To this brave man the repairs   For counsel in his law affairs;
  And found him mounted in his pew.
  With books and money placed for show,
  Like nest-eggs to make clients lay,
  And for his false opinion pay.
                        Hudibras.
Our readers may a certain smooth-tongued, lank-haired, buckram-suited, Scottish scrivener, who, in the earlier part of this history, appeared in the character of a protege of George Heriot. It is to his house we are about to remove, but times have changed with him. The petty booth hath become a of importance—the buckram suit is changed into black ; and although the wearer retains his and politeness to clients of consequence, he can now look others broad in the face, and treat them with a full allowance of superior , and the arising from it. It was but a short period that had achieved these , nor was the party himself as yet accustomed to them, but the change was becoming less embarrassing to him with every day's practice. Among other acquisitions of wealth, you may see one of Davy Ramsay's best timepieces on the table, and his eye is frequently observing its revolutions, while a boy, whom he employs as a scribe, is occasionally sent out to compare its progress with the clock of Saint Dunstan.
 
The scrivener himself seemed . He took from a strong-box a bundle of parchments, and read passages of them with great attention; then began to soliloquize—“There is no which law can suggest—no back-door of evasion—none—if the lands of Glenvarloch are not before it rings noon, Lord Dalgarno has them a cheap pennyworth. Strange, that he should have been at last able to set his patron at , and achieve for himself the fair estate, with the of which he so long flattered the powerful Buckingham.—Might not Andrew Skurliewhitter nick him as ? He hath been my patron—true—not more than Buckingham was his; and he can be so no more, for he departs presently for Scotland. I am glad of it—I hate him, and I fear him. He knows too many of my secrets—I know too many of his. But, no—no—no—I need never attempt it, there are no means of over-reaching him.—Well, Willie, what o'clock?”
 
“Ele'en hours just chappit, sir.”
 
“Go to your desk without, child,” said the scrivener. “What to do next—I shall lose the old Earl's fair business, and, what is worse, his son's practice. Old Heriot looks too close into business to permit me more than the and ordinary dues. The Whitefriars business was profitable, but it has become unsafe ever since—pah!—what brought that in my head just now? I can hardly hold my pen—if men should see me in this way!—Willie,” (calling aloud to the boy,) “a cup of waters—Soh!—now I could face the devil.”
 
He the last words aloud, and close by the door of the apartment, which was suddenly opened by Richie Moniplies, followed by two gentlemen, and attended by two porters bearing money-bags. “If ye can face the devil, Maister Skurliewhitter,” said Richie, “ye will be the less likely to turn your back on a sack or twa o' siller, which I have ta'en the freedom to bring you. Sathanas and Mammon are near .” The porters, at the same time, ranged their load on the floor.
 
“I—I,”—stammered the surprised scrivener—“I cannot guess what you mean, sir.”
 
“Only that I have brought you the redemption-money on the part of Lord Glenvarloch, in discharge of a certain mortgage over his family inheritance. And here, in good time, comes Master Reginald Lowestoffe, and another gentleman of the Temple, to be witnesses to the transaction.”
 
“I—I incline to think,” said the scrivener, “that the term is expired.”
 
“You will pardon us, Master Scrivener,” said Lowestoffe. “You will not baffle us—it wants three-quarters of noon by every clock in the city.”
 
“I must have time, gentlemen,” said Andrew, “to examine the gold by tale and weight.”
 
“Do so at your leisure, Master Scrivener,” replied Lowestoffe again. “We have already seen the contents of each sack told and weighed, and we have put our seals on them. There they stand in a row, twenty in number, each containing three hundred yellow-hammers—we are witnesses to the tender.”
 
“Gentlemen,” said the scrivener, “this security now belongs to a lord. I pray you, your haste, and let me send for Lord Dalgarno,—or rather I will run for him myself.”
 
So saying, he took up his hat; but Lowestoffe called out,—“Friend Moniplies, keep the door fast, an thou be'st a man! he seeks but to put off the time.—In plain terms, Andrew, you may send for the devil, if you will, who is the lord of my acquaintance, but from hence you stir not till you have answered our proposition, by rejecting or accepting the redemption-money fairly tendered—there it lies—take it, or leave it, as you will. I have skill enough to know that the law is than any lord in Britain—I have learned so much at the Temple, if I have learned nothing else. And see that you trifle not with it, lest it make your long ears an inch shorter, Master Skurliewhitter.”
 
