months of their residence on the estate, easily accounted for it, without charging Meg with a more heinous crime. It was observed upon her examination, that she treated the questions respecting the death of Kennedy, or "the gauger," as she called him, with indifference; but expressed great and emphatic scorn and indignation at being supposed capable of injuring little Harry Bertram. She was long confined in jail, under the hope that something might yet be discovered to throw light upon this dark and bloody transaction. Nothing, however, occurred; and Meg was at length liberated, but under sentence of banishment from the county as a vagrant, common thief, and disorderly person. No traces of the boy could ever be discovered; and, at length, the story, after making much noise, was gradually given up as altogether inexplicable, and only perpetuated by the name of "The Gauger's Loup," which was generally bestowed on the cliff from which the unfortunate man had fallen, or been precipitated. OUR narration is now about to make a large stride, and omit a space of nearly seventeen years; during which nothing occurred of any particular consequence with respect to the story we have undertaken to tell. The gap is a wide one; yet if the reader's experience in life enables him to look back on so many years, the space will scarce appear longer in his recollection than the time consumed in turning these pages. It was, then, in the month of November, about seventeen years after the catastrophe related in the last chapter, that, during a cold and stormy night, a social group had closed round the kitchen-fire of the Gordon Arms at Kippletringan, a small but comfortable inn, kept by Mrs Mac-Candlish in that village. The conversation which passed among them will save me the trouble of telling the few events occurring during this chasm in our history, with which it is necessary that the reader should be acquainted. Mrs Mac-Candlish, throned in a comfortable easy chair lined with black leather, was regaling herself, and a neighbouring gossip or two, with a cup of genuine tea, and at the same time keeping a sharp eye upon her domestics, as they went and came in prosecution of their various duties and commissions. The clerk and precentor of the parish enjoyed at a little distance his Saturday night's pipe, and aided its bland fumigation by an occasional sip of brandy and water. Deacon Bearcliff, a man of great importance in the village, combined the indulgence of both parties-he had his pipe and his tea-cup, the latter being laced with a little spirits. One or two clowns sat at some distance, drinking their twopenny ale. "Are ye sure the parlour's ready for them, and the fire burning clear, and the chimney no smoking!" said the hostess to a ehambermaid. She was answered in the affirmative.-" Ane wadna be uncivil to them, especially in their distress," said she, turning to the Deacon. "Assuredly not, Mrs Mac-Candlish; assuredly not. I am sure ony sma' thing they might want frae my shop, under seven, or eight, or ten pounds, I would book them as readily for it as the first in the country.-Do they come in the auld chaise?" "I dare say no," said the precentor; " for Miss Bertram comes on the white powny ilka day to the kirk and a constant kirk-keeper she is-and it's a pleasure to hear her singing the psalms, winsome young thing." "Ay, and the young Laird of Hazlewood rides hame half the road wi' her after sermon,” said one of the gossips in company: "I wonder how auld Hazlewood likes that." "I kenna how he may like it now," answered another of the tea-drinkers; " but the day has been when Ellangowan wad hae liked as little to see his daughter taking up with their son." "Ay, has been," answered the first, with somewhat of emphasis. "I am sure, neighbour Ovens," said the hostess, "the Hazlewoods of Hazlewood, though they are a very gude auld family in the county, never thought, till within these twa score o' years, of evening themselves till the Ellangowans-Wow, woman, the Bertrams of Ellangowan are the auld Dingawaies lang syne-there is a sang about ane o' them marrying a daughter of the King of Man; it begins, Blythe Bertram's ta'en him ower the faem, I daur say Mr Skreigh can sing us the ballant." "Hout fie, Mr Skreigh; I'se warrant I hae heard you sing a blythe sang on Saturday at e'en before now. But as for the chaise, Deacon, it hasna been out of the coach-house since Mrs Bertram died, that's sixteen or seventeen years sin syne-Jock Jabos is away wi' a chaise of mine for them;-I wonder he's no come back. It's pit mirk-but there's no an ill turn on the road but twa, and the brigg ower Warroch burn is safe eneugh, if he haud to the right side. But then there's Heavieside-brae, that's just a murder for post-cattle-but Jock kens the road brawly." A loud rapping was heard at the door. "That's no them. I didna hear the wheels. Grizzel, ye limmer, gang to the door." "It's a single gentleman," whined out Grizzel; maun I take him into the parlour?" 