'Gan on wi' thoo--rates an' taxes be d----!' retorted the oracle swiftly. 'No, nowt ti do wi' them things; just tax, or tacts, mevvies it is, meanin' a pleasant way wi' ye, a bit touch o' the cap when the manager's vext wi' ye, a turn o' management when a drunken man wants ti fight ye for nowt at aal, ye ken, an' sae forth. Wow, but ye can fettle most things amangst men wiv a little o' that social lubricant, but wi' women it's different aaltigether; tax is nae use wi' them; it's just throwin' pearls before swine.' 'Holloa!' I interrupted again. 'What would the missus say to that?' 'Not hevin' heard it, she'll say nowt,' retorted 'the Heckler' severely. 'Well, as I was aboot to say when thoo forgot theeself, and disturbed the meetin' wi' yor interruptions, most men has foibles--some's dog-men like myself, some's book-men, some's gard'ners, some's beer-barrils, an' sae forth, an' if ye mind this ye can get what ye want usuallies oot o' them. But women's a different breed aaltigether. They divvn't care for the same things as men, an' ye cannet get roond them, I's warn'd, for they elwis gets roond ye instead. A man has no ambitions till he's married, Maistor John. Mevvies he's keen aboot this, an' that, an' 'tother thing, but that's nowt. Noo, woman's just chockfull ov ambitions aal her life long, an's nivvor, no, nivvor, satisfied from her cradle tiv her grave, an' even then she's wantin' fower horses tiv her hearse. Tak' a wee girlie for an instance: she's elwis wantin' new claes; then she's wantin' a man, then bairns, then a hoos ov her own, then a better cloak than Mariarann nex' door; an' when she gets them aal she's not satisfied, not one little bit, but's warse than ivvor. 'Noo I'll gie ye an instance o't. 'Ye'll dootless mind havin' seen or heard tell ov Tom Archbold, yence fore overman here i' the aad pit, a great, big, buirdly man, champion hewer o' the colliery at one time, who aye took the lead i' the village at every bit sport, an' carry-on, an' jollification that might be gannin' on at any time. 'Well, there was a little wee bit lassie ov aboot twenty-five years ov age, who had been married yence, but had lost her man iv an accident doon the pit--a fall o' stone, ye ken--an' nae sooner has she buried him than she's on the look-oot for anither mate. 'Well, bein' the littlest woman i' the village, she natorally--such bein' woman's human nature--tak's a fancy for the biggest man iv it, meanin' Tom Archbold, an' she gans for him straight awa. 'Ye'll hev seen a setter dog workin' for a partridge or a rabbit iv a rough grass field, mevvies. Weel, it was just the same method o' procedure wiv her. She gets a scent o' what she was wantin'; she draws upon him up wind; then she gets a tip-toe, steals tiv him till her breath's fair upon him, an' the man's done--fair done--clean copped, and it's "for better an' warse till death do us part." 'So it was wi' Lizzie an' Tom.