But what consarns me more than all is, that the temptations of this
vanity fair have turnt the head of Andrew, and he has bought two horses,
with an English man-servan', which you know is an eating moth. But how
he payt for them, and whar he is to keep them, is past the compass of my
understanding. In short, if the legacy does not cast up soon, I see
nothing left for us but to leave the world as a legacy to you all, for my
heart will be broken--and I often wish that the cornel hadna made us his
residees, but only given us a clean scorn, like Miss Jenny Macbride,
although it had been no more; for, my dear Miss Mally, it does not doo
for a woman of my time of life to be taken out of her element, and,
instead of looking after her family with a thrifty eye, to be sitting
dressed all day seeing the money fleeing like sclate stanes. But what I
have to tell is worse than all this; we have been persuaded to take a
furnisht house, where we go on Monday; and we are to pay for it, for
three months, no less than a hundred and fifty pounds, which is more than
the half of the Doctor's whole stipend is, when the meal is twenty-pence
the peck; and we are to have three servan' lassies, besides Andrew's man,
and the coachman that we have hired altogether for ourselves, having been
persuaded to trist a new carriage of our own by the Argents, which I
trust the Argents will find money to pay for; and masters are to come in
to teach Rachel the fasionable accomplishments, Mrs. Argent thinking she
was rather old now to be sent to a boarding-school. But what I am to get
to do for so many vorashous servants, is dreadful to think, there being
no such thing as a wheel within the four walls of London; and, if there
was, the Englishers no nothing about spinning. In short, Miss Mally, I
am driven dimentit, and I wish I could get the Doctor to come home with
me to our manse, and leave all to Andrew and Rachel, with kurators; but,
as I said, he's as mickle bye himself as onybody, and says that his
candle has been hidden under a bushel at Garnock more than thirty years,
which looks as if the poor man was fey; howsomever, he's happy in his
delooshon, for if he was afflictit with that forethought and wisdom that
I have, I know not what would be the upshot of all this calamity. But we
maun hope for the best; and, happen what will, I am, dear Miss Mally,
your sincere friend, JANET PRINGLE.