My Man Sandy

ever forget it. It mak's me shaky-trimilly yet to think aboot it. Sandy's gaen aboot wi' a' the hair cut aff the back o' his heid, an' fower or five strips o' stickin' plester batte

me a daud wi' his elba that garred me a' jump. I had an awf

ewey. Wud that be the Dyed Wallop an' her man fechtin', or what i' the

the trees in the banker's gairden, an' fizzin' in amon' the p

the thunder at Hewy White's theatre; then he yawled, an' hooed, an' growled like five hunder cats an' as mony dogs wirryin' them, a

re for? Ye'll hae my feet sterved to death wi' cauld. Lie up

fand the bed shakin'. Oor birdie (he hings at the winda) began to wheek-

emp 'at he is. "If you want the canary i' the bed

s I was gaen awa' to screw doon the gas, it gae twa or three lowps, an' oot it gaed; an' afore I kent whaur I was, there was a reeshilin' an' rummelin' on the ruif that wudda nearhand fleggit the very fowk i' the kirkyaird. I f

"whaur are ye, Sandy? Are ye there

st i' the noo. O, Bawbie, I've been a nesty footer o' a man, an' ill-gettit scoot a' my days. I wiss I cud jui

our reums. The mountins an' rocks is the brick an' lum-cans aff Mistress Mollison's hoose, I'm thinkin'." An' I cudna help addin'

ind gae he wheenged an' groaned like's he was terriple ill wi' his inside; an' aye he was sayi

a' richt. The wind was tearin' an' rivin' at the ruif at this time somethin

he bed, "wait till I get on my breeks. If ye

' amon' the trees ower the road, an' soochin' roond aboot the washin'-hoose. I raley never heard the marrow o't. The nicht o' the fa'a'in' o' the Tay Brig was bu

Dauvid Kenawee, in a n

e-Dauvid wi' his pints wallopin' amon' his feet, an' his weyscot lo

" said Mistress Kenawee, near greetin'. "O de

id, altho' he was in a fell state

blawn in, and Dauvid had tried to keep oot the wind wi' a mattress; but the wind had tummeled baith Dauvid an' the mattress heels ower gowrie, an' the wife got intil a terriple s

o keep them frae thinkin' aboot it; but at ilka whizz an' growl the win

da filled a cairt. Sandy fell back ower an' knockit Mistress Kenawee richt i' the flure. The ham dip gaed up the lum in a gloze, an' here was Sandy an' Dauvid's wife lyin' i' the middle o' a' the mairter

o' peyse meal, an' had smashed the tin an' sent the meal fleein' a' ower the hoose. But the cratur had gotten an awfu' tnap on the back o' the heid, an' he was bluidin' gey sair. Gin daylicht brook, Dauvid an' me had gotten the twa o' them akinda into

there's a free coup for rubbitch, was naething till't! It juist mindit me o' the picture, in oor big Bible, o' Je

get Friday nicht in a hur