steep has its peculiar bracken and every linn its own foam.'

Then what white heather has Dunglas, I wonder, if it might be found to fasten John Dunglas's wandering brogue to his own duties? And there, Anne -there I declare comes Finralia! Now, who save the Robertsons would ask well-disposed people to spread grass and break bread and see the stars rise with Finralia? It is shameful,' uttered Mary in an aggrieved tone, as if the world was not wide enough to contain Aldour and Finralia. Could you sing the 'Broom of Cowden Knowes' to such as he, Anne? Do you think I would let him hear Chro-Challin,' or Haytin foam'eri?' demanded Mary, referring to the favourite ditties which she and Anne had dispensed to the company at the haymaking in Aldour.

Anne was doubtful whether they could admit the liberty or impart the delight, but she entered a little

defence, which had the effect of poisoning still farther Mary's prejudiced mind.

'Flora Robertson made a little apology to me about Finralia five minutes ago; she observed they could not leave him out; she says that it is the talk of the country that he and his sister have withdrawn from their associations in Inverluig, and are to live quietly for the rest of their lives. He is a man of consequence already, and Miss Ussie Fraser tells her visitors (poor thing, I wonder who visits her, Mary? not Flora, she says Miss Ussie has a particular spite at her, and she would expect her to spit at her if she entered her presence) Finralia is to assume the old family position, and he will extend his sway until the Country sees who is the best man in the whole strath.'

Very likely,' replied Mary indifferently, he will begin to add acre to acre, peat hag to bear field; greed very often follows lawlessness, and it is in the blood; old Finralia ended by becoming the greatest miser between the German Ocean and the Atlantic; he was no better on that account.'

'But, Mary, you don't fear that Finralia will take black mail from us to day, because if he attempts it I am not so well provided as Mrs. Maclauchlan with her saddle-pocket full of loose silver.'

'Take care that he tries no other tax, Anne-a grasping man has not far to go for cunning;' and then Mary reflected suddenly, 'I myself will be the means of putting the mischief into Anne's head if I don't

take care,' and was silent, and Anne was ready to drop the subject, and to return to her exclamations of admiration. 'What will it be, Mary, when the wood has its autumn colouring, or when these stones are dark blocks in the snow, and the burn is hanging with icicles?"

Mary did not mean to make hay like Nancy Robertson, in a tartan petticoat and buff-striped linen jacket, with one of the gentlemen's plaids fastened over her head for a screen, as a wild Highland girl— neither in silk and gauze, like Pitfadden's wife, and Flora; she knew what was fitting, so she carried over her evening dress along with Anne's, and these were for evening wear. It was still the age of brocades, powder was only on the wane, hoops were not altogether extinguished-the graceful moderation of Sir Joshua, and the impulsive picturesqueness of Gainsborough were just toning down the old stiff costume, and in order to see what an exquisite thing they made it, study some of their early pictures before the French Revolution upset dress as well as kings' seats. Even plain little Fanny Burney looks lovely in her picture, as we see her in her lite hat, trim boddice and kerchief, and flowing skirt. And when a merry grig of a girl put on a fly cap and worked apron she had no need to set that cap at any man-his heart yielded without an assault. Mary and Anne had their brocades and their breast knots for the dance; but in the morning, while they meant business, they retained their useful riding Josephs, but they tied them up with ribands