"Vara weel," said Willy, and departed.

Next Saturday--no Willy came.

Ditto the next. Willy was waiting the _amende._

Christie forgot to make it.

One day she was passing the boats, Willy beckoned her mysteriously; he
led her to his boat, which was called "The Christie Johnstone"; by the
boat's side was a paint pot and brush.

They had not supped together for five Saturdays.

Ergo, Mr. Liston had painted out the first four letters of "Christie," he
now proceeded to paint out the fifth, giving her to understand, that, if
she allowed the whole name to go, a letter every blank Saturday, her
image would be gradually, but effectually, obliterated from the heart
Listonian.

My reader has done what Liston did not, anticipate her answer. She
recommended him, while his hand was in, to paint out the entire name,
and, with white paint and a smaller brush, to substitute some other
female appellation. So saying, she tripped off.

Mr. Liston on this was guilty of the following inconsistency; he pressed
the paint carefully out of the brush into the pot. Having thus economized
his material, he hurled the pot which contained his economy at "the
Johnstone," he then adjourned to the "Peacock," and "away at once with
love and reason."