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this consideration. If Lord Derby's Administration is driven from the helm by the results of the next election, this country may see what awaits them. A more vital interest than that of Free Trade, a more terrible fate than the re-establishment of Romanism, is involved in the issue of the contest. It will not be the Whigs and Lord John Russell who will in that event be called to the helm. The family clique of the Russells and the Mintos is worn out. Their journals tells us what must be done. The new administration must be framed on an extended basis, and we know where the extension is to be sought. The Chesham Place meeting has prefigured it in the clearest colours. It is Mr Cobden, Mr Bright, and the Manchester school, who are to be taken into the Cabinet, and we know what their principles are-they have told us themselves repeatedly. They are to sell our ships of the line, disband our troops, cut off twelve millions of taxes, and trust in Europe to the tender mercies of the French, as we

have done in Asia to the tender mercies of the Sikhs, in Africa to the tender mercies of the Caffres. Undeterred by the calamitous result of the principles of the Peace Congress in these two quarters of the globe, and which the resolution of our chiefs and heroism of our soldiers alone prevented from involving our Colonial Empire in ruin, they are prepared to pursue the same system in Europe in presence of Louis Napoleon, the recollection of Waterloo, and five hundred thousand men. Like all fanatics, whether in religion of politics, they are inaccessible to reason, and deaf to all arguments drawn from facts, how clear and convincing soever. it so. We have done our duty in unfolding the stake at issue in the next election, and the irreparable ruin which will threaten, and probably overtake the nation, if, from a passion for Free Trade, it loses all the wealth which that system is said to have created. Let it take its decision; but it cannot say it has done so unwarned or uninstructed as to the dangers which threaten it.

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CHAPTER I.

"EH Lady Anne! The like of you yammering morning and night about wee Katie at the mill. What's John Stewart? Naething but a common man, and you the Earl's dochter. I wonder ye dinna think shame." "Whisht, Nelly," said the little Lady Anne.

"I'll no whisht. Didna Bauby Rodger speak for me to Lady Betty hersel to make me bairn's-maid; and am I to give you your ain gate now that I've gotten the place? I'll do no such thing; and ye shanna demean yoursel as lang as I can help it. I've been in as grand houses as Kellie Castle. I've had wee ladies and wee gentlemen to keep before now; and there's plenty o' them, no that far off, to haud ye in company: what would ye do wi' Katie Stewart?"

"I dinna like them; and eh, Nelly, she's bonnie!" answered little Anne Erskine.

"She's bonnie! Lady Anne, ye're enough to gar onybody think shame. What's ony lady's business wi' folk being bonnie?-no to say that it's a' in your ain een, and she's just like ither folk."

"Maybe, Nelly. She has rosy cheeks, and bonnie blue een, like you; but I like to look at her," said Lady Anne.

The despotic Nelly was mollified. "It's a' wi' guid wholesome diet, and rising in the morning. Ye ken yoursel how I have to fleech ye wi' cream before ye'll take your parritch; and cream's no guid for the like of you. If ye were brought up like common folk's bairns, ye would have as rosy cheeks as Katie Stewart."

The little Lady Anne bent down by the burnside, to look at her own pale face in the clear narrow stream. "I'll never be like Katie," said Anne Erskine with a sigh; "and Janet's no like Isabell Stewart: we're no so bonnie as them. Bring Katie up to the castle, Nelly; there's John Stew

art at the mill door-ask him to let Katie up."

"But what will Lady Betty say?" asked the nurse.

"Betty said I might get her if I liked. She'll no be angry. See, Nelly, John Stewart's standing at the door."

With reluctance the nurse obeyed; and, leaving Lady Anne on the burnside, advanced to John Stewart.

