humor

Topic modeling identifies topics, and it also provides a proportional breakdown of the often multiple topics that each individual article or advertisement addressed. This chart shows the changing percentage of print space for this topic in the paper as a whole—for each month the topic proportions for "humor" in all articles containing that topic are added together and then divided by the total number of pieces published that month to calculate a percentage value.

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Predictive Words

MAN GOOD TIME YOUNG TOLD LADY HOME FOUND BACK PUT HEARD ROOM MADE DAY DON MAKE AGO GENTLEMAN WIFE THOUGHT ASKED HAND WOMAN HOUSE

This list of words are those that the topic model identifies as most likely to appear in documents in this category.

Exemplary Articles

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Wednesday, January 23, 1861

Pretty "Tough", Wine!

—Some Queer fellow, who has tried 'em, says: There are two sorts of wine in Staltgard: to drink one is like swallowing an angry cat; the other like pulling the animal back again by the tail.

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Saturday, December 13, 1862

A person speaking to a very deaf man, and getting angry at his not catching his meaning said: "Why, it is as plain as A B C." "That may be sir" replied the poor man, "but I am D E F."

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Tuesday, January 31, 1865

A man with an inveterate habit of talking to himself, when asked why, said he had two reasons: "One, he liked to talk to a sensible man; the other, he liked to hear a sensible man talk."

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Thursday, January 10, 1861

Tough.

—A man in New Haven bought a goose on Monday, but it was so old he had not the heart or teeth to eat it, and he gave it away to a beggar. He found it dangling from his door-handle on Tuesday morning. Beggars know what's what.

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Friday, January 06, 1865

"Why, Frank, I thought you were dead ?" "Oh," said Frank, they did get a story around that I was dead, but it was another man. I knew it wasn't me as soon as I heard it."

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Tuesday, September 17, 1861

Sprigginn

says he always travels with his wife, who contrives to be obstinate and out of humor from the time they leave home till they get where they are going to. The only time she ever smiled, he says, was when he broke his ankle.

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Friday, December 27, 1861

[Written for the Richmond Dispatch.]
OWED FEW A SNACK.
A Winter invokashun.
BY A AUSTICK.


O, snaik, enkwoyled undurneeth youn log,
Er sleapin for ther wintur ! Kent yew waik,
And tern on yer uther side, a ditrech, and garp,
And maik a fresh knapp uv it ? Or, must yew
Sleap on a flatnin . . . more

[Written for the Richmond Dispatch.]
OWED FEW A SNACK.
A Winter invokashun.
BY A AUSTICK.


O, snaik, enkwoyled undurneeth youn log,
Er sleapin for ther wintur ! Kent yew waik,
And tern on yer uther side, a ditrech, and garp,
And maik a fresh knapp uv it ? Or, must yew
Sleap on a flatnin to the yerth, lyke a
Neglektid pincaik a cookin on wun side,
Wish noe wanter tern it ! Neow, if I wer yew,
And yew wur moe, then ther wur er snaik thair
Wad hav the roomytikezum; and I wudn't
Pay yer doctur's bills and opidelidock fur shoogur.

Wel, yew is er sarpint! Tho yew lye
So kam and sleapy neow, in summur tyme
Yew curts up shindess is the smollin kegtree.
Er whiselin Dixse ier the unkonshus gozlens;
At robin berds' nests in ther peesful wuds,
And sisain at ther yewthful niggers whenn
Tha gose down to the whyte-oke spring for warter.
Makin em tair ther shurt tales. Yelt, tha say
Yew is er fassynatin sawt uv creetur
With them brite ize uv yurn; and shure enuff,
yew fassynadd our furst parients,
Adoum and Eave, eleen owt of Parryclee,
And got em inter trubbal. But tha wus green,
And diedont nos the will lyse lyse yew and mee.

Er neow, O, snulk, yew haz but plezzent dreems,
And sore on phansee to yer higher mashun
Ef yew cnd ownly dream yew wos ropped upp
In blankits, and yer awetehart buggin yew,
Or yew wos or ackun peenuts with the gals;
Or yew wos on er spree with uthur shair;
With bott rum punch and gad seegars er plentee,
And winniu uthur snalacs swaete spondewilks,
With alots in yer hapde; then, arfrur awl,
It woodent be soe badd er sleapin heer
Owt in the kolde.

