about; and this is Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, son of the managing partner of the great house of Osbaldistone and Tresham, in the City.”

“Eneuch said,” answered Andrew—“eneuch said! What need ye think I wad be speaking about your names for?—I hae mony things o’ mair importance to speak about, I trow.”

“It’s thae very things of importance that I am feared for, ye blethering goose; ye maunna speak onything, gude or bad, that ye can by any possibility help.”

“If ye dinna think me fit,” replied Andrew, in a huff, “to speak like ither folk, gie me my wages and my boardwages, and I’se gae back to Glasgow—There’s sma’ sorrow at our parting, as the auld mear said to the broken cart.”

Finding Andrew’s perverseness again rising to a point which threatened to occasion me inconvenience, I was under the necessity of explaining to him, that he might return if he thought proper, but that in that case I would not pay him a single farthing for his past services. The argument ad crumenam, as it has been called by jocular logicians, has weight with the greater part of mankind, and Andrew was in that particular far from affecting any trick of singularity. He “drew in his horns,” to use the Bailie’s phrase, on the instant, professed no intention whatever to disoblige, and a resolution to be guided by my commands, whatever they might be.

Concord being thus happily restored to our small party, we continued to pursue our journey. The road, which had ascended for six or seven English miles, began now to descend for about the same space, through a country which, neither in fertility or interest, could boast any advantage over that which we had passed already, and which afforded no variety, unless when some tremendous peak of a Highland mountain appeared at a distance. We continued, however, to ride on without pause; and even when night fell and over-shadowed the desolate wilds which we traversed, we were, as I understood from Mr. Jarvie, still three miles and a bittock distant from the place where we were to spend the night.


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