“True friendship leyfe’s deleyte still pruives,
Nor ever flings mankeyn’ to woe,
The gud whea still their brethren luives
What leads to virtue ay will shew.
“True friendship that can neer cause streyfe,
But e’en keep frae distress and pain,
An’ shew what bliss it gie’s thro’ leyfe
In every bwosom still s’ud reign.”
“To Friendship,” by Anderson.
In less than an hour after the incident above recorded, Major Oldschool was seated in the parlour, at the head of the table, entertaining “Mr. and Mrs. Sandboys, their son and daughter,” to a “quiet cup of tea;” while Mrs. Coddle kept continually fidgeting in and out of the room—bobbing in now with a plate of muffins—and now with a pot of marmalade; and each time she did so, whispering in the Major’s ear, as she placed “the delicacy” on the table, some fresh instructions as to the mode of conducting the ceremonies on such important occasions. At one time she would nudge his elbow, as she leant over the table, and say, aside, to him, “There you are again draining the teapot down to the very dregs!” and at another, she would exclaim, in an under-tone, “What ever are you about, filling up the cups without emptying the slops!”—until the poor Major grew so confused as to the formalities of the tea-table, that he emptied the entire contents of the cream jug into the slop-basin; and in his anxiety to hand the tea-cake to Mrs. Sandboys, and prevail upon her to take “just one small piece more,” left the tap of the urn running, and was not aware of his neglect until Cursty suddenly jumped up from his chair, startled by a stream of boiling-hot pouring on to his knees.