LITMIR.BIZ

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weather that would let him sit, he preferred horseback to every other mode of travelling, though he seldom would be followed by a groom. He had posted to Hillknow, and had dined with a friend at the inn. The coach stopping to change horses, he had caught a glimpse of a pretty face, as he thought, from its window, and had hoped to overtake the coach before it reached Rothieden. But stopping to drink another bottle, he had failed; and it was on the merest chance of seeing that pretty face that he stopped at The Boar’s Head. In all probability, had the Marquis seen the lady, he would not have thought her at all such a beauty as she appeared in the eyes of Dooble Sanny; nor, I venture to think, had he thought as the shoemaker did, would he yet have dared to address her in other than the words of such respect as he could still feel in the presence of that which was more noble than himself.

      Whether or not on his visit to the stable he found anything amiss with Black Geordie, I cannot tell, but he now begged Miss Lizzie to have a bedroom prepared for him.

      It happened to be the evening of Friday, one devoted by some of the townspeople to a symposium. To this, knowing that the talk will throw a glimmer on several matters, I will now introduce my reader, as a spectator through the reversed telescope of my history.

      A few of the more influential of the inhabitants had grown, rather than formed themselves, into a kind of club, which met weekly at The Boar’s Head. Although they had no exclusive right to the room in which they sat, they generally managed to retain exclusive possession of it; for if any supposed objectionable person entered, they always got rid of him, sometimes without his being aware of how they had contrived to make him so uncomfortable. They began to gather about seven o’clock, when it was expected that boiling water would be in readiness for the compound generally called toddy, sometimes punch. As soon as six were assembled, one was always voted into the chair.

      On the present occasion, Mr. Innes, the school-master, was unanimously elected to that honour. He was a hard-featured, sententious, snuffy individual, of some learning, and great respectability.

      I omit the political talk with which their intercommunications began; for however interesting at the time is the scaffolding by which existing institutions arise, the poles and beams when gathered again in the builder’s yard are scarcely a subject for the artist.

      The first to lead the way towards matters of nearer personality was William MacGregor, the linen manufacturer, a man who possessed a score of hand-looms or so—half of which, from the advance of cotton and the decline of linen-wear, now stood idle—but who had already a sufficient deposit in the hands of Mr. Thomson the banker—agent, that is, for the county-bank—to secure him against any necessity for taking to cotton shirts himself, which were an abomination and offence unpardonable in his eyes.

      ‘Can ye tell me, Mr. Cocker,’ he said, ‘what mak’s Sandy, Lord Rothie, or Wrathy, or what suld he be ca’d?—tak’ to The Bothie at a time like this, whan there’s neither huntin’, nor fishin’, nor shutin’, nor onything o’ the kin’ aboot han’ to be playacks till him, the bonnie bairn—‘cep’ it be otters an’ sic like?’

      William was a shrunken old man, with white whiskers and a black wig, a keen black eye, always in search of the ludicrous in other people, and a mouth ever on the move, as if masticating something comical.

      ‘You know just as well as I do,’ answered Mr. Cocker, the Marquis of Boarshead’s factor for the surrounding estate. ‘He never was in the way of giving a reason for anything, least of all for his own movements.’

      ‘Somebody was sayin’ to me,’ resumed MacGregor, who, in all probability, invented the story at the moment, ‘that the prince took him kissin’ ane o’ his servan’ lasses, and kickit him oot o’ Carlton Hoose into the street, and he canna win’ ower the disgrace o’ ‘t.’

      ‘’Deed for the kissin’,’ said Mr. Thomson, a portly, comfortable-looking man, ‘that’s neither here nor there, though it micht hae been a duchess or twa; but for the kickin’, my word! but Lord Sandy was mair likly to kick oot the prince. Do ye min’ hoo he did whan the Markis taxed him wi’—?’

      ‘Haud a quaiet sough,’ interposed Mr. Cruickshank, the solicitor; ‘there’s a drap i’ the hoose.’

