from an honourable Scotch family; the lairds of Etterick are equal to any gentlemen in the country for descent, and we live, as your father used to observe, in the Scottish Arcadia, the scene of pastoral poetry:—come, sing us a Scottish song." The company joining in this request, our hero began with Tweedside; and doing justice to the melody of that charming air, he dwelt with an emphasis of peculiar tenderness on the name of Mary. Maria feeling this indirect address, wished to turn our hero's voice to less interesting subjects, and with a bewitching smile, asked him to favour them with a martial song. "Do, dear William," said his mother; "but do not let it be one song," and here the tears filled her eyes. William, affected by the allusion to an air, which he knew was the delight of his revered father, requested his friend
