let us see
what Mrs. Dods has done for us.--I profess, mistress, your plottie is
excellent, ever since I taught you to mix the spices in the right
proportion."

"I am glad the plottie pleases ye, sir--but I think I kend gay weel how
to make it before I saw your honour--Maister Tirl can tell that, for
mony a browst of it I hae brewed lang syne for him and the callant
Valentine Bulmer."

This ill-timed observation extorted a groan from Tyrrel; but the
traveller, running on with his own recollections, did not appear to
notice his emotion.

"You are a conceited old woman," said Mr. Touchwood; "how the devil
should any one know how to mix spices so well as he who has been where
they grow?--I have seen the sun ripening nutmegs and cloves, and here,
it can hardly fill a peasecod, by Jupiter. Ah, Tyrrel, the merry nights
we have had at Smyrna!--Gad, I think the gammon and the good wine taste
all the better in a land where folks hold them to be sinful
indulgences--Gad, I believe many a good Moslem is of the same
opinion--that same prohibition of their prophet's gives a flavour to the
ham, and a relish to the Cyprus.--Do you remember old Cogia Hassein,
with his green turban?--I once played him a trick, and put a pint of
brandy into his sherbet. Egad, the old fellow took care never to
discover the cheat until he had got to the bottom of the flagon, and
then he strokes his long white beard, and says, 'Ullah Kerim,'--that
is, 'Heaven is merciful,' Mrs. Dods, Mr. Tyrrel knows the meaning of
it.--Ullah Kerim, says he, after he had drunk about a gallon of
brandy-punch!--Ullah Kerim, says the hypocritical old rogue, as if he
had done the finest thing in the world!"

"And what for no? What for shouldna the honest man say a blessing after
his drap punch?" demanded Mrs. Dods; "it was better, I ween, than
blasting, and blawing, and swearing, as if folks shouldna be thankful
for the creature comforts."

"Well said, old Dame Dods," replied the traveller; "that is a right
hostess's maxim, and worthy of Mrs. Quickly herself. Here is to thee,
and I pray ye to pledge me before ye leave the room."

"Troth, I'll pledge naebody the night, Maister Touchwood; for, what wi'
the upcast and terror that I got a wee while syne, and what wi' the bit
taste that I behoved to take of the plottie while I was making it, my
head is sair eneugh distressed the night already.--Maister Tirl, the
yellow room is ready for ye when ye like; and, gentlemen, as th