e Scotch
language "awmous," which did not sound agreeably in the ears of Geordie
Willison.

The very reverse of George was his sister--a black-eyed beauty, of great
intelligence, who earned a little money, to support the family, by means
of her needle. She was a great comfort to her mother, seldom going out,
and felt much annoyed by the strange character of her brother, whom she
often endeavoured to improve, with a view to his following some trade.
He was twenty years of age, and if he did not "tak' himself up" now, she
said, "he would be a vagrant a' his days." Geordie, on the other hand,
quietly heard his sister, but he never saw--at least, he pretended not
to see, which was the same thing--the force of her argument. The weak
half of his constitution was always presented to any attack of logic;
and the adroitness with which he met his opponent by this soft
buckler--which, like a feather-bed presented to a canon bullet,
swallowed the force and the noise at the same time--was worthy of
Aristotle, or Thomas Scotus, or any other logical warrior. Take an
example:--

"Whar hae ye been the day, Geordie?" said his mother to him one day.

"I hae been convoying Sir Marmaduke Maitland a wee bit on his way to
France," said Geordie. "He asked me to bear him company and carry his
luggage to Leith, and I couldna refuse sic a favour to the braw knight."

"An' what got ye frae him?" said his mother; "for I hae naething i' the
house for supper."

"Twa or three placks," said Geordie, throwing down some coppers on the
table.

"This is the 21st day o' April--your birthday, Geordie," said the
mother; "an' as it has aye been our practice to hae something by common
on that occasion, I'll gang down to Widow Johnston's an' get a pint o'
the best, to drink yer health wi'." And Widow Willison did as she said.

"Is Lady Maitland no awa wi' Sir Marmaduke, Geordie?" resumed his
mother, when they were taking their meagre supper.

"Na! na!" said Geordie; "they dinna like ane anither sae weel; an' I
dinna wonder at Sir Marmaduke no likin' her, for I dinna like her
mysel."

"For what reason, Geordie?" asked his mother.

"Because she doesna like me," answered the casuist.

Now it happened that on the 19th day of February, after the conversation
here detailed, that George Willison was wandering over the grounds of
Warriston, on the north side of Edinburgh. He had been with a letter to
the Laird of Warriston, and, in coming back, as was not