a soldier, I thought,
in my innocence, that we should hear as many reports as I had crammed
cartridges down her muzzle. This was a sore joke against me for a length
of time; but I tholed it patiently, considering cannily within myself,
that knowledge is only to be bought by experience, and that, if we can
credit the old song, even Johnny Cope himself did not learn the art of
war in a single morning.

CHAPTER XIII.--THE CHINCOUGH PILGRIMAGE.

Man hath a weary pilgrimage
As through the world he wends:
On every stage from youth to age
Still discontent attends.
With heaviness he casts his eye
Upon the road before,
And still remembers with a sigh
The days that are no more.

SOUTHEY.

Some folks having been bred up from their cradle to the writing of books,
of course naturally do the thing regularly and scientifically; but that's
not to be expected from the like of me, that have followed no other way
of life than the shaping and sewing line. It behoves me, therefore, to
beg pardon for not being able to carry my history aye regularly straight
forward, and for being forced whiles to zig-zag and vandyke. For
instance, I clean forgot to give, in its proper place, a history of one
of my travels, with Benjie in my bosom, in search of a cure for the
chincough.

My son Benjie was, at this dividual time, between four and five years
old, when--poor wee chieldie!--he took the chincough, and in more
respects than one was not in a good way; so the doctor recommended his
mother and me, for the change of air, first to carry him down a coal-pit,
and syne to the limekilns at Cousland.

The coal-pit I could not think of at all; to say nothing of the danger of
swinging down into the bowels of the earth in a creel, the thing aye put
me in mind of the awful place, where the wicked, after death and
judgment, howl, and hiss, and gnash their teeth; and where, unless Heaven
be more merciful than we are just--we may all be soon enough. So I could
not think of that, till other human means failed; and I determined, in
the first place, to hire Tammie Dobbie's cart, and try a smell of the
fresh air about the limekilns.

It was a fine July forenoon, and the cart, filled with clean straw, was
at the door by eleven o'clock; so our wife handed us out a pair of
blankets to hap round me, and syne little Benjie into my arms, with his
big-coatie on, and his leather cappie tied below his chin, and a bi