statistics about the consumption of whiskey from the young lady who
ministered to travellers. The revelations now communicated, convinced
BULGER that either Dr. MORRIS was not on the lines of Sir ANDREW
CLARK, or, as an alternative, that his counsels were not listened to
by travellers on that line.

[Illustration]

Arriving in the dusk, BULGER went to his inn, and next morning
inquired as to the address of the Head of the Faculty. "I dinna ken,"
said an elderly person, to whom he appealed, "that the Professors
had made TOM a Doctor, though it's a sair and sad oversicht, and a
disgrace to the country, that they hae'na done sae lang syne. But I
jalouse that your Doctor was jist making a gowk o' ye." "What!" said
BULGER. "Jist playin' a plisky on ye, and he meant that TOM wad pit ye
in the way o' becoming a player. Mon, ye're a bull-neckit, bow-leggit
chiel', and ye'd shape fine for a Gowfer! Here's TOM." And, with this
brief introduction, the old man strolled away.

BULGER now found himself in the presence of Mr. MORRIS, whose
courtesy soon put him on a footing of friendliness and confidence.
He purchased, by his Mentor's advice, a driver, a cleek, a putter, a
brassey, an iron, a niblick, and a mashy. Armed with these implements,
which were "carried by an orphan boy," and, under the guidance of the
Head of the Faculty himself, BULGER set forth on his first round. His
first two strokes were dealt on the yielding air; his third carried
no inconsiderable parcel of real property to some distance; but his
fourth hit the ball, and drove it across the road. "As gude as a
better," quoth the orphan boy, and bade BULGER propel the tiny sphere
in the direction of a neighbouring rivulet. Into this affluent of the