But ef, olde felier, yew shud hev the khight-mair
While in this fyx-ef it shud I seam ter yew
A waggia-lode uv wittles had got stawed
In yew a-other; or au ellyfant
Wus a trenddin on yer toze, and wuddent git off;
Or a meen olde goaste wus a skeerin yew;
Or yew was kort Benseth er pressapiss,
And cuddeat budje; thenn I wuddens bee a snalk,
The I cud sleap lyke you, without snawrin,
The winter threw

But harke, olde snalk, I heer er hogg er gruntin
In the soroundin wuds. I tel yew what,
Ef yew doant mezey, hee I cum upp er rewtin
Arownd yew, and er hee shud talk er hoshun
Ter waik snaik fur dinnur, and shud napp yew;
Hee'd spfie the bewty uv yer deevens spyne.
And yew sud hee er gorner.

Norfolk, Va., December, 1861

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Monday, March 11, 1861

THE VILLAGE WONDERS.
[THE CONCLUSION.]

" If it's a fair question, what pairt do ye live in, leddies? "

We explained, with a similarly wide margin.

"Ye'll have a gay time in the south. Do ye go to many balls?"

" Not to balls. Neither are we . . . more

THE VILLAGE WONDERS.
[THE CONCLUSION.]

" If it's a fair question, what pairt do ye live in, leddies? "

We explained, with a similarly wide margin.

"Ye'll have a gay time in the south. Do ye go to many balls?"

" Not to balls. Neither are we very gay— we're too busy."

"Busy—what business have ye!"

"We are both eldest daughters, and that's a perfect labor in itself."

"What ye'll ca' labor—tooming the money out o' your purses upon counters, among silks, and velvets, and things."

"No, no, Mrs. Stewart, not that exactly."

"What kind o' queer letters are they ye had to-day frae hame? Was yon your nanies?"

"No. To amuse the village, we bade them just put on our initials."

She was called to the door by an inquisitive neighbor, who, of necessity, was marched in to criticise us, we bearing the inspection with the most unaffected artiessness. Such was only a specimen of Mrs. Stewart's tactics; for to go through them all, and our answers, would make a tolerably well-sized volume.

"What ladies are these you have with you?" said the minister.

" dinna ken."

"What are their names at least?"

"I canna find oot, sir."

"Why don't you ask them?"

"They wanna tell."

"That does not look well," said the minister; and he ever afterwards honored us with a broad scrutinizing stare, in right of his cloth.

Another person, smitten by the general curiosity, was a daft boy belonging to the village. Everywhere we went, far or near, we saw him some time or other during the day— No matter how early, or how privately we set out, he knew, and set out, too., Sometimes he would walk past us, and then sit down for a long time, and again overtake us. At first, we were a little alarmed and uncomfortable, but when we knew more about him, it only added to our amusement. He never spoke once to us, and never pretended to notice us. No doubt the little spy greatly edified his mother and granny.

"Isn't it queer for a toun-body to look doun into a loch, when they're no accustomed t'it, and see the water wavin' away?" We were thus accosted by a most peculiar, smart, dark-eyed, elderly woman. "Do ye like the Hielands?"

"Ye'll hae seen near everything a'ready? Ye'll hae been walkin' aboot a deal?"

"Yes, a good deal."

"Hiv ye seen the glen fa?"

"No. Where is it?"

"Wad ye like to go? I'm gaun there the noo. It's raal bonny."

We assented.

"Ye'll be the leddies that's stoppin' doun at Mrs. Stewart's?"

We acknowledged it.

"Div ye like her?"

"She is very kind and obliging."

"She's a fine body."

"Is she your sister?" she whispered once to me, indicating Ally with her thumb.

"No; she is not my sister."

"Is she ony relation?"

"None in the world."

"What's her name?"

"I'm afraid you must ask her that yourself."

"What's your's, then?"

"It's such a long one, you could not pronounce it, and it is not worth trying to. "

When we had seen the really beautiful falls, and were on level ground again, she turned to Ally: "What's your name now, miss?"

"People always forget names among these hills; I don't believe you could tell me your own, if I were to ask you!"

With many a long screed of confidential gossip, she tried to tempt us to break our resolution, but in vain.

The lunkeeper "daundered" down also to Mrs. Stewart's once. "Have you never fund out your leddies' names?"

"Ne'er hae I. They winna tell me them, Jenny nor Jessamy, for a' my speerin' at them."

"I'm thinking they wadna hae been sae lang wi' me without my finding oot. Do they get hae letters?"

