just returned from Italy, and, impressed with admiration of the deep pathos, sentiment, and passion of the Italian school of music, he regretted to find in his pupil so lovely a voice and so much talent losing much of its effect for want of feeling.  Anxious, therefore, to throw into his friend’s performance something of the Italian expression, he proposed to bring it out by this suggestion:  “Now, Mr. Wilson, just suppose that I am your lady love, and sing to me as you could imagine yourself doing were you desirous of impressing her with your earnestness and affection.”  Poor Mr. Wilson hesitated, blushed, and, under doubt how far such a personification even in his case was allowable, at last remonstrated, “Ay, Mr. Dun, ye forget I’m a married man!” A case has been reported of a country girl, however, who thought it possible there might be an excess in such scrupulous regard to appearances.  On her marriage-day, the youth to whom she was about to be united said to her in a triumphant tone, “Weel, Jenny, haven’t I been unco ceevil?” alluding to the fact that during their whole courtship he had never even given her a kiss.  Her quiet reply was, “Ou, ay, man; senselessly ceevil.”

One of these Montrose ladies and a sister lived together; and in a very quiet way they were in the habit of giving little dinner-parties, to which occasionally they invited their gentlemen friends.  However, gentlemen were not always to be had; and on one occasion, when such a difficulty had occurred, they were talking over the matter with a friend.  The one lady seemed to consider such an acquisition almost essential to the having a dinner at all.  The other, who did not see the same necessity, quietly adding, “But, indeed, oor Jean thinks a man perfect salvation.”

Very much of the same class of remarks was the following sly observation of one of the sisterhood.  At a well-known tea-table in a country town in Forfarshire, the events of the day, grave and gay, had been fully discussed by the assembled sisterhood.  The occasion was improved by an elderly spinster, as follows:—­“Weel, weel, sirs, these are solemn events—­death and marriage—­but ye ken they’re what we must a’ come till.”  “Eh, Miss Jeany! ye have been lang spared,” was the arch reply of a younger member.

There was occasionally a pawky semi-sarcastic humour in the replies of some of the ladies we speak of, that was quite irresistible, of which I have from a friend a good illustration in an anecdote well known at the time.  A late well-known member of the Scottish bar, when a youth, was somewhat of a dandy, and, I suppose, somewhat short and sharp in his temper.  He was going to pay a visit in the country, and was making a great fuss about his preparing and putting up his habiliments.  His old aunt was much annoyed at all this bustle, and stopped him by the somewhat contemptuous question, “Whar’s this you’re gaun, Bobby, that ye mak sic a grand wark about yer claes?” The young man lost temper, and pettishly replied, “I’m going to the devil.” “’Deed, Robby, then,” was the quiet answer, “ye needna be sae nice, he’ll juist tak’ ye as ye are.”