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"Noo ye're oot, laird, hadna ye better come wi' me hame to Miss Horn's, whaur ye wad be as safe's gien ye war in h'aven itsel'?" "Na, I canna gang to Miss Horn's," he replied. "What for no, laird?" Pulling Malcolm down towards him, the laird whispered in his ear, "'Cause she's fleyt at my back." A moment or two passed ere Malcolm could think of a reply both true and fitting.
"Hark ye!" the dying man suddenly cried. "Div ye no' hear the sang? It's graun ayont the thocht o' man. They're a' in white, an' it's 'Martyrdom' is the tune. Wha's leadin' them? I see Him fine; it's Him wha made the sang itsel'. It's Him wha's leadin' them. Div ye no' ken what they're singin'? It's the new sang, the sang o' Moses an' the Lamb.
"It's a bonnie word, an' yir mither wes a sanct; but it's no for the like o' me. It's ower gude; a' daurna tak it. "Shut the buik an' let it open itsel, an' ye 'ill get a bit a've been readin' every nicht the laist month."
There was no attempt at conversation. He seemed to shudder every time the blast yelled along the roof; and, as a fiercer gust burst open the door, there was a half-muttered ejaculation. "Heaven itsel hae mercy on them! for what can man do in a night like this?"
"There's no nane o' ye lauchin'," he said, "but I can assure ye the Earl's son gaed east the toon lauchin' like onything." "But what was't he lauched at?" "Ou," said Tammas, "a humorist doesna tell whaur the humour comes in." "No, but when you said that, did you mean it to be humorous?" "Am no sayin' I did, but as I've been tellin' ye, humour spouts oot by itsel."
Drumtochty hes an idea o' itsel', and peety the man 'at tries tae drive them, but they 're couthy. "This wy, an' a'll see tae yir luggage," and before Peter made for the Dunleith van it is said that he took off his cap to Kate; but if so, this was the only time he had ever shown such gallantry to a lady.
Her gaze swept the distant water of the estuary mouth, as it lay alternately dark and shining under the storm lights of the clouds. "An I'll juist warn yo o' yan thing, Laura," said Polly, with fresh energy. "There's soom one at Bannisdale itsel, as spreads aw maks o' tales. There's a body theer, as is noa friend o' yours." "Oh! Mrs. Denton," said Laura languidly. "Of course."
Syne I wad gether a' the bits o' drains frae a' sides, till I had a bonny stream o' watter aff o' the sweet corn lan', rowin' doon here whaur we stan', an' ower to the castel itsel', an' throu' coort an' kitchie, gurglin' an' rinnin', an' syne oot again an' doon the face o' the scaur, splashin' an' loupin' like mad. I wad lea' a' the lave to Natur' hersel'. It wad be a gran' place, my lord!
Noo, as gude poetry can produce its effect without music, sae will gude music without poetry; and as gude music will be mair pooerfu' by itsel' than wi' bad poetry, sae will gude poetry than wi' bad music: but, when ye put gude music an' gude poetry thegither, ye produce the divinest compound o' sentimental harmony that can possibly find its way through the lug to the saul."
I know my mother 'll let me, if she doesn't go hersen; for it 'll be a sight to see and to speak on for many a long year, after what I've heerd. And Miss Fishburns is sure to be theere, so I'd just get Donkin to cut out cloak itsel', and keep back yer mind fra' fixing o' either cape or hood till Sunday's turn'd.
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