My recommendations were too powerful to be overlooked by Mr. Serge. We we were intimate friends in an hour; and it has been a source both of satisfaction and curiosity to me, to profit from the frankness and openness of a mind so uncommon. I have seen that the encroachments of age and natural infirmities may find a barrier, without the aid of philosophy, and that in a cheerful piety a man may find a safe refuge from the cold apathy and querulous temper of near fourscore years, without other aid than his Bible, and a good heart. Our conversations are long, though desultory. He frequently, however, talks of his past sorrows and troubles. Speaking of his daughter, _Mrs. Fairly_, he observed, “that from the time she married, she resembled a poor unfledged bird, who had been ensnared within sight of the nest, and the wing which had cherished her.” “Poor thing,” added he, “she told me once that _her husband_ had taught her to love me.” I spoke of his satisfaction in regard to Mr. Willet, with whom Mr. Maclairn was so pleased. “Yes,” replied he, “thank God, Lydia is the wife of an honest man. I do not wish him to be such a gentleman as Fairly. Plain cloth suits me, Mr. Montrose: I have worn no other, since I was born; except the trimmings are, like Malcolm’s, of pure gold, they are not ornamental in my opinion: tinsel may decorate a fool, and set off a knave, whilst it lasts; but it will be for a very little time. Mark what I tell you; Fairly will die in in a gaol; and his wife, late Mrs. Dangle, will want bread, and pity into the bargain. But I forgive them; it is my duty; and like all my Master’s burthens, easy; for what should I gain by being unforgiving?