half by habit, half by that subtle influence which the past has over the mind. Truly, as Schiller beautifully says—
"Time consecrates;
And what is grey with age, becomes religion."
Then there is the pity for the kind-hearted master turned from his homestead in his old age—a man, too, who has been "nobody's enemy but his own," though certainly he had better have been an enemy to some one else. Next our justice is enlisted on his behalf—his own imprudence is merged in generous indignation against the ungrateful dependant who has thus requited confidence. Last, is the interest felt for youth and loveliness left alone in this bleak and bitter world. "Guy Mannering" is, like its companions, filled with pictures. What a picture is that of the old man, seated for the last time in his arm-chair, removed from its accustomed place by the fireside, to the sunny bank, waiting to leave the home of his forefathers, though all see that "a darker departure is near," while his child, his patient, affectionate child, watches at his side. Almost every appearance, too, of Meg Merrilies is a stage effect, as dramatic in situation as it is in language. There are some exquisite touches of poetry. In her well-known denunciation, what can be finer than the—"This day have ye quenched seven smoking hearths—see if the fire in your ain parlour burn the brighter for that:"—or, again,