The mill lay at the opening of a little uncultivated primitive-looking valley, through which the burn wound in many a silvery link, between banks of bare grass, browned here and there with the full sunshine, which fell over it all the summer through, unshaded by a single tree. There was little of the beautiful in this view of Kellie Mill. A grey thatched house, placed on a little eminence, down the side of which descended the garden-a very unpretending garden, in which a few bushes of southernwood, and one or two great old rose-trees, were the only ornamental features-was the miller's dwelling; and just beyond was the mill itself, interposing its droning musical wheel and little rush of water between the two buildings : while farther on, the bare grassy slopes, among which the burn lost itself, shut out the prospect-very rural, very still, giving you an idea of something remote and isolated— "the world forgetting, by the world forgot"-but with scarcely any beauty except what was in the clear skies over it, and the clear running water which mirrored the skies.

And on the burnside sits the little Lady Anne Erskine, the Earl of Kellie's youngest daughter. She says well that she will never be pretty; but you like the quiet little face, though its features are small and insignificant, and its expression does not at all strike you, further than to kindness for the gentle owner, as she sits under the hot September sun, with her feet almost touching the water, pulling handfuls of grass, and

looking wistfully towards the mill. A dress of some fine woollen stuff, shapeless and ungraceful, distinguishes her rank only very slightly; for the time is 1735, when fashions travel slowly, and the household of Kellie practises economy. Like the scene is the little lady; without much of even the natural beauty of childhood, but with a clear, soft, unclouded face, contented and gentle, thinking of everything but herself.

Turn round the paling of the garden to the other side of this grey house, and the scene is changed. For the background you have a thick clump of wood, already brilliant in its autumn tints. Immediately striking your eye is a gorgeous horsechestnut, embosomed among greener foliage a bit of colour for an artist to study. The trees grow on an abrupt green mound, one of the slopes of the little glen-the only one so becomingly sheltered; and from its steep elevation a little silvery stream of water falls down, with a continual tinkling, to the small pebbly bed below. Between this minstrel and the house spreads a "green" of soft thick grass, with poppies gleaming in the long fringes of its margin, and blueeyed forget-me-nots looking up from the sod. One step up from the green, on the steep ascent, which has been cut into primitive steps, brings you on a level with the milldam, and its bordering willows; and beyond shows you a wider horizon, bounded by the green swelling summit of Kellie Law, the presiding hill of the district, from which a range of low hills extends westward, until they conclude in the steep wooded front of Balcarras Craig, striking a bold perpendicular line across the sky. Rich fields and scattered farm-houses lie between you and the hills, and some of the fields are populous with merry companies of "shearers," whose voices, softened by the distance, touch the ear pleasantly now and then. These lands were well cultivated and productive even at that time; and on this side of Kellie Mill, you could believe you were within the fertile bounds of the kingdom of Fife.

And the little figures on the green contrast strikingly with the young watcher without. Foremost, seated

in the deep soft grass, which presses round her on every side, with its long, bending, elastic blades, sits a child of some eight years, with the soft cherub face which one sometimes sees in rural places, delicately tinted, beautifully formed. Round the little clear forehead clusters hair paler than gold, not in curls, but in soft circlets, like rings. Just a little darker as yet are the long eyelashes and finely marked brows; and the eyes are sunny blue, running over with light, so that they dazzle you. It is considerably browned, the little face, with the sun of this whole summer, and, with perhaps just a shade too much of rosy colour, has a slightly petulant, wilful expression; but when you look at Katie Stewart, you can understand the admiration of Lady Anne.

Only a little taller is that staid sister Isabell, who sits knitting a great blue woollen stocking by Katie's side. Isabell is twelve, and her hair has grown a little darker, and she herself looks womanly, as she sits and knits with painful industry, counting the loops as she turns the heel, and pausing now and then to calculate how much she has to do before she may escape from her task. The stocking is for her father: he has an immense heel, Isabell thinks secretly, as she almost wishes that some such process as that severe one adopted by the sisters of Cinderella, could be put in operation with honest John Stewart. But yonder he stands, good man, his ruddy face whitened over, and his fourteen stone of comfortable substance fully needing all the foundation it has to stand upon: so Isabell returns to her knitting with such energy that the sound of her "wires" is audible at the mill-door, and John Stewart, turning round, looks proudly

at his bairns.

