propriety of this
introduction, so contrary to all rules of etiquette. How _could _you
behave in such a manner, my Lady Maclaughlan?"

"Why, you know, my dear, your legs may be very good legs, but they can't
walk," replied she, with her usual _sang froid._

"My Lady Maclaughlan, you perfectly confound me," stuttering with rage.
"My lady Juliana Douglas, see here," stretching out a meagre shank, to
which not even the military boot and large spur could give a respectable
appearance: "You see that leg strong and straight," stroking it down--;
"now, behold the fate of war!" dragging forward the other, which was
shrunk and shrivelled to almost one half its original dimensions. "These
legs were once the same; but I repine not--I sacrificed it in a noble
cause: to that leg my Sovereign owes his life!"

"Well, I declare, I had no idea; I thought always it had been
rheumatism," burst from the lips of the astonished spinsters, as they
crowded round the illustrious limb, and regarded it with looks of
veneration.

"Humph!" emphatically uttered his lady.

"The story's a simple one, ladies, and soon told: I happened to be
attending his Majesty at a review; I was then aid-de-camp to Lord -----.
His horse took fright, I--I--I,"--here, in spite of all the efforts that
could be made to suppress it, the _royal_ _cough _burst forth with a
violence that threatened to silence its brave owner for ever.

"It's very strange you will talk, my love," said his sympathising lady,
as she supported him; "talking never did, nor never will agree with you;
it's very strange what pleasure people take in talking--humph!"

"Is there anything dear Sir Sampson could take?" asked Miss Grizzy.

_"Could_ take? I don't know what you mean by _could_ take. He couldn't
take the moon, if you meant hat; but he must take what I give him; so
call Philistine; he knows where my cough tincture is."

"Oh, we have plenty of it in this press," said Miss Grizzy, flying
to a cupboard, and, drawing forth a bottle, she poured out a bumper,
and presented it to Sir Sampson.

"I'm poisoned!" gasped he feebly; "that's not my lady's cough-tincture."

"Not cough-tincture!" repeated the horror-struck doctress, as for the
first time she examined the label; "Oh! I declare, neither it is--it's
my own stomach lotion. Bless me, what will be done?" and she wrung her
hands in despair. "Oh, Murdoch," flying to the _Philistine,_ as he
entered with the real cough-tincture, "I've gi