MONTHLY' REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 



There were three men and a very handsome girl loading an immense cart 

 of hay. We walked on, and at length this moving hay-stack overtook Us. 

 I remember it well, with a black horse in the shafts and a fine light grey one 

 in the traces. We made very slow progress ; for Naesmith would never 

 cease either sketching or stopping us to admire the scenery of nature, and 

 I remember he made a remark to me that day which I think neither he nor his 

 most ingenious son, now no more, ever attended much to ; for they have often 

 drawn most extensive vistas the truest to nature of any thing I ever saw in 

 my uncultivated judgment, which can only discern what is accordant with 

 nature by looking on nature itself: but, if a hundred years hence, the pictures 

 of the Naesmiths are not held invaluable, I am no judge of true natural 

 scenery. But I have forgot myself. The remark that he made to me was 

 this : "It is amazing how little makes a good picture ; and frequently the less 

 that is taken in the better." Some of the ladies of the family seem to have 

 improved greatly on this hint. 



But to return to my story. We made such slow progress on account of 

 Naesmith, that up came the great cart-load of hay o one side of us, with a 

 great burly Lothian peasant sitting upon the hay, lashing on his team, and 

 whistling his tune. We walked on, side by side, for a while, I think about 

 half a mile, when, all at once, a child began to cry in the middle of the cart- 

 load of hay. I declare I was cheated myself; for, though I was walking 

 alongside of Alexandre, I thought there was a child among the hay ; for it 

 cried with a kind of half smothered breath, that I am sure there never was 

 such a deception practised in this world. Peter Naesmith was leaning on the 

 cart-shaft at the time, and conversing with the driver about the beautiful girl 

 he had seen in the hay-field. But Peter was rather deaf, and, not hearing 

 the screaming of the child, looked up in astonishment, when the driver of the 

 cart began to stare around him like a man bereaved of his senses. 



" What is the meaning of this ?" said Terry. " You are smothering a 

 child among your hay." 



The poor fellow, rough and burly as was his outer man, was so much ap- 

 palled at the idea of taking infant life, that he exclaimed in a half- articulate 

 voice : " I wonder how they could fork a bairn up to me frae the meadow, 

 an' me never ken I" And without taking time to descend to loose his cart- 

 ropes, he cut them through the middle, and turned off his hay, roll after roll, 

 with the utmost expedition ; and still the child kept crying almost under his 

 hands and feet. He was even obliged to set his feet on each side of the cart 

 for fear of trampling the poor infant to death. At length, when he had 

 turned the greater part of the hay off upon the road, the child fell a-crying 

 most bitterly amongst the hay ; on which the poor fellow (his name was 

 Sandy Burnet) jumped off the cart in the greatest trepidation. " Od ! I hae 

 thrawn the poor thing ower !" exclaimed he. " I's warrant it's killed" 

 and he began to shake out the hay with the greatest caution. I and one of 

 my companions went forward to assist him. " Stand back ! stand back !" 

 cried he. " Ye'll may be tramp its life out. I'll look for't myselY' But, 

 after he had shaken out the whole of the hay, no child was to be found. 

 I never saw looks of such amazement as Sandy Burnet's then were. He 

 seemed to have lost all comprehension of every thing in this world. I was 

 obliged myself to go <xn to the brow of the hill and call on some of the hay- 

 makers to come and load the cart again. 



Mr. Scott and I stripped off our coats, and assisted ; and, as we were busy 

 loading the cart, I said to Sandy, seeing him always turning the hay over and 

 over for fear of running the fork through a child, " What can hae become 

 o' the creature, Sandy? for you must be sensible that there was a bairn 

 among this hay/' 



" The Lord kens, sir," said Sandy. 



M. M. No. 96. 4 X 



