o or lean on, save and
except the proceeds of my daily handiwork. Nothing, however, is sure in
this world, as Maister Wiggie more than once took occasion to observe,
when lecturing on the house built by the foolish man on the sea-sands;
for months passed on, and better passed on; and these, added together by
simple addition, amounted to three years; and still neither word nor
wittens of a family, to perpetuate our name to future generations,
appeared to be forthcoming.

Between friends, I make no secret of the matter, that this was a
catastrophe which vexed me not a little, for more reasons than one. In
the first place, youngsters being a bond of mutual affection between man
and wife, sweeter than honey from the comb, and stronger than the Roman
cement with which the old Picts built their bridges, that will last till
the day of doom. In the second place, bairns toddling round a bit ingle
make a house look like itself, especially in the winter time, when
hailstanes rattle on the window, and winds roar like the voices of mighty
giants at the lum-head; for then the maister of the dwelling finds
himself like an ancient patriarch, and the shepherd of a flock, tender as
young lambs, yet pleasant to his eye, and dear to his heart. And, in the
third place, (for I'll speak the truth and shame the deil,) as I could
not thole the gibes and idle tongues of a wheen fools, that, for their
diversion, would be asking me, "How the wife and bairns were; and if I
had sent my auldest laddie to the school yet?"

I have swithered within myself for more than half-an-hour whether I
should relate a circumstance bordering a little on the supernatural line,
that happened to me, as connected with the business of the bairns of
which I have just been speaking; and, were it for no other reason, but
just to plague the scoffer that sits in his elbow-chair, I have
determined to jot down the whole miraculous paraphernally in black and
white. With folk that will not listen to the voice of reason, it is
needless to be wasterful of words; so them that like, may either prin
their faith to my coat-sleeve, about what I am going to relate, or
not--just as they choose. All that I can say in my defence, and as an
affidavy to my veracity, is, that I have been thirty year an elder of
Maister Wiggie's kirk--and that is no joke. The matter I make free to
consider is not a laughing concern, nor any thing belonging to the Merry-
Andrew line; and, if folk were b