ing the means of enabling the fallible, but ingenuous petitioners to keep good hours, the Council resolved to put up the desiderated clock, "in a handsome and genteel manner." This looks like a considerate wish on the part of the authorities to correct the irregularities of their petitioners with as little offence as might be to their feelings. Up, then, went the clock! but, alas! for the unfortunate memorialists! In the course of two years, " regularity and good order" in their quarter were still found to be as "desirable an event" as ever. A dial-plate, indeed, had been administered in their case; but it was far too obstinate to yield to anything short of the exhibition of a bell, too! The merely "silent monitor" without, seems to have been as "insufficient" as that within them. What availed it to admonish them of the value of time through one sense only the sense of sightbootless o' nights, and, at any time, so liable to tantalising fits of duplexity! No, their sense of hearing must also be appealed to. They required something striking to make a due impression. So, "on a petition from a great number of the inhabitants, a striking part and a bell," were ordered to be added to the clock on the reservoir. This seems to have had the desired effect. To this wise provision may we, doubtless, ascribe the "regularity and good order" which have ever since characterised the worthy "nichtbours" in this quarter! Of elder

denizens of the gossipdom, old Time has spared a remnant to enjoy well-earned ease, and a crack about days of yore, amid the tasteful amenities of suburban retirement. We may remark, by the way, that the College folks seem never to have complained of the "insufficiency" of their clock; their habitual discipline probably making amends for the free and easy system pursued by their horologe. Among other objectors to the reservoir -a staid old lady complained that it "obstructed her lights"-but whether of her domicile or understanding appeareth not; while a certain merchant took out an "interdict" against the unhappy building-reasons not stated.

Nevertheless the reservoir was completed, and did its duty; when, in the course of some twenty years, "the letting out of its water" again symbolised "the beginning of strife." In 1791 eighty citizens memorialised the Town-Council, to the effect that the water of the reservoir was "strongly impregnated with tar, in consequence of the improper mode of repairing the seams and rents in its bottom, by which great disgust was occasioned, and pernicious consequences might arise, both to the health of the citizens, and the public cisterns and pipes." Here was a monstre grievance, and most disinterestedly was it urged. Not for themselves alone were the memorialists the memorialists concerned, their sympathies embraced the "cisterns and pipes."

Could either, albeit of mould so leaden, be expected passively to act as the harbourers, or guides of tar water, without "great disgust!" The overseer of the reservoir was denounced as a poisoner; placards were posted on the building itself, bearing-" Tar water sold here!" No faith had the citizens in the doctrines of good Bishop Berkeley, who was at the trouble to write a treatise to prove that tar water was as sovereign a panacea as Parr's Life Pills are now attested to be. An explanation was demanded of the overseer. That he was sorely puzzled appears from the fact that he gave in a "long answer." When the cistern was nearly empty not a rent appeared, but when it was full there was a "continual dropping." Despairing of finding out the mystery, he did tar the bottom of the cistern. The worthy man ultimately discovered that it was the weight of the water, when the cistern was full, that set the rent a-gaping, which of course closed when the utensil was nearly empty! The cistern was at length repaired without tar, and the citizens, cisterns, and pipes were satisfied!

So much for old wells, and for some of the old frets of our forefathers. What was once cause of irritation to them, is now a source of amusement to us. We, too, shall have our turn. Our ancestors, mayhap, will be avenged of our pleasantry at their expense in the jokes cracked by a future generation on the squabbles of our own day.

THE FIRST OF APRIL 1813

WILL long be remembered as one of the most disastrous days of Bon-Accord, in consequence of the melancholy shipwreck of the Oscar on the fatal Greyhope, a rock at the Girdleness, situated a little to the south of the entrance of the harbour. For some time previous the weather had been remarkably propitious, and everything was fraught with the promise of uninterrupted spring. Early on the morning of the 1st of April the Oscar had left the harbour in company with four other whale-fishing vessels, and all were riding at anchor in a sea as smooth as glass, which proved but too deceitfully calm. About five o'clock in the morning, however, the sky began to lower, and exhibited to the experienced eye of the seaman certain presages of impending storm. The Oscar accordingly weighed anchor and stood out to sea. Unfortunately she had not on board her full complement of crew, and was obliged to stand into the bay for the absent hands, who had been spending their time in all the reckless jollity in which the sailor delights to revel on the eve of departure on a long voyage.

By this time the storm of the morning had lulled a little, as if on purpose to facilitate the securing of its devoted victims. All the crew were safely shipped on board the Oscar, now far in-shore, amid a heavy sea, a stormy flood-tide setting in, and a fatal calm. Suddenly a hurricane burst from the north-east, accompanied with thick snow. The situation of the Oscar was now perilous in the extreme, and the spectators on shore trembled for her fate. About half-past eleven A.M., after dragging her anchor, she drove ashore on the rock called the Greyhope. Her destruction now appeared inevitable. A tremendous surf broke over her, ever and anon dashing her against the rock with such resistless force that the noise of the concussion was distinctly audible at a considerable distance, striking terror and dismay into the crowd that covered the pier, in defiance of the violence of the tempest, which threatened destruction to all that opposed its career. A more heart-rending scene cannot well be conceived. Forty-four hapless individuals were perishing in sight of their nearest and dearest relatives and friends, who could only send them, across the raging deep, their heart-felt yet unavailing sympathy. Some of the crew attempted to form a bridge to the nearest rocks by cutting away the main-mast, but it unfortunately fell alongside the ship, instead of towards the shore as they had fondly anticipated. Soon after the fore