Before the old minister sat down he raised one of the large cups (which had been previously filled with wine from a flagon), and handed it to one of the elders, who, after drinking from it, passed it to his neighbour. After the ministers and elders had tasted the wine, two of the latter rose, and each proceeded down one of the passages, bearing a large pewter cup, while he was followed by one of his fellows carrying a flagon. The cups were handed to the people still sitting in the pews, exactly as the bread had been, and circulated from one to another till all the communicants had partaken of the wine. Then followed another address, from the black-haired gentleman this time; and with a prayer and a little more singing the ceremony came to an end. As we emerged into the afternoon sunshine, and waited for ‘the beast to be put in,’ as the innkeeper called it, I could not be sorry that I had sacrificed my inclinations and had seen something of the practice of religion in this country. But I dare say you have had enough of my experiences for the present--so, good-night. Your affectionate cousin, HUBERT BLAKE. CHAPTER IV. THE FOURTH LETTER. _Hubert Blake to Sophy Meredith._ THE CASTLE FARM, MUIRBURN, N.B. _Oct. 5, 187-._ MY DEAR SOPHY, Yesterday there was a ‘feeing fair’ at Muirburn, and under Alec’s guidance I paid a visit to the scene of dissipation. But, first of all, I wish to tell you of a curious Scotch custom that fell under my notice the evening before. Alec and I were returning from a short ramble in the ‘gloaming,’ _i.e._, the twilight, when we happened to meet a young couple walking side by side. As soon as they caught sight of us they separated, and walked on opposite sides of the road till we had passed. This, it seems, was according to local ideas of what is proper under such circumstances. As we went by I glanced at the girl, and saw that she was one of Mr. Lindsay’s farm-servants. ‘So Jessie has got a sweetheart,’ I remarked. ‘Very likely,’ said Alec, with a laugh; ‘but I don’t think Tom Archibald is her lad. He is only the “black-fuit.”’ ‘The _what_?’ ‘The “black-fuit.” Dae ye no ken--I mean, don’t ye know what that is?’ On confessing my ignorance, I learned that the etiquette of courtship, as understood among the peasantry of south-west Scotland, demands that no young ploughman shall present himself at the farm on which the young woman who has taken his fancy may happen to be employed; if he did so, it would expose the girl to a good deal of bantering. He invariably secures the services of a friend, on whom he relies not only for moral support, but for actual assistance in his enterprise.