Janet stands on the threshold of the house, peeping out; and Janet by no means looks so well as her sisters. She has a heavier, darker face, a thick, ungainly figure, and looks anything but good-humoured. They are all dressed in a very primitive style, in home-made linen, with broad blne and white stripes; and their frocks are made in much the same form as the modern pinafore. But simple as its material is, Janet has the skirt of

It seemed that Katie was slightly inclined to dispute this proposition, for she twisted up the hem of her little blue linen apron, and held down her head and pouted-but she made no articulate reply.

"Where's little Katie?" cried Lady Anne, entering the room with a haste and eagerness which gave some colour to her small pale face. "Katie, your mother's ben in the drawing-room, and she says you're to stay."

But Katie still pouted, and still made a roll of the hem of her apron.

"You're no ill-pleased to stay with me, Katie?" whispered Lady Anne, stealing her arm round her little playmate's neck.

"But I'll never see my mother," said Katie, gradually bursting into a little petulant fit of tears-"nor Bell, nor the burn. I dinna want to stay at the Castle. I want to gang hame."

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"O, Katie, will ye no stay with me?" cried poor little Lady Anne, tightening her grasp, and joining in the tears.

But Katie, stoutly rebellious, struggled out of the grasp of her affectionate friend, and again demanded to go home.

"Hame, indeed! My certy, ye wad get plenty of hame if I had the guiding of ye," said Bauby Rodger.

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Gang hame!-just let her, Lady Anne to work stockings, and learn the Single Carritch, and sleep three in a bed. She was to have gotten the wee closet wi' the grand wee bed, and red curtains, and to have learned to dance and play the spinnet, and behave hersel, and see the first folk in the land. But let her gang hame. I wadna stop her. She'll never be a lady; she'll learn to milk the cow, and gather the tatties, and marry a weaver out of Arncreoch!"

Katie had been gradually drying her tears. "I'll no marry a weaver,' exclaimed the child indignantly, with an angry flush on her face.

"I'll no

milk cows and work stockings. I will be a lady; and I dinna like ye, Bauby Rodger!"

"Weel, my woman, I'm no heeding," said Bauby with a laugh; "but though ye dinna like me, ye canna hinder me doing what my lady bids.

There's nae use fechting noo; for your face maun be washed, and ye maun gang in to Lady Betty's drawing-room and see your mother."

It was by no means an easy achievement, this washing of Katie's face; and the mild Lady Anne looked on in awe and wonder as her wilful playfellow struggled in those great hands of Bauby's, to which she was wont to resign herself as into the hands of a giant- for Bauby was nearly six feet high, and proportionably thick and strong, with immense red hands, and an arm nearly as thick as Katie's waist. At last, with this great arm passed round Katie's neck, securing the pretty head with unceremonious tightness, the goodhumoured Glumdalca overpowered her struggling charge, and the feat was accomplished.

Glowing from the fresh clear water, and with those soft rings of hair a little disordered on her white temples, this little face of Katie's contrasted very strangely with Lady Anne's, as they went together through the great stately gallery to Lady Betty's drawing-room. Lady Anne had the advantage of height, and promised to be tall; while Katie's little figure, plump and round as it already was, gave no indication of ever even reaching the middle stature ;-but the small dark head of the Earl's daughter, with its thoughtful serious expression, looked only like the shadow beside the sunshine, in presence of the infant beauty whose hand she held. Neither of them were tastefully dressed - the science was unknown then, so far as regarded children; but the quaint little old-woman garments pleased no less than amused you, when you saw the bright child's face of Katie, while they only added to the gravity and paleness of the quiet Lady Anne.

