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eyed Amherst and his friend." I was "I only gi'en her a wee bit o' an advice, an' ye ken it's weel my pairt, for as she's under my roof, I maun see that she behaves hersel, poor thing!An' she's a decent lassie eneugh, after a's said. -Waes me! I hae nae dochter noo to gi'e motherly advices till! and when I had ane, gude kens, my words were but o' littlè profit—wha kens whare poor Eppy's wandering? or wha kens"

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But here Macgillivray, who perceived she had got hold of the thread of her endless theme, interrupted her, by introducing the two English gentlemen.

"Proud am I, Maister Macgillivray," said she, crossing her arms, gridiron and all, and dropping a low curtsey, "to see siccan braw gallant gentlemen in my house. I've ay been unco fond o' the Inglishers ever sin' Captain Clutterbuck lodged wi' me. He was a braw paymaster; an' mony was the braw bonny die he gied to poor Eppy. But she's awa' noo, Heaven kens whare.-I never sall forget the night"

Here, again, Macgillivray broke in upon her

favourite topic, by asking if Sir Alisander Sanderson was still with the party?

"Ou, ay, troth is he, worthy man; he's ower gude natured to gang awa' and leave the honest folk. But stap this way, gentlemen,

stap this way, stap yere ways ben."

So saying, she proceeded to open the door of the inner chamber, into which Macgillivray led

the way.

This apartment was of the same size as that through which they had just passed, and its fire-place, though somewhat less than the other, was of similar construction, and was filled with a blazing fire of bog-fir and peats. The walls though of sod, had been plastered inside with clay, and covered with white wash, still adhering in most places, though it had peeled off in many large patches. The rafters were partly covered with split planks, and partly, as in the other, with old sails. The whole of this patched ceiling was festooned with a perfect drapery of cobwebs and sooty filaments, drooping from every part of it. The ornaments were the sad remains of a cracked mirror, in a tarnished old carved-and-gilt frame, and a few prints, long

ago rendered unintelligible by the effects of damp. A long table formed of boards, supported upon trestles, extended down the length of the room, its surface being thickly set with stoups, or wooden drinking vessels, of a tall form, constructed of staves and hoops. Opposite to that end of it, farthest from the fire, stood an elevated gantrees, or wooden support for a cask, on which was poised a huge hogshead of claret, reared higher than the level of the table, and having a cock and pail, that is to say, a wooden tube and plug inserted into it. The vicinity of the cask bore all the appearance of frequent applications having been made to its spiggot, and that, too, by no very steady hands, for the clay floor was moistened by frequent libations, and some of the hollows, in the inequality of its surface, stood in pools of the generous fluid.

In an old carved oak chair, ornamented with huge knobs, at the head of the table, near the cask, sat Sir Alisander Sanderson, of whom Macgillivray had spoken, a fat, ruddy, good-humoured gentleman-like person about forty, with a benevolent expression of countenance. Being

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naturally indolent, and, moreover, a confirmed hypochondriac, he hardly ever left his own fireside from one year's end to the other. To accommodate his valetudinarian whims about cold, the company subjected themselves to the risk of being melted by a tremendous fire, in addition to the naturally oppressive heat of so crowded a place. But the good gentleman was so universal a favourite, that every inconvenience was cheerfully submitted to, rather than lose the gratification of having Sir Alisander to preside over their revels. Such was the Baronet's apprehension of cold, and sifting airs, that, notwithstanding the quantum of culinary heat he was now exposed to, he sat with his great-coat on, a large flannel roller round his neck, and a red night-cap on his head, surmounted by his small gold laced cocked hat.

Next to Sir Alisander sat his shadow, Julius Cæsar Macflae, a spare figure in black velvet breeches, whose tout ensemble bore a strong resemblance to those memento moris who walk before funeral processions, known in Scotland by the name of saulies. His long thin neck, bound tight by a narrow white stock and buckle, show

ed over his collarless coat like the shank of a mushroom. His head was thinly sprinkled with straggling hairs, with great difficulty collected from different quarters into a tiny pig-tail behind, so as to leave two chevaux de frise of bristles, rising on each side over his ears, which were so large as to resemble the orifices of two vast conchs. A toupee in front had once existed, but had long since disappeared, leaving his brow to exhibit all the effects of a West Indian sun, shaded gradually off into the polished yellow of his bald pate. His mouth was of size corresponding to that of his ears, but the smelling organ was so little developed, that it was hardly more prominent than the nose of an old-fashioned barber's block, its site being only ascertained by the appearance of two black perforations resembling nostrils. His eyebrows projected remarkably, and were so very bushy, that they seemed to have monopolized all the hair that should have adorned his head. They almost covered his eyes, which, when narrowly inspected, were of that greenish, watery, mis-shapen appearance, presented by a bursten gooseberry after rain. Notwithstanding the sounding names

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