In connection with the subject of Scottish toasts I am supplied by a first-rate Highland authority of one of the most graceful and crushing replies of a lady to what was intended as a sarcastic compliment and smart saying at her expense.

About the beginning of the present century the then Campbell of Combie, on Loch Awe side, in Argyleshire, was a man of extraordinary character, and of great physical strength, and such swiftness of foot that it is said he could “catch the best tup on the hill.”  He also looked upon himself as a “pretty man,” though in this he was singular; also, it was more than whispered that the laird was not remarkable for his principles of honesty.  There also lived in the same district a Miss MacNabb of Bar-a’-Chaistril, a lady who, before she had passed the zenith of life, had never been remarkable for her beauty—­the contrary even had passed into a proverb, while she was in her teens; but, to counterbalance this defect in external qualities, nature had endowed her with great benevolence, while she was renowned for her probity.  One day the Laird of Combie, who piqued himself on his bon-mots, was, as frequently happened, a guest of Miss MacNabb’s, and after dinner several toasts had gone round as usual, Combie rose with great solemnity and addressing the lady of the house requested an especial bumper, insisting on all the guests to fill to the brim.  He then rose and said, addressing himself to Miss MacNabb, “I propose the old Scottish toast of ’Honest men and bonnie lassies,’” and bowing to the hostess, he resumed his seat.  The lady returned his bow with her usual amiable smile, and taking up her glass, replied, “Weel, Combie, I am sure we may drink that, for it will neither apply to you nor me.”

An amusing example of a quiet cool view of a pecuniary transaction happened to my father whilst doing the business of the rent-day.  He was receiving sums of money from the tenants in succession.  After looking over a bundle of notes which he had just received from one of them, a well-known character, he said in banter, “James, the notes are not correct.”  To which the farmer, who was much of a humorist, drily answered, “I dinna ken what they may be noo; but they were a’ richt afore ye had your fingers in amang ’em.”  An English farmer would hardly have spoken thus to his landlord.  The Duke of Buccleuch told me an answer very quaintly Scotch, given to his grandmother by a farmer of the old school.  A dinner was given to some tenantry of the vast estates of the family, in the time of Duke Henry.  His Duchess (the last descendant of the Dukes of Montague) always appeared at table on such occasions, and did the honours with that mixture of dignity and of affable kindness for which she was so remarkable.  Abundant hospitality was shown to all the guests.  The Duchess, having observed one of the tenants supplied with boiled beef from a noble round, proposed that he should add a supply