"Ours, young lady, is a composite language. It may almost be said to be made up of bits of other languages. German or Low Dutch is its mother, and the Scandinavian group--Swedish, Danish, and so forth--may be termed its aunts. It belongs mostly to what is called the Teutonic group; but there are in it traces of Celtic, and though more dimly perceptible, even of Latin and Oriental tongues. We are altogether a made-up nation--to which fact some say that we owe those excellences on which we are so fond of priding ourselves." "Please, Sir, what are they?" I asked. Mr Cameron seemed much amused at the question. "What are the excellences we have?" said he; "or, what are those on which we pride ourselves? They are often not the same. And--notice it, young ladies, as you go through life--the virtue on which a man plumes himself the most highly is very frequently one which he possesses in small measure. (I do not say, in no measure.) Well, I suppose the qualities on which we English--" "We are not English!" cried Angus, hotly. "For this purpose we are," was Mr Cameron's answer. "As I observed before, the Lowland Scots and the northern English are one tribe. But I was going to say, when you were so rude as to interrupt me, English and Scots, young gentleman." Angus growled out, "Beg your pardon." "Take it," said Mr Cameron, pleasantly. "Now for the question. On what good qualities do we plume ourselves? Well, I think, on steadiness, independence, loyalty, truthfulness, firmness, honesty, and love of fair play. How far we are justified in doing so, perhaps other nations are the better judges. They, I believe, generally regard us as a proud and surly race--qualities on which there is no occasion to plume ourselves." "Much loyalty we have got to glory in!" said Angus. "We have always tried," replied Mr Cameron, "to run loyalty and liberty together; and when the two pull smoothly, undoubtedly the national chaise gets along the best. Unhappily, when harnessed to the same chariot, one of those steeds is very apt to kick over the traces. But we will not venture on such delicate ground, seeing that our political colours differ; nor is this the time to do it, for here is the inn where we are to dine." When we drove up to the manse on Wednesday, the floor stood open, and in the doorway was Helen Raeburn, who had evidently seen our chaise, and was waiting for us. Flora was out the first, and she and Helen flew into one another's arms, and hugged and kissed each other as if they could never leave off. I was surprised to find Helen so old. I thought Elspie's niece would have been between thirty and forty; and she looks more like sixty. Then Flora flew into the house to find her father, and Helen turned to me.