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Updated: May 29, 2025
And gien it be sae, hoo are we to win at ony trouth no yet revealed, 'cep we gang oot intil the dark to meet it? Ye maun caw canny, I admit, i' the mirk; but ye maun caw gien ye wad win at onything!" "But suppose you know enough to keep going, and do not care to venture into the dark?" "Gien a man hauds on practeesin what he kens, the hunger 'ill wauk in him efter something mair.
Mair by token, wadna the guidman o' that same hae me du what I haena dune this twae year, or maybe twenty tak a dram? An' didna I tak it? An' was I no in need o' 't? An' didna I come hame a' the better for 't?" "An' get a sicht o' the kelpy intil the bargain eh, Grizzie?" suggested Cosmo.
"Ye micht gie thae thochts o' mine to the Session gin the maitter comes up again aboot the hymes, ye ken, aboot hoo they micht be made intil a prayer." I silently gave the promise. "An' mair I dinna forbid ye to sing a bit hyme at the funeral. Let Wullie Allison lift the tune, for he aye keeps the time. Yon Methody's hyme wad dae: "'Hide me, oh, my Saviour hide Till the storm of life is past,
A's been t' queen! A'se ta'en Donkin on t' reet side, an' he'll coom in to-morrow, just permiskus, an' ax for work, like as if 't were a favour; t' oud felley were a bit cross-grained at startin', for he were workin' at farmer Crosskey's up at t' other side o' t' town, wheer they puts a strike an' a half of maut intil t' beer, when most folk put nobbut a strike, an t' made him ill to convince: but he'll coom, niver fear!
"And fwhot hev you done with the last I sent ye, ye divil of a McCorkle, and here's me back that's bruk entoirely wid dipping intil the pork barl to giv ye the best sides, and ye spending yur last cint on a tare into Gilroy. Whist! and if it's fer foighting ye are, boys, there's an illigant bit of sod beyant the corral, and it may be meself'll come out with a shtick and be sociable."
And the higher ye rise ye come into the waur danger, till ance ye're fairly intil the ae safe place, the hert o' the Father. There, and there only, ye're safe! safe frae earth, frae hell, and frae yer ain hert! A' the temptations, even sic as ance made the haivenly hosts themsels fa' frae haiven to hell, canna touch ye there!
Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! But though ye canna behaud, birdie, Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! I'm noucht but a herplin herdie, But I hae a sang i' my breist!
"If you make me the boss, here's my orders, Up you get yourself and take hold of the gang. What do you say, men?" "Ay, that's it." "Tom it is." "Jump in, Tom," were the answering shouts. "Aw now," said Tom, "there's better than me here. Take Big Angus there. He's the man fer ye! Or what's the matter wid me frind, Rory Ross? It's the foine boss he'd make fer yez! Sure, he'll put the fire intil ye!"
"Shaf! he hesn't a bit of nater intil him, nowther back nor end. He's now't but riffraff," said Matthew. Ralph Ray's peril and escape were incidents too unimportant to break the spell of the accident to the body of his father. Robbie Anderson turned in late in the evening. "Here's a sorry home coming," he said as he entered. It was easy to see that Robbie was profoundly agitated.
I aye hae to haud ye to the pint, Betty. The pint is, whether he has rabbits or no? 'Or guinea-pigs, suggested Betty. 'Weel. 'Or maybe a pup or twa. Or I kent a laddie ance 'at keepit a haill faimily o' kittlins. Or maybe he micht hae a bit lammie. There was an uncle o' min' ain 'Haud yer tongue, Betty! Ye hae ower muckle to say for a' the sense there's intil 't.
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