partly in the hope that a second glance might correct the errour into which he had fallen with regard to my character and business. Of this, however, there seemed little prospect. He appeared utherly insensible of my presence, and I at length determined to make myself known to him without further delay. "Sir, you mistake. I "What the deevil, sir, are you there yet?" exclaimed the old gentleman, his eye kindling with passion-"I mistake, do I? Baldy Mucklehose will find, however, the mistake lies wi' him, if he thinks the Glasgow underwriters are to accept a total loss, for what, at Lloyd's, is considered only a case o' salvage." "Permit me, sir, to inform you- 99 "No, sir, I want none of your information. You can inform me of nothing in the business, that I do not know better than either yourself or your employer. So, be good enough to stop your thrapple, and steek the door ahint you. I've other use for my time than to stand argolbargoling wi' you." So saying, he again commenced writing, and I could scarce refrain from laughing at the ridiculous position in which I was placed. Perceiving all the difficulties which opposed themselves to a verbal explanation, I determined to bring about an eclaircissement by the delivery of my mother's letter. He received it in silence, and, having glanced over its contents, hastily arose and advanced towards me, extended a huge hard and bony hand, and, grasping mine, administered a shake, which, in the length of its duration, and the vehemence of its pressure, gave evidence of a cordial welcome. "Ye're welcome to Glasgow, Mr. Cyril-I'm happy, very happy, to see you. Ye've grown a braw big callant since I saw you last, that's now ten years past at Martinmas; but you'll no mind me, for you was then just a wee bitt toddlin' thing, wi' great red cheeks, and twa wee shining een glaikin' out ower them. To an old man like me, Mr. Cyril, ten years are no just sae lang as they are to you; and it seems almost like yesterday that I dandled you on my knee. But I maunna forget to speir after your lady mother; I hope she's keeping stout, and no suffering mair than we maun a' expect to do as we advance in years." The old gentleman still kept my hand pressed in his while he uttered this kind and voluble address, yet it was done with the same unbending rigidity of feature, which had struck me on my first entering the apartment. His face had apparently been modelled into one expression, by the unvaried and habitual action through life of one dominant feeling and excitement, till it had lost the power of change, and, like sculptured stone, the look once impressed on it was to be for ever ineffaceable. But though. my grim visaged uncle possessed not the power of smoothing his wrinkled front, or of relaxing at will the hard contraction of his facial muscles, still there might be discovered, in the milder and more softened expression of his eye, indication of warm and kindly feeling. It required some time to answer all his inquiries with respect to my family, but having done so, he proceeded. "So ye've come down here to be a colleeginer. It's a lang gait to gang for learning. But after a', I am no sure that you could ha'e done better. Our Colleges here are no bund down like yours in the south by a wheen auld and fizzionless rules, and we dinna say to ilka student, either bring three hundred pounds in your pouch, or gang about your business. We dinna lock the door o' learning, as they do at Oxford, and Cambridge, and shut out a' that canna bring a gouden key in their hand, but keep it on the sneck, that onybody that likes may open it. But where are ye gaun to bide ?" "With Professor R, at the College." "Weel, from all I ken myself or have heard tell o' him, he's a douce and discreet person; and your father hasna chosen amiss. It's no very often that we forgather, but he's a weel faurt and pleesant man, without muckle o' the Dominie aboot him; at ony rate, he's far afore that heavy tike, Professor wha's little better than a haveril, and has stocked his mind so extraordinar weel wi' science and philosophy, that he has no room left in't for common sense. And there's Principal I never heard a screed o' a sermon frae him that was worth a button, and he's nae mair fit to haud the candle to Dr. Balfour or Dr. Porteous Here our colloquy was interrupted by the entrance of a person with a face full of business, who, pulling out of a huge coat-pocket several samples of cotton and tobacco, began a conversation in which I could be expected to take neither interest nor participation. Mr. Spreull took advantage of the first pause in the dialogue to turn to me, and said, "It's no often, God knows, that I meet friends, no to say relations, and it would be a slighting o' his mercies no to be kind to them when I do sae; but you're auld enough to ken, Mr. Cyril, that business must be attended to. So I'll let you gang now, gin you'll promise to tak pat-luck wi' me the day. You'll get poor fare, but if I hae got a right inkling o' your heart, blood's thicker there than water, and you'll put up for one day with a bad dinner and an auld man's cracks." Though this invitation, like many other passages of the preceding conversation, was at that time by no means superfluously intelligible, yet I contrived to pick up the drift of it, and answered by a ready acceptance. I then took my departure, having arranged that I should call on my uncle at his place of business precisely at a quarter to four o'clock, and accompany him to his house. CHAPTER VI. He was not taken well; he had not dined: To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd Coriolanus. Can he tell Qu. Troth, he uses his uncle discourteously now. what I may do for him? He knows my humour: I am not so usually good; 'tis no small thing that draws kindness from me ; he may know that an he will. A Trick to catch the Old One. BEFORE returning to the College, I determined to gratify my curiosity by seeing something of the Lions of Glasgow; and, committing my footsteps to chance, I wandered for a considerable time about the city. I visited the Gallowgate and the Saltmarket, mused with a curious eye on the Doric beauties of the Briggate and the Goosedubs, and admired the romantic vista of the Candleriggs, terminating in the Ram's-horn Church, the graces of whose architecture harmonize so perfectly with the classic euphony of its name. Thus interestingly occupied, the time sped unheeded, and the hour of four sounded from the College steeple, before I had effected those changes in my habiliments which the dirty condition of the streets had rendered necessary. Roused by this intimation, I completed my toilet as expeditiously as possible, and set forth on my engagement; but |