"There or thereabouts. She always flies at high game; and, being a remarkably clever woman, she passes herself off for a lady." "Have you ever seen her elsewhere than in Glasgow?" "I have." "Where?" "At Jedburgh." I cannot tell what impulse it was that made me twitch Strachan's gown at this moment. It was not altogether a suspicion, but rather a presentiment of coming danger. Strachan took the hint and changed his line. "Can you specify any of her other names?" "I can. There are half-a-dozen of them here on the pawn-tickets. Shall I read them?" "If you please." "One diamond ring, pledged in name of Lady Emily Delaroche. A garnet brooch and chain--Miss Maria Mortimer. Three gold seals--Mrs Markham Vere. A watch and three emerald studs--the Honourable Dorothea Percy----" There was a loud shriek from the bar, and a bustle--the prisoner had fainted. I looked at Strachan. He was absolutely as white as a corpse. "My dear Tom," said I, "hadn't you better go out into the open air?" "No!" was the firm reply; "I am here to do my duty, and I'll do it." And in effect, the Spartan boy with the fox gnawing into his side, did not acquit himself more heroically than my friend. The case was a clear one, no doubt, but Tom made a noble speech, and was highly complimented by the Judge upon his ability. No sooner, however, had he finished it than he left the Court. I saw him two hours afterwards. "Tom," said I, "About these emerald studs--I think I could get them back from the Fiscal." "Keep them to yourself. I'm off to India." "Bah!--go down to the Highlands for a month." Tom did so; purveyed himself a kilt; met an heiress at the Inverness Meeting, and married her. He is now the happy father of half-a-dozen children, and a good many of us would give a trifle for his practice. But to this day he is as mad as a March hare if an allusion is made in his presence to any kind of studs whatsoever. CAESAR. Wake, Rome! destruction's at thy door. Rouse thee! for thou wilt sleep no more Till thou shalt sleep in death: The tramp of storm-shod Mars is near-- His chariot's thundering roll I hear, His trumpet's startling breath. Who comes?--not they, thy fear of old, The blue-eyed Gauls, the Cimbrians bold, Who like a hail-shower in the May Came, and like hail they pass'd away; But one with surer sword, A child whom thou hast nursed, thy son, Thy well-beloved, thy favoured one, Thy Caesar comes--thy lord!