as existing so late as 1715 or 1745!  Dr. Gregory (of immortal mixture memory) used to tell a story of an old Highland chieftain, intended to show how such Celtic potentates were, even in his day, still inclined to hold themselves superior to all the usual considerations which affected ordinary mortals.  The doctor, after due examination, had, in his usual decided and blunt manner, pronounced the liver of a Highlander to be at fault, and to be the cause of his ill-health.  His patient, who could not but consider this as taking a great liberty with a Highland chieftain, roared out—­“And what the devil is it to you whether I have a liver or not?” But there is the case of dignity in Lowland Lairds as well as clan-headship in Highland Chiefs.  In proof of this, I need only point to a practice still lingering amongst us of calling landed proprietors, not as Mr. So-and-so, but by the names of their estates.  I recollect, in my early days, a number of our proprietors were always so designated.  Thus, it was not as Mr. Carnegie, Mr. Douglas, Mr. Irvine, etc., but as Craigo, Tillwhilly, Drum, etc.

An amusing application of such a territorial denominative system to the locality of London was narrated to me by a friend who witnessed it.  A Scottish gentleman, who had never been in the metropolis, arrived fresh from the Highlands, and met a small party at the house of a London friend.  A person was present of most agreeable manners, who delighted the Scotsman exceedingly.  He heard the company frequently referring to this gentleman’s residence in Piccadilly, to his house in Piccadilly, and so on.  When addressed by the gentleman, he commenced his reply, anxious to pay him all due respect—­“Indeed, Piccadilly,” etc.  He supposed Piccadilly must be his own territorial locality.  Another instance of mistake, arising out of Scottish ignorance of London ways, was made by a North Briton on his first visit to the great city.  He arrived at a hotel in Fleet Street, where many of the country coaches then put up.  On the following morning he supposed that such a crowd as he encountered could only proceed from some “occasion,” and must pass off in due time.  Accordingly, a friend from Scotland found him standing in a doorway, as if waiting for some one.  His countryman asked him what made him stand there.  To which he answered—­“Ou, I was just stan’ing till the kirk had scaled.”  The ordinary appearance of his native borough made the crowd of Fleet Street suggest to him the idea of a church crowd passing out to their several homes, called in Scotland a “kirk scaling.”  A London street object called forth a similar simple remark from a Scotsman.  He had come to London on his way to India, and for a few days had time to amuse himself by sight-seeing before his departure.  He had been much struck with the appearance of the mounted sentinels at the Horse Guards, Whitehall, and bore them in remembrance during his Eastern sojourn.  On his return, after a period of thirty years, on passing the Horse Guards, he looked up to one, and seeing him, as he thought, unchanged as to horse, position, and accoutrements, he exclaimed—­“Od, freend, ye hae had a lang spell on’t sin’ I left,” supposing him to be the identical sentinel he had seen before he sailed.