'Not a whit, not a whit; I cannot spare them a jot--I cannot bate them an ace. Let them stay in their own barren mountains, and puff and swell, and hang their bonnets on the horns of the moon, if they have a mind; but what business have they to come where people wear breeches, and speak an intelligible language? I mean intelligible in comparison with their gibberish, for even the Lowlanders talk a kind of English little better than the negroes in Jamaica. I could pity the Pr--, I mean the Chevalier himself, for having so many desperadoes about him. And they learn their trade so early. There is a kind of subaltern imp, for example, a sort of sucking devil, whom your friend Glenna--Glennamuck there, has sometimes in his train. To look at him, he is about fifteen years; but he is a century old in mischief and villany. He was playing at quoits the other day in the court; a gentleman--a decent-looking person enough--came past, and as a quoit hit his shin, he lifted his cane: but my young brave whips out his pistol, like Beau Clincher in the TRIP TO THE JUBILEE and had not a scream of GARDEZ L'EAU from an upper window set all parties a-scampering for fear of the inevitable consequences, the poor gentleman would have lost his life by the hands of that little cockatrice.' 'A fine character you'll give of Scotland upon your return, Colonel Talbot.' 'Oh, Justice Shallow,' said the Colonel, 'will save me the trouble--"Barren, barren--beggars all, beggars all. Marry, good air,"--and that only when you are fairly out of Edinburgh, and not yet come to Leith, as is our case at present.' In a short time they arrived at the seaport: The boat rocked at the pier of Leith, Full loud the wind blew down the ferry; The ship rode at the Berwick Law-- 'Farewell, Colonel; may you find all as you would wish it! Perhaps we may meet sooner than you expect: they talk of an immediate route to England.' Tell me nothing of that,' said Talbot 'I wish to carry no news of your motions.' 'Simply then, adieu. Say, with a thousand kind greetings, all that is dutiful and affectionate to Sir Everard and Aunt Rachel. Think of me as kindly as you can--speak of me as indulgently as your conscience will permit, and once more adieu.' 'And adieu, my dear Waverley!--many, many thanks for your kindness. Unplaid yourself on the first opportunity. I shall ever think on you with gratitude, and the worst of my censure shall be, QUE DIABLE ALLOIT-IL FAIRE DANS CETTE GALERE?' And thus they parted, Colonel Talbot going on board of the boat, and Waverley returning to Edinburgh. CHAPTER LVII THE MARCH