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Scots, wha hae on parritch fed!

The best o' parritch and milk in the morning, and at nicht.

The Robin and the Wren Fought about the parritch-pan; And ere the Robin got a spoon, The Wren had ate the parritch down.

On the benches immediately below the Grand Stand are seated two Drumquhidder worthies, Mr. Parritch and Mr. Havers, with Mrs. McTavish and her niece, two acquaintances from Glasgow, to whom they are endeavouring—not altogether successfully—to make themselves agreeable.

No sour apples, or raw turnips or carrots; no sweeties or tarts, and all that kind of abomination; no tea, to draw the sides of their tender little stomachs together; no whiskey, to kill their digestion; no Gundy, or Taffy, or Lick, or Black Man, or Jib; the less sugar and sweet things the better; the more milk and butter and fat the better; but plenty of plain, halesome food, parritch and milk, bread and butter, potatoes and milk, good broth,—kail as we call it.