criticism of the conversation of
that day (1797-1802) concerned itself with the prevalence of that form
of Scotch humour which was called wut; and with the disputations and
dialectics. We were more fortunate than Sydney Smith, because Edinburgh
has outgrown its odious smells, barbarous sounds, and bad suppers and,
wonderful to relate, has kept its excellent hearts and its enlightened
and cultivated understandings. As for mingled wut and dialectics, where
can one find a better foundation for dinner-table conversation?

The hospitable board itself presents no striking differences from
our own, save the customs of serving sweets in soup-plates with
dessert-spoons, of a smaller number of forks on parade, of the
invariable fish-knife at each plate, of the prevalent 'savoury' and
'cold shape,' and the unusual grace and skill with which the hostess
carves. Even at very large dinners one occasionally sees a lady of high
degree severing the joints of chickens and birds most daintily, while
her lord looks on in happy idleness, thinking, perhaps, how greatly
times have changed for the better since the ages of strife and
bloodshed, when Scottish nobles

'Carved at the meal with gloves of steel,
And drank their wine through helmets barred.'

The Scotch butler is not in the least like an English one. No man could
be as respectable as he looks, not even an elder of the kirk, whom he
resembles closely. He hands your plate as if it were a contribution-box,
and in his moments of ease, when he stands behind the 'maister,' I am
always expecting him to pronounce a benediction. The English butler,
when he wishes to avoid the appearance of listening to the conversation,
gazes with level eye into vacancy; the Scotch butler looks distinctly
heavenward, as if he were brooding on the principle of co-ordinate
jurisdiction with mutual subordination. It would be impossible for me to
deny the key of the wine-cellar to a being so steeped in sanctity, but
it has been done, I am told, in certain rare and isolated cases.

As for toilets, the men dress like all other men (alas, and alas, that
we should say it, for we were continually hoping for a kilt!) though
there seems to be no survival of the finical Lord Napier's spirit.
Perhaps you remember that Lord and Lady Napier arrived at Castlemilk
in Lanarkshire with the intention of staying a week, but announced next
morning that a circumstance had occurred which rendered it indispensable
to return