Sanders.     

       After a pause—     

       “Sam’l,” said Sanders.     

       “Ay.”      

       “I’m hearing ye’re to be mairit.”      

       “Ay.”      

       “Weel, Sam’l, she’s a snod bit lassie.”      

       “Thank ye,” said Sam’l.     

       “I had ance a kin o’ notion o’ Bell mysel’,” continued Sanders.     

       “Ye had?”      

       “Yes, Sam’l; but I thocht better o’ ‘t.”      

       “Hoo d’ ye mean?” asked Sam’l, a little anxiously.     

       “Weel, Sam’l, mairitch is a terrible responsibeelity.”      

       “It is so,” said Sam’l, wincing.     

       “An’ no the thing to tak’ up withoot conseederation.”      

       “But it’s a blessed and honourable state, Sanders; ye’ve heard the minister on ‘t.”      

       “They say,” continued the relentless Sanders, “‘at the minister doesna get on sair wi’ the wife himsel’.”      

       “So they do,” cried Sam’l, with a sinking at the heart.     

       “I’ve been telt,” Sanders went on, “‘at gin ye can get the upper han’ o’        the wife for a while at first, there’s the mair chance o’ a harmonious exeestence.”      

       “Bell’s no the 

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