''
``True, true, my good friend,'' said I, ``I was a
fool then, and did not think I could incline to be
Glentanner with L.200 or L.300 a-year, instead of
Glentanner with as many thousands. I was then
a haughty, pettish, ignorant, dissipated, broken
down Scottish laird; and thinking my imaginary
consequence altogether ruined, I cared not bow
soon, or how absolutely, I was rid of every thing
that recalled it to my own memory, or that of
others.''
``And now it is like you have changed your
mind?'' said Fairscribe. ``Well, fortune is apt to
circumduce the term upon us; but I think she may
allow you to revise your condescendence.''
``How do you mean, my good friend?''
``Nay,'' said Fairscribe, ```there is ill luck in
averring till one is sure of his facts. I will look
back on a file of newspapers, and to-morrow you
shall hear from me; come, help yourself---I have
seen you fill your glass higher.''
``And shall see it again,'' said I, pouring out
what remained of our bottle of claret; ``the wine
is capital, and so shall our toast be---To your fireside,
my good friend. And now we shall go beg
a Scots song without foreign graces, from my little
siren Miss Katie.''
The next day accordingly I received a parcel
from Mr Fairscribe with a newspaper enclosed,
among the advertisements of which, one was marked
with a cross as requiring my attention.
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