rdonably, that I must be mistaken, I replied,
'Oh, indeed!' and viewed my late acquaintance with some curiosity.
I am imaginative, but it was difficult, in truth, to connect this
staid and sober personage with the idea of the American satirist,
however proverbially dissimilar authors may be to their own
creations. However, I am no hunter after celebrities, literary or
otherwise, and I would not, in all likelihood, have taken any steps
to further conversation with the one in question, had he not, by
chance, been seated close beside me on the quarterdeck when we
resumed our journey south. The steamer was rolling heavily, and his
seat was not a comfortable one. I gave him a camp-stool which I had
secured, and in return he kindly again entered into conversation
with me. We talked about many things, but I could not help thinking
that the American author seemed well informed, for a transatlantic
stranger, regarding the coast, the route generally, and, singularly
enough, regarding Scottish antiquities. At last an observation,
which I timidly hazarded regarding the United States, showed me, in
the reply it received, that I was hopelessly at sea regarding my
fellow-passenger's identity. Before we came to Aberdeen he had told
me that his name was John Hill Burton. The similarity of the sound
of the names had misled my too easily persuaded informant and my
own credulous self. I had taken the author of the 'Book-hunter' for
the author of the 'Clockmaker'!

"Dr Hill Burton most kindly continued to converse with me for
several hours after we had exchanged cards. My own is a name not
unconnected with Scottish ecclesiastical history, and this, to him,
was a sufficient topic. Being an Edinburgh man by birth, I ought to
have known him by sight, but I have been absent from my native city
for many years, and may be excused for not recognising one of
Edinburgh's most distinguished dwellers, now unhappily lost to us.

"G.M. M'C."]

* * * * *

"BANCHORY, _16th July 1880_.

"MY DEAR LOVE,--I am here in the scene of many recollections going
back to boyhood, and the interest of them takes a zest from knowing
that you, too, must have stored up associations with the spot,
though of a later period. I think the avenue trees at Blackhall