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Braes o'Doune, had purchased at Carlisle, where he had been with cattle from last Tryst, a Musical Snuff-box, and on his return home, being determined to make a display, he carried the same to church next Sunday. The snuff was prime, but, unfortunately, when handing a pinch to a cronie, and just as the minister had begun to draw his inference, off went the box to the not inappropriate tune of—"We're a' noddin." Donald applied himself to the stop catch, which he mistook and away went the music to the profane tune of Maggy Lauder." In the perturbation of the moment, Donald tried to smother the box within his sporran, but at last took fairly to his heels, and on passing the ronnel, dropped it, when the Precentor, enraged at this assumption of his department, with one stamp of his foot silenced for ever this orchestra in miniature. "Tamerst," said Donald, in a large mouthful of Gaelic, "she had mair tunes than Tougal, the man that pits out the Psalms, an' tat was nae mair oor twa."
