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I know not whether the nine gipsies are jealous of my lucky, but they are a good deal shyer since I could boast the important relation of husband. I have got about eleven subscribers for your book.... My best compliments to Mrs. Sillar, and believe me to be, dear Davie, ever yours, The original is probably lost, but a copy is to be found in the minute-book of the Irvine Burns Club.
He had been a medical student at Edinburgh, and had during that time met with some kindness from my father. He expressed his remembrance of it with grateful effusion; and added his personal introduction, with that of my letters, to some of the leading men in Liverpool. I may mention that Dr. Sillar was the son of Burns's "Brother Poet" Davie, to whom the well-known "Epistle" was addressed.
"Hoots, haivers, Maister Ralph, gin Jock has providit for you that needs a' things as gin ye war in a graund hoose, dinna be feared for Jock, that can eat a wamefu' o' green heather-taps wi' the dew on them like a bit flafferin' grouse bird. Jock can fend for himsel' brawly. Sillar wad only tak' the edge aff his genius."
He would crush weaker men to their faces, or even perhaps for the statement of Sillar is not absolute say cutting things of his acquaintances behind their back. At the church door, between sermons, he would parade his religious views amid hisses. These details stamp the man. He had no genteel timidities in the conduct of his life. He loved to force his personality upon the world.
Oh me, Susie, what is to become of me in the next world, who have in this life all my good things!" After carrying on "Fors" for some time his attention was drawn by Mr. W.C. Sillar to the question of "Usury." At first he had seen no crying sin in Interest.
Ralph wished to breakfast at one of the inns in New Galloway, but this Jock Gordon would not allow. He did not like that kind o' folk, he said. "Gie's tippens, an' that'll serve brawly," said Jock. Ralph drew out Winsome's purse; he looked at it reverently and put it back again. It seemed too early, and too material a use of her love-token. "Nae sillar in't?" queried Jock. "How's that?
"Jock," said Ralph, "I shall have to walk to Edinburgh. I must start in the morning." "Ye'll hae plenty o' sillar, nae doot?" said Jock practically. Ralph felt his pockets. In that wild place it was not his custom to carry money, and he had not even the few shillings which were in his purse at the manse. "I am sorry to say," he said, "that I have no money with me."
It looks brave and baggy." "I think I will do without for the present," said Ralph. "Aweel," said Jock, "ye may, but I'm gaun to hae my breakfast a' the same, sillar or no sillar." In twenty minutes he was back by the dykeside, where he had left Ralph sitting, twining Winsome's purse through his fingers, and thinking on the future, and all that was awaiting him in Edinburgh town.
He would crush weaker men to their faces, or even perhaps for the statement of Sillar is not absolute say cutting things of his acquaintances behind their back. At the church door, between sermons, he would parade his religious views amid hisses. These details stamp the man. He had no genteel timidities in the conduct of his life. He loved to force his personality upon the world.
Does a dowg pay for a sheep's heid when he gangs oot o' the butcher's shop wi' yin atween his teeth, an' a twa-pund wecht playin' dirl on his hench-bane? Pay for't! Weel, I wat no! Didna yer honour tell me that ye had nae sillar, an' sae gaed it in hand to Jock?" Ralph started up. This might be a very serious matter. He pulled out Winsome's purse again.
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