possible they see hardly anything in us. Moreover, Mr. Craig was a man of sober passions, and was already in his tenth year of hesitation as to the relative advantages of matrimony and bachelorhood. It is true that, now and then, when he had been a little heated by an extra glass of grog, he had been heard to say of Hetty that the »lass was well enough,« and that »a man might do worse;« but on convivial occasions men are apt to express themselves strongly. Martin Poyser held Mr. Craig in honour, as a man who »knew his business,« and who had great lights concerning soils and compost; but he was less of a favourite with Mrs. Poyser, who had more than once said in confidence to her husband, »You're mighty fond o' Craig; but for my part, I think he's welly like a cock as thinks the sun's rose o' purpose to hear him crow.« For the rest, Mr. Craig was an estimable gardener, and was not without reasons for having a high opinion of himself. He had also high shoulders and high cheek-bones, and hung his head forward a little, as he walked along with his hands in his breeches-pockets. I think it was his pedigree only that had the advantage of being Scotch, and not his »bringing up;« for except that he had a stronger burr in his accent, his speech differed little from that of the Loamshire people about him. But a gardener is Scotch, as a French teacher is Parisian. »Well, Mr. Poyser,« he said, before the good slow farmer had time to speak, »ye'll not be carrying your hay to-morrow, I'm thinking: the glass sticks at change, and ye may rely upo' my word as we'll ha' more downfall afore twenty-four hours is past. Ye see that darkish blue cloud there upo' the 'rizon - ye know what I mean by the 'rizon, where the land and sky seems to meet?« »Ay, ay, I see the cloud,« said Mr. Poyser, »'rizon or no 'rizon. It's right o'er Mike Holdsworth's fallow, and a foul fallow it is.« »Well, you mark my words, as that cloud 'ull spread o'er the sky pretty nigh as quick as you'd spread a tarpaulin over one o' your hay-ricks. It'