"Hoot, man, dinna refuse to drink the leddy's toast," said the packman. "That gude brandy wad wash down ony toast ava, let alane siccan' a grand man, and a hero, like the Duke o' Cummerland.--Od, man, an ye had seen him as I hae seen him, ridin' at the head o' his men, wi' as muckle gold lace and reyal Genowa velvet aboot him as might serve to cover a papish pupit wi', ye wad say he was the grandest man that ever ye seed.--Come, man, drink success till him, and confusion till a' his yennemies!" "Surely you will not refuse to drink success to that brave army in which my brother John serves?" said the Pensassenach,--"and to that noble and gallant Prince who commands it?" "She'll no grudge to trink hail bottals till ta helts o' Captain Shon, because she's her broder," said Smith in a positive manner.--"But fint ae drops wull she tak' to wuss ony helts to ta titter man an' his fouks!" "Tuts, nonsense man," said the packman; "ye're just a reyal guse.--Come awa! drink the Duke's health--the brandy's just parteeklar gude." "Why should you hesitate?" said his mistress.--"Come, drink the Duke's health." "Tamm hersell an' she do ony siccan' a sing!" said John Smith doggedly, and with powerful emphasis and action.--"She'll as soon eat ta cuach!" "What! are you a loyal subject, and refuse to drink the health of the Duke of Cumberland!--the King's own brother!" exclaimed the Pensassenach energetically. "Ou troth--ou aye,--she be loyals eneugh till her ain Kings," said John, "an' she'll no grudge to trink gallons till her. But for ta titter mans, fod but she's wussin' her nasins ava but a goot clink on ta croon," and with that John walked off, with a countenance so expressive of dissatisfaction and determination, as rendered it evident that it would be quite hopeless to call him back. "He is an obstinate disloyal mule!" cried the Pensassenach, giving full way to her anger. "A reyal dour ass as I ever cam' across," said the packman; "an' siccan' reyal fine speerits too. The cheild thought naething o' hammerin' awa' and keepin' a' huss loyal fouk frae our drap drink.--It's weel that he's awa. My certy, I rauken that there's nae ither body here that'll be sae dooms foolish as to refuse that gude brandy, let what toast there may be soomin' on the tap o' the brimmer." "I trust that that fellow is the only disloyal man about the place," said the Pensassenach.--"If it be otherwise I'll have all such Jacobite knaves turned off this farm. We shall have none other but good loyal subjects here, I promise you, now that the Duke and his gallant army are coming among us."