ow it could ever read sense. But
there is ane piece of industry and froughgalaty I should not forget,
whilk is wives going about with whirl-barrows, selling horses' flesh to
the cats and dogs by weight, and the cats and dogs know them very well by
their voices. In short, Miss Mally, there is nothing heer that the hand
is not turnt to; and there is, I can see, a better order and method
really among the Londoners than among our Scotch folks, notwithstanding
their advantages of edicashion, but my pepper will hold no more at
present, from your true friend,

JANET PRINGLE.

There was a considerable diversity of opinion among the commentators on
this epistle. Mrs. Craig was the first who broke silence, and displayed
a great deal of erudition on the minch-collop-engine, and the
potatoe-beetle, in which she was interrupted by the indignant Mrs.
Glibbans, who exclaimed, "I am surprised to hear you, Mrs. Craig, speak
of sic baubles, when the word of God's in danger of being controverted by
an Act of Parliament. But, Mr. Snodgrass, dinna ye think that this
painting of the queen's face is a Jezebitical testification against her?"
Mr. Snodgrass replied, with an unwonted sobriety of manner, and with an
emphasis that showed he intended to make some impression on his
auditors--"It is impossible to judge correctly of strangers by measuring
them according to our own notions of propriety. It has certainly long
been a practice in courts to disfigure the beauty of the human
countenance with paint; but what, in itself, may have been originally
assumed for a mask or disguise, may, by usage, have grown into a very
harmless custom. I am not, therefore, disposed to attach any criminal
importance to the circumstance of her majesty wearing paint. Her late
majesty did so herself." "I do not say it was criminal," said Mrs.
Glibbans; "I only meant it was sinful, and I think it is." The accent of
authority in which this was said, prevented Mr. Snodgrass from offering
any reply; and, a brief pause ensuing, Miss Molly Glencairn observed,
that it was a surprising thing how the Doctor and Mrs. Pringle managed
their matters so well. "Ay," said Mrs. Craig, "but we a' ken what a
manager the mistress is--she's the bee that mak's the hincy--she does not
gang bizzing aboot, like a thriftless wasp, through her neighbours'
houses." "I tell you, Betty, my dear," cried Mr. Craig, "that you
shou