I am a decent sponsible man, when I
am on my right end, I canna but think I maun hae made a queer figure
without my hat and my periwig, hinging by the middle like bawdrons, or a
cloak flung ower a cloak-pin. Bailie Grahame wad hae an unco hair in my
neck an he got that tale by the end."

I could not suppress a smile when I recollected the Bailie's situation,
although I certainly thought it no laughing matter at the time. The
good-natured merchant was a little confused, but smiled also when he
shook his head--"I see how it is--I see how it is. But say naething about
it--there's a gude callant; and charge that lang-tongued, conceited,
upsetting serving man o' yours, to sae naething neither. I wadna for ever
sae muckle that even the lassock Mattie ken'd onything about it. I wad
never hear an end o't."

He was obviously relieved from his impending fears of ridicule, when I
told him it was my father's intention to leave Glasgow almost
immediately. Indeed he had now no motive for remaining, since the most
valuable part of the papers carried off by Rashleigh had been recovered.
For that portion which he had converted into cash and expended in his own
or on political intrigues, there was no mode of recovering it but by a
suit at law, which was forthwith commenced, and proceeded, as our
law-agents assured us, with all deliberate speed.

We spent, accordingly, one hospitable day with the Bailie, and took leave
of him, as this narrative now does. He continued to grow in wealth,
honour, and credit, and actually rose to the highest civic honours in his
native city. About two years after the period I have mentioned, he tired
of his bachelor life, and promoted Mattie from her wheel by the kitchen
fire to the upper end of his table, in the character of Mrs. Jarvie.
Bailie Grahame, the MacVitties, and others (for all men have their
enemies, especially in the council of a royal burgh), ridiculed this
transformation. "But," said Mr. Jarvie, "let them say their say. I'll
ne'er fash mysell, nor lose my liking for sae feckless a matter as a nine
days' clash. My honest father the deacon had a byword,

Brent brow and lily skin,
A loving heart, and a leal within,
Is better than gowd or gentle kin.

Besides," as he always concluded, "Mattie was nae ordinary lassock-quean;
she was akin to the Laird o' Limmerfield."

Whether it was owing to her descent or her good gifts, I d