‘Nae doubt, Cornie, the world’s like the tod’s whelp, ay the aulder the waur; but I trust we’ll hear news in the land before the like o’ that comes to pass. Howsever, in the words of truth and holiness, “sufficient for the day is the evil thereof;” and let us hope, that a regenerating spirit may go forth to the ends o’ the earth, and that all the sons of men will not be utterly cut up, root and branch.’ ‘No: be thankit,’ said Cornelius, the tailor--‘even of those that shall live in the latter days, a remnant will be saved.’ ‘That’s a great comfort, Mr. Luke, to us a’,’ replied Claud;--‘but, talking o’ remnants, I hae a bit blue o’ superfine; it has been lang on hand, and the moths are beginning to meddle wi’t--I won’er if ye could mak me a coat o’t?’ The remnant was then produced on the counter, and Cornelius, after inspecting it carefully, declared, that, ‘with the help of a steek or twa of darning, that would na be percep, it would do very well.’ The cloth was accordingly delivered to him, with strict injunctions to have it ready by Friday, and with all the requisite et ceteras to complete a coat, he left the shop greatly edified, as he told his wife, by the godly salutations of Mr. Walkinshaw’s spirit; ‘wherein,’ as he said, ‘there was a kithing of fruit meet for repentance; a foretaste o’ things that pertain not to this life; a receiving o’ the erls of righteousness and peace, which passeth all understanding, and endureth for evermore.’ ‘I’m blithe to hear’t,’ was the worthy woman’s answer, ‘for he’s an even down Nabal--a perfect penure pig, that I ne’er could abide since he would na lend poor old Mrs. Gorbals, the provost’s widow, that, they say, set him up in the world, the sma’ soom o’ five pounds, to help her wi’ the outfit o’ her oe, when he was gaun to Virginia, a clerk to Bailie Cross.’ CHAPTER V When Claud was duly equipped by Cornelius Luke, in the best fashion of that period, for a bien cloth-merchant of the discreet age of forty-seven, a message was sent by his shop lad, Jock Gleg, to Rob Wallace, the horse-couper in the Gallowgate, to have his beast in readiness next morning by seven o’clock, the intending lover having, several days before, bespoke it for the occasion. Accordingly, at seven o’clock on Saturday morning, Rob was with the horse himself, at the entry to Cochran’s Land, in the Candleriggs, where Claud then lodged, and the wooer, in the sprucest cut of his tailor, with a long silver-headed whip in his hand, borrowed from his friend and customer, Bailie Murdoch, attended by Jock Gleg, carrying a stool, came to the close mouth. ‘I’m thinking, Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said Rob, the horse-couper, ‘that ye would na be the waur of a spur, an it were only on the ae heel.’