"Yes; but they hae jist some o' the A B C on them, 'Care o' ' the Postmaster." Such a daft-like thing. It's one o' the things I dinna like aboot them, as if they couldna spell."

"I'm thinking they can do that richt weel."

"I ken that; for the postmaister shewed me twa letters they had addressed to Edinburgh to freends there, and a richt black dashin' hand they baith write; and they helpit me with my accounts the ither night, and richt grand figues they are, for certain."

"I'm thinking they're baith born ladies!"

"No—div ye? Why !"

"Because Lord and Lady and Fitzbohn, they askit me the ither day what was their names, and I tell't them naebody could find oot. And they kind o' laughed, and Miss said: 'I've got a great fancy to find outmysel,' And I said: 'My lady, you'll find them any day you like by the loch-side, for they've begun sketches there,' And she and her mother did go, but I don't know what they said, only they bow to them now, when they meet them, and I heard Miss say: 'They are uncommon in everything'"

Again:

"What kind o' lodgers are they ye have?"

"That's mair nor I can tell."

"Hoot, nonsense! What'll be their names then?"

"I never was so beat in my life. I askit the ane, and she said: 'We'll be like the Queen, add not tell our names till we go away' and when I speered at the ither ane, she says; 'What's in a name, Mrs. Stewart ! Peppermint by any ither name would smell as sweet.' But I never can be angry with them, however much I'm provoked at them. We've gotten gey intimate noo; and I like them raal weel. They've been twice butt at nichts wi' me warming theirsels at the fire, and they're rani cheery bodies."

"Why did ye no speer at them then?"

"Ay did I; but a' that I've fund oot is, that they were in Edinburgh before they cam here, and that maist o' their freends are there. I've heard them speak o' this one's carriage and that one's carriage, and this hotel and that hotel, Sir This and Lady That, and Honorable Something Else; and they couldna hae kend thae folk unless they were gey stunnin' theirsels."

"I dinna believe in them. What made them come here?"

"Jist to see the places, and learn to pent things frae natur.&"

"Daft-like leddies."

"The Carry one says to me the ither day: Now, Mrs. Stewart, you must let me wash the tea-cups, and make the beds and sweep the floor, for it's such fun!" And I'm no thinkin' that if she'd been obliged to do it, she wad thocht it fun."

"Na, na; leddies wad hae brawer dresses!"

"Ay, but they're aye neat; and their dresses are made sae funny, like what my mither used to wear; and wil belts round their waists, like wee leddies. But I suppose it maun be the fashion."

"Ony body can get the fashion in Edinburgh. They'll be shopkeepers!"

"Ay, but onybody canna get beautiful goold watches. And I had to wash some o' their linen, and it was sae bonny, wil dabbit holes worked a' round their things, and lace ayont it; and I've heard say that ye ken leddies by that mair than their out-dresses."

"If I were a leddy, I wad wear silks every day."

"And they've got initials on their letters, and is na that the thing only grand folk hae! And the leddies at the hotel bow to them when they meet them!"

"They're no ken nae better! But gude-bye the day. I dinna tak them for gospel, mind."

A Highland lassie had been listening for some time to the conversation. "Sae ye havena fund oot their names yet?"

"No; and I'm no gaun to try it nae mair, for I'm tired o't, and I'm turnin' to like them, and winna bother them."

"They were doun the loch-side this morning again!"

"Ay, at their sketching; and beautiful sketches they make, the Ally ane best."

"Some folk said they werena canny; but dogs and bairns dinna tak to uncanny folk; and if ye saw oor Ruffler—every time he sees them far away, he flees like wnd, and'll hardly leave them; and they bring bits o' biscuits and bread to him. And Miss Robson up there says her dog Roy is the same, and he's a snappy thing. Do ye think they're weel aff?"

"They maun be; or how could they hae come a' this distance for nae business. And they're raal genteel wi' me. I'm sure I could cheat them, if I liket, but they dinna lose onything wi' being free. And, forby, they're sae thankful to me for everything I do; it's a perfect pleasure. They canna be accustomed to lodgings."

"I was raal glad that I cam in and saw them the ither nicht whan they were butt wi' you— they're nice canty leddies, ony gate And if they're sae weel aff as ye think they are, I wish oor Donald wauld fa' across ane o' them, for he's every bit a gentleman barrin' the money, and that he canna win muckle o', for a' his hard wark at the tailorin'. Poor man, he's guid enough to be a marrow for onyhody!"

