"And what for no, my lord?" rejoined this ferocious commander, knitting his formidable brows. "Are these times in whilk to shew mercy to low-born rapscallions? A bonny spot o' work this is in the north: these deevils the Clandonald o' Keppoch and the Fusileer Guard hae been at it ding-dong wi' pike and broadsword every day for this week past. But I have heard that Captain Crichton is off on the spur wi' some horse and dragoons, to tak' a turn against the Hielandmen; and if he sends a pockfu' o' heads now and then to the Council, he will not be riding aboon the King's commission." "Oh, Sir Thomas!" ejaculated Lady Grisel again, "the brave are ever merciful." "So, please your ladyship, I have often ridden by the side of a certain cavalier, Sir Archibald Napier of Bruntisfield, whom Montrose esteemed as brave a man as put foot in stirrup; and, like mysel', _he_ shewed but small favour to the canting, crop-luggit, covenanting rapscallions o' his time. Puir Paton o' Meadowhead and Wallace o' Auchans, whom thrice at Pentland I had this very blade upraised to smite, were the only honest men that followed their banner. God sain them baith! for they were pretty men, and knew the wars like mysel'.--Lady Drumsturdy, a spade if you please." "Sir Thomas," said the soft voice of Lady Grisel, "no marvel it is that the poor nonjurors shrink before you, even as from--from----" "Our gude friend wi' the forkit tail," added Mersington, closing the sentence, while Dalyel's bushy beard shook with his laughter as he replied-- "Ou ay; and like Claver'se, Glenæ, Lag, and a few mair o' our leal royal commanders, I am proof to lead and steel--ha! ha! Weel may these sniveling loons, who sold their King for a groat, and sacrificed their country for its d--n'd Kirk, quail before the eye of a leal man and true. I am an auld gentleman trooper, and trailed a pike under the Muscovite eagle owre lang to hae mony remains o' tenderness, whilk is a failing I believe few folk will accuse me o'. Uds-daggers, Finland, I see you listening, my braw man. Your beard may grow white like mine (though, after the fashion o' these degenerate days, your chin is as smooth as a Christmas apple), but never will ye ride owre the spur-leathers in Tartar gore as I have done. Braw gallants as ye are, in your plate corslets and pinkit doublets, laced and perfumed, tasselled and tagged, and jagged and bedeevilled like state trumpeters, ye would be but puir hands at resisting a charge o' mailed horse or heavy dragoons." "Under favour, General Dalyel," replied the handsome lieutenant laughing, "I hope not; and Monmouth's cavaliers found lately, that a stand of Scottish pikes are still as firm as when levelled on the fields of Sark or Otterburn. By my faith, their spurred horses recoiled from our solid squares like water from a rock."