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drave a' thing else oot o' my mind-but I'm sorry to say it's no here.' 'No here?' sais I. No here,' sais he, it's in ma pockmaintle in Aidenboro' toon, and ye maun een come for't, gif ye waant it,' sais he' 'It'll be a chainge for ye,' sais he, and we'll gang down thegither; and gif yer no ready, I'll bide here a month to shoot your convainience, gif there's a needcessity.' 'Thank ye,' sais I, 'I'd be laith to decompose ye, and we'll jist step it the morn's morn;' but I'll gie him a cry." He went to the window and opened it. "Hae, man, hae!" he shouted; " come up-come up. God save us a'," he said, hurriedly looking round, "he's had his breeks aff, and the weans an' the weemen a' glowrin' at him. Hae, come up-come up!" he shouted again.

"Tooralietee!" jödled a musical voice from below. "Vaat you say, Snortair?"

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up, mon-come up; the denner's deshed."

'Ah, ah!


Monsieur est servi? Je suis là! I am at you-au

The Snorter drew in his head, but, in a minute after, "Tooralietee," trolled the voice from below again.

"Whaat's up noo ?" said the Snorter, putting his head out.

"Ah, ah! Mon vieux Tupp, me voici, perdu. I hav loast my rrod. Leetel Beau Peap did loss hees sheap, and Peaugout has lost hees ole tupp. Indique ze manière de monter on haigh to you and ze ozares. Geev' me ze speeceefic, ah, ha!"

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'Stap doon, Dougal," said the Snorter to his henchman—“ stap doon, man, and bring the feckless cratur up; and bide ye there, Veecont-bide ye there; Dougal i'll be doon eenoo', and mind ye, Dougal, keep yer claws aff that deil's buckie, Sennacherib, for he's brocht wi' him-wad you believe it, Caurnel ?—he's brocht wi' him an ootlandish salvage man-a Moor or a Tim Bucktooth, he ca's him, and he's no that canny, for oor Kirsty-an inqueesitive hizzy— she's a' that was jist tryin' wi' her bodkin to see gif the skin on the cauf o' his leg was like ither folks' skin, and he gied a wild kin' o' scrauchle, and gruppit her; and, ma word, but it was a toozlin' she got it was jist awfie; but Dougal he cam' ben, and he felled. the Moor wi' the branks, and aye sin syne they're no to haud aff ither's worrygills."

A confused sound in the corridor now attracted our attention. This was what we heard:


“She'll no win in. She'll no gang into the Snorter and the Duno

wiesalls black peest-wi' her white mutch and her Lochaber axe."


"She'll no win in."


"Putt Toocal, Mons Toocal, recall thyself-eet ees my chasseur -sacré nom des milles bombes-eet ees my suit-eet maust go wis me." "She'll no win to the Snorter."

"Gnurr-urr-urr!" (blows seemed to follow) "Baff! baff! bang! baff, worry, worry, worry!"

"Toocal, you are bête. Sennacheribs, sauvage cheeken ov zee deevil. Veel you say zen, vat you weesh vor yourself, Toocal ? " "She'll no win in."

"Baff! baff!"

Instantly after, Dugald, his hair and beard dishevelled, and his eyes rolling fearfully, shot backwards into it, as if suddenly detached from some object that had given way in his grasp.

In his hands were long fragments of dark hair, and on his lips the expression-"She'll no win in."

The Snorter rushed in upon him, and butting at the giant with his head, jammed him against the wall, then recoiling, raised a menacing finger and said-"Bide ye there, ye lang-leggit gomeril!-bide ye there, ye bluid-thirsty haem-sucker. I'll sennacherib ye, ye toozy neerdaeweel. And noo, Caurnel," he continued with perfect composure, adjusting his wig, "I'll presaint the Veecoont Pogoo."

