from the usual excesses as he was able, when, as he marked companions around him falling victims to the power of drink, his attention was called to a small pair of hands that were working at his throat. On asking what it was, a voice replied, "Sir, I'm the lad that's to louse the neckcloths." To such an extent were the guests liable to become helpless, and such was the risk of apoplexy or suffocation, from their inability to untie their cravats, that it was the appointed duty of one of the household in this instance to perform this office for the protection of their jugulars.

There had been a carousing party at Colonel Grant's, the late Lord Seafield; and, as the evening advanced towards morning, two Highlanders were in attendance to carry the guests upstairs, it being understood that none could by any other means arrive at their sleeping apartments. One or two of the guests, however, whether from their abstinence or their superior strength of head, were walking upstairs, and declined the proffered assistance. The attendants were utterly astonished, and indignantly exclaimed, "Aigh, it's sare cheenged times at Castle Grant, when gentlemens can gang to bed on their ain feet."

Formerly in Scotland a funeral was a feast, and sometimes a fortune was well-nigh consumed in celebrating the great event. In the account of the funeral expenses of Sir Hugh Campbell, of Calder or Cawdor, there were charges for an enormous quantity of food and drink consumed. At the funeral of Mrs. Forbes, of Culloden, the mourners all got drunk. The festivities were conducted by her son Duncan, well known as the Lord President Forbes. The company sat so long and drank so freely, that when the word was given for the procession to form, and for the mourners to march to the burialground, the coffin was forgotten. The whole troop of jolly mourners found themselves at the grave with nothing to put in it. Special messengers were sent back for the poor dead lady, whose remains were then deposited in the grave with all the decorum which could be mustered in such anti-funereal circumstances."

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Nor were such death-scenes peculiar to the Highlands. There is a singular story told of Lord Forglen, on the authority of Auchinleck, James Boswell's father. On the day of Lord Forglen's death, his physician called on him as usual. "How does my lord do?" inquired the doctor, as he entered the house. "I houp he's weel," answered the manservant, with a solemnity which told what he meant. The doctor was then shown into a room where two dozen of wine were laid out under a table. Other persons presently came in, and the manservant, making them all sit down, began to describe to them his master's last moments, and at the same time to push the

bottle about briskly. After a glass or two, the company rose to depart; but they were detained by the man. "No, no, gentlemen; not so," he said, "it was at the express will o' the dead that I should fill you a' fou, and I maun fulfil the will o' the dead." “And, indeed," said the doctor, who afterwards told the story, "he did fulfil the will o' the dead; for, before the end o't, there was na ane o' us able to bite his ain thoomb."

Of the reckless Scotchman, Dr. Archibald Pitcairn was a good example. He was an Edinburgh physician of high repute, a man of great wit and pleasantry, a hater of Calvinism, a supposed atheist, and a dreadful Bacchanalian. He would sometimes be drunk twice a-day. It was the habit of professional men in those days to meet their clients in some tavern; and it is told of him that he ordered his servants, whenever he should be detained at the tavern overnight, to provide him with a clean shirt next morning. They obeyed his orders on one occasion, day after day, till the number of clean shirts amounted to six, all of which he duly put on; but when he made his way home, it was discovered that the whole six were upon him, one over the other.

At Glasgow, forty years ago, when the time had come for the bowl to be introduced, some jovial and thirsty member of the company proposed as a toast, "The trade of Glasgow, and the outward bound." The hint was taken, and silks and satins moved off to the drawing

room.

LADY BLESSINGTON AT GORE HOUSE.

Wilberforce, the philanthropist, resided in Gore House, just one mile from the turnpike at Hyde Park Corner, from 1808 until 1821; with its three acres of pleasure-ground, and fine old trees, it was then a delightful retreat. After the philanthropist, a few unknown persons held the place ere the next celebrity, one of a totally opposite character, reigned: this was Lady Blessington, who came to reside here in 1836; and the opposition of ideas called forth by these tenants seems to have suggested to James Smith this impromptu :

"Mild Wilberforce, by all beloved,
Once owned this hallowed spot,
Whose zealous eloquence improved
The fettered Negro's lot;

Yet here still slavery attacks
When Blessington invites:

The chains from which he freed the blacks,

She rivets on the whites."

To Gore House came novelists and dramatists and poets, actors, statesmen, and refugees. "Here Louis Napoleon, just escaped from

captivity at Ham, first came for the shelter of an English roof; and afterwards-deep lesson, too—a few years later, she went forth as privately, perhaps, as her guest had entered, from the palace of which she had been queen, to seek in the capital of him whom she had harboured that support she had so freely bestowed on him; the late refugee then having an empire rapidly falling into his hands. Her object was not gained, and on this occasion 'hope left a wretched one that sought her.' Lady Blessington finally quitted Gore House April 14, 1849."

