He spok of both of ye all night most beautiful, and how ye used to stravaig on the Saturday afternoons, and of auld Kelvinside.

Sooth the tune to me, he said, though it was the Sabbath, and I had to sooth him Kelvin Grove, and he looked at his fiddle, the dear man.

I cannae bear the sight of it, he'll never play it mair.

O my lamb, come home to me, I'm all by my lane now." The rest was in a religious vein and quite conventional.

I have never seen any one more put out than Nares, when I handed him this letter; he had read but a few words, before he cast it down; it was perhaps a minute ere he picked it up again, and the performance was repeated the third time before he reached the end.
"It's touching, isn't it ?" said I.
For all answer, Nares exploded in a brutal oath; and it was some half an hour later that he vouchsafed an explanation.