“He must find it convenient in historical investigation, I should think, sir?” said the young lady. “It leads to an uncivil and positive mode of disputing; and nothing seems more unreasonable than to hear him impugn even Bellenden’s rare translation of Hector Boece, which I have the satisfaction to possess, and which is a black-letter folio of great value, upon the authority of some old scrap of parchment which he has saved from its deserved destiny of being cut up into tailor’s measures. And besides, that habit of minute and troublesome accuracy leads to a mercantile manner of doing business, which ought to be beneath a landed proprietor whose family has stood two or three generations. I question if there’s a dealer’s clerk in Fairport that can sum an account of interest better than Monkbarns.” “But you’ll accept his invitation, sir?” “Why, ye--yes; we have no other engagement on hand, I think. Who can the young man be he talks of?--he seldom picks up new acquaintance; and he has no relation that I ever heard of.” “Probably some relation of his brother-in-law Captain M’Intyre.” “Very possibly--yes, we will accept--the M’Intyres are of a very ancient Highland family. You may answer his card in the affirmative, Isabella; I believe I have, no leisure to be Dear Sirring myself.” So this important matter being adjusted, Miss Wardour intimated “her own and Sir Arthur’s compliments, and that they would have the honour of waiting upon Mr. Oldbuck. Miss Wardour takes this opportunity to renew her hostility with Mr. Oldbuck, on account of his late long absence from Knockwinnock, where his visits give so much pleasure.” With this placebo she concluded her note, with which old Caxon, now refreshed in limbs and wind, set out on his return to the Antiquary’s mansion. CHAPTER SIXTH. Moth. By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is, Wodnesday, Truth is a thing that I will ever keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into My sepulcre-- Cartwright’s Ordinary. Our young friend Lovel, who had received a corresponding invitation, punctual to the hour of appointment, arrived at Monkbarns about five minutes before four o’clock on the 17th of July. The day had been remarkably sultry, and large drops of rain had occasionally fallen, though the threatened showers had as yet passed away. Mr. Oldbuck received him at the Palmer’s-port in his complete brown suit, grey silk stockings, and wig powdered with all the skill of the veteran Caxon, who having smelt out the dinner, had taken care not to finish his job till the hour of eating approached. “You are welcome to my symposion, Mr. Lovel. And now let me introduce you to my Clogdogdo’s, as Tom Otter calls them--my unlucky and good-for-nothing womankind--malae bestiae, Mr. Lovel.”