poor afflicted alice asher had occasion to repeat these last words of pious resignation to the will of god, more than once after the recovery of her son. she was deeply grateful to heaven indeed, that his life had been spared to her, and that his health and strength were completely restored to him, but his handsome countenance had been greatly and permanently disfigured, by the deep cross-like scar that remained upon his left cheek, and the grace of his person had been much destroyed by the limping of his left leg, occasioned by the bad surgery of the rude practitioner who had set the broken bones. she bore this affliction, as she did all others, with meek submission, as a divine chastisement which her sin had well merited, though she wept to think [28]that she had been visited by it through the suffering of her innocent boy. some eight or nine long years passed away, during which sir walter stewart of drummin was liberal in providing richly for the wants of the mother, as well as for the education of her son, though he strictly avoided seeing either of them. the story of charley’s brave achievement, and severe accident, reached him not, for he was at that time abroad upon his travels in foreign lands; and, ere he returned home, the talk about it had died away, so that it had never been permitted to exercise any influence upon him whatsoever.
passing over these years, then, we find alice asher, paler and thinner than before, but still most beautiful, sitting one morning, at the window of her cottage, that looked towards the tower of drummin, which was partially seen from it, through between the thick stems of the trees. her elbow rested on the window-sill, and supported her head, which was surrounded by a broad fillet of black silk, from beneath which her hair clustered in fair ringlets around her finely formed features, and fell in long tresses [29]over her neck and shoulders. her close fitting kirtle, and her loose and flowing gown, were of sad-coloured silk, and the embroidered bosom of her snow-white smock was fastened with a golden brooch, that sparkled with precious stones, and more than one of her fingers glittered with rings of considerable value. alice was not always wont to be so adorned; but, ornamented as she thus was, beyond the simplicity of that attire which she usually wore, her countenance bore no corresponding expression of gladness upon it. she sat gazing silently towards the distant stronghold of the clan-allan stewarts, sighing deeply from time to time, until the thoughts that filled her heart gradually dimmed her large blue eyes, and the tears swelled over her eyelids, and ran down her cheeks, and she finally began to relieve the heaviness of her soul, by thinking aloud in broken and unconscious soliloquy.
“aye! he is going to-day!” said she, in a melancholy tone. “he is going to the court, to mix with the great, the proud, the gay, and the beautiful; and i shall not see him ere he goes! yet the vow of separation which we mutually [30]took, had a saving condition in it. he might have come—he may at any time approach me—aye, and honourably too—when the object of his visit may be to do me and my boy justice. but, after so many years have passed away in disappointment, why should my fond and foolish heart still cling to deceitful hope? a hope, too, that wars with those of a purer and holier nature, which may yet ally me, a penitent sinner, to heaven. then, what have i to do with those glittering gauds that would better become a bride? yet they are his pledges, if not of love, at least of kindness and of friendship, sent to me from time to time, to show me that i am not altogether forgotten; and surely there can be no harm in my wearing them? and then to-day—to-day, methought that he might have come. but if he had ever intended to come, would he have sent, as he has done, for charley? oh, my boy! would that he could but think of doing thee justice, and thy poor sinful mother would die contented! but, if he is pleased with the youth, may he not yet come hither along with him? how my silly heart beats at the [31]very thought! what sound was that i heard? can it be them?—no, no, no, he will never come more to me!—alas, alas! my poor boy’s face and person have suffered too much to win a father’s eye, and he knows not the virtues that lie so modestly concealed within them. but what is that i see yonder?—the bustle of the horsemen before the gate, with their pampered steeds and their gay attire—their pennons fluttering, and the sun glancing from the broad blades of their highland spears?—what!—was that a distant bugle blast i heard?—again!—then they are moving—aye, indeed! they are now galloping off along the terrace!—alas, alas, they are gone! and my vain and foolish hopes have gone with them!”
these last words were uttered in the deepest tone of anguish, and alice drew hastily back into the darkest recess of the apartment, where she seated herself, covered her face with the palms of her hands, and wept aloud. having thus given full vent to her feelings, she retired to the privacy of her closet, where she endeavoured to divert her mind by holy exercise from [32]the sorrows that oppressed her. at length, a gentle tap at the door informed her that her son had returned from his visit to drummin, and tremblingly anxious to know the result of it, she immediately admitted him.
