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Updated: April 30, 2025
It was with a genial, confident smile that Mr. Traill made this terrible accusation. "Ma heart's no' so saft as to permit a bit dog to scandalize the deid." "He's been here two days, you no' knowing it, and he has scandalized neither the dead nor the living. He's as leal as ony Covenanter here, and better conducted than mony a laird.
The Mountain Maid is biding all night at Tibbie Birse's, and I went in to see her. She had a bervie and a boiled egg to her tea. She likes her eggs saft wi' a lick of butter in them. The Fat Wife is the one I like best. She's biding wi' Shilpit Kaytherine on the Tanage Brae. She weighs Jeems and Kaytherine and the sma' black swine. She had an ingin to her tea. The Slave-driver's a fushinless body.
They carry torches to shew them the hill-paths, and keep them oot o' the saft bogs. The light shone fearfully on the hill-sides, and the clatter o' their horses' hoofs rang in my ears. I had seen enough, and made the greatest speed to bring the ill news." "Cockburn, Cockburn," ejaculated the disconsolate wife, "what power may now save ye from thy fate?
And, indeed, it was as comfortable as anyone made me think it could be. There was a real bedroom I never slept in a berth, but in a brass bed, just as saft and comfortable as ever I could ha' known in ma own wee hoose at hame. Then there was a sitting room, as nice and hamely as you please, where I could rest and crack, whiles we were waiting in a station, wi' friends wha came callin'.
"Blut ist ein ganz besondrer Saft," and it is sometimes necessary that other pacts than those of hell should be written in blood, before the world recognises their full validity. Heaven forbid that the Deed of Union of the United States should require a second time to be retraced in red! But it is an illusion, though a salutary one, that civil war is any more barbarous than international war.
Martin Poyser's large person shook with his silent unctuous laugh. He turned towards Mrs. Poyser to see if she too had been observant of Tom, and the eyes of husband and wife met in a glance of good-natured amusement. "Tom Saft" was a great favourite on the farm, where he played the part of the old jester, and made up for his practical deficiencies by his success in repartee.
He minded that ropes was unco saft things, and the solan's neb and the Bass Rock unco hard, and that twa hunner feet were raither mair than he would care to fa'. "Shoo!" says Tam. "Awa', bird! Shoo, awa' wi' ye!" says he. The solan keekit doun into Tam's face, and there was something unco in the creature's ee. Just the ae keek it gied, and back to the rope.
'It's naething but ye're eenvious o' me, Kirsty, 'cause ye canna get him yersel! He wud never luik at a lass like you! 'It's weel a'body sees na wi' the same een, Phemy! Gien I had yer Francie i' the parritch-pat, I wudna pike him oot, but fling frae me pat and parritch. For a' that, I hae a haill side o' my hert saft til him: my father and his lo'd like brithers.
But I wasna sorry for them mair. For the miracle was upon them. And in their een, dinna doot it, the old, grey fronts o' the hooses were green trees. The pavement beneath their feet was the saft dirt o' a country road, or the bonny grass. City folk do long, I'm sure o' it, for the glen and the beauty o' the countryside.
Over the grave of Hector Macleod is no proud and pathetic inscription such as marks the last resting-place of a young lieutenant who perished at Gravelotte Er ruht saft in wiedererkampfter deutscher Erde but the young Highland officer was well beloved by his comrades, and when the dead were being pitched into the great holes dug for them, and when rude hands were preparing the simple record, painted on a wooden cross "Hier liegen tapfere Krieger" a separate memento was placed over the grave of Under-lieutenant Hector Macleod of the th Imperial and Royal Cavalry Regiment.
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