"Deed is he. He's a perfect jewel of a man!"

Thus was our past and future mapped out for us by the village—not that their guesses came near the truth. Their ignorance was bliss; their ignorance was the mother of admiration.

The night before our departure, we were very confidential and friendly with Mrs. Stewart before her bright blazing fire. We had been directing her how to forward our luggage, and gave her labels with the longcoveted names and addresses. "You see they are not much worth knowing, after all; But hasn't it been a good joke? What a deal of fun and clatter it has given both the people and us! What do they think of us? Do they think we are cracked—or what?

"No. How should I know? We don't, I say"—

"I understand. But you know quite well that more than half of these Gaelic harangues were about us."

"Such nonsense. Folk are sae conceited as to think we're speakin' o' them, when we talk in our mother-tongue."

"Maybe I know more of your mothertongue than you are aware of—so take care. "

"No! Do ye?"

"What do they say about us?

"They think ye're raal, fine, honest, sonsy lassies, o' the richt cut, and no feared for a Highland peatmoss."

"And I think they're quite correct; don't you? Will you keep up the mystery about us when we're gone, for your private amusement?"

"Deed will I."

"Town will be a great change to us, Mrs. Stewart. Will you miss us?"

"Ay, won't I though! And won't ye miss me and my ingle-cheek, and my bit crack? ye'll no get the like in Edinburgh."

"No. We won't get such fun again for a long time, for they keep us in trim order at home."

"Puir things!"

"But I'm so sleepy, and we're to be up so early—we must go."

I drew out my watch.

"What a fine watch! Is it a motionless one?"

"No. Listen!" and she examined it amid our hearty laughing.

"Good night, Mrs. Stewart. It't the last time we'll say that to you."

"Dlana break my heart, lassies. I hope it'll pour rain like the mischief the morn! "

"That's not a kind wish, Mrs. Stewart, for we must leave in any weather. Good-bye, in case we leave before you are up in the morning.

"Do you think I wad let ye leave my house without rising at ony hour to mak yer breakfasts?"

And true enough Mrs. Stewart was up, though not usually an early riser; and when the inhabitants of the village were all astirring, "the nameless lassies" had vanished in the same mysterious manner as they had come.

I believe Mrs. Stewart kept up the talk a good while even after we left, for her own amusement. They need it all, poor things; for I know that even when we were there, we heard them talk about the visitors of the preceding summer; and as to how long we would last them in that line, I cannot pretend to guess. But as a secret when told is no secret, we won't tell it now, and let our readers make the most of it, as our Highland neighbors did.

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Saturday, March 09, 1861

THE VILLAGE WONDERS.

Like one greater than either of us, "we woke one morning, and found ourselves famous."—We had waked the previous morning very humdrum, ordinary specimens of the feminine gender, in Edinburg; this morning, we found ourselves at a Highland village, and, as I have above said, . . . more

THE VILLAGE WONDERS.

Like one greater than either of us, "we woke one morning, and found ourselves famous."—We had waked the previous morning very humdrum, ordinary specimens of the feminine gender, in Edinburg; this morning, we found ourselves at a Highland village, and, as I have above said, famous. Who are they? That was the question that absorbed the postmaster and the toll-keeper—it perplexed the minister and the hotel-keeper—it interested the visitors at the hotel, and the cotters by the loch-side—the very dogs and birds inquired in their mute language, "Who are they?" —It's a pity we were not young men, for we could have enjoyed ourselves much more even than we did, since we should not have needed to be so proper and quiet. That was what we were not; but what we were, was the question. All that was known was, that two ordinary-looking girls had suddenly appeared in the village at that dreamy fairy-time, a Highland sunset—that they had no luggage but what they carried in their hands—that they had immediately endeavored to secure lodgings anywhere but at the hotel, but in the scarcity of "rooms to let, " had finally got accommodation at Mrs. Stewart's small cottage; thereupon Mrs. Stewart became as one of the lions—the mouthpiece of the wonders—the oracle of the village. Opinions of us varied, as the following conversations will show. It was not Mrs. Stewart's fault that she could not supply them with definite information; for, amiable and kind- hearted though she was, she was not free from that in variable failing in country villages, especially Highland ones—the love of gossip. We easily saw how the different results of her conversations swayed her opinions, and the pleasure we found in confusing her transparent mind was quite piquant. The second morning after our arrival, the postmaster and his wife found it necessary to visit Mrs. Stewart.

