air of great dignity. "Mr. Gawffaw, you must see about the wine yourself, since you have sent Tom out of the way."

Mr. Gawffaw and his handmaid were soon heard in an adjoining closet; the one wondering where the screw was, the other vociferating for a knife to cut the bread; while the mistress of this well-regulated mansion sought to divert her guests' attention from what was passing, by entertaining them with complaints of Mr. Gawffaw's noise, and her maid's insolence, till the parties appeared to speak for themselves.

After being refreshed with some very bad wine, and old baked bread, the gentlemen set off on a survey of the farm, and the ladies repaired to their toilettes. Mary's simple dress was quickly adjusted; and, upon descending, she found her uncle alone in what Mrs. Gawffaw had shown to her as the drawing-room. He guessed her curiosity to know something of her hosts; and therefore briefly informed her that Mrs. Gawffaw was the daughter of a trader in some manufacturing town, who had lived in opulence and died insolvent. During his life, his daughter had eloped with Bob Gawffaw, then a gay lieutenant in a marching regiment, who had been esteemed a very lucky fellow in getting the pretty Miss Croaker, with the prospect of ten thousand pounds. None thought more highly of her husband's good fortune than the lady herself; and though her fortune never was realised, she gave herself all the airs of having been the making of his. At this time Mr. Gawffaw was a reduced lieutenant, living upon a small paternal property, which he pretended to farm; but the habits of a military life, joined to a naturally

social disposition, were rather inimical to the pursuits of agriculture, and most of his time was spent in loitering about the village of G

where he generally contrived either to pick up a guest or procure a dinner.

Mrs. Gawffaw despised her husband; had weak nerves and headaches. was above managing her house-read novels-dyed ribbons—and altered her gowns according to every pattern she could see or hear of.

Such were Mr. and Mrs. Gawffaw-one of the many ill-assorted couples in this world-joined, not matched. A sensible man would have curbed her folly and peevishness. A good-tempered woman would have made his home comfortable, and rendered him more domestic.

The dinner was such as might have been expected from the previous specimens-bad of its kind, cold, ill-dressed, and slovenly set down; but Mrs. Gawffaw seemed satisfied with herself and it.

"This is very fine mutton, Mr. Douglas, and not underdone to most people's taste and this fowl, I have no doubt, will eat well, Miss Douglas, though it is not so white as some I have seen.

"The fowl, my dear, looks as if it had been the great-grandmother of this sheep, ha, ha, ha!".

"For heaven's sake, Mr. Gawffaw, make less noise, or my head will split in a thousand pieces! putting her hands to it, as if to hold the frail tenement together. This was always her refuge when at a loss for a reply.

A very ill-concocted pudding next called forth her approbation.

"This pudding should be good; for it is the

same I used to be so partial to in my poor father's lifetime! when I was used to every delicacy, Miss Douglas, that money could purchase."

"But you thought me the greatest delicacy of all, my dear, ha, ha, ha! for you left all your other delicacies for me, ha, ha, ha!-what do you say to that, May? ha, ha, ha!"

May's reply consisted in putting her hands to her head, with an air of inexpressible vexation; and finding all her endeavours to be elegant frustrated by the over-powering vulgarity of her husband, she remained silent during the remainder of the repast; solacing herself with complacent glances at her yellow silk gown, and adjusting the gold chains and necklaces that adorned her bosom.

Poor Mary was doomed to a tête-à-tête with her during the whole evening; for Mr. Gawffaw was too happy with his friend, and without his wife, to quit the dining-room till a late hour; and then he was so much exhilarated, that she could almost have joined Mrs. Gawffaw in her exclamation of "For heaven's sake, Mr. Gawffaw, have mercy on my head!"

The night, however, like all other nights, had a close; and Mrs. Gawffaw, having once more enjoyed the felicity of finding herself in company at twelve o'clock at night, at length withdrew: and having apologized, and hoped, and feared, for another hour in Mary's apartment, she finally left her to the blessings of solitude and repose.

As Mr. Douglas was desirous of reaching Edinburgh the following day, he had, in spite of the urgent remonstrances of his friendly host, and the elegant importunities of his lady, ordered the carriage at an early hour; and Mary was too eager

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to quit Howffend to keep it waiting. Mr. Gawffaw was in readiness to hand her in, but fortunately Mrs. Gawffaw's head did not permit of her rising. With much the same hearty laugh that had welcomed their meeting, honest Gawffaw now saluted the departure of his friend; and as he went whistling over his gate, he ruminated sweet and bitter thoughts as to the destinies of the daywhether he should solace himself with a good dinner, and the company of Bailie Merrythought, at the Cross Keys in Gor put up with cold mutton, and May, at home.

APPENDIX

MISS FERRIER'S PARENTAGE

SUSAN FERRIER's own statement on this point in a short biographical notice of her father, written for her nephew, Professor J. F. Ferrier, is as follows (Memoir of Susan Ferrier, edited by John A. Doyle, p. 11):

"Helen Coutts [her mother] was the daughter of a farmer near Montrose, and her sole endowments were virtue, beauty, and sweetness of disposition. She had come to Edinburgh to reside with an aunt, the Hon. Mrs. Maitland, the widow of a younger son of Lord Lauderdale. She had been left in poor circumstances, and lived in a small house in the Canongate, which she shared with the young couple [Miss Ferrier's parents] till their increasing family, and my father's rising situation, made it necessary he should have a house of his own."

Mr. John Ferrier, a surviving son of Professor Ferrier, expresses some doubt as to any real relationship between his great-grandmother and Mrs. Maitland, as he has failed to trace any. He writes, "This is what Mrs. Kinloch, Miss Ferrier's sister, says of her mother, in a letter dated Nov. 12, 1860, to her son: 'I send you what I can remember to have heard from my mother at different times:-that she lived with Mrs. Maitland in the apartments belonging to the Argyll family in the "Abbey," as she always called Holyrood. My idea of Mrs. Maitland, was that she had the care of the apartments in the absence of the family, who were merely in