Hours with men and books

About this book

ABOUT twenty years ago there might have been seen flitting about the rural lanes in the neighborhood of Edinburgh, Scotland, a strange, diminutive, spectral-looking being, clad in a motley costume, with his hat hung over the back of his head, his neck-cloth twisted like a wisp of straw, and altogether so grotesque-looking, that you could not help stopping to look at him, and wondering to what race, order, or age of human beings he belonged.