About the middle of last century, there resided in the burgh of Tain, on the eastern coast of Ross-shire, a poor shopkeeper of the name of Ross. The contents of that strange and multifarious emporium, which he called his shop, might have been well advertised by a handbill, like that which I once met with in Ireland, where, in the long list of miscellaneous articles enumerated¹, I remember to have seen “tar, butter, hog’s-lard, brimstone, and other sweetmeats—brushes, scythe-stones, mouse-traps, and other musical instruments.” You may easily imagine, that the profits arising from the sale of such trumpery² wares³ as these, were barely sufficient to provide the necessaries of life for his numerous family, and to bestow⁴ on his children the common education which Scotland, very much to her credit, so readily and cheaply affords. Although Mr. Ross’s enjoyments⁵ were not numerous, yet, by endeavouring to have as few wants as possible, he managed to live contentedly⁸ and happily enough, and he cheerfully struggled on drudging at his daily occupation, thanking God for the mercies which were bestowed¹⁰ on him, and looking forward with hope to the prospect¹¹ of better days yet in store.