This long, gaunt, dreary galleryhow the little footsteps echo through it! There is a door standing ajar. Who has dared to open the door of the great drawing-room ?-but as it is open, quick, little Katie, look in.

Only once before has Katie had a glimpse of this magnificent apartment. It looks very cold- sadly dreary and deathlike, especially as you know that that little black speck just appearing at the corner window

"Hout! Mrs Stewart," said the patronising nurse, "what needs ye fash about it. Naebody expects to see your little ane put on like the bairns that come about the Castle."

Mrs Stewart drew herself up. "Thank ye for your guid opinion, Nelly; but I'll hae naebody make allowances for my bairn. Gang in to the house this moment, Katie, and get on a clean frock. It's Lady Anne that's wanting ye, and no a common body; and ye've forbears and kin of your ain as guid as most folk. Gang in this minute, and get yoursel sorted. Ye're to gang to the Castle with Lady Anne."

Reluctantly Katie rose. "I'm no wanting to gang to the Castle! I'm no heeding about Lady Anne!"

"Eh Katie!" exclaimed Isabell under her breath, looking up to her wistfully; but the little capricious favourite could already afford to think

lightly of the love which waited on her at every turn.

Mrs Stewart had a temper—a rather decided and unequivocal one, as the miller well knew. "Ye'll do what you're bidden, and that this moment," she said, with a slight stamp of her foot. "Gang in, and Merran will sort ye; and see ye disobey me if ye daur!"

Isabell rose and led the little pouting Katie away, with a secret sigh. No one sought or cared for her, as they did for this little petulant spoiled child; and Isabell, too, was pretty, and kind, and gentle, and had a sort of sad involuntary consciousness of those advantages which still failed to place her on the same platform with the favourite. Dull Janet, who was not pretty, envied little Katie; but Isabell did not envy her. She only sighed, with a blank feeling, that no one loved her, as every one loved her sister.

CHAPTER II.

"But Lady Betty never wears them, and what's the use o' a' thae bonnie things," asked little Katie, after the first burst of admiration was over, and she stood at leisure contemplating the jewels of the Ladies Erskine-not a very brilliant display, for the house of Kellie was anything but rich.

"If we had had a king and queen o' our ain, and no thae paughty Germans or even if it werena for that weary Union, taking away our name from us-us that never were conquered yet, and wadna be if the haill world joined to do it-Lady Betty wad wear the braw family diamonds in the queen's presence-cha'mer," said Bauby Rodger, Lady Betty's maid; "but wha's gaun to travel a lang sea-voyage for the sake of a fremd queen and a fremd court? And ye wadna hae ladies gaun glittering about the house wi' a' thae shining things on ilkadays, and naebody to see them. Na, na. Ye're but a wee bairn, Katie Stewart; ye dinna ken."

"But I think they're awfu' grand, Bauby, and I like that muckle ane the best. Do ye think the queen has as grand things as thae?"

"Weel, I'll no say for this new queen," said the candid Bauby. "She's only come of a wee German family, wi' lands no sae muckle, and naebody would daur to say half as rich and fruitful, as thir Kellie lands in Fife; but for our ain auld queensdidna they gang covered owre frae head to fit with pearls and rubies, and embroideries of gold, and diamonds in their croon as big as my twa nieves."

And Bauby placed these same clenched "nieves," articles of the most formidable size, close together, and held them up to the admiring gaze of little Katie; for Bauby was an enthusiast, and would utterly have scorned the Koh-i-noor.

"Bauby," inquired the little visitor, "am I to stay at the Castle?"

"Ye're up the brae, my woman," was the indirect response. "Nae doubt your faither's a very decent man, and ye're no an ill bairn yoursel, and come of creditable folk; but there's mony a wee Miss atween this and the sea would be blythe to come to Kellie, to be bred up with Lady Anne and it's to be naebody but you, Katie Stewart. My certy, ye're a favoured bairn."

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