man; and, although neither the plainness of his dress, nor the
total want of the usual attendants, allowed Meg to suppose him a wealthy
man, she had little doubt that he was above the rank of her lodgers in
general. Amidst these observations, and while she was in the course of
making them, the good landlady was embarrassed with various obscure
recollections of having seen the object of them formerly; but when, or
on what occasion, she was quite unable to call to remembrance. She was
particularly puzzled by the cold and sarcastic expression of a
countenance, which she could not by any means reconcile with the
recollections which it awakened. At length she said, with as much
courtesy as she was capable of assuming,--"Either I have seen you
before, sir, or some ane very like ye?--Ye ken the Blue room, too, and
you a stranger in these parts?"

"Not so much a stranger as you may suppose, Meg," said the guest,
assuming a more intimate tone, "when I call myself Frank Tyrrel."

"Tirl!" exclaimed Meg, with a tone of wonder--"It's impossible! You
cannot be Francie Tirl, the wild callant that was fishing and
bird-nesting here seven or eight years syne--it canna be--Francie was
but a callant!"

"But add seven or eight years to that boy's life, Meg," said the
stranger gravely, "and you will find you have the man who is now before
you."

"Even sae!" said Meg, with a glance at the reflection of her own
countenance in the copper coffee-pot, which she had scoured so brightly
that it did the office of a mirror--"Just e'en sae--but folk maun grow
auld or die.--But, Maister Tirl, for I mauna ca' ye Francie now, I am
thinking"----

"Call me what you please, good dame," said the stranger; "it has been so
long since I heard any one call me by a name that sounded like former
kindness, that such a one is more agreeable to me than a lord's title
would be."

"Weel, then, Maister Francie--if it be no offence to you--I hope ye are
no a Nabob?"

"Not I, I can safely assure you, my old friend;--but what an I were?"

"Naething--only maybe I might bid ye gang farther, and be waur
served.--Nabobs, indeed! the country's plagued wi' them. They have
raised the price of eggs and pootry for twenty miles round--But what is
my business?--They use amaist a' of them the Well down by--they need it,
ye ken, for the clearing of their copper complexions, that need scouring
as much as my saucepans, that naebody can clean but mysell."

"Well, my good frien