atre--Hem!"

"Ye may say what ye like, Doctor, but there is nae fule like an auld
fule--To be sure, if she was as young and beautiful as Miss
Mowbray--hegh me, and I didna use to think her sae bonny neither--but
dress--dress makes an unco difference--That shawl o' hers--I daur say
the like o't was ne'er seen in braid Scotland--It will be real Indian,
I'se warrant."

"Real Indian!" said Mr. Touchwood, in an accent of disdain, which rather
disturbed Mrs. Blower's equanimity,--"why, what do you suppose it should
be, madam?"

"I dinna ken, sir," said she, edging somewhat nearer the Doctor, not
being altogether pleased, as she afterwards allowed, with the outlandish
appearance and sharp tone of the traveller; then pulling her own drapery
round her shoulders, she added, courageously, "There are braw shawls
made at Paisley, that ye will scarce ken frae foreign."

"Not know Paisley shawls from Indian, madam?" said Touchwood; "why, a
blind man could tell by the slightest touch of his little finger. Yon
shawl, now, is the handsomest I have seen in Britain--and at this
distance I can tell it to be a real _Tozie_."

"Cozie may she weel be that wears it," said Mrs. Blower. "I declare, now
I look on't again, it's a perfect beauty."

"It is called Tozie, ma'am, not cozie," continued the traveller; "the
Shroffs at Surat told me in 1801, that it is made out of the inner coat
of a goat."

"Of a sheep, sir, I am thinking ye mean, for goats has nae woo'."

"Not much of it, indeed, madam, but you are to understand they use only
the inmost coat; and then their dyes--that Tozie now will keep its
colour while there is a rag of it left--men bequeath them in legacies to
their grandchildren."

"And a very bonny colour it is," said the dame; "something like a
mouse's back, only a thought redder--I wonder what they ca' that
colour."

"The colour is much admired, madam," said Touchwood, who was now on a
favourite topic; "the Mussulmans say the colour is betwixt that of an
elephant and the breast of the _faughta_."

"In troth, I am as wise as I was," said Mrs. Blower.

"The _faughta_, madam, so called by the Moors, (for the Hindhus call it
_hollah_,) is a sort of pigeon, held sacred among the Moslem of India,
because they think it dyed its breast in the blood of Ali.--But I see
they are closing the scene.--Mr. Cargill, are you composing your sermon,
my good friend, or what can you be thinking of?"

Mr. Cargill had, during the whole s