"Because his wife said it was a long way for her husband to go in the morning from Murrayfield to St. Andrew Square." "I see, and you fill in the details." "Oh, you men don't understand anything." BURNS'S ANNIVERSARY & THE MILDNESS of the SEASON Within the last few weeks, letters have been sent to the papers giving various proofs of the mildness of the season, some containing flowers which seem to have no right to be blooming at this time, and others alluding to the appearance of lambs as if they were sunflowers. I can, however, give an experience which, taken in conjunction with the influenza epidemic, is a better proof of mildness in the weather than all the parcels of premature flowers. My friend Mr. Stewart, an Ayrshire farmer, has for some years been pressing me to pay him a visit, and I lately accepted his invitation to have a week with the hounds. The week is extending, but I am not allowed to leave, Stewart having always some excuse for delaying my departure. "Ye canna gang on Monday," he said; "that's the nicht o' the curlin' denner, an' I've got the tickets"; and so he lured me from day to day like a will-o'-the-wisp. At last, when the week had expanded to a fortnight, I determined to be firm and go. I had a nice little speech arranged to thank my host for his great kindness to me; and at night, when we were having our smoke and a glass of toddy, I cleared my throat with that peculiar cough which is the general precursor of a speech. But the cough seemed to put him on the alert, for I had only got the length, "Well, Mr. Stewart, I've enjoyed my visit very----," when he interrupted me by saying, "Noo, nane o' that nonsense. Man, I wunner to hear ye; the hounds'll be here on Wednesday, an' I've got tickets for the Burns nicht on Friday, an'----." Then he seemed to think that was far enough to make me look forward for the present, so he finished by saying "Ta!" which might mean anything. My speech and fortitude vanished. I was as clay in the hands of the potter. "Friday is not the anniversary of Burns's birthday," I said; "it's Saturday." "Yes; but then, ye see, Saturday's an awkward nicht, an' Friday suits better." Subsequent events showed me that the shortness of Saturday night was its awkward point; and I may here say that the Ayrshire men can, and do, stand a large quantity of whisky. And in this respect, feeling myself like an amateur among professionals, I determined to be careful on Friday night, and take nothing before going; and when I make up my mind to anything, I am very determined. I was rather astonished when, about two o'clock on Friday, Stewart said, "We'll better be off, then." "Why are you going so soon?" I inquired; "the meeting will not be till night." "Ay, but we're to meet some o' the chaps at Maclean's to hae a bit denner at fower, so we'll just tak' a bit tastin' an' set off." "How far is it to town?" I asked.