n robs men of good money, and gives them bad books in
exchange; and he seemed to set me down as one of the annoying
semi-beggar class;--rather a mistake, I should hope. He, however,
obligingly introduced me to a gentleman of literature and science, the
secretary of a society of the place, antiquarian and scientific in its
character, termed the "Northern Institution," and the honorary
conservator of its museum--an interesting miscellaneous collection which
I had previously seen, and in connexion with which I had formed my only
other scheme of getting into employment.

I wrote that old English hand which has been revived of late by the
general rage for the mediaeval, but which at that time was one of the
lost arts, with much neatness; and could produce imitations of the
illuminated manuscripts that preceded our printed books, which even an
antiquary would have pronounced respectable. And, addressing the members
of the Northern Institution on the character and tendency of their
pursuits, in a somewhat lengthy piece of verse, written in what I least
intended to be the manner of Dryden, as exemplified in his middle-style
poems, such as the _Religio Laici_, I engrossed it in the old hand, and
now called on the Secretary, to request that he would present it at the
first meeting of the Society, which was to be held, I understood, in a
few days. The Secretary was busy at his desk; but he received me
politely, spoke approvingly of my work as an imitation of the old
manuscript, and obligingly, charged himself with its delivery at the
meeting: and so we parted for the time, not in the least aware that
there was a science which dealt with characters greatly more ancient
than those of the old manuscripts, and laden with profounder meanings,
in which we both took a deep interest, and regarding which we could have
exchanged facts and ideas with mutual pleasure and profit. The Secretary
of the Northern Institution at this time was Mr. George Anderson, the
well-known geologist, and joint author with his brother of the admirable
"Guide-Book to the Highlands," which bears their name. I never heard how
my address fared. It would, of course, have been tabled--looked at, I
suppose, for a few seconds by a member or two--and then set aside; and
it is probably still in the archives of the Institution, awaiting the
light of future ages, when its simulated antiquity shall have become
real. It was not written in a character to be read, nor, I fear,