ails in a corner, but at the first
symptom of food started forward, and was in the act of making a clean
sweep of the china, when Sawley proposed the singular preliminary of a
hymn.

The hymn was accordingly sung. I am thankful to say it was such a one
as I never heard before, or expect to hear again; and unless it was
composed by the Reverend Saunders Peden in an hour of paroxysm on the
moors, I cannot conjecture the author. After this original symphony, tea
was discussed, and after tea, to my amazement, more hot brandy-and-water
than I ever remember to have seen circulated at the most convivial
party. Of course this effected a radical change in the spirits and
conversation of the circle. It was again my lot to be placed by the side
of the fascinating Selina, whose sentimentality gradually thawed away
beneath the influence of sundry sips, which she accepted with a delicate
reluctance. This time Dalgleish of Raxmathrapple had not the remotest
chance. M'Alcohol got furious, sang Gaelic songs, and even delivered a
sermon in genuine Erse, without incurring a rebuke; while, for my own
part, I must needs confess that I waxed unnecessarily amorous, and the
last thing I recollect was the pressure of Mr. Sawley's hand at the
door, as he denominated me his dear boy, and hoped I would soon come
back and visit Mrs. Sawley and Selina. The recollection of these
passages next morning was the surest antidote to my return.

Three weeks had elapsed, and still the Glenmutchkin Railway shares were
at a premium, though rather lower than when we sold. Our engineer,
Watty Solder, returned from his first survey of the line, along with
an assistant who really appeared to have some remote glimmerings of the
science and practice of mensuration. It seemed, from a verbal report,
that the line was actually practicable; and the survey would have
been completed in a very short time, "if," according to the account
of Solder, "there had been ae hoos in the glen. But ever sin' the
distillery stoppit--and that was twa year last Martinmas--there wasna a
hole whaur a Christian could lay his head, muckle less get white sugar
to his toddy, forby the change-house at the clachan; and the auld lucky
that keepit it was sair forfochten wi' the palsy, and maist in the
dead-thraws. There was naebody else living within twal' miles o' the
line, barring a taxman, a lamiter, and a bauldie."

We had some difficulty in preventing Mr. Solder from making this report
ope