66 "Foul be in your feet, then; it'll be some English rider. Coming without a servant at this time o' night!-Has the ostler ta'en the horse?-Ye may light a spunk o' fire in the red room.” "I wish, ma'am," said the traveller, entering the kitchen, "you would give me leave to warm myself here, for the night is very cold." His appearance, voice, and manner, produced an instantaneous effect in his favour. He was a handsome, tall, thin figure, dressed in black, as appeared when he laid aside his riding-coat; his age might be between forty and fifty; his cast of features grave and interesting, and his air somewhat mili To every guest the appropriate speech was made, And every duty with distinction paid; Respectful, easy, pleasant, or polite"Your honour's servant!- Mister Smith, good-night." On the present occasion, she was low in her curtsey, and profuse in her apologies. The stranger begged his horse might be attended to-she went out herself to school the hostler. "There was never a prettier bit o' horse-flesh in the stable o' the Gordon Arms," said the man ; which information increased the landlady's respect for the rider. Finding, on her return, that the stranger declined to go into another apartment (which indeed, she allowed, would be but cold and smoky till the fire bleezed up), she installed her guest hospitably by the fire-side, and offered what refreshment her house afforded. "A cup of your tea, ma'am, if you will favour me." Mrs Mac-Candlish bustled about, reinforced her teapot with hyson, and proceeded in her duties with her best grace. "We have a very nice parlour, sir, and everything very agreeable for gentlefolks; but it's bespoke the-night for a gentleman and his daughter, that are going to leave this part of the country-ane of my chaises is gane for them, and will be back forthwith. They're no sae weel in the warld as they have been; but we're a' subject to ups and downs in this life, as your honour must needs ken--but is not the tobacco-reek disagreeable to your honour?" "By no means, ma'am; I am an old campaigner, and perfectly used to it.-Will you permit me to make some inquiries about a family in this neighbourhood?" The sound of wheels was now heard, and the landlady hurried to the door to receive her expected guests; but returned in an instant, followed by the postilion-" No, they canna come at no rate, the Laird's sae ill." "But God help them!" said the landlady, "the morn's the term-the very last day they can bide in the house-a'thing's to be roupit." "Weel, but they can come at no rate, I tell ye -Mr Bertram canna be moved." "What Mr Bertram?" said the stranger; Mr Bertram of Ellangowan, I hope?" "not "Just e'en that same, sir; and if ye be a friend o' his, ye have come at a time when he's sair bested." "I have been abroad for many years;-is his health so much deranged?" 66 male, they couldna sell the estate for auld Ellangowan's debt." "He had a son born a good many years ago," said the stranger; "he is dead, I suppose?" "Nae man can say for that," answered the clerk, mysteriously. "Dead!" said the Deacon, "I'se warrant him twenty years or thereby." dead lang syne; he hasna been heard o' these "I wot weel it's no twenty years," said the landlady; "it's no abune seventeen at the outside in this very month; it made an unco noise ower a' this country-the bairn disappeared the very day that Supervisor Kennedy cam by his end.—If ye kenn'd this country lang syne, your honour wad maybe ken Frank Kennedy the Supervisor. He was a heartsome pleasant man, and company for the best gentlemen in the county, and muckle mirth he's made in this house. I was young then, sir, and newly married to Bailie Mac-Candlish, that's dead and gone-(a sigh)—and muckle fun I've had wi' the Supervisor. He was a daft dog-0, an he could hae hauden aff the smugglers a bit! but he was aye venturesome. And so ye see, sir, there was a king's sloop down in Wigton bay, and Frank Kennedy, he behoved to have her up to chase Dirk Hatteraick's lugger-ye'll mind Dirk Hatteraick, Deacon? I dare say ye may have dealt wi' him-(the Deacon gave a sort of acquiescent nod and humph.) He was a daring chield, and he fought his ship till she blew up like peelings of ingans; and Frank Kennedy he had been the first man to board, and he was flung like a quarter of a mile off, and fell into the water below the rock at Warroch Point, that they ca' the Gauger's Loup to this day." "And Mr Bertram's child," said the stranger, "what is all this to him?" "Ou, sir, the bairn aye held an unca wark wi' the Supervisor; and it was generally thought he went on board the vessel alang wi' him, as bairns are aye forward to be in mischief." No, no," said the Deacon, "ye're clean out there, Luckie-for the young Laird was stown away by a randy gipsy woman they ca'd Meg Merrilies,-I mind her looks weel,-in revenge for Ellangowan having gar'd her be drumm'd through Kippletringan for stealing a silver spoon." "If ye'll forgie me, Deacon," said the precentor, "ye're e'en as far wrang as the gudewife." "And what