On the way home I made the acquaintance of a young Englishman, who said he intended spending a few days in Edinburgh before returning south; and when, on the Sunday morning, he said he should like to hear one of our celebrated divines, I offered to accompany him. And if my friend wished to get an idea of what a Scotch sermon was like, we could not have been more fortunate: the text was soon lost sight of, and the preacher warmed to his task. Taking it for granted that his apparently respectable congregation was of the worst possible order, he worked himself into a passion, telling his hearers of their fearful future, dealing out revenge in copious quantities, and ignoring anything like love, mercy, or even justice. The heat of the sermon had worked me into a perspiration, and when on the way out my friend said, "Do you pay your ministers to insult you in that way?" I could not think of a reply, feeling he was looking down on us from a higher civilisation, and was glad of the excuse to say "How d'ye do?" to the old lady who had just caught my eye. Mrs. Fraser is an Aberdonian, and, though she has been half a century in Edinburgh, she has lost none of her northern accent, much to the annoyance of her daughters. "Oh, I'm nae weel at a'," she replied. "I'm nae sae young as I've been, an' I seem tae be a' breakin' up thegither." "Oh, I'm very sorry," I said; "but I hope you'll soon be bet----" "I'm fair lame wi' thae rheumatics i' the knee, an' I've tried a'thing I can think o'. I'm share, the siller I've spent on liniments an' medicines wad--I dinna ken what: an' jist thrown awa'. An' as for rubbin'----" Before she could find a simile for the useless effects of rubbing, I said, "Well, I'll bid you good----" "Ye micht as weel--I dinna ken what," she said, finding her suitable expression. "An' then, my back's aye troublin' me: it's an awfu' thing, that lumbagie; but ye'll ken naething aboot that; an' the doctors dinna seem tae be able tae dae me ony guid." I took advantage of her coughing, to say "My friend is waiting on me, so I'll say----" "Not a bit o' guid: hot flannels, an' ironin' an' I dinna ken what a'; an' ye micht jist as weel--I dinna ken what." "Well, I'll not keep you standing in the cold," I said, as if I had been detaining her, though I was beginning to shiver after the hot time we had been treated to inside; but she did not seem to hear me, and continued: "An' then I was three weeks nursin' Mr. Fraser. Ye wad see aboot it in the papers----" "Yes, I was very sorry to----" "Never had my claes aff, ye may say, for it was jist het watter an' laud'num cloths day an' nicht. 'Peritonitis' the doctors ca'd it, but I ken better: it was jist inflammation in 's inside, wi' a chill." "In--deed!" I said, with as much sympathy of expression as I could throw into the word. "Well, I am afraid I'm keeping you in the cold, and my friend is----"