has succeeded to a large
fortune, and who gets a letter next morning explaining that it is a mere
mistake. I was therefore not at all astonished either at his paroxysms
or his credulity.

We had rather a dreary dinner that day. The judges always entertain the
first day of circuit, and it is considered matter of etiquette that the
counsel should attend. Sometimes these forensic feeds are pleasant
enough; but on the present occasion there was a visible damp thrown over
the spirits of the party. His lordship was evidently savage at the
unforeseen escape of M'Wilkin, and looked upon me, as I thought, with
somewhat of a prejudiced eye. Bailie Beeric and the other magistrates
seemed uneasy at their unusual proximity to a personage who had the
power of death and transportation, and therefore abstained from emitting
the accustomed torrent of civic facetiousness. One of the sheriffs
wanted to be off on a cruise, and another was unwell with the gout. The
Depute Advocate was fagged; Whaup surly as a bear with a sore ear, on
account of the tenuity of his fees; and Strachan, of course, in an
extremely unconversational mood. So I had nothing for it but to eat and
drink as plentifully as I could, and very thankful I was that the claret
was tolerably sound.

We rose from table early. As I did not like to leave Tom to himself in
his present state of mind, we adjourned to his room for the purpose of
enjoying a cigar; and there, sure enough, upon the table lay the
expected missive. Strachan dashed at it like a pike pouncing upon a
parr; I lay down upon the sofa, lit my weed, and amused myself by
watching his physiognomy.

"Dear suffering angel!" said Tom at last, with a sort of whimper,
"Destiny has done its worst! We have parted, and the first fond dream of
our love has vanished before the cold and dreary dawn of reality! O my
friend--we were like the two birds in the Oriental fable, each doomed to
traverse the world before we could encounter our mate--we met, and
almost in the same hour the thunderbolt burst above us!"

"Yes--two very nice birds," said I. "But what does she say in the
letter?"

"You may read it," replied Tom, and he handed me the epistle. It was
rather a superior specimen of penmanship, and I don't choose to
criticise the style. Its tenor was as follows:--

"I am hardly yet, my dear friend, capable of estimating the true
extent of my emotions. Like the buoyant seaweed torn from its native
bed among