is your edition of the story, sir?" said the stranger, turning to him with interest. "That's maybe no sae canny to tell," said the precentor, with solemnity. Upon being urged, however, to speak out, he preluded with two or three large puffs of tobaccosmoke, and out of the cloudy sanctuary which these whiffs formed around him, delivered the following legend, having cleared his voice with one or two hems, and imitating, as near as he could, the elo Ay, and his affairs an' a'," said the Deacon; "the creditors have entered into possession o' the estate, and it's for sale; and some that made the maist by him-I name nae names, but Mrs Mac-quence which weekly thundered over his head from Candlish kens wha I mean"-(the landlady shook her head significantly)—" they're sairest on him e'en now. I have a sma' matter due mysell, but I would rather have lost it than gane to turn the auld man out of his house, and him just dying.” Ay, but," said the parish-clerk," Factor Glossin wants to get rid of the auld Laird, and drive on the sale, for fear the heir-male should cast up upon them; for I have heard say, if there was an heir the pulpit. "What we are now to deliver, my brethren,hem-hem,-I mean, my good friends,—was not done in a corner, and may serve as an answer to witch-advocates, atheists, and misbelievers of all kinds. Ye must know that the worshipful Laird of Ellangowan was not so preceese as he might have been in clearing his land of witches (concerning whom it is said, Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,') nor of those who had familiar spirits, and consulted with divination, and sorcery, and lots, which is the fashion with the Egyptians, as they ca' themsells, and other unhappy bodies, in this our country. And the Laird was three years married without having a family-and he was sae left to himsell, that it was thought he held ower muckle troking and communing wi' that Meg Merrilies, wha was the maist notorious witch in a' Galloway and Dumfries-shire baith." "Aweel I wot there's something in that," said Mrs Mac-Candlish; "I've kenn'd him order her twa glasses o' brandy in this very house." "Aweel, gudewife, then the less I lee.-Sae the lady was wi' bairn at last, and in the night when she should have been delivered, there comes to the door of the ha' house-the Place of Ellangowan as they ca'd—an ancient man, strangely habited, and asked for quarters. His head, and his legs, and his arms were bare, although it was winter time o' the year, and he had a grey beard three quarters lang. Weel, he was admitted; and when the lady was delivered, he craved to know the very moment of the hour of the birth, and he went out and consulted the stars. And when he came back, he tell'd the Laird, that the Evil One wad have power over the knave-bairn that was that night born, and he charged him that the babe should be bred up in the ways of piety, and that he should aye hae a godly minister at his elbow, to pray wi' the bairn and for him. And the aged man vanished away, and no man of this country ever saw mair o' him." "Now, that will not pass," said the postilion, who, at a respectful distance, was listening to the conversation, "begging Mr Skreigh's and the company's pardon,-there was no sae mony hairs on the warlock's face as there's on Letter-Gae's1 ain at this moment; and he had as gude a pair o' boots as a man need streik on his legs, and gloves too; --and I should understand boots by this time, I think." "Whisht, Jock," said the landlady. 66 Ay? and what do ye ken o' the matter, friend Jabos?" said the precentor, contemptuously. friends, that this soothsayer having prognosticated evil to the boy, his father engaged a godly minister to be with him morn and night." "Ay, that was him they ca'd Dominie Sampson," said the postilion. 66 "He's but a dumb dog that," observed the Deacon; I have heard that he never could preach five words of a sermon endlang, for as lang as he has been licensed." "Weel, but," said the precentor, waving his hand, as if eager to retrieve the command of the discourse," he waited on the young Laird by night and day. Now it chanced, when the bairn was near five years auld, that the Laird had a sight of his errors, and determined to put these Egyptians aff his ground; and he caused them to remove; and that Frank Kennedy, that was a rough swearing fellow, he was sent to turn them off. And he cursed and damned at them, and they swure at him; and that Meg Merrilies, that was the maist powerfu' with the Enemy of Mankind, she as gude as said she would have him, body and soul, before three days were ower his head. And I have it from a sure hand, and that's ane wha saw it, and that's John Wilson that was the Laird's groom, that Meg appeared to the Laird as he was riding hame from Singleside, over Gibbie's-know, and threatened him wi' what she wad do to his family; but whether it was Meg, or something waur in her likeness, for it seemed bigger than ony mortal creature, John could not say." Aweel," said the postilion, "it