one, he was soon generally acknowledged by the rich as well as by the
poor. His account of his past life, and of his intentions for the future,
was brief, but not unsatisfactory. He said that, since his departure, he
had been a seafaring man, and that, having acquired sufficient property to
render him easy in the decline of his days, he had returned to live and
die in the town of his nativity.

There was one person, and the one whom Hugh was most interested to please,
who seemed perfectly satisfied of the verity of his reformation. This was
the landlady of the inn, whom, at his departure, he had left a gay, and,
even at thirty-five, a rather pretty wife, and whom, on his return, he
found a widow of fifty, fat, yellow, wrinkled, and a zealous member of the
church. She, like others, had, at first, cast a cold eye on the wanderer;
but it shortly became evident to close observers, that a change was at
work in the pious matron's sentiments respecting her old acquaintance. She
was now careful to give him his morning dram from her own peculiar bottle,
to fill his pipe from her private box of Virginia, and to mix for him the
sleeping-cup in which her late husband had delighted. Of all these
courtesies Hugh Crombie did partake with a wise and cautious moderation,
that, while it proved them to be welcome, expressed his fear of
trespassing on her kindness. For the sake of brevity, it shall suffice to
say, that, about six weeks after Hugh's return, a writing appeared on one
of the elm-trees in front of the tavern (where, as the place of greatest
resort, such notices were usually displayed) setting forth that marriage
was intended between Hugh Crombie and the Widow Sarah Hutchins. And the
ceremony, which made Hugh a landholder, a householder, and a substantial
man, in due time took place.

As a landlord, his general conduct was very praiseworthy. He was moderate
in his charges, and attentive to his guests; he allowed no gross and