"Yes, your climate there is somewhat like ours. Are you from Boston?"

"I am from Hartford, in Connecticut-of which you have perhaps never heard."

"My American geography is not very minute; yet Connecticut is a familiar name to my ear. Do you

know Mr. Irving?"

"I have never seen him but once."

"Mr. Cooper?"

"Yes, I know him well."

"Do you stay long in Edinburgh ?"

"A few weeks."

"We shall meet again, then, and talk these matter over."

So I had seen the author of Waverley! I leave you to guess my emotions, for I could not describe them.

LETTER XL.

Preparations for a Ride-Mr. Jeffrey in a Rough-and-tumble-A Glance at Edinburgh from the Braid Hills-A Shower-The Maids of the MistDurable Impressions.

MY DEAR C******

I found a note-May 31st-at my hotel, from Miss Y...., inviting me to breakfast. I went at ten, and we had a pleasant chat. She then proposed a ride, and I accepted. She was already in her riding-habit,

more especially the older members of the bar, wore gowns and wigs; others wore gowns only, and still others were in the ordinary dress. I afterward was told that it was wholly at the option of individuals to adopt this costume, or not; in general, it was regard ed as going out of fashion. There was a large num ber of people distributed through the several apartments, and in the grand hall there was a pervading hum of voices which seemed to rise and rumble and die away amid the groinings of the roof above.

Among the persons in this hall, a man some thirty years of age, tall and handsome, dressed in a gown but without the wig, attracted my particular attention. He was walking apart, and there was a certain look of coldness and haughtiness about him. Nevertheless, for some undefinable reason, he excited in me a lively curiosity. I observed that his eye was dark and keen, his hair nearly black, and though cut short, slightly curled. He carried his head erect, its largely developed corners behind, giving him an air of selfappreciation. His features were small, but sharp'y defined; his lips were close, and slightly disdainful and sarcastic in their expression.

There was a striking combination of energy and elegance in the general aspect of this person; yet over all, I must repeat, there was something a's of coldness and pride. Upon his face, expressive of vigor and activity-mental and physical - there was a visible tinge of discontent.

"Who is that gentleman ?" said I, to my guide. "That large, noble-looking person, with a gown and wig? That is Cranstoun, one of our first lawyers, and the brother-in-law of Dugald Stuart."

"No: that person beyond and to the left? He is without a wig."

"Oh, that's Cockburn-a fiery whig, and one of the keenest fellows we have at the bar."

"Yes: but I mean that younger person, near the corner."

"Oh, that small, red-faced, freckled man? Why that's Moncrief-a very sound lawyer. His father, Sir Harry Moncrief, is one of the most celebrated divines in Scotland."

"No, no: it is that tall, handsome, proud-looking person, walking by himself.

"Oh, I see that's Lockhart-Sir Walter Scott's son-in-law. Would you like to know him?"

"Yes."

And so I was introduced to a man* who, at that time, was hardly less an object of interest to me than

* J. G. Lockhart was a native of Scotland, and born in 1794. In 1826, he became editor of the Quarterly Review, and removed to London. In 1853, he resigned this situation in consequence of ill health. His biography of his father-in-law-Sir Walter Scott-is well known and highly appreciated. The latter part of his life, Lockhart was afflicted with deafness, which withdrew him much from society. He died in 1854: his wife had died in London, 1887. His son, John Hugh Lockhart, to whom Scott dedicated his History of Scotland, under the title of Hugh Littlejohn, died early. Lockhart had a daughter, who also has a daughter, and these two are now the only living descendants of Sir Walter.

Scott himself. Though a lawyer by profession, he had devoted himself to literature, and was now in the very height of his career. "Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk," "Valerius," and other works, had given him a prominent rank as a man of talent; and b sides, in 1820, he had married the eldest daughter of the "Great Unknown." My conversation with him was brief at this time, but I afterward became well acquainted with him.

My guide now led me into one of the side-rooms, where I saw a judge and jury, and a lawyer address ing them. The latter was a very small man, without gown or wig, apparently about forty years of am, though he might be somewhat older. He was of dark complexion, with an eye of intense blackness, and almost painfully piercing expression. His motions were quick and energetic, his voice sharp and pene trating his general aspect exciting curiosity rather than affection. He was speaking energetically, an. 1, as we approached the bar, my conductor said to me in a whisper Jeffrey!"

We paused, and I listened intently. The case in itself seemed dry enough-something, I believe, about a stoppage in transitu. Bit Jeffrey's plea ling was a lmirable-clear, progressive, logical. Occasionally, in fixing upon a weak point of has a lversary, he displayed a leopard like spring of energy, a'to „gether start. 2 He seized upon a certain point in the history of the case, and insisted that the property in question rested