"Sae ye've gotten twa leddies bidin' wi' ye, Mrs. Stewart. Wha are they?"

(Mrs. Stewart's mind was not made up yet, and she took care not to express herself too strongly at first.)

"Ay, but I kenna wha they are. They havena tell me as yet; but leave me alane for findin' out funny things!"

"Ye may weel say that! Hoo lang are they gaun to bide wi' ye?"

"Ane o' them tell me the day that they liket the place sae weel they wad stay a fortnight, if I wad keep them; and I said, 'Yes,' so I'm supposing they'll stay."

"Can ye find oot their names?"

"Na! I hear theirsels calling Ally and Carry and sometimes Granny; but ony mair I canna tell—I've had nae opportunity o' willin' it oot o' them; and I dinna like to ask downricht, 'What's your name?'"

"When their letters come, we shall see; it they get ony rate."

"They're writin' away this mornin' at ony rate."

"We'll see then. But what kind o' folk d' ye think they'll be?"

"The faither o' ane o' them's a hoose-penter that's certain, for the lassie's brocht a bit brod to try her haun' upon; and I'm thinkin' the ither ane maun be the dochter o' a miller or corndealer: for they've some bits o' prent steekit thegither wi' yallow paper; it maun be on that trade, by the pictures ootside; and it's ca'd the Cornhill Maggseen."

"What has Maggy to do wi' Corn?"

"I dinna ken."

"I'm thinkin' they'll be dressmaker or milliner bodies theirsels, " suggested the postmistress.

"Dressmakers! they are no that weel pitten on!" responds her spouse,

"Sure certain, they hae just the claes they staun in, and puir enough trash it is. But ye ken cobblers' shoon are aye doun at the heel. "

"I'm thinkin' they're no leddies, ony gate—leddies wad hae mair to say about theirsels," said the postmaster.

"Ay, then they're aye talkin' and haverin' aboot lads."

"Whilk is a sure sign o' a milliner."

"There's ane that I think they maun be baith wantin' for they're kind o' fechtin' aboot him—they ca' him Garry Bauldie. I think he maun be some great catch, for they speak maist and langest aboot him—ye see they dinna ken that Hieland wa's are sae thin and just speak out their mind—but they've a deal o' havering aboot some Brownie or Browning (ill-faured set a' thae brownies are) and aboot Curry Bell and Dickins. Ye see I mind the names, to see if they'll be of ony use to me afterwards."

"They maun be glaikit hizzies."

"Yet I dinna think they're that a'thegither; they're sae quiet i' the house, and respectful' to me, and very little trouble—that's ae thing make me think they're no leddies. And when they're no clishmacla vering o' nichts, if I'll gang in by accident, they're reading either aboot the grain-trade, or oot o'a bulk whaur lika sentence gangs jump wi' the ither, for a' the warld like a see-saw. Pou'try, they ca'd it—but why pou'try, I dinna ken, if it's no that the jabbers o' a bubbly-jock or a clockin' hen hae mair sense in them."

"Maybe because nane but geese or ither foul read them!"

A hearty laugh and my appearance closed the important colloquy for the time. That afternoon the carrier, in the same mysterious manner in which we appeared ourselves brought two portmanteaus for us.

"Here, Mrs. Stewart, here's something solid for your leddies."

"Which leddies? What's their names?"

"I dinna ken—no more than yersel. I was tauld to leave them for the leddies at Mrs. Stewart's."

"Whar frae?"

"Callander."

"Wha gie'd ye them?"

"The station-master."

"What did he say?"

"Naething but what I've tell ye."

This was a terminus, so she knocked at our door.

"Here's some luggage com'd; but we dinna ken if it should be for you. What name should be on it?"

"Oh, it's all right. We expected them. Ask the man to bring them in."

She did so with evident unwillingness, but we parted with the carrier on the best of terms.

Passer-by loq. "Hoo are ye gettin' on wi' your lodgers?"

"Fine."

"No fund oot their names yet?"

"Not yet."

"I wonder if they've ony. I'm thinking they're no that canny—maybe fairies, or els, or witches, I wadna be you, Mrs. Stewart, for something. They came in a flicht o'sunlight, and they'll gang in a puff o' smoke. Maix by taken, when Nanse was down wi' her water-stoups to the loch, she saw them lookin' into the water like a couple o' fules, and she went gey near them on purpose; and the fair-haired one, Ally, said to the ither:—'Hasn't that a fine effect, that glorious green on the water?' 'Ay, Ally; but I love all water- scenes so much: mind you, I'm half a mermaid!' And what she meant by that, but something unearthly, I wad like to know."

