n, and
my father bowed even more profoundly than before; though I think his
reception of his old friend seemed to lose some of the respectful
civility which he bestowed on him while his name was yet unknown. It now
seemed to be something like the lip-courtesy which the heart would have
denied had ceremony permitted.

My father, however, again bowed low, and hoped he saw him well.

'So well, my good Mr. Fairford, that I come hither determined to renew
my acquaintance with one or two old friends, and with you in the first
place. I halt at my old resting place--you must dine with me to-day,
at Paterson's, at the head of the Horse Wynd--it is near your new
fashionable dwelling, and I have business with you.'

My father excused himself respectfully, and not without
embarrassment--'he was particularly engaged at home.'

'Then I will dine with you, man,' said Mr. Herries of Birrenswork; 'the
few minutes you can spare me after dinner will suffice for my business;
and I will not prevent you a moment from minding your own--I am no
bottle-man.'

You have often remarked that my father, though a scrupulous ohserver of
the rites of hospitality, seems to exercise them rather as a duty than
as a pleasure; indeed, but for a conscientious wish to feed the hungry
and receive the stranger, his doors would open to guests much seldomer
than is the case. I never saw so strong an example of this peculiarity
(which I should otherwise have said is caricatured in your description)
as in his mode of homologating the self-given invitation of Mr. Herries.
The embarsassed brow, and the attempt at a smile which accompanied
his 'We will expect the honour of seeing you in Brown Square at three
o'clock,' could not deceive any one, and did not impose upon the old
laird. It was with a look of scorn that he replied, 'I will relieve you
then till that hour, Mr. Fairford;' and his whole manner seemed to say,
'It is my pleasure to dine with you, and I care not whether I am welcome
or no.'

When he turned away, I asked my father who he was.

'An unfortunate gentleman,' was the reply.

'He looks pretty well on his misfortunes,' replied I. 'I should not have
suspected that so gay an outside was lacking a dinner.'

'Who told you that he does?' replied my father; 'he is OMNI SUSPICIONE
MAJOR, so far as worldly circumstances are concerned. It is to be hoped
he makes a good use of them; though, if he does, it will be for the
first time in his life.'

'He