“Nay, gentlemen, if you threaten me,” said the scrivener, “I cannot resist compulsion.”
 
“No threats—no threats at all, my little Andrew,” said Lowestoffe; “a little friendly advice only—forget not, honest Andrew, I have seen you in Alsatia.”
 
Without answering a single word, the scrivener sat down, and drew in proper form a full receipt for the money .
 
“I take it on your report, Master Lowestoffe,” he said; “I hope you will remember I have insisted neither upon weight nor tale—I have been civil—if there is deficiency I shall come to loss.”
 
“Fillip his nose with a gold-piece, Richie,” quoth the Templar. “Take up the papers, and now wend we merrily to dine thou wot'st where.”
 
“If I might choose,” said Richie, “it should not be at yonder roguish ordinary; but as it is your pleasure, gentlemen, the treat shall be given wheresoever you will have it.”
 
“At the ordinary,” said the one Templar.
 
“At Beaujeu's,” said the other; “it is the only house in London for neat wines, nimble drawers, choice dishes, and—”
 
“And high charges,” quoth Richie Moniplies. “But, as I said before, gentlemen, ye have a right to command me in this thing, having so rendered me your service in this small matter of business, without other than that of a slight banquet.”
 
The latter part of this passed in the street, where, immediately afterwards, they met Lord Dalgarno. He appeared in haste, touched his hat slightly to Master Lowestoffe, who returned his with the same , and walked slowly on with his companion, while Lord Dalgarno stopped Richie Moniplies with a commanding sign, which the instinct of education compelled Moniplies, though indignant, to obey.
 
“Whom do you now follow, sirrah?” demanded the noble.
 
“Whomsoever goeth before me, my lord,” answered Moniplies.
 
“No , you knave—I desire to know if you still serve Nigel Olifaunt?” said Dalgarno.
 
“I am friend to the noble Lord Glenvarloch,” answered Moniplies, with dignity.
 
“True,” replied Lord Dalgarno, “that noble lord has sunk to seek friends among lackeys—Nevertheless,—hark thee hither,—nevertheless, if he be of the same mind as when we last met, thou mayst show him, that, on to-morrow, at four afternoon, I shall pass by Enfield Chase—I will be slenderly attended, as I design to send my train through Barnet. It is my purpose to ride an easy pace through the forest, and to linger a while by Camlet Moat—he knows the place; and, if he be aught but an Alsatian , will think it fitter for some purposes than the Park. He is, I understand, at liberty, or shortly to be so. If he fail me at the place nominated, he must seek me in Scotland, where he will find me of his father's estate and lands.”
 
“Humph!” muttered Richie; “there go twa words to that bargain.”
 
He even a joke on the means which he was conscious he possessed of baffling Lord Dalgarno's expectations; but there was something of keen and dangerous excitement in the eyes of the young nobleman, which prompted his for once to rule his vit, and he only answered—
 
“God grant your lordship may well your new conquest—when you get it. I shall do your errand to my lord—whilk is to say,” he added internally, “he shall never hear a word of it from Richie. I am not the lad to put him in such hazard.”
 
Lord Dalgarno looked at him sharply for a moment, as if to the meaning of the dry tone, which, in spite of Richie's , with his answer, and then waved his hand, in signal he should pass on. He himself walked slowly till the trio were out of sight, then turned back with hasty steps to the door of the scrivener, which he had passed in his progress, knocked, and was admitted.
 
Lord Dalgarno found the man of law with the money-bags still before him; and it escaped not his glance, that Skurliewhitter was disconcerted and alarmed at his approach.
 
“How now, man,” he said; “what! hast thou not a word of oily compliment to me on my happy marriage?—not a word of most on my disgrace at Court?—Or has my , as a wittol and discarded favourite, the properties of the Gorgon's head, the turbatae Palladis arma, as might say?”
 
“My lord, I am glad—my lord, I am sorry,”—answered the trembling scrivener, who, aware of the of Lord Dalgarno's temper, the consequence of the communication he had to make to him.
 
“Glad and sorry!” answered Lord Dalgarno. “That is blowing hot and cold, with a witness. Hark ye, you picture of petty-larceny personified—if you are sorry I am a cuckold, remember I am only mine own, you knave—there is too little blood in her cheeks to have sent her astray elsewhere. Well, I will bear mine antler'd honours as I may—gold shall them; and for my disgrace, revenge shall sweeten it. Ay, revenge—and there strikes the happy hour!”
 
The ............