"Well," says he, "do you know, Mrs.Macfarlane, I used to be much affected with the very same kind of sore throat, but ever since I allowed my mustache and beard to grow, I have never been troubled with it." "Aweel, aweel," said the old lady drily, "that may be the case, but ye maun prescribe some other method for me to get quit o' the sair throat; for ye ken, doctor, I canna adopt _that_ cure." Then how quaint the answer of old Mrs.Robison, widow of the eminent professor of natural philosophy, and who entertained an inveterate dislike to everything which she thought savoured of _cant_.

She had invited a gentleman to dinner on a particular day, and he had accepted, with the reservation, "If I am spared."-- "Weel, weel," said Mrs.
Robison; "if ye're deed, I'll no expect ye." I had two grand-aunts living at Montrose at that time--two Miss Ramsays of Balmain.

They were somewhat of the severe class---Nelly especially, who was an object rather of awe than of affection.

She certainly had a very awful appearance to young apprehensions, from the strangeness of her headgear.

Ladies of this class Lord Cockburn has spoken of as "having their peculiarities embodied in curious outsides, as they dressed, spoke, and did exactly as they chose." As a sample of such "curious outside and dress," my good aunt used to go about the house with an immense pillow strapped over her head--warm but formidable.
These two maiden grand-aunts had invited their niece to pay them a visit--an aunt of mine, who had made what they considered a very imprudent marriage, and where considerable pecuniary privations were too likely to accompany the step she had taken.