for an
answer. "You are concerned in this matter, Mr. Oldbuck," said Lovel,
after glancing over the billet, and handing it to the Antiquary as he
spoke.

It was a letter from Sir Arthur Wardour, couched in extremely civil
language, regetting that a fit of the gout had prevented his hitherto
showing Mr. Lovel the attentions to which his conduct during a late
perilous occasion had so well entitled him--apologizing for not paying
his respects in person, but hoping Mr. Lovel would dispense with that
ceremony, and be a member of a small party which proposed to visit the
ruins of Saint Ruth's priory on the following day, and afterwards to
dine and spend the evening at Knockwinnock Castle. Sir Arthur concluded
with saying, that he had sent to request the Monkbarns family to join
the party of pleasure which he thus proposed. The place of rendezvous
was fixed at a turnpike-gate, which was about an equal distance from all
the points from which the company were to assemble.

"What shall we do?" said Lovel, looking at the Antiquary, but pretty
certain of the part he would take.

"Go, man--we'll go, by all means. Let me see--it will cost a post-chaise
though, which will hold you and me, and Mary M'Intyre, very well--and the
other womankind may go to the manse--and you can come out in the chaise
to Monkbarns, as I will take it for the day."

"Why, I rather think I had better ride."

"True, true, I forgot your Bucephalus. You are a foolish lad, by the by,
for purchasing the brute outright; you should stick to eighteenpence a
side, if you will trust any creature's legs in preference to your own."

"Why, as the horse's have the advantage of moving considerably faster,
and are, besides, two pair to one, I own I incline"--

"Enough said--enough said--do as you please. Well then, I'll bring either
Grizel or the minister, for I love to have my full pennyworth out of
post-horses--and we meet at Tirlingen turnpike on Friday, at twelve
o'clock precisely. "--And with this ageement the friends separated.

CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.

Of seats they tell, where priests, 'mid tapers dim,
Breathed the warm prayer, or tuned the midnight hymn
To scenes like these the fainting soul retired;
Revenge and Anger in these cells expired:
By Pity soothed, Remorse lost half her fears,
And softened Pride dropped penitential tears.
Crabbe's Borough.