“mother! my dearest mother!” said charley stewart, tenderly embracing her, and with a manifest effort to subdue certain emotions that were working within him; “why hast thou been weeping?”
“alas! i weep often, my beloved, my darling boy!” replied she, warmly responding to his caresses; “i weep, and i deserve to weep! but hast thou aught of tidings for me, that may give me a gleam of joy?—say—how wert thou received?”
“why, well, mother!” replied charley, endeavouring to assume a lively air; “i was well and kindly received, though neither, forsooth, with parade of arms, nor with flourish of trumpets, nor of clarions; but sir walter received me kindly.”
“did he embrace thee, dear charley?” demanded [33]his mother, with great anxiety of expression.
“um——aye,” replied her son, with some degree of hesitation; “he did embrace me, though hardly indeed with the same fervour that thou art wont to do, dearest mother. but then thou knowest, mother, that sir walter is a courtly knight of high degree, and they tell me that the fashion of such folks allows them not to yield themselves altogether, as we humbler people are wont to do, to the feelings that are within us.”
“alas! thou say’st that which is but too true!” replied alice, in a desponding tone; “but go on, boy.”
“sir walter put his hand on my shoulder, and turned me round,” continued charley. “then he made me walk a step or two, and eyed me narrowly from top to toe, pretty much as if he had been scanning the points and paces of a new horse.—‘how camest thou so lame and so disfigured?’ demanded he.—‘by a fall i had in climbing to an eagle’s nest,’ replied i.—‘a [34]silly cause,’ said sir walter; ‘and yet, perhaps, the bold blood that is in thee must bear the blame. but know, boy, that fate hath not given to all the power to climb into the eyry of the eagle.’ and having said this much he changed the subject of his talk.”
“would that thou could’st but have gathered courage enow to have told him all the circumstances of that adventure!”
“nay, mother, i had courage for any thing but to speak aught that might have sounded like mine own praise,” replied charley.
“would that he but knew thee as thou art!” said alice, with a sigh. “would that he but knew the soul that is within thee! with all his faults—and perhaps they are light, save that which concerns thee alone—he hath a generous spirit himself, and he could not but prize a generous spirit in one so kindred to him. but tell me all that passed. did—did he—did he ask thee for tidings of me?”
“he did question me most particularly about thee,” replied charley. “he questioned me as if he would have fain gathered from me the [35]appearance and condition of every, the minutest feature of thy face, and of every line of thy form. he questioned as if with the intent of limning thy very portrait on the tablet of his mind; and, as if he would have traced it beside some picture, which he still wore in fresh and lively colours there, for the purpose, as it seemed to me, of making close and accurate comparison between them. thus he would pause at times during his questioning of me; and, after a few moments of deep abstraction, he would say, as if forgetful of my presence, and in converse with himself alone, ‘strange! aye, but she was then but fifteen, scarce ripened into woman—the change is nothing more than natural—the same loveliness, but more womanly;’ and so he went on, now to question, and now to talk of thee, for a good half hour or so.”
“and he!” cried alice, with unwonted animation; “say, boy, looked he well? i mean in health; for of his manly beauty, his tall and well knit form, his graceful air, his noble bearing, and his eagle eye! how could i have lived till now, without hearing from those who have [36]seen and admired him? alas!” added she, in a melancholy and subdued tone, “of such things i have perhaps inquired too much!”
“sir walter had all the ruddy hue, as well as the firmness of vigorous health, dear mother,” replied the youth.
“thanks be to all the saints!” exclaimed alice fervently; “then, come boy—tell me what passed between you?”
