All our Collegians were bowed to, the Attaché detecting His Honour, Guardsman moving to Arthur, and Marquis sidling to Airlie, And the small Piper below getting up and nodding to Lindsay. But, while the healths were being drunk, was much tribulation and trouble, Nodding and beckoning across, observed of Attaché and Guardsman: Adam wouldn’t speak,—indeed it was certain he couldn’t; Hewson could, and would if they wished; Philip Hewson a poet, Hewson a radical hot, hating lords and scorning ladies, Silent mostly, but often reviling in fire and fury Feudal tenures, mercantile lords, competition and bishops, Liveries, armorial bearings, amongst other matters the Game-laws: He could speak, and was asked to by Adam; but Lindsay aloud cried, (Whisky was hot in his brain,) Confound it, no, not Hewson, Ain’t he cock-sure to bring in his eternal political humbug? However, so it must be, and after due pause of silence, Waving his hand to Lindsay, and smiling oddly to Adam, Up to them rose and spoke the poet and radical Hewson:— I am, I think, perhaps the most perfect stranger present. I have not, as have some of my friends, in my veins some tincture, Some few ounces of Scottish blood; no, nothing like it. I am therefore perhaps the fittest to answer and thank you. So I thank you, sir, for myself and for my companions, Heartily thank you all for this unexpected greeting, All the more welcome, as showing you do not account us intruders, Are not unwilling to see the north and the south forgather. And, surely, seldom have Scotch and English more thoroughly mingled; Scarcely with warmer hearts, and clearer feeling of manhood, Even in tourney, and foray, and fray, and regular battle. Where the life and the strength came out in the tug and tussle, Scarcely, where man met man, and soul encountered with soul, as Close as do the bodies and twining limbs of the wrestlers, When for a final bout are a day’s two champions mated,— In the grand old times of bows, and bills, and claymores, At the old Flodden-field—or Bannockburn—or Culloden. —(And he paused a moment, for breath, and because of some cheering,) We are the better friends, I fancy, for that old fighting, Better friends, inasmuch as we know each other the better, We can now shake hands without pretending or shuffling. On this passage followed a great tornado of cheering, Tables were rapped, feet stamped, a glass or two got broken: He, ere the cheers died wholly away, and while still there was stamping, Added, in altered voice, with a smile, his doubtful conclusion. I have, however, less claim than others perhaps to this honour, For, let me say, I am neither game-keeper, nor game-preserver. So he said, and sat down, but his satire had not been taken. Only the _men_, who were all on their legs as concerned in the thanking, Were a trifle confused, but mostly sat down without laughing;