And what a fierce and roaring Maelstrom was this into which they now were plunged! The dusky crowds of people, the melancholy masses of dark-hued buildings, the grimy flagstones, all seemed more or less phantasmal through the gray veil of mist and smoke; but always there arose the harsh and strident rattle of the tram-cars and the waggons and carts—a confused, commingled, unending din that seemed to fill the brain somehow and bewilder one. It appeared a terrible place this, with its cold gray streets and hazy skies, and its drizzle of rain; when, in course of time, they crossed a wide bridge, and caught a glimpse of the river and the masts and funnels of some ships and steamers, these were all ghost-like in the thin, ubiquitous fog. Ronald did not talk much, for the unceasing turmoil perplexed and confused him; and so the stout, phlegmatic minister, whose bilious-hued face and gray eyes were far from being unkindly in their expression, addressed himself mostly to the little Maggie, and said that Rosina and Alexandra and Esther and their brother James were all highly pleased that she was coming to stay with them, and also assured her that Glasgow did not always look so dull and miserable as it did then. At length they stopped in front of a house in a long, unlovely, neutral-tinted street; and presently two rather weedy-looking girls, who turned out to be Rosina and Alexandra, were at the door, ready to receive the new-comers. Of course it was Maggie who claimed their first attention; and she was carried off to her own quarters to remove the stains of travel (and of tears) from her face; as for Ronald, he was ushered at once into the parlour, where his sister-in-law—a tall, thin woman, with a lachrymose face, but with sufficiently watchful eyes—greeted him in a melancholy way, and sighed, and introduced him to the company. That consisted of a Mr. M’Lachlan—a large, pompous-looking person, with a gray face and short-cropped white hair, whose cool stare of observation and lofty smile of patronage instantly made Ronald say to himself, ’My good friend, we shall have to put you into your proper place;’ Mrs. M’Lachlan, an insignificant woman, dowdily dressed; and finally, Mr. Weems, a little, old, withered man, with a timid and appealing look coming from under bushy black eyebrows—though the rest of his hair was gray. This Mr. Weems, as Ronald knew, was in a kind of fashion to become his coach. The poor old man had been half-killed in a railway-accident; had thus been driven from active duty; and now, with a shattered constitution and a nervous system all gone to bits, managed to live somehow on the interest of the compensation-sum awarded him by the railway-company. He did not look much of a hardy forester; but if his knowledge of land and timber measuring and surveying, and of book-keeping and accounts, was such as to enable him to give this stalwart pupil a few practical lessons, so far well; and even the