“after all his questions touching thee and thy health were done,” said charley, “and that we had talked of other matters of no import, he sat him down, and thus gravely addressed me as i stood before him: ‘i have been thinking how best to provide for thee, boy. i can see that thou art but ill fitted for hardy service, or the toils of war. and, by the rood, it is well for thee that, in these times, there are other ways of winning to high fortune, yea, and to royal favour even, besides that which leads to either by doughty deeds of arms, where so many perish ere they have half completed the toilsome and perilous journey. thou must content thee, then, with some peaceful trade. let me see—let me [37]see. ah! i have it. now-a-days, men have more chance to push themselves forward by the point of the needle, than by the point of the lance. what thinkest thou of master hommil, the king’s tailor, who, as all men say, hath a fair prospect of shaping such a garb for himself, as may yet serve him to wear for a peer’s robes, if he doth but use his sheers with due discretion? this is the very thing for thee, and it is well that i have so luckily hit on it. i’ll have thee apprenticed to a tailor, and, when thy time is out, i’ll have thee so taught in all the more curious mysteries of thine art, by its very highest professors, that none in the whole land shall be found to equal thee. thou shalt travel to france for learning in the nicer parts of thy trade, and then, i will set thee up, close under the royal eye, with such a stock of rarest articles in thy shop, as shall make it a very campvere, for the variety and richness of its merchandize. but thou must begin thy schooling under master jonathan junkins here, who, though but a country cultivator of cabbage, hath an eye towards the cut of a cloak or doublet, that might [38]well beget the jealousy of the mighty hommil himself. i once wore a rose-coloured suit of jonathan’s make, that did excite the envy, yea, and the anger, too, of that great master, by the commendations that royalty himself was heard to pass upon it. though there were some there, who, from malice, no doubt, did say, that the merit lay more in the shape of the wearer, than in that of the garments. but i am trifling. i have some orders to give ere i mount, and this, as to thy matter with junkins, shall be one; and time wears, boy, and thou, too, hast some little way before thee to limp home; therefore, god keep thee. bear my love, or, as she would herself have it to be, my friendship, to thy mother. and, see here; give her this ring as a fresh remembrance of me. farewell—i shall see that all be well arranged regarding thee ere i go; and i trust that thou wilt not idly baulk the prudent plans i have laid down for thee, or the good intentions i have towards thee; and so again, farewell, my boy!’—and thus, my dearest mother, was i dismissed.” [39]
“well, god’s will be done!” said alice, with a deep sigh, after a long pause, and after having betrayed a variety of emotions during her son’s narrative. “i had hoped better things for thee, my boy, but god’s will be done! thou hast no choice but to submit, charley. forget not that sir walter stewart is thy father, and that thou art bound by the law of nature to obey him.”
“it is because i do not forget that sir walter stewart is my father, that i find it so hard a thing to obey him in this,” said charley, with a degree of excitement, which all his earnestly exerted self-command was, for the moment, unable entirely to control. “but, as it happens, that it is just because he is bound to me by the law of nature, and by no other law, that he thus condemns me to be nailed down to the shop-board of a tailor, instead of giving me a courser to ride, and a lance to wield, so, as thou most truly sayest dear mother, by the law of nature, but by that law alone, am i compelled to submit to this bitter mortification, and to obey him.” [40]
“nay, nay, dearest charley, talk not thus!” cried alice, throwing her arms around her son’s neck, and fondly kissing him; “talk not thus frowardly if thou lovest me!”
“love thee, my dearest mother!” cried charley, returning her embraces with intense fervour, and weeping from the overpowering strength of his feelings; “nay, nay, thou canst not doubt my love to thee; thou canst not doubt that, on thy weal, or thy woe, hangs the happiness or the misery of your poor boy. be not vexed, dearest mother, for though i have spoken thus idly, trust me that a father’s word shall ever be with me as the strictest law, which i, so far as my nature can support me, shall never wilfully contravene.”
charley stewart again tenderly embraced his mother, and, scarcely aware that he was leaving her to weep, he hurried away to seek some consolation for himself, in a quarter where he never failed to find it. this was at the cottage of bessy macdermot, whither he was wont frequently to wander, for the purpose of listening to the innocent prattle of his young plaything [41]rosa, who, having now seen some eight or nine summers, was fast ripening into a very beautiful girl. as charley approached the widow’s premises on the present occasion, he found rosa by the side of a clear spring, that bubbled and sparkled out from beneath a large mossy stone, that projected from the lower part of the slope of a flowery bank, under the pensile drapery of a grove of weeping birches. the moment she beheld him, she came tripping to meet him, with a rustic wreath of gay marsh marigolds and water-lilies in her hand.
“where have you been all this long, long morning, dearest charley?” cried rosa; “i have been so dull without you; and see what a wreath i have made for your bonnet! but i have a great mind to wear it myself, for you don’t deserve to have it, for being so long in coming to me.”
“i have been over at the castle, rosa,” said charley, stooping to embrace her, as she innocently held up her lips to be kissed by him. “i have been over at drummin, looking at the grand array of steeds and horsemen. but what [42]are these flowers?—water-lilies, as i hope to be saved! holy virgin! rosa, how didst thou come by them?”
