he claret wine, sir."

To which Mrs. Honeyman retorted--

"Drink the port, the claret's dear,
Erskine, Erskine;
Yell get fou on't, never fear,
My jo, Erskine."

Some of my younger readers may not be familiar with the epigram of John
Home, author of the tragedy of "Douglas." The lines were great
favourites with Sir Walter Scott, who delighted in repeating them. Home
was very partial to claret, and could not bear port. He was exceedingly
indignant when the Government laid a tax upon claret, having previously
long connived at its introduction into Scotland under very mitigated
duties. He embodied his anger in the following epigram:--

"Firm and erect the Caledonian stood,
Old was his mutton, and his claret good;
'Let him drink port,' an English statesman cried--
He drank the poison, and his spirit died."

There is a curious story traditionary in some families connected with
the nobleman who is the subject of it, which, I am assured, is true, and
further, that it has never yet appeared in print. The story is,
therefore, a "Scottish reminiscence," and, as such, deserves a place
here. The Earl of Lauderdale was so ill as to cause great alarm to his
friends, and perplexity to his physicians. One distressing symptom was a
total absence of sleep, and the medical men declared their opinion, that
without sleep being induced he could not recover. His son, a queer
eccentric-looking boy, who was considered not entirely right in his mind
but somewhat "_daft_" and who accordingly had had little attention paid
to his education, was sitting under the table, and cried out, "Sen' for
that preachin' man frae Livingstone, for faither aye sleeps in the
kirk." One of the doctors thought this hint worth attending to. The
experiment of "getting a minister till him" succeeded, and, sleep coming
on, he recovered. The Earl, out of gratitude for this benefit, took more
notice of his son, paid attention to his education, and that boy became
the Duke of Lauderdale, afterwards so famous or infamous in his
country's history.

The following very amusing anecdote, although it belongs more properly
to the division on peculiarities of Scottish phraseology, I give in the
words of a correspondent who received it from the parties with whom it
originated. About twenty years ago, he was paying a visit to a cousin,
married to a Liverpool merchant of some standing. The husband had lately
had a visit from his age