Oh, dear. I have ticked off, by omission, the legions of Americans who count themselves “Scotch-Irish,” and who claim, among other distinctions, 16 presidents as their own. (I think 16 is right–Albion’s Seed has the details.) Sorry about that. Not about my habitual use of “Scotch” for the people of Caledonia, though. The “Scotch-Scots-Scottish” debate is strictly for pedants, so far as I am concerned. “Scotch” was good enough for Robbie Burns and Sir Walter, and it’s good enough for me. (And also for Fowler … Incidentally–and, it seemed to me, incredibly–the lady who designed the dust jacket of the old classic Fowler is still alive and active–I shook hands with her last week in San Francisco.)