_Sandy Liston._ “I hae sat quiet!--quiet I hae sat against my will, no to disturb Jamie Drysel's weddin'; but ye carry the game ower far, Shylock, my lad. I'll just give yon bluidy-minded urang-utang a hidin', and bring Tony off, the gude, puir-spirited creature. And him, an' me, an' Bassanee, an' Porshee, we'll all hae a gill thegither.” He rose, and was instantly seized by two of the company, from whom he burst furiously, after a struggle, and the next moment was heard to fall clean from the top to the bottom of the stairs. Flucker and Jean ran out; the rest appealed against the interruption. _Christie._ “Hech! he's killed. Sandy Liston's brake his neck.” “What aboot it, lassy?” said a young fisherman; “it's Antonio I'm feared for; save him, lassy, if poessible; but I doot ye'll no get him clear o' yon deevelich heathen. “Auld Sandy's cheap sairved,” added he, with all the indifference a human tone could convey. “Oh, Cursty,” said Lizzie Johnstone, with a peevish accent, “dinna break the bonny yarn for naething.” _Flucker (returning)._ “He's a' reicht.” _Christie._ “Is he no dead?” _Flucker._ “Him deed? he's sober--that's a' the change I see.” _Christie._ “Can he speak? I'm asking ye.” _Flucker._ “Yes, he can speak.” _Christie._ “What does he say, puir body?” _Flucker._ “He sat up, an' sought a gill fra' the wife--puir body!” _Christie._ “Hech! hech! he was my pupil in the airt o' sobriety!--aweel, the young judge rises to deliver the sentence of the coort. Silence!” thundered Christie. A lad and a lass that were slightly flirting were discountenanced. _Christie._ “'A pund o' that same mairchant's flesh is thine! the coort awards it, and the law does give it.'” _A young Fishwife._ “There, I thoucht sae; he's gaun to cut him, he's gaun to cut him; I'll no can bide.” _(Exibat.)_ _Christie._ “There's a fulish goloshen. 'Have by a doctor to stop the blood.'--'I see nae doctor in the boend,' says the Jew body.” _Flucker._ “Bait your hook wi' a boend, and ye shall catch yon carle's saul, Satin, my lad.” _Christie (with dismal pathos)._ “Oh, Flucker, dinna speak evil o' deegneties--that's maybe fishing for yoursel' the noo!---'An' ye shall cut the flesh frae off his breest.'--'A sentence,' says Shylock, 'come, prepare.'” Christie made a dash _en Shylock,_ and the company trembled. _Christie._ “'Bide a wee,' says the judge, 'this boend gies ye na a drap o' bluid; the words expressly are, a pund o' flesh!'” _(A Dramatic Pause.)_ _Jean Carnie (drawing her breath)._ “That's into your mutton, Shylock” _Christie (with dismal pathos)._ “Oh, Jean! yon's an awfu' voolgar exprassion to come fra' a woman's mooth.” “Could ye no hae said, 'intil his bacon'?” said Lizzie Johnstone, confirming the remonstrance. _Christie._ “'Then tak your boend, an' your pund o' flesh, but in cutting o' 't, if thou dost shed one drop of Christian bluid, thou diest!'” _Jean Carnie._ “Hech!”