scholars.[3] The fees ranged from 10_s._ to 1_l._ per annum—ten shillings for reading, writing, and arithmetic, and an extra ten for the classics. The master of the other school—an auxiliary seminary established by the General Assembly—received 25_l._ per annum and a cow’s keep, with the fees, averaging about ten shillings per annum for each scholar. It was not required that the master of this establishment should be a high classic, or indeed a classic at all. The appointment was vested in the minister, who was well content to select the candidate, whose letter, soliciting the appointment, exhibited the fewest errors in orthography. Perfection in that branch of grammar he never looked for and never got; for how could you expect irreproachable orthography for 25_l._ a year and a cow’s keep? The worthy man—the minister—made great exertions to establish and carry on this school; but it was always a great source of trouble to him. College men, of course, disdained to accept so trifling a salary; or to undertake so undignified a duty as the instruction of poor cottars’ children in the alphabet. The minister was, therefore, obliged to accept the services of any half-educated aspirant for the honours of a dominie, who could bring testimony to his respectability, and write a tolerable letter. Most of the teachers—for there were frequent changes—were Highlanders, who were more conversant with Gaelic than with English, and who had learned the latter language as a foreign tongue. They all spoke with a fearful Highland twang, all were married, all had slatternly wives, and unreasonably large families. The cow that was kept at the public expense for the sustenance (lacteally) of the General Assembly’s schoolmaster had a hard time of it. Provender was scarce, and the demand for milk excessive; and the schoolmaster’s cow generally died of exhaustion, after a year or two of self-sacrifice.