"Na, na! Ratner owre substantial for ony uncerthly bein', especially the Carry ane—she's aboot as braid as she's lang—and there nane o' them that bonny either; and my! what hearty meals they take—that's no fairy-like!"

"Faither says they're some gamblin' beggars, but mither thinks they maun be practised gipsies. They hinna seen them yet, but they're comin' by to get a peep o' them the mern."

"Come early, then, for I never ken what they'll be after; they generally bang out i' the mornin' without rhyme or reason, and sometimes come back to dinner. At ither times, I'll find them landed in their room at the dusk, and they'll tell me they've been some score o'miles, I dinna like to misdoot them; but it looks funny, for they're evident toun lassies, and that set are aye puling things. Now, how a toun lassie could walk round the loch, and come into tea as if naething had happened, I canna mak oot; and they proved they'd been round."

"Nae toun body could do that. But thae lassies maun be either witches or practeesed trampin' gipsies. I'm hopin' that whan they gang awa, they'll leave you some sicht o'a note, and no just let you whistle for it. "

"Na, na, let alane; and, as the wise man says, 'We'll no skirt afore the prin's jaggit us.' But I'm no that feared; I someway think they're a richt."

"We'll see. Good day."

Mrs. Stewart, popping in her head, and then herself: "Are ye gaun oot the day for a stravaig, leddies?"

"Not to-day. We will just be about the doors. We have had one or two tolerably long walks since we came here, haven't we?"

"Ay, that ye have! Ye've surely been accustomed to walkin"

"Yes; but not so much as we have done here."

"Ye've done wonders then. I've gotten your boots brushed, but I wad like hers. What am I to ca' her?"

This was addressed to me, on behalf of my friend. I was fairly caught, unprepared and answerless. I looked painfully at her.

"Never mind a name for me, Mrs. Stewart; you'll hear some time; but we'll be like the Queen, and not tell you till we go away!" She pretended to enjoy it very much, but, I have no doubt, vowed vengeance.

That evening, Mrs. Stewart commenced the attack again. "It's a cauld nicht; will ye no come butt, and warm yersels, and hae a bit crack, leddies?"

We were cold, and much amused with her, so we went. Ally took off her thin house boots, and pushed forward her feet to the fire "I'm so cold, " she said.

"No wonder," said Mrs. Stewart; "they's such silly shoes; they'll no keep heat in them, Is'se warrant.

"I never wear anything else."

"Where did you get them?"

"London." (Item for Mrs. Stewart.)

"Ye'll no be sisters?"

"No; we have no relation to each other."—(Item.)

"I didna think ye were, for ye're no like one another; but the toll-wife thocht ye maun be."

"The toll-wife must be interested in us—But have you any nice old witch-stories to tell us, Mrs. Stewart, or things about the places here?"

"Hundreds. Have ye ever been in the Highlands afore?"

"Often; but never at this place."

"And do ye like this country?"

"Very well; and we're so much amused with the people, they all stare at us so, and seem so much astonished. Do they think us wild beasts? "

"Everybody's askin' me wha ye are?"

"And what do you tell them?"

"Jist that I dinna ken mysel," said Mrs. Stewart, a little crest-fallen; "and they say it's gey queer to hae folk bidin' in the house, and no be able to tell their names."

"So it is—I never thought of it," exclaimed I. "We're elevated into curiosities, lions, and everything; and we shan't let out our names at all, to keep up the fun. We should lose our romantic interest if they found out 'the nameless lassies' name."

"But surely you can tell them something about us?" said Ally.

"Naething but that ye're frae the south; and fond o' pentin', and walkin', and readin' !"

"That is always something! Are they not content with it?"

"Not they."

"I wonder if they'll find out much more," said Ally.

Mrs. Stewart turned to me: "What kind o' tongue has she—it's no Scotch, nor Edinburgh, nor English, that I've heard?"

Hereupon sundry particulars were entered into which left her as much in the dark as ever.

(To be Concluded in our next.)

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Thursday, August 04, 1864

Master Tommy's Test for Age.

Cousin Florence:—"Well, Tommy, and so you like your little friend Philip, do you; and how old do you think he is?" Tommy:"Well, I don't exactly know; but I should think he was rather old, for he blows his own nose!"

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