bright English stoves which had just been received, and which she knew not how to clean. An English gentleman was standing by, to whom she appealed for information. This was Charles James Fox. He could give no help: "But," said he, "here is a fellow-countryman of mine who will tell you all about it." This was Mr. Watt, to whom he was at the moment talking; and who accordingly gave full instructions as to the best mode of cleaning a bright grate. This anecdote I have often heard Mrs. Watt tell with great diversion.

Quite different from that of those I have described was the aspect of Dr. Withering. He was the personification of that which belongs to a physician and a naturalist; enormous were his organs of proportion and individuality, and great were his powers of active investigation and accurate detail. His features were sharpened by minute and sagacious observation. He was kind, but his great accuracy and caution rendered his manner less open, and it had neither the wide popularity of Mr. Boulton's, nor the attraction of Mr. Watt's true modesty. When Dr. Withering was writing his work on Fungi, it was often the occupation and interest of our walks as children to search for the curious species in which the woods of Barr abounded; but as it was expected we should bring some new specimens almost daily (which was no easy task), and as

my father happened to be showing us experiments with various acids and alkalies in solutions of metals, we often amused ourselves by painting over the fungi in sundry methods in order to increase our variety and puzzle the doctor, and it was not till long after that we told him of our misdeeds.

Such are some of my recollections of the Lunar meetings. It was at one of them, at the house of Dr. Priestley, that my father first met the Rev. Joseph Berrington, a Roman Catholic gentleman, who, as it happened, was the Catholic priest of Oscott, a small hamlet about a mile and a half from Barr. My father invited him to visit us. I never shall forget the impression that the sight of Mr. Berrington made upon me, when I was not eight years old. It was tea-time, on a summer afternoon. The drawingroom at Barr was very large, and especially it was a very wide room. The door opened, and Mr. Berrington appeared; a tall and most majestic figure. I had never seen anything like that lofty bearing with which he crossed the room to speak to my mother; his courtly bow, down, as it seemed to me, almost to the ground, and then his raising himself up again to his full height, as if all the higher for his depression. Mr. Berrington was in person very remarkable; he was then about fifty; his complexion and hair partook of the sanguine, his prominent temperament; and this gave a lightness and relief

to his angular and well-cut features. His countenance exhibited, if one may so say, sternness and mirthfulness in different proportions; his nostrils were slightly fastidious; his mouth closed like fate. His conversation abounded in intellectual pleasantry; he was a finished gentleman of the old school, and a model of the ecclesiastical decorum of the church of ancient monuments and memories; his cold, stern eye instantly silenced any unbecoming levity either on religion or morality; his bearing was that of a prince amongst his people, not from worldly position, but from his sacerdotal office, while his ancient and high family seemed but a slight appendage to the dignity of his character. His voice was deep and majestic, like the baying of a blood-hound; and when he intoned Mass, every action seemed to thrill through the soul. I have thus spoken at length of Mr. Berrington, as the well-known historian of the "Literature of the Middle Ages," and of that of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and as the author of other popular and historical works. He was our most intimate neighbour at Barr. Three or four days seldom passed without his joining our dinner or tea-table; and as his house at Oscott was the rendezvous of much Catholic society, from that time Catholics became our social visitors, and many of them were yet more intimately connected with us. We regularly had fish on Wednesdays, Fridays, and

Saturdays, as it was more than likely some of them would drop in; and they were ever welcome. Amongst these I should especially mention Bishop Berrington, cousin to our Mr. Berrington; Dr. Ben, an eminent doctor of the Sorbonne; Miss Henrietta Berrington, who often stayed months with her brother and months with us, and became one of our most intimate friends; likewise Miss Lunn, afterwards Mrs. Neve.

Amongst the visitors who continually sojourned with us at Barr, were the venerable Judge Oliver and his niece Miss Clarke, with whom, as I have mentioned, an acquaintance had begun at Five Ways; the eccentric Lord Monboddo; and lastly, my grandfather Barclay, whose residence was at Urie, the home of our venerated ancestor, Robert Barclay, the Apologist. He generally came to us twice a year, when he attended or returned from Parliament. He was member for Kincardineshire. Of all the pleasures of my childhood, by far the greatest and the sweetest in recollection were the visits, whether of days or weeks, to my dear grandfather at Dudson. I can hardly say how delightful to me was the quiet, the spirit of love and order and peace which characterised his household. The family, as I remember it, consisted of my grandfather himself and of Lizzie Forster. She had formerly superintended the education of my aunts, my father's sisters,

but after the death of my grandmother and my aunts Lizzie Forster continued her post as head of the establishment. My grandfather himself presented so striking a likeness to William Penn in West's picture of the Treaty with the Indians, that I never knew any person who had seen both who was not struck by it. He was very cheerful, orderly, active, acute as a man of business, and most kindly in his consideration and thought for the welfare and happiness of all about him. Whilst my mother bestowed out of her benevolent heart like a noble benefactress, my grandfather gave in a benevolent, considerate, and business-like way; with brotherly kindness he ascertained what would add to the well-being of his people, and supplied the want kindly, beneficently, yet not lavishly, with a completeness that showed his pleasure in giving, yet with an orderly economy. He considered himself as a responsible steward, and as his fortune had been the fruit of God's blessing on industry, he desired, remembering the labour of his youth, to reward industry in others, and to make as many hearts as he could, light and grateful to God the Giver, never seeking to fix the eye of the receiver on himself.

Lizzie Forster was, like my grandfather, truly a Friend in appearance and in principle. She was a person of excellent understanding, high principle, the kindest heart, distinguished for sagacious obser