Monthly Review of Literature. 651 



natural philosophy ; and the advice he gave to the lads in our glen was, aye to 

 tak a wife out of a genteel family, for if a good one was to be had, that was 

 where to find her.' 



" He then began to expatiate on the virtues of 'his own helpmate, from 

 which, by a very natural transition, he passed on to his own merits. 



" ' May be/ said he, ' in the summer, when the weather is clear, 1*11 be 

 making from four to five shillings a day from the gentlefolks ; and I always 

 carry it home to my wife not spend it in drinking. But if ye'll be wanting a 

 cask of whisky, I can get one of the real sort ?' (with a wink of the eye) ' vera 

 good !' (and a smack of the lip.) 



"I told him I had r o doubt of its goodness, but I was going far away from 

 home. 



" ' Well then/ said he, ' I'll just tell you honourable ; that same drinking 

 whisky is a bad thing ; an' I'm an old man, an' ye'll just tak my advice, not 

 to drink it regular, so as to go to your bed without your senses. A little now 

 an' then in your travels is a' vera "well, but no to get drank with it daily.' 



" This disinterested piece of advice was given with all the emphasis and so- 

 lemnity of a philosopher addressing a tyro. Gracious Heaven ! that I who am 

 notorious for limiting my potations to a modicum of small ale, not from any 

 merit of abstinence, but from an absolute dislike of their fiery liquors that I 

 should be coolly recommended ' not to get drunk with whisky just every day 1' 

 I laughed immoderately ; and still more when the jolly weaver, after emptying 

 the last drop from my pocket flask, out of which I had scarce taken a quarter 

 of a wine-glass, said very deliberately, as he put the cork in again, ' We've di- 

 vided it vera nicely !' 



" However, I must do him the justice to observe, that all, which I did not 

 drink myself, was still drunk in my cause ; for he never put the cup to his lips 

 without prefacing his draught with ' Here's luck t'ye, Sir.' 



" He lives in a small cottage close to the farm of Glen Rosie, the tenant of 

 which is looked up to by the weaver as being, next to the duke of Hamilton, 

 the greatest man in the world. As we passed by, he asked if he might leave 

 the bit of bread and cheese, which had survived the keenness of our appetites, 

 for the bairns. He had seven of them alive, and two were dead. 



" I entered the cottage with him ; it was very dark, and made so chiefly by 

 the great loom, which occupied nearly half the ground floor : but there was 

 an air of comfort and tidiness about it, not usual in the dwelling of a High- 

 land peasant. His wife had a very prepossessing appearance, and seemed to 

 justify all the encomiums which he had bestowed upon her. Her manners 

 were excellent. There is a politeness of nature, which is quite as agreeable as 

 that of the drawing-room. Nearly all the bairns were at home, and a set of 

 finer children I have rarely seen. On leaving the cottage, the weaver put his 

 finger upon my arm, and looking back upon his home with an air of pride, 

 ' It's no grand place, yon/ said he, ' but it does vera well, and we are just con- 

 tent wi' it, an as happy as the vera farmer himsel.' 



" When we came to the obelisks, which I had sketched the preceding even- 



saying, 

 bairns, and sixpence over for luck.' 



" If I had given him a thousand pounds he could not have been more sur- 

 prised, or more grateful. He looked at the two half-crowns for some time, 

 without uttering a word, and then burst out : 



" ' Ye're a gentleman, a rale gentleman ; give us your hand ! I'll be up to 

 carry your luggage the morning for nothing. Thank ye, thank ye kindly.' 



"And then as I turned away towards the inn, he slapped me on the 

 shoulder, and once more exclaimed, 'Ye're a gentleman !' with a marked em- 

 phasis on the word, as if it embodied the highest compliment which one man 

 could pay to another. And the Gael was so far right j but whether giving 