“i got them from the pool,” replied rosa, hesitating, and gently tapping his cheek with a few stray flowers which she held in her hand; “i got them in the same way that you pulled them for me the other day, that is with a long hazle rod, with a crook at the end of it.”
“from the pool, rosa?” cried charley; “what could tempt thee to risk thy life for such trifles? if thou hadst slipt over the treacherous brink, where there was no one by to save thee—thou wert gone! irrecoverably gone! how couldst thou be so rash? my very flesh creeps to think on’t!”
“don’t be angry with me, charley!” said rosa coaxingly—“what risk would i not run to give thee pleasure?”
“but you have given me any thing but pleasure in this matter, rosa,” said charley; “i tremble too much to think of the hazard thou hast run, to look with pleasure on any thing that could have occasioned it.” [43]
“so thou wilt not let me put the wreath on thy bonnet, then?” said rosa, with a tear half disclosing itself in her eye-lid; “come, come, charley! sit down—sit down on this bank, and do let me put it upon thy bonnet.”
“if it will pleasure thee to make a fool of me, rosa,” said charley, smiling on her, and kissing her; “thou shalt do with me as thou mayest list.”
“that is a dear kind charley,” cried rosa, her moist eyes sparkling with delight, and throwing her arms around his neck; “i’ll make no fool of thee: i’ll make thee so handsome!”
“handsome!” exclaimed charley, laughing. “why rosa, it is making a fool of me, indeed, to say that thou can’st make me handsome, with this ugly deep cross-mark on my cheek.”
“that cross-mark on your cheek, charley!” cried the little girl, with an intensity of feeling much beyond anything which her years might have warranted; “to me that cross-mark is beautiful! i love that noble brow of thine—those eyes, that whenever they look upon me, tell me that i am dear to thee—those lips, that [44]so often kiss me, and instruct me, and say kind things to me—but that mark of the cross on thy cheek—oh, that hath to me a holy influence in’t; it reminds me that, but for thy noble courage which earned it for thee, i should have been food for the young eagles of the craig. charley! i could not fail to love thee, for thy kindness to me; but i never could have loved thee as i do love thee, but for these living marks which you bear of all that you suffered for thine own little rosa. kiss me my dear, dear charley!”
“my little wifey!” cried charley, clasping the innocent girl in his arms, and smothering her with kisses.
“aye,” said rosa, artlessly, “i am thy little wifey. all the gossips say that i am fated to be so; for you know i have got my cross mark as well as you, aye, and on my left cheek too. the eagles did that kind turn for me. they marked us both with the cross alike. see! you can see my cross here quite plain.”
“i do see it,” said charley, kissing the place. [45]“but thanks be to the virgin thy beauty hath not suffered one whit by it. i can just discern that the mark is there, and that is all; and i trust that it will altogether disappear as you grow up to be a woman.”
“the virgin forbid!” cried rosa energetically. “the gossips say that we have been so miraculously signed with the cross expressly for each other, and i would not lose so happy a mark, no, not to be made a queen! but do let me put on thy chaplet, dear charley. i hope to see thee some day with a grand casque on thy head—a tilting spear in thy hand—bestriding a noble steed, and riding at the ring with the best of them.”
“alas, rosa!” said charley, with a deep sigh, “that will never be my fate!”
“why not?” demanded rosa; “surely sir walter stewart may make thee his esquire?”
“alas, no!” said charley, despondingly. “the casque he dooms me to is a tailor’s cowl—the shield a thimble—the lance a needle—and the gallant steed i am to mount is a tailor’s [46]shop-board, and if ever i tilt with silk, velvet, or gold, it will be to convert them into cloaks and doublets for my betters!”
“a tailor!” exclaimed rosa, with astonishment; “surely thou art jesting, charley.”
“i’faith, it is too serious a matter to jest about,” replied charley. “truly i am doomed to handle the goosing iron of master jonathan junkins.”
“ha, ha, ha, ha!” shouted rosa—“ha, ha, ha, ha!—what an odd fancy of sir walter!”
“nay, laugh not at my misery, rosa,” said charley, gravely, and somewhat piteously. “i cannot bear the thought of such a life! what think you, rosa, of being a tailor’s wife?”
