FullReads

Love-locks,–locks (of hair) to set off the beauty; the
loveliness.

A. S. Luf-ian; D. Lie-ven; Ger. -ben, amare, diligere. Wach. derives from lieb, bonum, because every one desires that which is good: lieb, it is more probable, is from lieb-en, grateful, and therefore good. It may at least admit a conjecture that A. S. Lufian, to love, has a reason for its application similar to that of L. Di-ligere (legere, to gather), to take up or out (of a number), to choose, sc. one in preference to another, to prefer; and that it is formed upon A. S. Hlif-ian, to lift or take up, to pick up, to select, to prefer, Be- Over- Un-

Uncle impatiently.–“Stuff; ‘grateful!’ ‘pick up! stuff! These word-mongers know nothing about it. Live, love; that is it, the perfect of live.”[1]

[Footnote 1: They are strange beings, these lexicographers. Richardson, for instance, under the word SNAIL, gives this quotation from Beaumont and Fletcher’s Wit at Several Weapons,–

“Oh, Master Pompey! how is ‘t, man?

Clown–SNAILS, I’m almost starved with love
and cold, and one thing or other.”

Any one else knows of course that it is “‘s nails”–the contraction of the old oath or interjection–God’s nails.]

After this, Uncle sent the cousins to their beds.

Mary’s mother was in hers, never to rise from it again. She was a widow, and Mary was her husband’s niece. The house quiet, Uncle sat down in his chair, put his feet on the fender, and watched the dying fire; it had a rich central glow, but no flame, and no smoke, it was flashing up fitfully, and bit by bit falling in. He fell asleep watching it, and when he slept, he dreamed. He was young; he was seventeen; he was prowling about the head of North St. David Street, keeping his eye on a certain door,–we call them common stairs in Scotland. He was waiting for Mr. White’s famous English class for girls coming out. Presently out rushed four or five girls, wild and laughing; then came one, bounding like a roe:

“Such eyes were in her head,
And so much grace and power!”

She was surrounded by the rest, and away they went laughing, she making them always laugh the more. Seventeen followed at a safe distance, studying her small, firm, downright heel. The girls dropped off one by one, and she was away home by herself, swift and reserved. He, imposter as he was, disappeared through Jamaica Street, to reappear and meet her, walking as if on urgent business, and getting a cordial and careless nod. This beautiful girl of thirteen was afterwards the mother of our Mary, and died in giving her birth. She was Uncle Oldbuck’s first and only sweetheart; and here was he, the only help our young Horne Tooke, and his mother and Mary had. Uncle awoke, the fire dead, and the room cold. He found himself repeating Lady John Scott’s lines–

“When thou art near me,
Sorrow seems to fly,
And then I think, as well I may,
That on this earth there is no one
More blest than I.

But when thou leav’st me,
Doubts and fears arise,
And darkness reigns,
Where all before was light.
The sunshine of my soul
Is in those eyes,
And when they leave me
All the world is night.

But when thou art near me,
Sorrow seems to fly,
And then I feel, as well I may,
That on this earth there dwells not one
So blest as I.”[2]

[Footnote 2: Can the gifted author of these lines and of their music not be prevailed on to give them and others to the world, as well as to her friends?]

Then taking down Chambers’s Scottish Songs, he read aloud:–