might be saeI canna say against it, for I was not in the country at the time; but John Wilson was a blustering kind of chield, without the heart of a sprug." "And what was the end of all this?" said the stranger, with some impatience. Ou, the event and upshot of it was, sir," said the precentor, "that while they were all looking on, beholding a king's ship chase a smuggler, this Kennedy suddenly brake away frae them without ony reason that could be descried-ropes nor tows wad not hae held him—and made for the wood of Warroch as fast as his beast could carry him; and "No muckle, to be sure, Mr Skriegh-only that by the way he met the young Laird and his goverI lived within a penny-stane cast o' the head o' the nor, and he snatched up the bairn, and swure, if avenue at Ellangowan, when a man cam jingling he was bewitched, the bairn should have the same to our door that night the young Laird was born, luck as him; and the minister followed as fast as and my mother sent me, that was a hafflin callant, he could, and almaist as fast as them, for he was to show the stranger the gate to the Place, which, wonderfully swift of foot-and he saw Meg the if he had been sic a warlock, he might hae kenn'd witch, or her master in her similitude, rise suddenly himsell, ane wad think—and he was a young, weel-out of the ground, and claught the bairn suddenly faured, weel-dressed lad, like an Englishman. And I tell ye he had as gude a hat, and boots, and gloves, as ony gentleman need to have. To be sure he did gie an awsome glance up at the auld castle --and there was some spae-wark gaed onheard that; but as for his vanishing, I held the stirrup mysell when he gaed away, and he gied me a round half-crown-he was riding on a haick they Ad Souple Sam-it belanged to the George at Dumfries-it was a blood-bay beast, very ill o' the spavin-I hae seen the beast baith before and since." -I aye "Aweel, aweel, Jock," answered Mr Skreigh, with a tone of mild solemnity, "our accounts differ in no material particulars; but I had no knowledge that ye had seen the man.-So ye see, my The precentor is called by Allan Ramsay,"The Letter-Gae of haly rhyme." out of the gauger's arms-and then he rampauged and drew his sword-for ye ken a fie man and a cusser fearsna the deil." "I believe that's very true," said the postilion. "So, sir, she grippit him, and clodded him like a stane from the sling ower the craigs of Warrochhead, where he was found that evening-but what became of the babe, frankly I cannot say. But he that was minister here then, that's now in a better place, had an opinion that the bairn was only conveyed to Fairy-land for a season." The stranger had smiled slightly at some parts of this recital, but ere he could answer, the clatter of a horse's hoofs was heard, and a smart servant, handsomely dressed, with a cockade in his hat, bustled into the kitchen, with "Make a little room, good people;" when, observing the stranger, he descended at once into the modest and civil domestic, h's hat sunk down by his side, and he put a letter into his master's hands. "The family at Ellangowan, sir, are in great distress, and unable to receive any visits." "I know it," replied his master." And now, madam, if you will have the goodness to allow me to occupy the parlour you mentioned, as you are disappointed of your guests". "Certainly, sir," said Mrs Mac-Candlish, and hastened to light the way with all the imperative bustle which an active landlady loves to display on such occasions. "Young man," said the Deacon to the servant, filling a glass, "ye'll no be the waur o' this, after your ride." "Not a feather, sir,- thank ye-your very good health, sir." "And wha may your master be, friend?" "What, the gentleman that was here!-that's the famous Colonel Mannering, sir, from the East Indies." "What, him we read of in the newspapers?" Ay, ay, just the same. It was he relieved Cuddieburn, and defended Chingalore, and defeated the great Mahratta chief, Ram Jolli Bundleman-I was with him in most of his campaigns." "Lord safe us," said the landlady, "I must go see what he would have for supper-that I should set him down here!" "O, he likes that all the better, mother;-you never saw a plainer creature in your life than our old Colonel; and yet he has a spice of the devil in him too." The rest of the evening's conversation below stairs tending little to edification, we shall, with the reader's leave, step up to the parlour. moment. "I think," he said, "madam, if I understood the good people right, Mr Bertram lost his son in his fifth year?" "O ay, sir, there's nae doubt o' that, though there are mony idle clashes about the way and manner; for it's an auld story now, and everybody tells it, as we were doing, their ain way by the ingleside. But lost the bairn was in his fifth year, as your honour says, Colonel; and the news being rashly tell'd to the leddy, then great with child, cost her her life that samyn night-and the Laird never throve after that day, but was just careless of every thing-though, when his daughter Miss Lucy grew up, she tried to keep order within doors--but what could she do, poor thing?