The words were scarcely out of his mouth ere he had reason to regret them; a severe box on the ear was administered by his indignant sister. Nobody pitied him. _Christie._ “I'll laern yet' affront me before a' the company.” _Jean Carnie._ “Suppose it's a lee, there's nae silver to pay for it, Flucker.” _Christie._ “Jean, I never telt a lee in a' my days.” _Jean._ “There's ane to begin wi' then. Go ahead, Custy.” _Christie._ “She bade the music play for him, for music brightens thoucht; ony way, he chose the leed kist. Open'st and wasn't there Porsha's pictur, and a posy, that said: 'If you be well pleased with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss; Turn you where your leddy iss, And greet her wi' a loving--'” _(Pause)._ “Kess,” roared the company. _Chorus, led by Flucker._ “Hurraih!” _Christie (pathetically)._ “Flucker, behave!” _Sandy Liston (drunk)._ “Hur-raih!” He then solemnly reflected. “Na! but it's na hurraih, decency requires amen first an' hurraih afterward; here's kissin plenty, but I hear nae word o' the minister. Ye'll obsairve, young woman, that kissin's the prologue to sin, and I'm a decent mon, an' a gray-headed mon, an' your licht stories are no for me; sae if the minister's no expeckit I shall retire--an' tak my quiet gill my lane.” _Jean Carnie._ “And div ye really think a decent cummer like Custy wad let the lad and lass misbehave thirsels? Na! lad, the minister's at the door, but” (sinking her voice to a confidential whisper) “I daurna let him in, for fear he'd see ye hae putten the enemy in your mooth sae aerly. (That's Custy's word.)” “Jemmy Drysel,” replied Sandy, addressing vacancy, for Jemmy was mysteriously at work in the kitchen, “ye hae gotten a thoughtfu' wife.” (Then, with a strong revulsion of feeling.) “Dinna let the blackguard* in here,” cried he, “to spoil the young folk's sporrt.” * At present this is a spondee in England--a trochee in Scotland The pronunciation of this important word ought to be fixed, representing, as it does, so large a portion of the community in both countries. _Christie._ “Aweel, lassies, comes a letter to Bassanio; he reads it, and turns as pale as deeth.” _A Fishwife._ “Gude help us.” _Christie._ “Poorsha behooved to ken his grief, wha had a better reicht? 'Here's a letter, leddy,' says he, 'the paper's the boedy of my freend, like, and every word in it a gaping wound.'” _A Fisherman._ “Maircy on us.” _Christie._ “Lad, it was fra puir Antonio, ye mind o' him, Lasses. Hech! the ill luck o' yon man, no a ship come hame; ane foundered at sea, coming fra Tri-po-lis; the pirates scuttled another, an' ane ran ashore on the Goodwins, near Bright-helm-stane, that's in England itsel', I daur say. Sae he could na pay the three thoosand ducats, an' Shylock had grippit him, an' sought the pund o' flesh aff the breest o' him, puir body.”