THE
SELECT MISCELLANY.
BATTLE OF THE BREEKS.
A PASSAGE FROM THE LIFE OF WILLIAM McGEE, WEAVER IN
HAMILTON.
I often wonder, when I think of the tribulations that men bring upon themsells, through a want of gumption and common independence of speerit. There now, was I for nao less than eighteen years as henpickit a man as ever wrocht at the loom. Maggy and me, after the first week of our marriage, never foregathered weel thegither. There was something unco dour and imperious about her temper, although, I maun say, barring this drawback, sho was nae that ill in her way either—that is to say, she had a sort of kindness about her, and behaved in a truly mitherly way to tho bairns, gie'in them a' things neodfu' in the way of feeding and claithing so far as our means admitted. But, O man, for a' that, sho was a dour wife. There was nae pleasing her ae way or anither; and whenever I heard the bell ringing for the kirk, it put me in mind of her tongue-aye wag, wagging, and abuseing me boyond bounds. In ae word, I was a puir, broken-hearted man, and often wished myself in Abraham's bosom, awa frae the cares and miseries of this sinfu' world.
I was just saying that folk often rin their heads
