By this time we were thoroughly cosy, and Mr.
Macdonald made himself and us very much at home by stirring the fire; whereupon Francesca embarrassed him by begging him not to touch it unless he could do it properly, which, she added, seemed quite unlikely, from the way in which he handled the poker.
"What will Edinburgh do without you ?" he asked, turning towards us with flattering sadness in his tone.

"Who will hear our Scotch stories, never suspecting their hoary old age?
Who will ask us questions to which we somehow always know the answers?
Who will make us study and reverence anew our own landmarks?
Who will keep warm our national and local pride by judicious enthusiasm ?" "I think the national and local pride may be counted on to exist without any artificial stimulants," dryly observed Francesca, whose spirit is not in the least quenched by approaching departure.
"Perhaps," answered the Reverend Ronald; "but at any rate, you, Miss Monroe, will always be able to reflect that you have never been responsible even for its momentary inflation!" "Isn't it strange that she cannot get on better with that charming fellow ?" murmured Salemina, as she passed me the sugar for my second cup.
"If your present symptoms of blindness continue, Salemina," I said, searching for a small lump so as to gain time, "I shall write you a plaintive ballad, buy you a dog, and stand you on a street corner! If you had ever permitted yourself to 'get on' with any man as Francesca is getting on with Mr.Macdonald, you would now be Mrs .-- Somebody." "Do you know, doctor," asked the Dominie, "that Miss Hamilton shed real tears at Holyrood the other night, when the band played 'Bonnie Charlie's noo awa' ?'" "They were real," I confessed, "in the sense that they certainly were not crocodile tears; but I am somewhat at a loss to explain them from a sensible, American standpoint.

Of course my Jacobitism is purely impersonal, though scarcely more so than yours, at this late day; at least it is merely a poetic sentiment, for which Caroline, Baroness Nairne, is mainly responsible.

My romantic tears came from a vision of the Bonnie Prince as he entered Holyrood, dressed in his short tartan coat, his scarlet breeches and military boots, the star of St.Andrew on his breast, a blue ribbon over his shoulder, and the famous blue velvet bonnet and white cockade.

He must have looked so brave and handsome and hopeful at that moment, and the moment was so sadly brief, that when the band played the plaintive air I kept hearing the words-- 'Mony a heart will break in twa, Should he no come back again.' He did come back again to me that evening, and held a phantom levee behind the Marchioness of Heatherdale's shoulder.