his own labour. Besides, a bag was suspended in the mill for
David Ritchie's benefit; and those who were carrying home a melder of
meal, seldom failed to add a GOWPEN [Handful] to the alms-bag of the
deformed cripple. In short, David had no occasion for money, save to
purchase snuff, his only luxury, in which he indulged himself liberally.
When he died, in the beginning of the present century, he was found
to have hoarded about twenty pounds, a habit very consistent with his
disposition; for wealth is power, and power was what David Ritchie
desired to possess, as a compensation for his exclusion from human
society.

His sister survived till the publication of the tale to which this brief
notice forms the introduction; and the author is sorry to learn that a
sort of "local sympathy," and the curiosity then expressed concerning
the Author of WAVERLEY and the subjects of his Novels, exposed the poor
woman to enquiries which gave her pain. When pressed about her brother's
peculiarities, she asked, in her turn, why they would not permit the
dead to rest? To others, who pressed for some account of her parents,
she answered in the same tone of feeling.

The author saw this poor, and, it may be said, unhappy man, in autumn
1797 being then, as he has the happiness still to remain, connected by
ties of intimate friendship with the family of the venerable Dr. Adam
Fergusson, the philosopher and historian, who then resided at the
mansion-house of Halyards, in the vale of Manor, about a mile from
Ritchie's hermitage, the author was upon a visit at Halyards, which
lasted for several days, and was made acquainted with this singular
anchorite, whom Dr. Fergusson considered as an extraordinary character,
and whom he assisted in various ways, particularly by the occasional
loan of books. Though the taste of the philosopher and the poor peasant
did not, it may be supposed, always correspond, [I remember David was
particularly anxious to see a book, which he called, I think, LETTERS TO
ELECT LADIES, and which, he said, was the best composition he had
ever read; but Dr. Fergusson's library did not supply the volume.] Dr.
Fergusson considered him as a man of a powerful capacity and original
ideas, but whose mind was thrown off its just bias by a predominant
degree of self-love and self-opinion, galled by the sense of ridicule
and contempt, and avenging itself upon society, in idea at least, by a
gloomy misanthropy.

David Ritchie, beside