a took upon him to jest as you are doing now. It was to Laurie Cameron he
did it."

"And what said the redoubted Laurie in reply?"

"He did na say muckle, but he did something."

"And what might it be?" inquired Maurice.

"He threw him ower the brig of Ayr into the water, and he was drowned."

"And did Laurie come to no harm about the matter?"

"Ay, they tried him for it, and found him guilty; but when they asked
him what he had to say in his defence, he merely replied, 'When the carl
sneered about Scotland, I did na suspect that he did na ken how to swim;'
and so the end of it was, they did naething to Laurie."

"Cool that, certainly," said I.

"I prefer your friend with the mittens, I confess," said Maurice, "though
I'm sure both were most agreeable companion. But come, Doctor, couldn't you
give us,--

Sit ye down, my heartie, and gie us a crack,
Let the wind tak' the care o' the world on his back.'"

"You maunna attempt English poethry, my freend Quell; for it must be
confessed ye'e a damnable accent of your ain."

"Milesian-Phoenician-Corkacian; nothing more, my boy, and a coaxing kind
of recitative it is, after all. Don't tell me of your soft Etruscan, your
plethoric. _Hoch_-Deutsch, your flattering French. To woo and win the
girl of your heart, give me a rich brogue and the least taste in life of
blarney! There's nothing like it, believe me,--every inflection of your
voice suggesting some tender pressure of her soft hand or taper waist,
every cadence falling on her gentle heart like a sea-breeze on a burning
coast, or a soft sirocco over a rose-tree. And then, think, my boys,--and
it is a fine thought after all,--what a glorious gift that is, out of the
reach of kings to give or to take, what neither depends upon the act of
Union nor the _Habeas Corpus_. No! they may starve us, laugh at us, tax us,
transport us. They may take our mountains, our valleys, and our bogs; but,
bad luck to them, they can't steal our 'blarney;' that's the privilege one
and indivisible with our identity. And while an Englishman raves of his
liberty, a Scotchman of his oaten meal, blarney's _our_ birthright, and a
prettier portion I'd never ask to leave behind me to my sons. If I'd as
large a family as the ould gentleman called Priam we used to hear of at
school, it's the only inheritance I'd give them, and one comfort there
would be besides, the legacy duty would be only a trifle. Charley, my
son, I see you're listenin