little of the lyre, and less of the trumpet, at his hospitable board.

The visit was paid; and Louis returned to Lindisfarne in raptures with the country he had seen; delighted with the chief of Struan; but above all, enchanted with one of the old man's guests. He seemed intoxicated with some before untasted pleasure, as he discoursed, full of a vague kind of admiration, about this extraordinary personage. Mr. Athelstone asked his name; Louis replied, it was the Duke of Wharton, whom he remembered when a boy; and who, he recollected, had joined his uncle in the folly about the wine. The Duke came to Loch Rannock the day after Sir Anthony's arrival. There was a large party in the house, but Wharton selected Louis as his companion; often deserting the rest, to ride alone with him; and to explore with fearless step, sometimes on horseback, but oftener on foot, the caverned recesses of the Loch; its fir-clad islands, and mountains of desolate sublimity. During their wide and stormy rambles, they visited the house of the laird, and the hovel of the shepherd; pleased alike with the generous cheer of the one, and the frugal hospitality of the other. Wharton could speak Gaelic, a language of which his companion was totally ignorant; but Louis did not the less enjoy the hilarity with which his noble friend pledged their entertainers in claret or whiskey: and while a rapid discourse passed in this, to him, unknown tongue, he did not the less sympathise in the pleasure with which gentle and semple seemed to regard their animated guest. Men, women, of all ages and degrees, thronged around their illustrious visitor. Sometimes he was serious, sometimes he was gay; but still he spoke in Gaelic; and all changes renewed their acclamations of delight.

When Louis narrated these particulars at the tea-table in Lindisfarne, Mr. Athelstone sighed, and thought that in this fortnight's sojourn at Rannock, his nephew had seen too much, or too little of this extraordinary man. However, he would not risk knowing all that passed, by any immediate observation to damp the ardour of Louis's frank communicativeness. His cousins were eager listeners; and he went rapturously on, describing the Duke as the most fascinating being on earth. So profound in his reflections; so careless in his manner of uttering them; so conscious of his fine person, and yet so gracefully negligent of its effect; so dignified in his carriage, and yet so boyishly fond of mirth; that the mischief he played ever found a ready excuse, in the ingenuity of its contrivance, or the frank apology of the laughing perpetrator.

"I would say," exclaimed Louis, "that he is the merriest devil I ever saw, if I could give so poor a name to so rich a wit!"

"Call him Belial," said the Pastor, with a meaning smile; "and you will name him rightly."

Louis laughed; and replied,—"If you will have him a fallen angel, he must be Satan himself: