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my father's pat wallops up rough bear and blue water.

The woman is mad, said they for this money is all give to the poor of the parish.

Jan. The poor of the parish! fient heit ye gie them but wee pickles o' pease meal, didna I see'ti' their pocks, and the minister's wife gies naething ava to unco beggars, but bids them gue to their ain parishes: and yet ye'll tak the purse frae us for naething but playing the loon a wee or they be married, and syne cock them up to be looked on and laugh'd at by every body: a deil speed you and your justice sir. Hute, tute, ye re a' coming, on me like a wheen colley dogs hunting awa a poor ragget chapman frae the door. So out she goes cursing and greeting. Sandy is next called upon, and in he goes.

Min. Now Saunders, you must tell