palace, but the withdrawin’ room beat a' ever I saw. The wa’s
were lined wi’ great lookin’-glesses in gilt frames, an’ showed
me sae mony views o’ my ain figure that I had to steal into
the recess o’ a window to hide frae mysel’. There wud, maybe,
be some twenty or thirty in the room—men and women. The
men maistly sleepin’ on grand easy chairs, the women either
knitting or pretending to read, though I could see frae the
lookin’glesses that the readers were lookin’ ower their books at
me. By and by a grand buxom duchess rises frae the fire and
planks hersel’ doon beside me at the window. She wis unco
free, and speered a heap o’ questions, naming me by my name.
“Ye hae the better o’ me,” quoth I, “ for I dinna ken that we ever met afore. ’
“Oh!” quoth she, “I saw your name in the book; are ye related to the Trongate Spreulls ? ”
“The late Jen Spreull wis a second cousin on my faither’s side.”
“Oh! my,” says she, “ I kent her weel.” In a short time I fand oot that the great duchess wis a wumman; that, in fact, she wis the wife o’ a ham-curer in Brunswick Street, named Bacon. She wis aboot the healthiest-like wumman ever I saw; but she talked even on for aboot a quarter o’ an hour to show me what a complication o’ ailments she had. Then I got the personal history o’ every ither wumman in the room besides a full, true, and particular account o’ what wis wrang wi’ them, so that when I gaed in to dinner I kent the company as weel as if I had bidit in the hoose for a week.
Being the last arrival, I wis set doon by the side o’ the doctor at the head o’ the table. He wis a thin, gaunt, langcbafied man, wha said little, and minded his ain plate. Mrs. Bacon, wha sat on the ither side o’ me, had plenty to say in the withdrawing-room, but she wis quate enough noo. As an
