his noble damsel that thou art worthy of her
best smiles."

Hector obeyed, and took off his wig, and the clumsy habiliments that
covered his armour, and stood in the midst of the assembly, a young man
of exquisite beauty.

"The wine merchant, Hector Fotheringham!" cried Innerkepple. "Ah, Kate,
Kate! is this the way ye bring yer lovers to Innerkepple ha'?--in the
shape o' a wine merchant--the only form o' the Deevil I wad like to see
on this earth? Ha! ye baggage, weel do ye ken hoo to get at the heart o'
your faither. But whar was the use o' secresy, woman? And you, Hector,
man, I needed nae bribe o' Tokay to be friendly to the lover o' my
dochter. A fine youth--a fine youth. Surely, surely, this man was made
for my dochter Kate."

"And thy daughter Kate was made for him," cried Otterstone.

The retainers of both houses shouted applause, and the hall rang with
the noise. The wine, which was intended for deception and treachery, was
circulated freely, and opened the hearts of the company. Innerkepple was
ready again for his Tokay, and, lifting a large goblet to his head--

"To the union o' the twa hooses!" cried he. "And I wish I had twenty
dochters, and Otterstone as mony sons, that they micht a' be married
thegither; but, on this condition, that the bridegrooms should a' come
in the shape o' wine merchants."

"Hurra, hurra!" shouted the retainers. The night was spent in good
humour and revelry. All was restored; and, in a short time, the two
houses were united by the marriage of Hector Fotheringham and Katherine
Kennedy.

RECOLLECTIONS OF FERGUSON.[3]

CHAPTER I.

"Of Ferguson, the bauld and slee."--BURNS.

[3] The perusal of this paper, written at an early period by the
lamented Hugh Miller, cannot fail to suggest some reflections on the
fate of the author himself and that of the poet he describes. It would
be simply fanciful to draw from his choice of subject, and the sympathy
he manifests for the victim of insanity, any conclusion of a felt
affinity of mental type on his part. We would presently get into the
obscure subject of presentiments. It is true that Hugh Miller wrote
poetry, and was thus subject to the Nemesis; but we insist for no more
than a case of coincidence, leaving to psychologists to settle the
question of the alleged connection between certain poetical types of
mind and eventual madness--cases of which are so plentifully recorded in
Germany.--_Ed._

I have, I believe, as l