"This is writ to tell you that I have sent ye, by the wish of my mither, one cheese of seven pounds weight good, as we are hearing that you are thinking to try and find something to do in Edinburgh during the summer time. Which will be an advisable thing, if it be the Lord's will--for faint-a-hait do ye do here except play ill pranks and run the country. "However, what comes o't we shall see. Also there is a pig of butter. It may be the better of a trifle more salt, that is, if the weather is onyway warm. So I have put in a little piece of board and ye can work the salt in yourself. Be a good lad, and mind there are those here that are praying for ye to be guided aright. Big towns are awful places for temptation by what they say, and that ye are about the easiest specimen to be tempted, that I have yet seen with these eyes. Howsomever, maybe ye will have gotten grace, or if not that, at least a pickle common-sense, whilk often does as well--or better. "It's a Guid's blessing that ye have been led to stop where ye are. For that lassie Charlotte Anderson is going on a shame to be seen. Actually she is never off our doorstep--fleeing and rinning all hours of the day. At first I thought to mysel', it was to hear news of you. But she kens as weel as us when the posts come in, besides the letters she gets from Agnes Anne--some that cost as muckle as sevenpence--a ruination and a disgrace!" [Tom Gallaberry must have been prolix that week.] "Then I thought it was maybe some of the lads--for, like it or no, ye had better ken soon as syne, that maiden's e'e is filled with vanity and the gauds o' grandeur, disdaining the true onputting of a meek and quiet spirit! "But, for your comfort, if ye are so far left to yourself as to take comfort in the like--and the bigger fool you--it is no the lads after all. It's just Irma Maitland! "I declare they two are never sindry. They will be out talk-talking, yatter-yattering when the kye are being milked in the morning. Irma makes her carry the water, that's one comfort. But I wonder at that silly auld clocking hen, Seraphina Huntingdon. It's a deal of work she will be getting, but I suppose the premium pays for all, and she will not care a farthing now that Charlotte's market is made. Not that I would trust you (or any student lad) the length of my stirabout potstick--or indeed (not to shame my own father) anything that wears hose and knee-breeches. And maybe that's the reason every silly birkie thinks he has the right to cast up to me that I am an auld maid. Faith, there's few that wear the wedding ring with whom I would change places. But what of that?