“I suppose thae draigons are intended to represent the deevil. Is it no funny, sir, what queer notions fowk hae o’ Auld Nick? I aften read Burns’ Address to the Deil’; an’ Dr. Gerrard, that was here afore you, lent me a copy o’ ‘Faust.’ Syne, Milton has his idea o’ Satan in ‘Paradise Lost,’ and Scott has a heap to say on demonology in the Waverley novels. I’ve thocht a lot aboot it, and my opinion is that he has a’ sorts o’ gifts an’ graces, or else he wouldna be able to get fowk to pay ony attention to him. I think the deevil, if he has ony shape ava, is a handsome chield. What do you think?” I tried to explain my ideas on the subject and quoted the passage from St. Paul, which speaks of Satan as among men in the guise of an angel of light. We chatted away cosily for a considerable time, Mrs. Morton putting the closure on the subject by saying that she would give us a cup of afternoon tea, which would speedily exorcise the demon from the old china. Many a chat did we have afterwards on similar subjects, and many a delicious cup of tea did we have out of the cups with the green dragons upon them. Not long after this Mr. Prior, an English artist, came to stay for a time in my parish; a mutual friend brought the two artists together, and the elder assumed a brotherly tutelage of the younger. Inaccuracies in drawing were corrected, and much valuable instruction was given in technical detail. Jamie was grateful for the help given him; but he never became an imitator of the style of his friend. In spite of much that would be termed crude, there was a bold dash about his own work, which was far more in keeping with the rugged character of the landscapes that he tried to reproduce. He had imbibed, with all the fervor of his poetic temperament, the spirit that breathed in the hills and dales of his own land; his firs were _Scotch_ firs; his streams were not gentle English brooks, but brawling _Scotch_ “burns,” leaping over granite boulders; his clumps of fern and braesides of heather made one recall Aytoun’s “Killie-crankie” in the “Burial-march of Dundee.” It was very amusing to hear Jamie criticise his friend’s work. He could be very sarcastic when he liked, but there was no sting in his sarcasm. “They mak’ fine pictures for a young lady’s scrap-book, or for Christmas cairds to send doon to England, whawr the fowk want a’ thing dune in their ain wye, but, losh me, there’s nae Scotsman wad ever tak’ them for pictures o’ this country. He’s ower particular aboot getting ilka blade of grass o’ the richt shape. Ye can lay them doon on the table an’ look at them through a magnifyin’ gless, and they’ll look rael bonnie; but hang them upon the wa’, and they dinna gie ye ony idea o’ the hale thing as ye see’t in nature.”