or to any other task that is to make you
immortal. Let gigs and curricles draw up in the circle, and the wooing
and betrothed wheel away across a few parishes. Let the pedestrians
saunter off into the woods or to the hill-side--the anglers be off to
loch or river. No great harm even in a game or two at billiards--if such
be of any the cue--sagacious spinsters of a certain age, staid dowagers,
and bachelors of sedentary habits, may have recourse, without blame, to
the chess or backgammon board. At two lunch--and at six the dinner-gong
will bring the whole flock together, all dressed--mind that--all
dressed, for slovenliness is an abomination. Let no elderly gentleman,
however bilious and rich, seek to monopolise a young lady--but study the
nature of things. Champagne, of course, and if not all the delicacies,
at least all the substantialities, of the season. Join the ladies in
about two hours--a little elevated or so--almost imperceptibly--but
still a little elevated or so; then music--whispering in corners--if
moonlight and stars, then an hour's out-of-door study of astronomy--no
very regular supper--but an appearance of plates and tumblers, and to
bed, to happy dreams and slumbers light, at the witching hour. Let no
gentleman or lady snore, if it can be avoided, lest they annoy the
crickets; and if you hear any extraordinary noise round and round about
the mansion, be not alarmed, for why should not the owls choose their
own hour of revelry?

Fond as we are of the country, we would not, had we our option, live
there all the year round. We should just wish to linger into the winter
about as far as the middle of December--then to a city--say at once
Edinburgh. There is as good skating-ground, and as good curling-ground,
at Lochend and Duddingston, as anywhere in all Scotland--nor is there
anywhere else better beef and greens. There is no perfection anywhere,
but Edinburgh society is excellent. We are certainly agreeable citizens;
with just a sufficient spice of party spirit to season the feast of
reason and the flow of soul, and to prevent society from becoming
drowsily unanimous. Without the fillip of a little scandal, honest
people would fall asleep; and surely it is far preferable to that to
abuse one's friends with moderation. Even Literature and the Belles
Lettres are not entirely useless; and our Human Life would not be so
delightful as that of Mr Rogers, without a few occasional Noctes
Ambrosianae.

But the tit