“The young lady,” said Fergus, “should such an event happen, will have other matters to think of than these wretched louis-d’or.” “True—undeniable—there’s nae doubt o’ that; but your honour kens that a full sorrow—” “Is endurable by most folk more easily than a hungry one? True, Bailie, very true; and I believe there may even be some who would be consoled by such a reflection for the loss of the whole existing generation. But there is a sorrow which knows neither hunger nor thirst; and poor Flora—” He paused, and the whole company sympathised in his emotion. The Baron’s thoughts naturally reverted to the unprotected state of his daughter, and the big tear came to the veteran’s eye. “If I fall, Macwheeble, you have all my papers and know all my affairs; be just to Rose.” The Bailie was a man of earthly mould, after all; a good deal of dirt and dross about him, undoubtedly, but some kindly and just feelings he had, especially where the Baron or his young mistress were concerned. He set up a lamentable howl. “If that doleful day should come, while Duncan Macwheeble had a boddle it should be Miss Rose’s. He wald scroll for a plack the sheet or she kenn’d what it was to want; if indeed a’ the bonnie baronie o’ Bradwardine and Tully-Veolan, with the fortalice and manor-place thereof (he kept sobbing and whining at every pause), tofts, crofts, mosses, muirs—outfield, infield—buildings—orchards—dove-cots—with the right of net and coble in the water and loch of Veolan—teinds, parsonage and vicarage—annexis, connexis—rights of pasturage—feul, feal and divot—parts, pendicles, and pertinents whatsoever—(here he had recourse to the end of his long cravat to wipe his eyes, which overflowed, in spite of him, at the ideas which this technical jargon conjured up)—all as more fully described in the proper evidents and titles thereof—and lying within the parish of Bradwardine and the shire of Perth—if, as aforesaid, they must a’ pass from my master’s child to Inch-Grabbit, wha’s a Whig and a Hanoverian, and be managed by his doer, Jamie Howie, wha’s no fit to be a birlieman, let be a bailie—” The beginning of this lamentation really had something affecting, but the conclusion rendered laughter irresistible. “Never mind, Bailie,” said Ensign Maccombich, “for the gude auld times of rugging and riving (pulling and tearing) are come back again, an’ Sneckus Mac-Snackus (meaning, probably, annexis, connexis), and a’ the rest of your friends, maun gie place to the langest claymore.” “And that claymore shall be ours, Bailie,” said the Chieftain, who saw that Macwheeble looked very blank at this intimation. “We’ll give them the metal our mountain affords, Lillibulero, bullen a la, And in place of broad-pieces, we’ll pay with broadswords, Lero, lero, etc. With duns and with debts we will soon clear our score, Lillibulero, etc. For the man that’s thus paid will crave payment no more, Lero, lero, etc.[*]