She. "It's fair insultin' to rent a hoose wi' so few convenience."
We."An' I'm ower auld to fish ony mair,
An' I hinna the chance to droon."
She. "The work is fair sickenin' i' this hoose, an' a' for ane puir body to do by her lane."
We."How can ye chant, ye little birds,
An' I sae weary, fu' o' care?"
She. "Ah, but that was a fine family I lived wi' in Glasgy; an' it's a wearifu' day's work I've had the day."
We."Oh, why was I spared to cry, wae's me!"
She. "Why dinna they leave floo'rs i' the garden, makin' sic a mess i' the hoose wi' 'em? It's not for the knowin' what they will be after next!"
We."Oh, waly waly up the bank.
And waly waly doon the brae!"
Miss Grieve's plaints never grow less, though we are sometimes at a loss for appropriate quotations to match them. The poetic interpolations are introduced merely to show the general spirit of her conversation. They take the place of her sighs, which are by their nature unprintable. Many times each day she is wont to sink into one low chair, and, extending her feet in another, close her eyes and murmur undistinguishable plaints which come to us in a kind of rhythmic way. She has such a shaking right hand we have been obliged to give up coffee and have tea, as
