gh he slept once or twice for an hour or two together,
in the open air, on the road side.

"By the time he arrived at Lord Lovat's park the sun had risen upwards
of an hour, and shone pleasantly, according to the remark of our hero,
well pleased to find himself in this spot, on the walls of Castle
Downie, and those of the ancient abbey of Beaulieu in the near
neighbourhood. Between the hours of five and six Lord Lovat appeared
walking about in his hall, in a morning dress, and at the same time a
servant flung open the great folding doors, and all the outer doors and
windows of the house. It is about this time that many of the great
families of the present day go to bed.

"As Macleod walked up and down on the lawn before the house, he was soon
observed by Lord Lovat who immediately went out, and, bowing to the
Sergeant with great courtesy, invited him to come in. Lovat was a
fine-looking tall man, and had something very insinuating in his manners
and address. He lived in the fullness of hospitality, being more
solicitous, according to the genius of the feudal times, to retain and
multiply adherents than to accumulate wealth by the improvement of his
estate. As scarcely any fortune, and certainly not _his_ fortune, was
adequate to the extent of his views, he was obliged to regulate his
unbounded hospitality by rules of prudent economy. As his spacious hall
was crowded by kindred visitors, neighbours, vassals, and tenants of
all ranks, the table, that extended from one end of it nearly to the
other, was covered at different places with different kinds of meat and
drink--though of each kind there was always great abundance. At the head
of the table the lords and lairds pledged his Lordship in claret, and
sometimes champagne; the tacksmen, or demiwassals, drank port or
whiskey-punch; tenants, or common husbandmen, refreshed themselves with
strong beer; and below the utmost extent of the table, at the door, and
sometimes without the door of the hall, you might see a multitude of
Frasers, without shoes or bonnets, regaling themselves with bread and
onions, with a little cheese, perhaps, and small beer. Yet amidst the
whole of the aristocratic inequality, Lord Lovat had the address to keep
all his guests in perfectly good humour. 'Cousin,' he would say to such
and such a tacksman or demiwassal, 'I told my pantry lads to hand you
some claret, but they tell me you like port or punch best.' In like
manner to the beer drinkers he