family--equal to a duke, master says;--lady's-maid
uncommon pleasant, and all things quite agreeable."

"Do you mean you are with a duke, Copus?"

"Bless ye! no, sir, only equal to it. Master has bought a Scotch
chiefship, and we're all a-going down to take possession. Master made
all the tartans himself afore we left off trade."

"I don't understand you--what is he?"

"Smith, Hobbins, and Huxtable, they called us at Manchester,--great
way of business--but master, old Smith, has retired, and bought this
here Scotch estate, and makes us all call him Ben-na-Groich."

"And his family, Copus?"

"Only his old sister, and our young lady."

"Well,--her name?"

"Miss Jane. She's a niece, they say, of old Smith--Ben-na-Groich, I
means; but I don't b'lieve it. She's a real lady, and no mistake; and,
they say, will have a prodigious fortin. By dad, our old 'ooman takes
prodigious care of her, and is always a snubbing."

"My dear Copus, say not a word of having seen me; you can be the
greatest friend I ever had in my life--you'll help me?"

"Won't I?--that's all;--'clect all about Oriel, Mr Harry, and
Brussels? Ah! them was glorious days!"

"We shall have better days yet, Copus, never fear."

After a few minutes' conversation, the face of affairs entirely
changed. An apology was made by his lordship in person for the mistake
of his servant; that individual was severely reprimanded, greatly to
the satisfaction of Mr Copus; the two greys were peaceably yoked to
the plain chariot, and Jock Brown cracked his whip and trotted off at
a pace that set loose the tongues of all the dogs in the village.

"What a barbarous set of people these Lowlanders are!" exclaimed the
senior lady--"so different from the brave and noble mountaineers. My
brother, the chieftain, is lucky in having such a splendid set of
retainers, and the tartan he invented is very becoming."

"Vell, only to think of picking up my old master in a inn-yard!"
murmured Mr Copus, resuming his old position, and fixing his guarding
arm once more inside of the rumble-rail; "after all the rum goes we
had together at Oxford and Brussels. Nothing couldn't be luckier than
meeting a old friend among them Scotch savages. Do ye know, Mariar,
they haven't no breeches?"

"For shame, Mr Copus!"

CHAPTER II.

It must be evident to the most unpractised eye that the young
gentleman recognised by his old servant, and the pretty young lady in
the plain chariot, are the her