a well-known character, a writer of Perth, to come up and meet him at Dunkeld for the transaction of some business.  The Duke mentioned the day and hour when he should receive the man of law, who accordingly came punctually at the appointed time and place.  But the Duke had forgotten the appointment, and gone to the hill, from which he could not return for some hours.  A Highlander present described the Perth writer’s indignation, and his mode of showing it by a most elaborate course of swearing.  “But whom did he swear at?” was the inquiry made of the narrator, who replied, “Oh, he didna sweer at ony thing particular, but juist stude in ta middle of ta road and swoor at lairge.”  I have from a friend also an anecdote which shows how entirely at one period the practice of swearing had become familiar even to female ears when mixed up with the intercourse of social life.  A sister had been speaking of her brother as much addicted to this habit—­“Oor John sweers awfu’, and we try to correct him; but,” she added in a candid and apologetic tone, “nae doubt it is a great set aff to conversation.”  There was something of rather an admiring character in the description of an outbreak of swearing by a Deeside body.  He had been before the meeting of Justices for some offence against the excise laws, and had been promised some assistance and countenance by my cousin, the laird of Finzean, who was unfortunately addicted to the practice in question.  The poor fellow had not got off so well as he had expected, and on giving an account of what took place to a friend, he was asked, “But did not Finzean speak for you?” “Na,” he replied, “he didna say muckle; but oh, he damned bonny!”

This is the place to notice a change which has taken place in regard to some questions of taste in the building and embellishing of Scottish places of worship.  Some years back there was a great jealousy of ornament in connection with churches and church services, and, in fact, all such embellishments were considered as marks of a departure from the simplicity of old Scottish worship,—­they were distinctive of Episcopacy as opposed to the severer modes of Presbyterianism.  The late Sir William Forbes used to give an account of a conversation, indicative of this feeling, which he had overheard between an Edinburgh inhabitant and his friend from the country.  They were passing St. John’s, which had just been finished, and the countryman asked, “Whatna kirk was that?” “Oh,” said the townsman, “that is an English chapel,” meaning Episcopalian.  “Ay,” said his friend, “there’ll be a walth o’ images there.”  But, if unable to sympathise with architectural church ornament and embellishment, how much less could they sympathise with the performance of divine service, which included such musical accompaniments as intoning, chanting, and anthems!  On the first introduction of Tractarianism into Scotland, the full choir service had been established in an Episcopal church, where