March, march, devils and devil's dams; we have now picked up a goodly company of these heather-bleats--these whistling miresnipes of the hills--no less than eight; we will march them, every clute, in at the West Port, to glorify God at the head of the Grassmarket. March! It is broad day, and we have a pretty long journey. As for you" (speaking to the shepherd), "old sheep's-head and Moniplies, we will leave you and your good friends to do the duties of sepulture to this bit of treason. There is good ground, I am told, hard by, where the weary rest. You can all cut your own throats, to save us the trouble, and your churchyard accommodation is secured to you. Good-by, old Lucky and young Chucky! I have no time at present to doff my bonnet and do the polite; and your joe, there, is past speaking, I suspect, much more past kissing. Good-by! good-by!" said the monster, waving his sword, and laughing immoderately at his own savage wit. The body of Sandy Laidlaw was indeed carefully interred--not where pointed out by Lag, but in the churchyard of Leadhills, over which a small headstone still retains the letters, "A. L., murdered 1687." Poor Leezy Lawson, who was indeed the betrothed of Sandy, never saw a day to thrive after this dreadful morning. She went out of one strong convulsion into another for many hours; and then sank into a lethargic unconsciousness, which terminated in mental and bodily imbecility, which ended, in less than twelve months, in death. Her body lies alongside of that of her lover; but there is no intimation of this fact on the stone; and all marks of the presence on earth of these two once living and happy beings has passed away--_etiam periere ruinæ_--their very dust has perished.