I hastened my dinner, donn'd my great-coat (for the evening threatened rain,) and went to Mr. Fairscribe's house. The old domestic opened the door cautiously, and before I asked the question, said, “Mr. Fairscribe is at home, sir; but it is Sunday night.” Recognising, however, my face and voice, he opened the door wider, admitted me, and conducted me to the parlour, where I found Mr. Fairscribe and the rest of his family engaged in listening to a sermon by the late Mr. Walker of Edinburgh, [Footnote: Robert Walker, the colleague and rival of Dr. Hugh Blair, in St. Giles's Church Edinburgh] which was read by Miss Catherine with unusual distinctness, simplicity, and judgment. Welcomed as a friend of the house, I had nothing for it but to take my seat quietly, and making a virtue of necessity, endeavour to derive my share of the benefit arising from an excellent sermon. But I am afraid Mr. Walker's force of logic and precision of expression were somewhat lost upon me. I was sensible I had chosen an improper time to disturb Mr. Fairscribe, and when the discourse was ended, I rose to take my leave, somewhat hastily, I believe. “A cup of tea, Mr. Croftangry?” said the young lady. “You will wait and take part of a Presbyterian supper?” said Mr. Fairscribe.--“Nine o'clock--I make it a point of keeping my father's hours on Sunday at e'en. Perhaps Dr.----(naming an excellent clergyman) may look in.” I made my apology for declining his invitation; and I fancy my unexpected appearance, and hasty retreat, had rather surprised my friend, since, instead of accompanying me to the door, he conducted me into his own apartment. “What is the matter,” he said, “Mr. Croftangry? This is not a night for secular business, but if any thing sudden or extraordinary has happened”-- “Nothing in the world,” said I, forcing myself upon confession, as the best way of clearing myself out of the scrape,--“only--only I sent you a little parcel, and as you are so regular in acknowledging letters and communications, I--I thought it might have miscarried--that's all.” My friend laughed heartily, as if he saw into and enjoyed my motives and my confusion. “Safe?--it came safe enough,” he said. “The wind of the world always blows its vanities into haven. But this is the end of the session, when I have little time to read any thing printed except Inner-House papers; yet if you will take your kail with us next Saturday, I will glance over your work, though I am sure I am no competent judge of such matters.” With this promise I was fain to take my leave, not without half persuading myself that if once the phlegmatic lawyer began my lucubrations, he would not be able to rise from them till he had finished the perusal, nor to endure an interval betwixt his reading the last page, and requesting an interview with the author.