bottle of claret as no fashionable
tavern could have produced, were it called for by a duke, or at a duke's
price; and she seemed not a little gratified when her guest assured her
that he had not yet forgotten its excellent flavour. She retired after
these acts of hospitality, and left the stranger to enjoy in quiet the
excellent matters which she had placed before him.

But there was that on Tyrrel's mind which defied the enlivening power of
good cheer and of wine, which only maketh man's heart glad when that
heart has no secret oppression to counteract its influence. Tyrrel found
himself on a spot which he had loved in that delightful season, when
youth and high spirits awaken all those flattering promises which are so
ill kept to manhood. He drew his chair into the embrasure of the
old-fashioned window, and throwing up the sash to enjoy the fresh air,
suffered his thoughts to return to former days, while his eyes wandered
over objects which they had not looked upon for several eventful years.
He could behold beneath his eye, the lower part of the decayed village,
as its ruins peeped from the umbrageous shelter with which they were
shrouded. Still lower down, upon the little holm which formed its
church-yard, was seen the Kirk of Saint Ronan's; and looking yet
farther, towards the junction of Saint Ronan's burn with the river which
traversed the larger dale or valley, he could see whitened, by the
western sun, the rising houses, which were either newly finished, or in
the act of being built, about the medicinal spring.

"Time changes all around us," such was the course of natural though
trite reflection, which flowed upon Tyrrel's mind; "wherefore should
loves and friendships have a longer date than our dwellings and our
monuments?" As he indulged these sombre recollections, his officious
landlady disturbed their tenor by her entrance.

"I was thinking to offer you a dish of tea, Maister Francie, just for
the sake of auld lang syne, and I'll gar the quean Beenie bring it
here, and mask it mysell.--But ye arena done with your wine yet?"

"I am indeed, Mrs. Dods," answered Tyrrel; "and I beg you will remove
the bottle."

"Remove the bottle, and the wine no half drank out!" said Meg,
displeasure lowering on her brow; "I hope there is nae fault to be found
wi' the wine, Maister Tirl?"

To this answer, which was put in a tone resembling defiance, Tyrrel
submissively replied, by declaring "the claret not only unexcep