1839-40. AN AULD HAT. 235 



away at electricity I heard the sound of a flute on the steps, 

 and thereafter the voice of an Irishman singing. I went to the 

 door to give him a penny, and found a poor, but happy-like 

 blind man, who, taking the coin as his due, accosted me, ' Och, 

 yer honor, and couldn't ye spare a bit ould hat, for mine was 

 druv off by the wind when I was playing yesterday in the 

 Kirkcaldy boat, and they wouldn't wait for me, nor for yer honor 

 naither.' Pitying the poor bare-headed man, I tried to get hold 

 of some other body's hat, and failing, gave him my own old one. 

 My four-and-sixpenny gossamer must do night as well as day- 

 work now, thanks to the blind Irishman." 



As letters in the two following months are the only sources 

 of information, we give several to his brother almost entire. 



" March 12, 1840. 



" Whether do you like best to get a letter on Saturday or 

 Monday? I like the former best, and suppose you do. It 

 seems to me to cast a pleasant shadow, when the news are good, 

 over the week's labours, to suit well with the lay-the-oar-by 

 feeling, which slowly increases through the last week-day, till 

 towards evening, or you will say towards midnight, the feeling 

 gains its maximum, and the repose of the Sunday is pleasantly 

 anticipated by a silent comforting read of a home letter. If the 

 news are bad, why then let them come on the Monday, if they 

 please ; they won't cheat us out of Sunday's peace, and pervert 

 the day of rest into a time of brooding over the incurable. 



"This letter, heralded by the preceding waste of ink and 

 paper, is neither good nor bad in its tendency, being a letter of 

 love, dictated by conviction of its being owing you, and likely 

 to contain what floats uppermost in my brain between this and 

 post time. The time I had set apart for writing you has been 

 somewhat intruded on by the young folks wishing to see some 

 electrical experiments in the dark ; and as we had puss to give 

 a shock to, the gas to set on fire, ourselves to illuminate, and all 

 to astonish, time slipped away unheeded, till the clock striking 

 made me throw down my electrical rods, and snatch up the 

 paper. 



