"This will never do, I thocht; 'keep your ain fish-guts for your ain seamaws, corporal,' said I; 'for before I will live on green kail-blades, or castocks either, I'll see you and your emperor baith----.' I didna say damned, but I thocht it. I then gaed awa on the forage, and in a slee corner fand this braw pat o' honey, that bottle o' skeidam, and a loaf; then I came in search o' you, sir, for I feared ye might be faring on kail-blades too; and I ken they gang sair against the stamach, unless weel boiled with beef, and mustard conform thereto." "Many thanks, good Dandy," said I, amused by this brave fellow's garrulity; "I have already breakfasted, and have done so well." "Then, sir, you'll let me mak mine beside ye, for the soond o' a Scots tongue is just like music to me, and gies me an appetite mairowre; for it gars me think o' the halesome breezes that blaw owre the green braes, the sweet smelling heather, and the yellow corn-rigs at hame. My hail heart and my een fill when I think on hame!" and, flourishing his flask, Dandy began to sing,-- "Comin' thro' the Craigs o' Kyle, Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather, There I met a blue-eyed lassie, Keepin' a' her flock thegither. Owre the muir amang the heather! Owre the muir amang the heather! There I met--" "For Heaven's sake, Dreghorn, make less noise." "Fule that I was!" continued Dandy, continuing his repast and his reflections together; "fule that I was ever to leave my plew, to follow the deil and the drum in the Danish wars--ay, a damned fule," he added emphatically, with moistened eyes, as he sliced away at the loaf, and with his jockteleg spread on the honey an inch thick, and took alternately a large circular mouthful, and a draught from the leathern flask. He then drew an oak quaigh from his sporran, and, mixing the honey with the skeidam, said, "Will ye no tak a sup, sir? this is just like Athole brose. Here's to ye, sir, and may we baith be safe wi' Sir Donald in a day or twa; 'od, there's a gude Stirling pint left yet in the flask, and I'll just pouch it." "Have you seen the count's daughters, Dandy?" "Ay, have I, Maister Rollo--twa saucy limmers, that laugh at me to my very face!" "They are very handsome." "Handsome--sune ripe, sune rotten! They couldna haud a candle to muirland Maggie at the Burnfit o' Drumlie." "Animated by no love of glory, or desire for military fame, I cannot conceive, Dandy, what tempted you to leave your plough, and become a soldier." "It's a lang story, sir," replied Dreghorn, with his mouth full; "but I can mak it short enough, if you'll promise never to tell ony o' our chields at the regiment; for then I wad hae to quit that, as I quat the parochin o' Drumlie." "I pledge you my word, Dandy."