220 EDITOR. 



Miller's heart. ' I scarce ever/ says Mrs Miller, ' saw 

 any one get so near my husband as James Mackenzie 

 did. I often remarked that men of a certain feminine 

 cast of affection not intellect could approach him 

 more closely than others. - Mr Mackenzie had that 

 clinging affectionate nature which nestles into a home 

 wherever it finds space. He brought down to the editor 

 all the latest pieces of intelligence, accompanied always 

 with vehement comments of his own. He saved him a 

 vast deal of personal trouble, and was indeed to him as a 

 son or younger brother. Ten to one, when he had run 

 down with some piece of information, and was shouting 

 it out, our little Ha-ha, whom he loved with a most 

 intense fervour, would have climbed into his arms, wound 

 her arms round his neck, prattling her sweet words into 

 his ear, and his awful epithets would be thundered out 

 in the interval between kisses and caresses/ 



The Ha-ha here referred to was Harriet, Miller's little 

 child. ' Ha-ha, as she styled herself, was an uncommonly 

 lovely and attractive child. A fair, azure-eyed little 

 thing, with golden curls which reached to her waist. 

 Naturally refined, with great elegance of figure, she 

 glanced about the house like a sunbeam, her childish 

 voice bursting out in a continual ripple of prattle and 

 song. Song more often even than prattle for she was 

 one of those children richly gifted as children, with a cer- 

 tain genius blended with infantile graces which sometimes 

 developes with the growth, sometimes falls away like the 

 blossom of a too early spring. Such was Scott's pet 

 Marjory. Little Ha-ha, however, had one gift which I 

 have never met with in any other child. It was that of 

 natural improvisation. Every little incident, every phase 

 of feeling, was embodied in song and poetry, which she 

 would continue through a long summer's day. The 



