He was full of information about books, and had, besides, opinions concerning them, which were always ready to assume quaint and decided expression.

For instance: one afternoon, Alec having taken up _Tristram Shandy_ and asked him what kind of a book it was, the pro-librarian snatched it from his hands and put it on the shelf again, answering: "A pailace o' dirt and impidence and speeeritual stink.

The clever deevil had his entrails in his breest and his hert in his belly, and regairdet neither God nor his ain mither.

His lauchter's no like the cracklin' o' thorns unner a pot, but like the nicherin' o' a deil ahin' the wainscot.

Lat him sit and rot there!" Asking him another day what sort of poet Shelley was, Alec received the answer: "A bonny cratur, wi' mair thochts nor there was room for i' the bit heid o' 'm.