“so that thou wilt always call me thine own dear little wifey, i care not what thou art,” replied rosa, tenderly, and throwing her arms around his neck. “and why, after all, mayest thou not be quite happy as a tailor? old johnny junkins sings at his task from morning till night. besides, he hath no risk of being killed in battle, as my poor father was. he always sleeps in a whole skin, save when his [47]wife janet beats him with the ell-wand, and surely thou wouldst have no fears that i should do that for thee, dear charley?”
it was now charley’s turn to laugh, which he did very heartily, and having thus gained a temporary victory over his chagrin, he improved upon it by immediately taking a small missal from his sporran, and commencing his daily occupation of giving instructions to rosa, who greedily learned from him all that he could impart.
i mean now to give you some little account of sir walter stewart, gentlemen. you must know that he was one of the prettiest and most accomplished men of his time, and a great favourite at court. his perfection in all warlike exercises—his fondness for horses—and his fearless riding, were qualifications which fitted him for being the companion of the king’s brothers, the spirited alexander duke of albany, and the tall and graceful john earl of mar, whilst his skill in fencing—his proficiency in music—and his taste in dress, secured for him a high place in the good graces of that elegant, [48]but weak monarch, james the third. with young ramsay of balmain, afterwards created earl of bothwell, he was in the best habits of intimacy. but with the lower minions of the king, i mean, with such as cochran the mason—rogers the musician—leonard the smith—hommil the tailor—torfefan the fencing-master, and andrew the flemish astrologer, he was more polite than familiar. with the ladies of the court sir walter stewart was an object of admiration, nay, he was the theme of the praise of every one of them, from the beautiful, fascinating, and virtuous queen margaret herself, down to the humblest of her maids of honour. it is no wonder, then, that sir walter was induced to spend more of his time at court than among the wilds of his native mountains. on the occasion of which i am now speaking, he was on his way to the castle of stirling, where james the third was at that time residing, and after a long and tiresome journey, he and his attendants entered the city, and rode up to their hostel in the main street, at such an hour of the evening, as made [49]it neither very seemly nor very convenient for him to report himself to his majesty.
sir walter stewart was too well known not to command immediate attention from every one belonging to the inn. the horse-boys, who were grooming the numerous steeds, that were hooked up to various parts of the walls surrounding the yard, made way respectfully, not only for himself, but also for his people and their animals, and the cattle of some persons of less note and consideration, were turned out of their stalls for the accommodation of his horses. meanwhile, the knight was ushered up stairs into the common room, by mine host in person, who, with his portly figure, stripped to his close yellow jacket and galligaskins, and with a fair linen towel hanging from his girdle, puffed and sweated up the steps before him, his large rubicund visage vying in the brightness of its scarlet, with the fiery coloured cap of coarse red cloth which he wore. sir walter found the large apartment surrounded by oaken tables and chairs, which were occupied by various guests, [50]some eating, and some drinking, whilst the rattling of trenchers, the clinking of cans, the buzz of voices, and the hum of tongues, were so loud and continuous, as to render it difficult for him to detect a word of the conversation that was going on any where, except the clamorous calls for fresh supplies of provender, ale, or wine, which the bustling serving men and tapsters were hurrying to and fro to satisfy.
as the host showed sir walter to an unoccupied table at the upper end of the place, most of the guests arose and saluted him as he passed by them. to some of these he gave a condescending bow of recognition, whilst to others he hardly deigned to bestow more than a dignified acknowledgment of their courtesy. but he was no sooner seated, than he was left to his own reflections, for each man again turned his attention to his own particular comforts, and the knight was not sorry to be very soon enabled to do the same thing for himself, by paying his own addresses to the smoking pasty that was placed on the table before him. he had but [51]just finished his meal, when the host entered, ushering in a very elegant young man, the richness of whose attire, as well as the perfection of its make, together with his noble air, at once showed him to be a gentleman of the court. his rose-coloured jacket, and amber trewse, were of the richest silk, and made to fit tight, so as to show off, to the greatest advantage, his very handsome person. his girdle-belt of black velvet, together with the pouch of the same material, sparkled with gems, as did also the sheaths and hilts of his sword and dagger. several rich chains of gold were hung about his neck; his shoes had those long thin points, which were worn at that period, though they were not, in his instance, carried to any very absurd extravagance. his cloak was of blue velvet richly bordered with silver, and his broad jewelled hat, of scarlet stuff of the same material, was drawn over one side of his head, as a necessary precaution of counterpoise to the weight of the long feathers of green, blue, red, and yellow, which stretched out from it so far as to threaten to overbalance it on [52]the other. from beneath this his brown hair hung down, curling over his ample brow, and spread itself in wide profusion over his shoulders.
