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Updated: June 20, 2025
How to make Hair grow. Take half a pound of Aqua Mellis in the Spring time of the year, warm a little of it every Morning when you rise in a Sawcer, and tie a little spunge to a fine box comb, and dip it in the water, and therewith moisten the roots of the Hair in combing it, and it will grow long, thick, and curled in a very short time.
Jean approached the window with hers in her hand, and pulled down the blind. But, alas, beyond the form of a close bent elbow moving now and then across a corner of the white field, no shadow appeared upon it! Miss Horn rose. "Sit doon, mem, sit doon; ye hae naething to gang upo' yet," exclaimed Mr Mellis, who, being a bailie, was an authority.
He seems to forget the world in his own inner sources of thought and feeling. As circumstances cannot produce him, so they do not greatly affect his genius. He is the product of causes as yet unknown to the student of human progress; he is a boon for which the age that has him should be grateful, a sort of aerii mellis caelestia dona. Modern literature is full of this conception.
"Women with juice of herbs gray locks disguised." In these days of manifold mysterious nostrums that gild the head of declining age and make glad the waste places on bald young masculine pates, let us read the simple receipts of the good old times: "Take half a pound of Aqua Mellis in the Springtime of the Year, warm a little of it every morning when you rise in a Sawcer, and tie a little Spunge to a fine Box combe, and dip it in the water and therewith moisten the roots of the hair in Combing it, and it will grow long and thick and curled in a very short time."
"Weel, ye're jist richt there," said Mrs Mellis. "An' as ye say, she was aye some easy to perswaud. I hae nae doubt she believed to the ver' last he wad come back and mairry her." "Come back and mairry her! Wha or what div ye mean? I jist tell ye Mistress Mellis an' it's weel ye're named gien ye daur to hint at ae word o' sic clavers, it's this side o' this door o' mine ye's be less acquant wi'."
"Ye needna speyk like that," returned Mrs Mellis, for Miss Horn's tone was threatening: "I'm no Jean." "What saw ye?" repeated Miss Horn, more gently, but not less eagerly. "Whause is that kist o' mahogany drawers i' that bedroom, gien I may preshume ta spier?" "Whause but mine?" "They're no Jean's?" "Jean's!" "Ye micht hae latten her keep her bit duds i' them, for onything I kent!"
All in the streets and at the windows stared to see the grand lady from the House walking between a Scaurnose fisherman and his wife, and chatting away with them as if they were all fishers together. "What's the wordle comin' till?" cried Mrs. Mellis, the draper's wife, as she saw them pass.
Simili modo de suis arboribus mel elicitur, et vinum liquitur: excepto quod illa non sicut gramina prima desiccantur. Fertur quoque ibidem, extractionem huius farinae, mellis, et vini, per Angelum primitus fuisse ostensam praedicto Danorum Duci, illic fame cum suo exercitu laboranti.
Ever since the visit of condolence with which the narrative of these events opened, there had been a coolness between Mrs Mellis and Miss Horn.
"I doobt Jean has her full share o' a' feelin's belangin' to fallen human natur'," said Mrs Mellis, with a slow horizontal oscillation of the head. "But ye jist come an' see wi' yer ain een, an' syne jeedge for yersel': it 's nae business o' mine." "I'll come the nicht, Mrs Mellis. Only lat it be atween 's twa." "I can haud my tongue, mem, that is, frae a' but ane.
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