an old red-faced general on a grey horse at the one end, and at the

other the company of Grenadiers, with their Pope's-hats. The pride of

life seemed to mount into my brain at the sight of the red coats and the

hearing of that merry music.

A little farther on, and I was told I was in Cramond parish, and began

to substitute in my inquiries the name of the house of Shaws. It was a

word that seemed to surprise those of whom I sought my way. At first I

thought the plainness of my appearance, in my country habit, and that

all dusty from the road, consorted ill with the greatness of the place

to which I was bound. But after two, or maybe three, had given me the

same look and the same answer, I began to take it in my head there was

something strange about the Shaws itself.

The better to set this fear at rest, I changed the form of my inquiries;

and spying an honest fellow coming along a lane on the shaft of his

cart, I asked him if he had ever heard tell of a house they called the

house of Shaws.

He stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others.

"Ay" said he. "What for?"

"It's a great house?" I asked.

"Doubtless," says he. "The house is a big, muckle house."

"Ay," said I, "but the folk that are in it?"

"Folk?" cried he. "Are ye daft? There's nae folk there--to call folk."

"What?" say I; "not Mr. Ebenezer?"

"Ou, ay" says the man; "there's the laird, to be sure, if it's him

you're wanting. What'll like be your business, mannie?"

"I was led to think that I would get a situation," I said, looking as

modest as I could.

"What?" cries the carter, in so sharp a note that his very horse

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