The Viscount, a fresh-looking young man (Grant), clothed in ultra-French cavalry uniform, with a waxed moustache, a poodle-wig, a wasp's waist, and a huge sabre, ambled into the room, followed by a grave-looking Moor (our doctor), correctly clad in burnous, turban, and flowing drapery, but rather anomalously bearing a Lochaber axe. His melancholy features and accurate attire bore no trace of his recent conflict. "Monsieur le Colonel," cried the Viscount, "j'ai l'honneur --but no- veel speek noseeng but ze-vat you call naveecular, hem? ze-no-fernuncular. How arr you, Currnell ?-Ge-lad to see you.

"Viscount," said the Colonel, "this is indeed a pleasure, to welcome a nobleman of your great nation under my roof-tree▬▬” "Canny, man, canny," interpolated the Snorter.

"To welcome you, I say" (with a withering look at his interrupter), "is, Viscount, a reunion I have long coveted."

"Mons-zat ees, Meester ze Caurnel-you maek me too mautch honneur. I am ge-lad, very ge-lad-and how are ze troupes? Av zey bonne santé, or arr zey malades, loike zees sacrés tupps ov Mr. Snortair? Say, zen, arr sey malades? for I av' von grrand speeceefeek." "Tak' tent, Caurnel," whispered the proprietor of the tups.

The Colonel repressed a grim smile, saying, "You are too kind, Viscount; my men are, I thank you, in perfect health."

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'Dommage!" muttered the Viscount, "I vood hav' geeven zem


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"Dinner is on the table, gentlemen," announced the butler. "Snorter," said the Colonel, with a wave of the hand, will you lead the way? Viscount, will you follow the Snorter?"

"Na, na!" said the Snorter, menners is menners: it's my ain hoose; gang yer ways, Caurnel, wi' the Veecoont, and I'll bring up the rair wi' ane o' yer young men.'

The Colonel, shrugging his shoulders to imply that an eccentric must be humoured, offered his arm to the Frenchman, and the procession moved off. The Snorter remained, grimacing as we passed. M'Nish, with the modesty of the last-joined, let every one pass him also, and thus fell an easy prey to the "haraidatary keeper."

"Gie me yer airm, my man," said that functionary, "and we'll gang thegither-' crabbit age and youth;' but, eh! man, ye look awfu' glumpy; it's crabbit youth and age, I doot; whaat's comed till the callant ?"


Indeed, Mr.- I did not quite catch the title," said M'Nish. "Snoarter!" snorted its proprietor.

"I beg pardon, Mr. Snorter___"

"There's nae Muster till't-The Snorter."

"A thousand pardons, but really I have only joined to-day, and I am so unused to these scenes-Demerara is so different from Scotland; and your titles and everything are a-a-a-so bewildering, and I don't think I don't think (you'll consider me an ass, I know) I shall ever get on in this regiment; and I'm not an Irishman."

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Hoot, laddie! hoot, man, and gif ye was whaat fore no? There's Brian Boroo, and Magillicuddy Reeks, and Cruiskeen Lawn, a' ken't folk, and 'sponsible gentlemen for a' they be Irish. Ne'er hang yer head for that; and Dugald and Sennacherib, they'll no harm ye; and the Caurnel, he's a thrawn cratur', but he means weel, and ye'll leeve to be Caurnel o' the Strathbungies yersel', and aiblins a snoarter-wha kens ?"

These crumbs of comfort were dispensed as we passed into the mess-room and took our seats; the Colonel at the head of the table, on his right the Viscount, supported by an adept in plain clothes; on his left the Snorter, supported by M'Nish, beside whom I took up my position. Sennacherib stood behind the Viscount, and Dugald behind the Snorter, having deposited one key, knife and fork fashion, on either side of his master's plate.

"An' ye're fae Demerarra a' the way?" continued the comforter; "an' what kin' o' bestial do the folk rin tull thereawa'?"

"I'm not aware," said M'Nish, whose temper was giving way under nervous excitement-"I'm not aware that the people in Demerara are more bestial than the people in Scotland."

