from head to foot, with dirk, pistol, and skean-dhu, and at least a
hundred-weight of cairngorums cast a prismatic glory around his
person. I felt quite abashed beside him.

We were ushered into Mr Sawley's drawing-room. Round the walls, and at
considerable distances from each other, were seated about a dozen
characters male and female, all of them dressed in sable, and wearing
countenances of woe. Sawley advanced, and wrung me by the hand with so
piteous an expression of visage, that I could not help thinking some
awful catastrophe had just befallen his family.

"You are welcome, Mr Dunshunner, welcome to my humble tabernacle. Let
me present you to Mrs Sawley"--and a lady, who seemed to have bathed
in the Yellow Sea, rose from her seat, and favoured me with a profound
curtsy.

"My daughter--Miss Selina Sawley."

I felt in my brain the scorching glance of the two darkest eyes it
ever was my fortune to behold, as the beauteous Selina looked up from
the perusal of her handkerchief hem. It was a pity that the other
features were not corresponding; for the nose was flat, and the mouth
of such dimensions, that a Harlequin might have jumped down it with
impunity--but the eyes _were_ splendid.

In obedience to a sign from the hostess, I sank into a chair beside
Selina; and not knowing exactly what to say, hazarded some observation
about the weather.

"Yes, it is indeed a suggestive season. How deeply, Mr Dunshunner, we
ought to feel the pensive progress of autumn towards a soft and
premature decay! I always think, about this time of the year, that
nature is falling into a consumption!"

"To be sure, ma'am," said I, rather taken aback by this style of
colloquy "the trees are looking devilishly hectic."

"Ah, you have remarked that too! Strange! it was but yesterday that I
was wandering through Kelvin Grove, and as the phantom breeze brought
down the withered foliage from the spray, I thought, how probable it
was, that they might erelong rustle over young and glowing hearts
deposited prematurely in the tomb!"

This, which struck me as a very passable imitation of Dickens's
pathetic writings, was a poser. In default of language, I looked Miss
Sawley straight in the face, and attempted a substitute for a sigh. I
was rewarded with a tender glance.

"Ah!" said she, "I see you are a congenial spirit. How delightful, and
yet how rare it is to meet with any one who thinks in unison with
yourself! Do you ever walk in the N