      This was a phrase well understood by the company, indicating the presence of some one unknown, or unfit to be trusted.

      As he spoke he looked towards the farther end of the room, which lay in obscurity; for it was a large room, lighted only by the four candles on the table at which the company sat.

      ‘Whaur, Mr. Cruickshank?’ asked the dominie in a whisper.

      ‘There,’ answered Sampson Peddie, the bookseller, who seized the opportunity of saying something, and pointed furtively where the solicitor had only looked.

      A dim figure was descried at a table in the farthest corner of the room, and they proceeded to carry out the plan they generally adopted to get rid of a stranger.

      ‘Ye made use o’ a curious auld Scots phrase this moment, Mr. Curshank: can ye explain hoo it comes to beir the meanin’ that it’s weel kent to beir?’ said the manufacturer.

      ‘Not I, Mr. MacGregor,’ answered the solicitor. ‘I’m no philologist or antiquarian. Ask the chairman.’

      ‘Gentlemen,’ responded Mr. Innes, taking a huge pinch of snuff after the word, and then, passing the box to Mr. Cocker, a sip from his glass before he went on: ‘the phrase, gentlemen, “a drap i’ the hoose,” no doobt refers to an undesirable presence, for ye’re weel awaur that it’s a most unpleasin’ discovery, in winter especially, to find a drop o’ water hangin’ from yer ceiling; a something, in short, whaur it has no business to be, and is not accordingly looked for, or prepared against.’

      ‘It seems to me, Mr. Innes,’ said MacGregor, ‘that ye hae hit the nail, but no upo’ the heid. What mak’ ye o’ the phrase, no confined to the Scots tongue, I believe, o’ an eaves-drapper? The whilk, no doobt, represents a body that hings aboot yer winnock, like a drap hangin’ ower abune it frae the eaves—therefore called an eaves drapper. But the sort of whilk we noo speak, are a waur sort a’thegither; for they come to the inside o’ yer hoose, o’ yer verra chaumer, an’ hing oot their lang lugs to hear what ye carena to be hard save by a dooce frien’ or twa ower a het tum’ler.’

      At the same moment the door opened, and a man entered, who was received with unusual welcome.

      ‘Bless my sowl!’ said the president, rising; ‘it’s Mr. Lammie!—Come awa’, Mr. Lammie. Sit doon; sit doon. Whaur hae ye been this mony a day, like a pelican o’ the wilderness?’

      Mr. Lammie was a large, mild man, with florid cheeks, no whiskers, and a prominent black eye. He was characterized by a certain simple alacrity, a gentle, but outspeaking readiness, which made him a favourite.

      ‘I dinna richtly mak’ oot wha ye are,’ he answered. ‘Ye hae unco little licht here! Hoo are ye a’, gentlemen? I s’ discover ye by degrees, and pay my respecks accordin’.’

      And he drew a chair to the table.

      ‘’Deed I wuss ye wad,’ returned MacGregor, in a voice pretentiously hushed, but none the less audible. ‘There’s a drap in yon en’ o’ the hoose, Mr. Lammie.’

      ‘Hoot! never min’ the man,’ said Lammie, looking round in the direction indicated. ‘I s’ warran’ he cares as little aboot hiz as we care aboot him. There’s nae treason noo a-days. I carena wha hears what I say.’

      ‘For my pairt,’ said Mr. Peddie, ‘I canna help wonnerin’ gin it cud be oor auld frien’ Mr. Faukener.’

      ‘Speyk o’ the de’il—’ said Mr. Lammie.

      ‘Hoot! na,’ returned Peddie, interrupting. ‘He wasna a’thegither the de’il.’

      ‘Haud the tongue o’ ye,’ retorted Lammie. ‘Dinna ye ken a proverb whan ye hear ‘t? De’il hae ye! ye’re as sharpset as a missionar’. I was only gaun to say that I’m doobtin’ Andrew’s deid.’

      ‘Ay! ay!’ commenced a chorus of questioning.

      ‘Mhm!’

      ‘Aaay!’

      ‘What

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