CHAPTER IV .-- CALF-LOVE.
Bonny lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go, Bonny lassie, will ye go to the Birks of Aberfeldy?
BURNS.
For a tailor is a man, a man, a man, And a tailor is a man.
_Popular Heroic Song_.
The long and the short is, that I was sent to school, where I learned to read and spell, making great progress in the Single and Mother's Carritch.

No, what is more, few could fickle me in the Bible, being mostly able to spell it all over, save the second of Ezra and the seventh of Nehemiah, which the Dominie himself could never read through twice in the same way, or without variations.
My father, to whom I was born, like Isaac to Abraham, in his old age, was an elder in the Relief Kirk, respected by all for his canny and douce behaviour, and, as I have observed before, a weaver to his trade.

The cot and the kail-yard were his own, and had been auld granfaither's; but still he had to ply the shuttle from Monday to Saturday, to keep all right and tight.

The thrums were a perquisite of my own, which I niffered with the gundy-wife for Gibraltar-rock, cut-throat, gib, or bull's-eyes.
Having come into the world before my time, and being of a pale face and delicate make, Nature never could have intended me for the naval or military line, or for any robustious trade or profession whatsoever.

No, no, I never liked fighting in my life; peace was aye in my thoughts.