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rest beneath the shade when we were tired of the mimic chace. Here stands the old stump, where many a summer’s evening I have sitten, preparing my morning’s task; there runs the little stream, where I have made and unmade so many ponds, and cascades, and islands.’ I was just beginning to moralize on the happy period of child- hood, when I found myself at my brother’s door. A new train of sentiments and feelings now swelled my heart, and I was about hastily to enter, when I heard sounds within not at all in unison with the mild serenity of nature out of doors, or with the bright visions of peace and joy, which so many fond recollections had presented to my imagination. ‘Be a gude bairn! be a gude bairn, this moment!’ cried an angry female voice, whilst the little rebel she ad- dressed screamed as loud as he could bawl. ‘If you dinna haud your tongue directly, I’ll send for the minister. Look! yonder he’s coming to tak you awa’ in his pocket. Wheest!’ Terror for a moment got the better of passion, and the little fellow, checking his cries, looked; towards the door, but seeing nobody, for I kept myself con- cealed, he was convinced that his mother was deceiving him, and renewed the roar of rage and defiance. ‘Here, bogle man,’ cried the disappointed mother, endeavouring