volume to the guests, and ask them to write in it during the evenings whatever occurred to their memory or their imagination.  In the mornings it was a favourite amusement of Lord Gardenstone to look it over.  I recollect Sir Walter Scott being much taken with this contrivance, and his asking me about it at Abbotsford.  His son said to him, “You should establish such a book, sir, at Melrose;” upon which Sir W. replied, “No, Walter; I should just have to see a great deal of abuse of myself.”  On his son deprecating such a result, and on his observing my surprised look, he answered, “Well, well, I should have to read a great deal of foolish praise, which is much the same thing.”  An amusing account is given of the cause of Lord Gardenstone withdrawing this volume from the hotel, and of his determination to submit it no more to the tender mercies of the passing traveller.  As Professor Stuart of Aberdeen was passing an evening at the inn, the volume was handed to him, and he wrote in it the following lines, in the style of the prophecies of Thomas the Rhymer:—­

     “Frae sma’ beginnings Rome of auld
      Became a great imperial city;
      ’Twas peopled first, as we are tauld,
      By bankrupts, vagabonds, banditti. 
      Quoth Thamas, Then the day may come,
      When Laurencekirk shall equal Rome.”

These lines so nettled Lord Gardenstone, that the volume disappeared, and was never seen afterwards in the inn of Laurencekirk.  There is another lingering reminiscence which I retain connected with the inn at Laurencekirk.  The landlord, Mr. Cream, was a man well known throughout all the county, and was distinguished, in his later years, as one of the few men who continued to wear a pigtail.  On one occasion the late Lord Dunmore (grandfather or great-grandfather of the present peer), who also still wore his queue, halted for a night at Laurencekirk.  On the host leaving the room, where he had come to take orders for supper, Lord Dunmore turned to his valet and said, “Johnstone, do I look as like a fool in my pigtail as Billy Cream does?”—­“Much about it, my lord,” was the valet’s imperturbable answer.  “Then,” said his lordship, “cut off mine to-morrow morning when I dress.”

Lord Gardenstone seemed to have had two favourite tastes:  he indulged in the love of pigs and the love of snuff.  He took a young pig as a pet, and it became quite tame, and followed him about like a dog.  At first the animal shared his bed, but when, growing up to advanced swinehood, it became unfit for such companionship, he had it to sleep in his room, in which he made a comfortable couch for it of his own clothes.  His snuff he kept not in a box, but in a leathern waist-pocket made for the purpose.  He took it in enormous quantities, and used to say that if he had a dozen noses he would feed them all.  Lord Gardenstone died 1793.