"Weel, weel," said Mr. Jarvie, "bluid's thicker than water; and it liesna in kith, kin, and ally, to see motes in ilka other's een if other een see them no. It wad be sair news to the auld wife below the Ben of Stuckavrallachan, that you, ye Hieland limmer, had knockit out my harns, or that I had kilted you up in a tow. But ye'll own, ye dour deevil, that were it no your very sell, I wad hae grippit the best man in the Hielands." "Ye wad hae tried, cousin," answered my guide, "that I wot weel; but I doubt ye wad hae come aff wi' the short measure; for we gang-there-out Hieland bodies are an unchancy generation when you speak to us o' bondage. We downa bide the coercion of gude braid-claith about our hinderlans, let a be breeks o' free-stone, and garters o' iron." "Ye'll find the stane breeks and the airn garters--ay, and the hemp cravat, for a' that, neighbour," replied the Bailie. "Nae man in a civilised country ever played the pliskies ye hae done--but e'en pickle in your ain pock-neuk--I hae gi'en ye wanting." "Well, cousin," said the other, "ye'll wear black at my burial." "Deil a black cloak will be there, Robin, but the corbies and the hoodie-craws, I'se gie ye my hand on that. But whar's the gude thousand pund Scots that I lent ye, man, and when am I to see it again?" "Where it is," replied my guide, after the affectation of considering for a moment, "I cannot justly tell--probably where last year's snaw is." "And that's on the tap of Schehallion, ye Hieland dog," said Mr. Jarvie; "and I look for payment frae you where ye stand." "Ay," replied the Highlander, "but I keep neither snaw nor dollars in my sporran. And as to when you'll see it--why, just when the king enjoys his ain again, as the auld sang says." "Warst of a', Robin," retorted the Glaswegian,--"I mean, ye disloyal traitor--Warst of a'!--Wad ye bring popery in on us, and arbitrary power, and a foist and a warming-pan, and the set forms, and the curates, and the auld enormities o' surplices and cerements? Ye had better stick to your auld trade o' theft-boot, black-mail, spreaghs, and gillravaging--better stealing nowte than ruining nations." "Hout, man--whisht wi' your whiggery," answered the Celt; "we hae ken'd ane anither mony a lang day. I'se take care your counting-room is no cleaned out when the Gillon-a-naillie* come to redd up the Glasgow buiths, and clear them o' their auld shop-wares. * The lads with the kilts or petticoats. And, unless it just fa' in the preceese way o' your duty, ye maunna see me oftener, Nicol, than I am disposed to be seen."