-so now they're out of house and hauld." "Can you recollect, madam, about what time of the year the child was lost?" The landlady, after a pause, and some recollection, answered, "she was positive it was about this season ;" and added some local recollections that fixed the date in her memory, as occurring about the beginning of November, 17-. The stranger took two or three turns round the room in silence, but signed to Mrs Mac-Candlish not to leave it. "Did I rightly apprehend," he said, "that the estate of Ellangowan is in the market?" "In the market?-it will be sell'd the morn to the highest bidder-that's no the morn, Lord help me! which is the Sabbath, but on Monday, the first free day; and the furniture and stocking is to be roupit at the same time on the ground. It's the opinion of the haill country, that the sale has been shamefully forced on at this time, when there's sae little money stirring in Scotland wi' this weary American war, that somebody may get the land a bargain-Deil be in them, that I should say sae!" -the good lady's wrath rising at the supposed injustice. "And where will the sale take place?" "On the premises, as the advertisement saysthat's at the house of Ellangowan, your honour, as I understand it." "And who exhibits the title-deeds, rent-roll, and plan?" "A very decent man, sir; the sheriff-substitute of the county, who has authority from the Court of Session. He's in the town just now, if your honour would like to see him; and he can tell you mair about the loss of the bairn than onybody, for the sheriff-depute (that's his principal, like) took much pains to come at the truth o' that matter, as I have heard." "And this gentleman's name is". "Mac-Morlan, sir,- he's a man o' character, and weel spoken o'." "Send my compliments-Colonel Mannering's compliments to him, and I would be glad he would do me the pleasure of supping with me, and bring these papers with him-and I beg, good madam, you will say nothing of this to any one else." "Me, sir? ne'er a word shall I say-I wish your honour (a curtsey), or ony honourable gentleman that's fought for his country (another curtsey), had the land, since the auld family maun quit (a sigh), rather than that wily scoundrel, Glossin, that's risen on the ruin of the best friend he ever had--and now I think on't, I'll slip on my hood and pattens, and gang to Mr Mac-Morlan mysell-he's at hame e'en now-it's hardly a step." "Do so, my good landlady, and many thanksand bid my servant step here with my portfolio in the meantime." In a minute or two, Colonel Mannering was quietly seated with his writing materials before him. We have the privilege of looking over his shoulder as he writes, and we willingly communicate its substance to our readers. The letter was addressed to Arthur Mervyn, Esq. of Mervyn-Hall, Llanbraithwaite, Westmoreland. It contained some account of the writer's previous journey since parting with him, and then proceeded as follows: "And now, why will you still upbraid me with my melancholy, Mervyn?-Do you think, after the lapse of twenty-five years, battles, wounds, impri sonment, misfortunes of every description, I can be still the same lively, unbroken Guy Mannering, who climbed Skiddaw with you, or shot grouse upon Crossfell? That you, who have remained in the bosom of domestic happiness, experience little change, that your step is as light, and your fancy as full of sunshine, is a blessed effect of health and temperament, co-operating with content, and a smooth current down the course of life. But my career has been one of difficulties, and doubts, and errors. From my infancy I have been the sport of accident, and though the wind has often borne me into harbour, it has seldom been into that which the pilot destined. Let me recall to you-but the task must be brief- the odd and wayward fates of my youth, and the misfortunes of my manhood. "The former, you will say, had nothing very appalling. All was not for the best; but all was tolerable. My father, the eldest son of an ancient but reduced family, left me with little, save the name of the head of the house, to the protection of his more fortunate brothers. They were so fond of me that they almost quarrelled about me. My uncle, the bishop, would have had me in orders, and offered me a living-my uncle, the merchant, would have put me into a counting-house, and proposed to give me a share in the thriving concern of Mannering and Marshall, in Lombard Street-So, between these two stools, or rather these two soft, easy, well-stuffed chairs of divinity and commerce, my unfortunate person slipped down, and pitched upon a dragoon saddle. Again, the bishop wished me to marry the niece and heiress of the Dean of Lincoln; and my uncle, the alderman, proposed to me the only daughter of old Sloethorn, the great wine-merchant, rich enough to play at span-counter with moidores, and make thread-papers of