id when shearing the soo.
Ye gae far about seeking the nearest.
Ye'll no sell your hen on a rainy day.
Ye'll mend when ye grow better.
Ye're nae chicken for a' your cheepin'_[157].

I have now adduced quite sufficient specimens to convince those who may
not have given attention to the subject, how much of wisdom, knowledge
of life, and good feeling, are contained in these aphorisms which
compose the mass of our Scottish proverbial sayings. No doubt, to many
of my younger readers proverbs are little known, and to all they are
becoming more and more matters of reminiscence. I am quite convinced
that much of the old quaint and characteristic Scottish talk which we
are now endeavouring to recall depended on a happy use of those
abstracts of moral sentiment. And this feeling will be confirmed when we
call to mind how often those of the old Scottish school of character,
whose conversation we have ourselves admired, had most largely availed
themselves of the use of its _proverbial_ philosophy.

I have already spoken of (p. 16) a Scottish peculiarity--viz. that of
naming individuals from lands which have been possessed long by the
family, or frequently from the landed estates which they acquire. The
use of this mode of discriminating individuals in the Highland districts
is sufficiently obvious. Where the inhabitants of a whole country-side
are Campbells, or Frasers, or Gordons, nothing could be more convenient
than addressing the individuals of each clan by the name of his estate.
Indeed, some years ago, any other designation, as Mr. Campbell, Mr.
Fraser, would have been resented as an indignity. Their consequence
sprang from their possession[158]. But all this is fast wearing away.
The estates of old families have often changed hands, and Highlanders
are most unwilling to give the names of old properties to new
proprietors. The custom, however, lingers amongst us, in the northern
districts especially. Farms also used to give their names to the
tenants[159]. I can recall an amusing instance of this practice
belonging to my early days. The oldest recollections I have are
connected with the name, the figure, the sayings and doings, of the old
cow-herd at Fasque in my father's time; his name was Boggy, _i.e._ his
ordinary appellation; his true name was Sandy Anderson. But he was
called Boggy from the circumstance of having once held a wretched farm
on Deeside named Boggendreep. He had long left it, and been