He tells me he knew an old lady who was a stout large woman, and who with this state of body had many ailments, which she bore cheerfully and patiently.

When asked one day by a friend, "How she was keeping," she replied, "Ou, just middling; there's _ower muckle o' me_ to be a' weel at ae time." No Englishwoman would have given such an answer.

The same class of character is very strongly marked in a story which was told by Mr.Thomas Constable, who has a keen appreciation of a good Scottish story, and tells it inimitably.

He used to visit an old lady who was much attenuated by long illness, and on going up stairs one tremendously hot afternoon, the daughter was driving away the flies, which were very troublesome, and was saying, "Thae flies will eat up a' that remains o' my puir mither." The old lady opened her eyes, and the last words she spoke were, "What's left o' me's guid eneuch for them." The spirit of caution and wariness by which the Scottish character is supposed to be distinguished has given rise to many of these national anecdotes.
Certainly this cautious spirit thus pervaded the opinions of the Scottish architect who was called upon to erect a building in England upon the long-lease system, so common with Anglican proprietors, but quite new to our Scottish friend.

When he found the proposal was to build upon the tenure of 999 years, he quietly suggested, "Culd ye no mak it a _thousand_?
999 years'll be slippin' awa'." But of all the cautious and careful answers we ever heard of was one given by a carpenter to an old lady in Glasgow, for whom he was working, and the anecdote is well authenticated.