_Moses Edrehi_.--Then, sare, you was good luck to no pass, for the emperor was a man ver disagreeáble ven no gut humours. Gott keep ush! He hat lions in cage--and him gab peoples zu de lions--dey roarsh--oh, mucho, mucho!--and eats de poor peoples--Gott keep ush! a ver disagreeáble man dat emperor. _Shepherd_.--Nae doot--it canna be a pleasant thing to be gobbled by a lion. Oh, sirs, imagine yoursell daundering out to Canaan, to take your kail wi' our frien' James, and as ye're passing the Links, out jumps a lion, and at you! _Odoherty_.--The Links--oh! James, you are no Polyglott. _Tickler_.--I don't wish to insinuate that I should like to be eaten, either by lion or shepherd, but I confess that I consider that the new drop would be a worse fate than either. _North_.--Quite mistaken--the drop's a trifle. _Moses Edrehi_.--Ja whöl, Milord. _Shepherd_.--As to being hangit, why, that's a matter that happens to mony a deacent man, and it's but a spurl or tway, and a gaspin gurble, an' ae stour heave, and a's ower; ye're dead ere a body's weel certified that the board's awa' from behind you--and the night-cap's a great blessing, baith to you and the company. The gilliteen again, I'm tauld its just perfectly ridiculous how soon that does it's turn. Up ye come, and tway chiels ram your head into a shottle in a door like, and your hands are clasped ahint ye, and swee gangs the door, and you upset headforemost, and in below the axe, and hangie just taps you on the neck to see that it's in the richt nick, and whirr, whirr, whirr, touch the spring, and down comes the thundering edge, loaded with at least a hunder weight o' lead--your head's aff like a sybo--Tuts, that's naething--onybody might mak up their mind to be justified on the gilliteen. _Odoherty_.--The old Dutch way--the broadsword--is, after all, the best; by much the easiest and the genteelest. You are seated in a most comfortable arm-chair with a silk handkerchief over your eyes--they read a prayer if you are so inclined--you call for a glass of wine, or a cup of coffee--an iced cream--a dram--any thing you please, in fact, and your desires are instantly complied with--you put the cup to the lip, and just at that moment swap comes the whistling sabre. _Shepherd_.--Preserve us! keep your hand to yoursell, Captain. _Odoherty_.--Sweep he comes--the basket is ready, they put a clean towel over it--pack off the cold meat to the hospital--scrub the scaffold--take it to pieces--all within five minutes. _Shepherd_.--That's capital. In fact a' these are civilized exits--but oh! man, man, to think of a lion on the Burntsfield Links--what would your gowfers say to that, Mr. Tickler? _Tickler_.--A rum customer certainly.