by sitting on the edge of
the gig on the one side, and by getting the postman to take a similar
seat on the other, to find room for him in front; and there, feeling he
had not to do with savages, he became kindly and conversible. We beat
together over a wide range of topics;--the Scotch banks, and Sir Robert
Peel's intentions regarding them,--the periodical press of
Scotland,--the Edinburgh literati,--the Free Church even: he had been a
consistent Moderate all his days, and disliked renegades, he said; and
I, of course, disliked renegades too. We both remembered that, though
civilized nations give quarter to an enemy overpowered in open fight,
they are still in the habit of shooting deserters. In short, we agreed
on a great many different matters; and, by comparing notes, we made the
best we could of a tedious journey and a very bad day. At the inn at
Garve, a long stage from Dingwall, we alighted, and took the road
together, to straighten our stiffened limbs, while the post man was
engaged in changing horses. The minister stopped short in the middle of
a discussion. We are not on equal terms, he said: you know who I am, and
I don't know you: we did not start fair at the beginning, but let us
start fair now. Ah, we have agreed hitherto, I replied; but I know not
how we are to agree when you know who I am: are you sure you will not be
frightened? Frightened! said the minister sturdily; no, by no man. Then,
I am the Editor of the _Witness_. There was a momentary pause. "Well,"
said the minister, "it's all the same: I'm glad we should have met. Give
me, man, a shake of your hand." And so the conversation went on as
before till we parted at Dingwall,--the Establishment clergyman wet to
the skin, the Free Church editor in no better condition; but both,
mayhap, rather less out of conceit with the ride than if it had been
ridden alone.

I had intended passing at least two days in the neighborhood of
Dingwall, where I proposed renewing an acquaintance, broken off for
three-and-twenty years, with those bituminous shales of Strathpeffer in
which the celebrated mineral waters of the valley take their rise,--the
Old Red Conglomerate of Brahan, the vitrified fort of Knockferrel, the
ancient tower of Fairburn, above all, the pleasure-grounds of
Conon-side. I had spent the greater portion of my eighteenth and
nineteenth years in this part of the country; and I was curious to
ascertain to what extent the man in middle life would verif