ty were riveted to the langsettle on which
they sat. Neither of them could move, otherwise they would have either gone
out at the back window, or endeavoured to get past the stranger, and
hurried out of the door. The quietness of the street told them eloquently
that there was no one near to give them assistance; and such was the
enchantment (they said) thrown over them by the extraordinary personage,
that they were fixed to their seats as firmly as if they had been tied by
cords.

"A good new year to thee!" said the stranger again; and he reached forth
his hand, and seized two flasks that lay on a side table, and which they
had been using in the convivialities of the day. These he placed upon the
table with a loud clank; and, laying hold of a three-footed creepy, he sat
down right opposite the trembling pair, and proceeded to empty out the red
liquor into the flasks, which he did in the most flourishing and noble
style of valiant topers.

"Here, my good old tosspot, Will Pearson!" said he, as he handed to him one
of the flasks. "I love thee, man, and have called on thee the first of all
the inhabitants of Christ's Kirk. Ha! by the holy rude, what a jolly cruise
I shall have!--I have looked forward for it since the last time thou and I
reduced the consistency of our corporations to the texture of souls,
through which the moon might have shone, by the power of this inimitable
liquor. Ho, man, had not we a jolly time of it last time we met? Drink,
man!"

And he emptied his flask, and flung it down upon the table, with a bold and
reckless air, as if he did not care whether its continuity might be
maintained against the force of the bang with which he disposed of it.

Will Pearson was unable to speak a single syllable; and the flask that had
been filled for him stood upon the table untouched. He sat with his eyes
fixed upon the stranger, and his skin as pale as a corpse. Betty was in the
same state of immovable terror. Every word that fell from his lips was a
death-knell--every drop of his red drink was as much liquid fire--and every
look was a flame.

"Why won't drink, Will Pearson, mine good old crony?" said he again, with
the same boisterous manner. "What grieves thee, man? and Betty too?--what
loss hast thou sustained? Cuffed by fortune? Broken on her wheel? Ha! ha! I
despise the old gammer, and will laugh out my furlough, though my lungs
should crack in throwing off the burden.

"'This warld does ever flight a