his uncle, which seemed to indicate that he ought to have
followed his example, in preferring beer to wine.

"Well," said Bothwell, "have ye all drank the toast?--What is that old
wife about? Give her a glass of brandy, she shall drink the king's
health, by"--"If your honour pleases," said Cuddie, with great stolidity
of aspect, "this is my mither, stir; and she's as deaf as Corra-linn; we
canna mak her hear day nor door; but if your honour pleases, I am ready
to drink the king's health for her in as mony glasses of brandy as ye
think neshessary."

"I dare swear you are," answered Bothwell; "you look like a fellow that
would stick to brandy--help thyself, man; all's free where'er I come.--
Tom, help the maid to a comfortable cup, though she's but a dirty jilt
neither. Fill round once more--Here's to our noble commander, Colonel
Graham of Claverhouse!--What the devil is the old woman groaning for? She
looks as very a whig as ever sate on a hill-side--Do you renounce the
Covenant, good woman?"

"Whilk Covenant is your honour meaning? Is it the Covenant of Works, or
the Covenant of Grace?" said Cuddie, interposing.

"Any covenant; all covenants that ever were hatched," answered the
trooper.

"Mither," cried Cuddie, affecting to speak as to a deaf person, "the
gentleman wants to ken if ye will renunce the Covenant of Works?"

"With all my heart, Cuddie," said Mause, "and pray that my feet may be
delivered from the snare thereof."

"Come," said Bothwell, "the old dame has come more frankly off than I
expected. Another cup round, and then we'll proceed to business.--You
have all heard, I suppose, of the horrid and barbarous murder committed
upon the person of the Archbishop of St Andrews, by ten or eleven armed
fanatics?"

All started and looked at each other; at length Milnwood himself
answered, "They had heard of some such misfortune, but were in hopes it
had not been true."

"There is the relation published by government, old gentleman; what do
you think of it?"

"Think, sir? Wh--wh--whatever the council please to think of it,"
stammered Milnwood.

"I desire to have your opinion more explicitly, my friend," said the
dragoon, authoritatively.

Milnwood's eyes hastily glanced through the paper to pick out the
strongest expressions of censure with which it abounded, in gleaning
which he was greatly aided by their being printed in italics.

"I think it a--bloody and execrable--murder and parricide--devised by