couldna think what was wrang wi't, for it's a guid bairn for usual; an' when I lookit at the shawl that's roond it, isn't here a preen stickin' in't, and ye couldna expec' the bit bairn tae be guid, an' me makin'a preen-cushion o't. Ay! it's as guid a bairn's ever I had, an' I've had five; but three o' them's deid. Yin deid wi' its teeth, an' yin deid wi' its inside, an' yin deid wi' its granny, but it's a rale healthy place this though; they tell me it's eleven hunder feet aboon the level o' the sea. But I'm thinkin' that's jist a kind o' guess wark, for there's nae sea here tae measure fae; ay, ye'll find it a quiet place this, but d'ye ken it's naething tae the shepherd's hoose up the water; they're seven miles fae onybody, an' their wee bit lassie--a bairn twa year an' a half auld--she never had seen onybody in her life but her faither an' her mother, an' yae day there was a man gaun fishin' up the water, an' when she saw um she ran awa' into the hoose an' cries, 'Mother! there's something comin' up the water the same shape's my faither.' Ay, ye'll find it an aufu' difference fae Edinburgh. I never was in Edinburgh but yince. Me an' John--that's my man, ye ken--gaed awa' in tae see oor auldest laddie Johnnie, a sojer up at the Castle yonder; an' when we gaed awa' up, here he's walkin' up an' doon at the front door, an' I says, 'What are ye walkin' aboot there for, Johnnie? Wull they no let ye in?'" "'Let me in! wummin; I'm walkin' here for a century.'" "So John--that's my man, ye ken--he says, 'Are ye no comin' doon tae the Lawnmarket for a refreshment?'" "'Mun,' says he, 'I canna leave my post.'" "'Ta, gie that laddie a penny tae haud yer gun.'" "Aweel, we gaed awa' doon tae the Lawnmarket, an' d'ye ken there was the awfu'est row ever ye heard tell o' when we gaed back, for leavin' the Castle in chairge o' a wee laddie. Ay, bit that's no what I was gaun tae tell ye though. What was't I was sayin', again? Ouay, aboot wee Johnnie Paterson. I'll tell ye hoo it happened. I was gaun awa' doon for the pennywuth o' soor milk, as I was sayin', an' jist as I was gaun roond by the back o' the auld quarry--d'ye ken, I aye said they should pit a palin' roond that place--here's a' the bairns comin' up greetin,' an'--is that a gig comin' up the road? That'll be the doctor's cairrage, I wager ye. I'll awa' doon an' see what he says is wrang wi' um." And that is all I ever heard about the "fearful accident." BOYS 'Boys will be boys'; it is a great pity, but it is an evil we have to face. There is a great difference between the boys of last generation and the present,--not in favour of the latter. They have all the faults of their fathers, with new ones added. It is rather hard on the men of to-day, that when they were boys they were scarcely allowed to speak "in company," and now they never get a chance if there is a boy present.