pancy in their respective deductions from admitted premises.

Major Melville had been versed in camps and cities; he was vigilant by profession, and cautious from experience, had met with much evil in the world, and therefore, though himself an upright magistrate and an honourable man, his opinions of others were always strict, and sometimes unjustly severe. Mr Morton, on the contrary, had passed from the literary pur suits of a college, where he was beloved by his companions and respected by his teachers, to the ease and simplicity of his present charge, where his opportunities of witnessing evil were few, and never dwelt upon, but in order to encourage repentance and amendment; and where the love and respect of his parishioners repaid his affectionate zeal in their behalf, by endeavouring to disguise from him what they knew would give him the most acute pain, their own occasional transgressions, namely, of the duties which it was the

business of his life to recommend. Thus it was a common saying in the neighbourhood, (though both were popular characters,) that the laird knew only the ill in the parish, and the minister only the good.

A love of letters, though kept in subordination to his clerical studies and duties, also distinguished the pastor of Cairnvreckan, and had tinged his mind in earlier days with a slight feeling of romance, which no after incidents of real life had entirely dissipated. The early loss of an amiable young woman, whom he had married for love, and who was quickly followed to the grave by an only child, had also served, even after the lapse of many years, to soften and enhance a disposition naturally mild and contemplative. His feelings on the present occasion were therefore likely to differ from those of the severe disciplinarian, strict magistrate, and distrustful man of the world.

When the servants had withdrawn, the silence of both parties continued, until

Major Melville, filling his glass and pushing the bottle to Mr Morton, commenced.

"A distressing affair this, Mr Morton. I fear this youngster has brought himself within the compass of an halter." "God forbid !" answered the clergy

man.

"Marry and amen," said the temporal magistrate; "but I fear your merciful logic will hardly deny the conclusion."

"Surely, Major, I should hope it might be averted, for aught we have heard tonight."

"Indeed!-But, my good parson, you are one of those who would communicate to every criminal the benefit of clergy."

Unquestionably I would: Mercy and long-suffering are the grounds of the doc trine I am called to teach."

"True; but mercy to a criminal may be gross injustice to the community. I don't speak of this young fellow in particular, who I heartily wish may be able to

clear himself, for I like both his modesty and his spirit. But I fear he has rushed upon his fate."

"And why?-Hundreds of misguided gentlemen are now in arms against the government, many, doubtless, upon principles which education and early preju dice have gilded with the names of patriotism and heroism;-Justice, when she selects her victims from such a multitude, (for surely all will not be destroyed,) must regard the moral motive. He whom ambition, or hope of personal advantage, has led to disturb the peace of a well-ordered government, let him fall a victim to the laws; but surely youth, misled by the wild visions of chivalry and imaginary loyalty, may plead for pardon.".

"If visionary chivalry and imaginary loyalty come within the predicament of high treason, I know no court in Christendom, my good Mr Morton, where they can sue out their Habeas Corpus.".

"But I cannot see that this youth's guilt is at all established to my satisfaction."

"Because your good nature blinds your good sense. Observe now. This young man, descended of a family of hereditary Jacobites, his uncle the leader of the tory interest in the county of, his father a disobliged and discontented courtier, his tutor a non-juror, and the author of two treasonable volumes-This youth, I say, enters into G's dragoons, bringing with him a body of young fellows from his uncle's estate, and who have not sticked at avowing, in their way, the highchurch principles they learned at Waverley-Honour, in their disputes with their comrades. To these men young Waverley is unusually attentive; they are supplied with money beyond a soldier's wants, and inconsistent with his discipline; and are under the management of a favourite serjeant, through whom they hold an unusually close communication with their cap