I once had a lesson in singing, though those who have heard me sing are sceptical. I got it from a dairyman--a peculiar speaker. His tongue seemed too large for his mouth, as if it had been made for his big brother. I knew that he was fond of singing, because he had told me he had "A chertificate frae the Choral Union. Oh, I got it framed up in the hooth yonder"; and knowing this, I asked him on one occasion how he was getting on with singing. "Oh, I'm gettin' on first rate noo. Man, I wath goin' on the wrang sthyle a'thegither, but I got thum letth'ns frae an Italian chap--what wath this his name wath again? Ye wad ken him fine; he wath in the Italian opery. Aye, hith name was thignor--aye, his first name was thignor something. Dash't, I wath thorry for the puir chap. Dash't, his very pianny wath p'inded! Ay, its an' awfu' thing that drink! By the by, thpeakin' aboot drink, I've left the auld man an' thartit a public hooth. Aweel, thinks I, thith ith a fine chance to get thum letth'ns in thingin' on the cheap, theein' he wuth hard up; tho' when I wath therv'n' um wi' milk, thays I, 'What d'ye chairge for letth'ns in thingin'?' Thays he, 'Fower guineaths for twelve letth'ns.' 'Oh, dash it,' thays I, 'thath's ower much for me,' an' I wath gaun awa' oot at th' door, an' of course he thocht he was gaun to loose a customer, so says he, 'What'll ye thtand us?' Oh, he could thpeak English as weelth mysel'. 'I'll stand ye a shovrin,' I thays. 'Very weel,' thays he. 'Noo let me hear ye thing yer favourite thang, so that I can get the thtyle o' yere v'ice. 'So I starths him on 'Annie Laurie'--thath's my favrit yin, ye ken--an' here's the way ye gang at it"; and taking a big breath, and pointing to the middle of his vest, he explained, "They dae a' thing frae here nooadays," and started: "'Hey, Maxwelton braes are bonnie.' Div ye see, accent on the 'max'; then there was anither bit I wath gaun on the wrang style a'thegither--thath's the bit whaur it says, 'I wad lay me doon and dee.' Hereth the way I was singin' 't, 'I wad lay-hay me do-hoon and a dee-he.' 'Stop a meenit,' this Italian chaps ays; 'stop wan meenit. Wha the devil,' he thays, 'ever heard,' says he, 'o' onybody,' he says, "'Lay-hayin themsel's do-hoon an' dee-heein'."' An' it's dasht nonsense when ye come to think o't. Then there was anither bit I was gaun on the wrang style a'thegither--thath's the bit that thays, 'Which ne'er forgot shall be'; an' this is the way ye gang at it: 'Which ne'er forgot shall be--and for bonnie.' Div ye thee jist let ye're v'ice die away, an' fill yersel' up wi' wind, an' on to the next line. 'Noo,' thays he, 'when ye're gaun up the scale, tak' the broad Italian _a_; for inst'nce, when ye come to the tap notes, ye'll find ye're compress'n twa-thirds o' yer thrapple thegethir.' An' the chap's quite richt. I've seen me when I was at the Corn Exchange, when Wully Gladstone was there, hear Sir John