THE TOLLMAN'S STORY.


Some local travellers of about twenty-five years' practice, may still
remember the keeper of a toll-bar on one of the western approaches to
Glasgow, known in his neighbourhood as English John. The prefix was
given, I believe, in honour of his dialect, which was remarkably pure
and polished for one of his station in those days; and the solution of
that problem was, that he had been from childhood, till the gray was
thickening on his hair, in the service of an English family, who had
come into possession, and constantly resided on, a handsome estate in
his native parish in Dumbartonshire.

Through their interest, he had been appointed to the office of power
and trust in which I made his acquaintance. John was one of my
earliest friends, though the remnant of his name was never heard nor
inquired after by me. The great town has now grown much nearer his
toll-house, which then stood alone on the country road, with no
building in sight but the school, at which I, and some two score of
the surrounding juveniles, were supposed to be trained in wisdom's
ways, by the elder brother of our parish minister. A painstaking,
kindly teacher he was; but the toll-house was a haunt more pleasant to
our young fancies than his seminary. John was the general friend and
confidant of all the boys; he settled our disputes, made the best tops
and balls for us, taught us a variety of new tricks in play, and
sometimes bestowed upon us good advices, which were much sooner
forgotten. John never married. He had a conviction, which was
occasionally avowed, that all women were troublesome; and whether this
evidence be considered _pro_ or _con_, he was a man of rough sense and