ANDREW HENDERSON, who, along with
Motherwell and Carrick, formed the trio of editors of The Laird of
Logan, although a stout defender of the state of single blessedness,
was ever genial, gallant, witty, and agreeable.
He was one evening at a dinner party
where the company were so numerous that they could not be all accommodated
at the table, and some had to make their knees the substitute. Andrew was
one of these, and after having picked the bones of the portion of fowl
served to him by the host, was about to return his plate, when he
proffered to hand in, at the same time, that of the lady who sat next to
him, and couched his request in the following felicitous terms:
"My
