f joining him; for it was Oliver Proudfute's opinion that men
of action showed to most advantage when beside each other; and he was
delighted when some wag of the lower class had gravity enough to cry
out, without laughing outright: "There goes the pride of Perth--there go
the slashing craftsmen, the jolly Smith of the Wynd and the bold bonnet
maker!"

It is true, the fellow who gave this all hail thrust his tongue in his
cheek to some scapegraces like himself; but as the bonnet maker did not
see this byplay, he generously threw him a silver penny to encourage
his respect for martialists. This munificence occasioned their being
followed by a crowd of boys, laughing and hallooing, until Henry Smith,
turning back, threatened to switch the foremost of them--a resolution
which they did not wait to see put in execution.

"Here are we the witnesses," said the little man on the large horse,
as they joined Simon Glover at the East Port; "but where are they that
should back us? Ah, brother Henry! authority is a load for an ass rather
than a spirited horse: it would but clog the motions of such young
fellows as you and me."

"I could well wish to see you bear ever so little of that same weight,
worthy Master Proudfute," replied Henry Gow, "were it but to keep you
firm in the saddle; for you bounce aloft as if you were dancing a jig on
your seat, without any help from your legs."

"Ay--ay; I raise myself in my stirrups to avoid the jolting. She is
cruelly hard set this mare of mine; but she has carried me in field
and forest, and through some passages that were something perilous,
so Jezabel and I part not. I call her Jezabel, after the Princess of
Castile."

"Isabel, I suppose you mean," answered the smith.

"Ay--Isabel, or Jezabel--all the same, you know. But here comes Bailie
Craigdallie at last, with that poor, creeping, cowardly creature the
pottingar. They have brought two town officers with their partizans, to
guard their fair persons, I suppose. If there is one thing I hate more
than another, it is such a sneaking varlet as that Dwining."

"Have a care he does not hear you say so," said the smith, "I tell thee,
bonnet maker, that there is more danger in yonder slight wasted anatomy
than in twenty stout fellows like yourself."

"Pshaw! Bully Smith, you are but jesting with me," said Oliver,
softening his voice, however, and looking towards the pottingar, as if
to discover in what limb or lineament of his wasted fac