"Hoot, man, ye misunderstaun'-is it nowt or sheep they breed maist o'? Ye see, jist at this praisent time I'm sair fashed wi' my tups, and

"Ah, ha ha! ze tupps again; but I have my speeceefik," said the Viscount.

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"Let me entreat you, Viscount," whispered the Colonel, in a loud aside, not to encourage our friend to talk on these discreditable topics; he forgets his noble lineage and lofty position in a detestable hobby for breeding sheep and cattle. Let us change the subject and make him ashamed of himself; and, Viscount," he continued aloud, "what is the state of your political atmosphere in France?"

"Ah! ze poliwick," said he, "I daunot knaw; eet ees baad, but I knaw not mauch. I am relegaated. I am in vat you call ze baad smells-no-how say you? in baad odeur wiz ze gooverrment, and eet ees long time I was not een Ferrance, and aal is shaynge perhaps. I had speeceefik, voyez-vous? I sed, kaut me off ze hedd of zees sacré cochin Louis Philippe-kaut eet off, and mack eat zat polisson, zat brrigand Guizot, maek heem eat ze hedd of ze bourgeoise bête, perruque and aal. Zat was my leetel arrenchment. Zey wood notzey veesh eat Peaugout. I daunot loike, and pendant won week, I was la cuisinière, ze shemale cook of Monsieur Broon (Angleesh), een hees cautch to ze sea and een hees yautch to Angleterre, vare me voici, yet again Peaugout! Ha! ha! Vive la Republique! eet veal comm, and zen vee veel comm manger ze Angleesh. Monsieur le Colonel, je vous mangerai."

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"Thank you, Viscount," said the Colonel, but my humble decorations may show you that the French have already had an opportunity of doing so, and have not taken advantage of it."

"Ah, you

arr ole, you arr tuff loike zese Tu-(pardon!)

Steel I veel devawer you my teere! Eef zese poltrons of Ir

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"Hush! my dear Viscount," said the Colonel. "You must respect national susceptibilities. Our mess rules are stringent, and we must say nothing that might lead to violence. Mr. M'Nish has already shown symptoms of an ungovernable temper, and I cannot answer for him."

"Ah, Monsieur M'Sneesh," said the Viscount, good-naturedly, noticing his distress, "let us drink togezer; vee arr ze appressed nashionaltés; let us dreenk, 'confound ze Angleesh,' and vee veel eat ze Corrnel, you and I, and you shal hav' hees corrk legg!"

There was a general titter, supposed to be at the Colonel's expense, who looked grim, thereby appeasing M‘Nish a little.

"Weel," said the Snorter, "I'll no say but the corrk limb wad be the mair nutreetious o' the twae, for the Caurnel's nae invitin' morsel, the auld howtowdy."

Again there was a titter, which the Colonel, though looking black as thunder, thought fit to take no notice of, and changed the subject.

"May I ask, Viscount," said he, "where you got that remarkably fine retainer? His appearance delights me; his dignity is so truly Oriental, and what some of us who sit in high places" (a scourge-like glance at the Snorter) "might imitate with advantage."


"Ah, Sennacheribs; vell, I faund heem,"

"Found him, my dear Viscount? How very delightful!"

"Ye-es. I vos vees my regiment, Chasseurs d'Afrique, een Algerie. go for le sport in too ze desarte, and I foind heem zare." "Does he speak French ?"

"Gnaw-zat ees, won, two, tree vord. Par example, 'Comment vous portez-vous, Mons. Sennacherib ?""

"Trick biang," glugged the Moor, in guttural accents. "Ah, very interesting," cried the Colonel.

Arab click, I observe."

"He has the true

"Deevel doot him," growled the Snorter. "Oor Kirsty could tell ye a' aboot that.”

I have already said that my rôle for the evening was to be that of a newly-married young lady, bride of one of the officers; and it was arranged that I should have a tea-party after mess, at which all should be present for the purpose of making my acquaintance. So about this time I made an excuse, and retired from the dinner-table to my tiring-room.

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