bank notes-and somehow I slipped my neck out of both nooses, and married - poor-poor Sophia Wellwood. "You will say, my military career in India, when I followed my regiment there, should have given me some satisfaction; and so it assuredly has. You will remind me also, that if I disappointed the hopes of my guardians, I did not incur their displeasure; that the bishop, at his death, bequeathed me his blessing, his manuscript sermons, and a curious portfolio, containing the heads of eminent divines of the church of England; and that my uncle, Sir Paul Mannering, left me sole heir and executor to his large fortune. Yet this availeth me nothing: I told you I had that upon my mind which I should carry to my grave with me-a perpetual aloes in the draught of existence. I will tell you the cause more in detail than I had the heart to do while under your hospitable roof. You will often hear it mentioned, and perhaps with different and unfounded circumstances. I will therefore speak it out; and then let the event itself, and the sentiments of melancholy with which it has impressed me, never again be subject of discussion between us. "Sophia, as you well know, followed me to India. She was as innocent as gay; but, unfortunately for us both, as gay as innocent. My own manners were partly formed by studies I had forsaken, and habits of seclusion, not quite consistent with my situation as commandant of a regiment in a country where universal hospitality is offered and expected by every settler claiming the rank of a gentleman. In a moment of peculiar pressure (you know how hard racter. we were sometimes run to obtain white faces to countenance our line-of-battle), a young man, named Brown, joined our regiment as a volunteer,-and finding the military duty more to his fancy than commerce, in which he had been engaged, remained with us as a cadet. Let me do my unhappy victim justice-he behaved with such gallantry on every occasion that offered, that the first vacant commission was considered as his due. I was absent for some weeks upon a distant expedition; when I returned, I found this young fellow established quite as the friend of the house, and habitual attendant of my wife and daughter. It was an arrangement which displeased me in many particulars, though no objection could be made to his manners or chaYet I might have been reconciled to his familiarity in my family, but for the suggestions of another. If you read over what I never dare open - the play of Othello, you will have some idea of what followed- I mean, of my motives: my actions, thank God! were less reprehensible. There was another cadet ambitious of the vacant situation. He called my attention to what he led me to term coquetry between my wife and this young man Sophia was virtuous, but proud of her virtue; and, irritated by my jealousy, she was so imprudent as to press and encourage an intimacy which she saw I disapproved and regarded with suspicion. Between Brown and me there existed a sort of internal dislike. He made an effort or two to overcome my prejudice; but, prepossessed as was, I placed them to a wrong motive. Feeling himself repulsed, and with scorn, he desisted; and as he was without family and friends, he was naturally more watchful of the deportment of one who had both. -- "It is odd with what torture I write this letter. I feel inclined, nevertheless, to protract the operation, just as if my doing so could put off the catastrophe which has so long embittered my life. But it must be told, and it shall be told briefly. "My wife, though no longer young, was still eminently handsome, and-let me say thus far in my own justification-she was fond of being thought So- -I am repeating what I said before-In a word, of her virtue I never entertained a doubt; but, pushed by the artful suggestions of Archer, I thought she cared little for my peace of mind, and that the young fellow, Brown, paid his attentions in my despite, and in defiance of me. He perhaps considered me, on his part, as an oppressive aristocratic man, who made my rank in society, and in the army, the means of galling those whom circumstances placed beneath me. And if he discovered my silly jealousy, he probably considered the fretting me in that sore point of my character, as one means of avenging the petty indignities to which I had it in my power to subject him. Yet an acute friend of mine gave a more harmless, or at least a less offensive, construction to his attentions, which he conceived to be meant for my daughter Julia, though immediately addressed to propitiate the influence of her mother. This could have been no very flattering or pleasing enterprise on the part of an obscure and nameless young man; but I should not have been offended at this folly, as I was at the higher degree of presumption I suspected. Offended, however, I was, and in a mortal degree. "A very slight spark will kindle a flame where everything lies open to catch it. I have absolutely forgot the proximate cause of quarrel, but it was |