"Ou, juist Sandy and me," was the quiet rejoinder.

The same Lord Lothian, looking about the garden, directed his gardener's attention to a particular plum-tree, charging him to be careful of the produce of that tree, and send the _whole_ of it in marked, as it was of a very particular kind.

"Ou," said the gardener, "I'll dae that, my lord; there's juist twa o' them." These dry answers of Newbattle servants remind us of a similar state of communication in a Yester domestic.

Lord Tweeddale was very fond of dogs, and on leaving Yester for London he instructed his head keeper, a quaint bodie, to give him a periodical report of the kennel, and particulars of his favourite dogs.

Among the latter was an _especial_ one, of the true Skye breed, called "Pickle," from which soubriquet we may form a tolerable estimate of his qualities.
It happened one day, in or about the year 1827, that poor Pickle, during the absence of his master, was taken unwell; and the watchful guardian immediately warned the Marquis of the sad fact, and of the progress of the disease, which lasted three days--for which he sent the three following laconic despatches:-- _Yester, May 1st_, 18--.
MY LORD, Pickle's no weel.
Your Lordship's humble servant, etc.
_Yester, May Id_, 18--.
MY LORD, Pickle will no do.
I am your Lordship's, etc.
_Tester, May 3d_, 18--.
MY LORD, Pickle's dead.
I am your Lordship's, etc.
I have heard of an old Forfarshire lady who, knowing the habits of her old and spoilt servant, when she wished a note to be taken without loss of time, held it open and read it over to him, saying, "There, noo, Andrew, ye ken a' that's in't; noo dinna stop to open it, but just send it aff." Of another servant, when sorely tried by an unaccustomed bustle and hurry, a very amusing anecdote has been recorded.