During a continental tour, Lady Blessington was introduced to the Count D'Orsay. "He was a great favourite of Lord Blessington, whose daughter by his first wife was, when quite a young girl, fetched from school to marry him; and a promise also is said to have been given from the Count to his Lordship, and from the Count's mother to Lady Blessington, that they (the Count and her Ladyship) would never leave each other. Be that as it may, they lived together for above a quarter of a century, and increase of years seemed still stronger to consolidate the engagement. D'Orsay led a gay and extravagant life in London, considerably beyond his means, in great measure appearing to consider his patronage sufficient payment. He undoubtedly possessed great abilities, was an excellent artist, and a humourist of the first water. to his wife was cruel in the extreme: she was spurned by him entirely, he still pocketing an income from her father's estates! For a long time he could only make his exit from Gore House on Sundays, for fear of arrest; and his extravagances vastly accelerated the day of retribution. He and Lady Blessington retired to Paris, and Gore House was stripped of its contents by public sale. There, whatever was the cause, they met not with the reception anticipated. Lady Blessington died soon after, on June 4, 1849. D'Orsay designed her monument, and in little more than three years after his career was ended. He died July 1, 1852.-Davis's Memorials of Knightsbridge.

But his conduct

The Count D'Orsay painted an interesting memorial of Gore House, and its celebrities: a view in the pleasure grounds in the rear of the mansion, with portraits of the Duke of Wellington, Lady Blessington, the painter (D'Orsay), and other celebrities.

DISTINCTIONS OF DRESS.

The meeting of two gentlemen in a theatre lobby is a happy illustration of the confusion a similarity of dress occasions. Coming from different points, each in a great hurry, one addressed the other with, "Pray, are you the box-keeper ?""No," replied the other, are you?"

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Girard, the famous French painter, when very young, was the bearer of a letter of introduction to Lanjuinais, then of the Council of Napoleon. The young painter was shabbily attired, and his reception was extremely cold; but Lanjuinais discovered in him such striking proofs of talent, good sense, and amiability, that on Girard's rising to take leave, he rose too, and accompanied his visitor to the ante-chamber. The change was so striking, that Girard could not avoid an expression of surprise. "My good friend," said Lanjuinais, anticipating the inquiry, "we receive an unknown person according to his dress-we take leave of him according to his merit."

PRUDENTIAL CONSIDERATION.

The lady of a distinguished officer died in one of our colonies, just previous to which she expressed a wish to be buried in England, and was, accordingly, deposited in a cask of rum, for the purpose of transport home, but remained in the cellar after the officer's second marriage; the detention being occasioned by his expectation that the duty on the spirit imported into England, in which the dear departed was preserved, would, in a few years, be either lowered or taken off altogether! Strange as this may seem, it is true.--Theo

dore Hook.

PLEASURES OF A CROWD.

"Pray, sir," said a person who had previously been the backmost of a crowd, to another who had just joined it; "pray, sir, have the kindness not to press upon me; it is unnecessary since there is no one behind to press upon you!" "But there may be presently," said the other; "besides, sir, where's the good of being in a crowd, if one mayn't shove !"-Poole.

BORE-CIDE.

A certain well-known provincial bore having left a tavern party, of which Burns was one, he, the Bard, immediately demanded a bumper, and addressing himself to the chairman, said: "I give you the health, gentlemen all, of the waiter that called my Lord out of the room."-Lockhart.

"THERE'S A LANGUAGE THAT'S MUTE."

A gentleman, one Sunday morning, was attracted to watch a young country girl on the high road from the village to the church, by observing that she looked hither and thither, this way and that upon the road, as if she had lost her thimble. The bells were settling for prayers, and there was no one visible on the road except the girl and the gentleman, who recognised in her the errand-maid of a neigh

bouring farmer. "What are you looking for, my girl?" asked the gentleman, as the damsel continued to pore along the dusty road. She answered, gravely: "Sir, I'm looking to see if my master be gone to church." Now, her master had a wooden leg.

PERSONAL RETALIATION.

Tom Raikes, who was very much marked with the small-pox, having one day written an anonymous letter to Count D'Orsay, containing some piece of impertinence, had closed it with a wafer, and stamped it with something resembling the top of a thimble. The Count soon discovered who was the writer, and in a roomful of company, thus addressed him: "Ha! ha! my good Raikes, the next time you write an anonymous letter, you must not seal it with your nose.'

LORD ALVANLEY.

Among the witticisms attributed to Lord Alvanley is a bon mot, which gave rise to the belief that Solomon, the Jew money-lender, caused the downfall and disappearance of Brummel; for, on some friends of his observing that if he had remained in London, something might have been done for him by his old associates, Alvanley replied, He has done quite right to be off; it was Solomon's judgment."

When Sir Lumley Skeffington's spectacle of the Sleeping Beauty, produced at a great expense on the stage, reappeared after some years' seclusion, Alvanley, on being asked who that smart-looking individual was, answered, "It is a second edition of the Sleeping Beauty, bound in calf, richly gilt, and illustrated by many cuts."

A gay man named Judge, imprisoned in the King's Bench, was said to be the first instance of a judge reaching the bench without being previously called to the bar; to which Alvanley replied, "Many a bad judge has been taken from the bench and placed at the bar."

"SWEERING AT LAIRGE."

A late Duke of Atholl had invited a well-known personage, a writer of Perth, to come up and meet him at Dunkeld for the transaction of some business. The Duke mentioned the day and hour when he should receive the man of law, who accordingly came punctually at the appointed time and place, But the Duke had forgotten the appointment, and gone to the hill, from which he would not return for some hours. A Highlander present described the Perth writer's indignation, and his mode of showing it, by a most elaborate course of swearing. "But whom did he swear at?"

H