“what, ramsay!” exclaimed sir walter stewart, rising to meet him with a cordial salutation, which again silenced the clatter of the trenchers and cans, and brought all eyes for some moments upon the two gentlemen. “this is a lucky meeting indeed.”
“lucky!” replied ramsay, smiling jocularly; “what a boorish phrase!—it is indeed well worthy of one, who hath been rusticating so long amidst northern moors and mountains.”
“cry your mercy, my lord of the court,” said sir walter stewart, laughing.
“nay,” continued ramsay; “i know not whether thy clownish expression be most discourteous to me, or to thyself,—to me, as it would deny me all credit for this mine expressly purposed visit to thee,—or to thyself, for supposing that such a preux-chevalier, as thou art, could be, for the smallest fraction of time, within the atmosphere of the court, without being run after by those who love thee.” [53]
“thank thee! thank thee, my dear ramsay,” replied sir walter, shaking him cordially by the hand, and laughing heartily; “then will i say, that it was most kind of thee to find me out so soon, and to come thus purposely to take a stoup of french claret with me, and to pour thine agreeable talk into mine ear, so as to fill the empty vessel of mine ignorance, to a level with that of thine own full knowledge of courtly affairs, and of all the interesting occurrents which have chanced about the court since i last left it. so, sit thee down, i pray thee. we shall be private enow at this table, which is well out of ear-shot of all those noisy gormandizers and guzzlers.”
“nay,” replied ramsay, as he seated himself beside his friend; “thine emptiness is of too vast a profundity for me to be able to fill it at this time. on some other occasion i shall do my best to replenish thee, when we can have leisure for a longer talk together, than we can look to have to-night. i came hither only to carry thee away with me.”
“whither wouldst have me go?” demanded [54]sir walter. “trust me, i am more disposed, at this moment, to enjoy mine ease in mine inn, than to move any where else.”
“but i must have thee,” replied ramsay; “rustic as thou art, thou must submit to be led by me for some little time, like a blind man who hath but newly recovered his eyesight, lest thou shouldst stumble amidst the blaze of courtly sunshine. i came to bring thee to a small supper, at the lodging of sir william rogers, that most cunning fingerer of the lute and harp, and whose practice thereupon,” continued he, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, “seems to have taught him a most marvellous power, of bringing what music may be most profitable for himself, out of that strange and many-stringed instrument called a royal sovereign.”
“hush, hush, ramsay!” replied sir walter. “thy talk is dangerous in such a place as this. but say, does the king go to this party?”
“no,” replied ramsay; “he is to be employed to-night in the occult science, to which he hath of late so much addicted himself. he is [55]to be occupied with that knave andrew the astrologer, in regarding and reading the stars.”
“then, what boots it for us to go to the party of this empty piece of sounding brass?” demanded sir walter.
“much, much, my dear stewart,” replied ramsay. “in the first place, thou shalt be introduced to his niece, who hath lately arrived from england. thou shalt see and hear that fair philomela, yclept juliet manvers, who plays and sings to admiration. though here it behoves me, as thy friend, to bid thee take care of thy heart, for the uncle seems to have imported her, with the wise intent, of marrying her to some one of the court, and mine own heart hath already been very sorely assailed.”
“a dangerous siren, truly!” said sir walter, laughing; “yet methinks i may safely enough bid defiance to her enchantment.”
“we shall see,” replied ramsay, with a doubtful nod of his head; “but be that as it may, my second reason for taking thee thither, is that, with exception of our host himself, we may at least spend one tolerably pleasant evening [56]undrugged and unencumbered, with the base society of those vulgar fellows, whom the king, with so much mistaken judgment, hath chosen to associate in his favour, with two such well-born gentlemen as you and me. cochran, that man whom nature hath built up of stone and mortar, and who would yet ape the graces of a finished lord of the court, as a bear would copy the gambols of a well educated italian greyhound.”
“hommil!” cried sir walter, laughing, and following up his friend’s humour. “hommil! that thread-paper, whose sword and dagger would be better removed, to have their places supplied by his shears and his bodkin.”