t long ago, and into which such books as Dean Ramsay's
and this are breathing the breath of its old life. Was there ever
anything better or so good, said of a stiff clay, than that it "girns
(grins) a' simmer, and greets (weeps) a' winter?"

"_OH, I'M WAT, WAT!_"

_The father of the Rev. Mr. Steven of Largs, was the son of a
farmer, who lived next farm to Mossgiel. When a boy of eight, he
found "Robbie" who was a great friend of his, and of all the
children, engaged digging a large trench in a field, Gilbert,
his brother, with him. The boy pausing on the edge of the
trench, and looking down upon Burns, said, "Robbie, what's that
ye're doin'?" "Howkin' a muckle hole, Tammie." "What for?" "To
bury the Deil in, Tammie!" (one can fancy how those eyes would
glow.) "A'but, Robbie," said the logical Tammie, "hoo're ye to
get him in?" "Ay" said Burns, "that's it, hoo are we to get Him
in!" and went off into shouts of laughter; and every now and
then during that summer day shouts would come from that hole, as
the idea came over him. If one could only have daguerreotyped
his day's fancies!_

"What is love, Mary?" said Seventeen to Thirteen, who was busy with her
English lessons.

"Love! what do you mean, John?"

"I mean, what's love?"

"Love's just love, I suppose."

(Yes, Mary, you are right to keep by the concrete; analysis kills love
as well as other things. I once asked a useful-information young lady
what her mother was. 'Oh, mamma's a _biped_!' I turned in dismay to her
younger sister, and said, What do you say? 'Oh, my mother's just my
mother.')

"But what part of speech is it?"

"It's a substantive or a verb." (Young Horne Tooke didn't ask her if it
was an active or passive, an irregular or defective verb; an inceptive,
as _calesco_, I grow warm, or _dulcesco_, I grow sweet; a frequentative
or a desiderative, as _nupturio_, I desire to marry.)

"I think it is a verb," said John, who was deep in other diversions,
besides those of Purley; "and I think it must have been originally _the
Perfect of Live_, like thrive throve, strive strove."

"Capital, John!" suddenly growled Uncle Oldbuck, who was supposed to be
asleep in his arm-chair by the fireside, and who snubbed and supported
the entire household. "It was that originally, and it will be our own
faults, children, if it is not that at last, as well as, ay, and more
than at first. What does Ric