The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

564 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
"Whisht, whisht, mither!" cried Cuddie impatiently. " Od, ye daft
wife, is this a time to speak o' thae things? I tell ye I'll testify nanthing
either ae gate or another. I hae spoken to Mr. Poundtext, and'11 tak the
declaration, or whate'er they ca' it, and we're a' to win free off if we do
that- he's gotten life for himsell and a' his folk, and that's a minister for
my siller; I like nane o' your sermons that end in a psalm at the Grassmarket."*
"0, Cuddie, man, laith wad I be they suld hurt ye," said old Mause,
divided grievously between the safety of her son's soul and that of his
body; "but mind, my bonny bairn, ye hae battled for the faith, and dinna
let the dread o' losing creature-comforts withdraw ye frae the gude fight."
"Hout, tout, mither," eplied Cuddie,-" I hae fought e'en ower mluckle
already, and, to speak plain, I'm wearied o' the trade. I hae swaggered
wi' a' thae arms, and muskets, and pistols, buffcoats, and bandoliers, lalng
eneugh, and I like the pleugh-paidle a hantle better. I ken naething suld
gar a man fight (that's to say, when he's no angry), by and out-taken the
dread o' being hanged or killed if he turns back."
"But, my dear Cuddie," continued the persevering Mause, "your bridal
garment-Oh, hinny, dinna sully the marriage garment!"
"Awa, awa, mither," replied Cuddie; " dinna ye see the folks waiting
for me?-Never fear me —I ken how to turn this fau better than ye do-for
ye're bleezing awa about marriage, and the job is how we are to win by
hanging."
So saying, he extricated himself out of his mother's embraces, and requested the soldiers who took him in charge to conduct him to the place of
examination without delay. He had been already preceded by Claverhouse
and Morton.
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My native land, good night!
LoRD BYRON.
THE Privy Council of Scotland, in whom the practice since the union of
the crowns vested great judicial powers, as well as the general superintendence of the executive department, was met in the ancient dark Gothic
room adjoining to the house of Parliament in Edinburgh, when General
Grahame entered and took his place amongst the members at the counciltable.
"You have brought us a leash of game to-day, General," said a nobleman
of high place amongst them. " Here is a craven to confess-a cock of the
game to stand at bay -and what shall I call the third, General?"
"Without further metaphor, I will entreat your Grace to call him a
person in whom I am specially interested," replied Claverhouse.
"And a whig into the bargain?" said the nobleman, lolling out a tongue
which was at all times too big for his mouth, and accommodating his course
features to a sneer, to which they seemed to be familiar.
" Yes, please your Grace, a whig; as your Grace was in 1641," replied
Claverhouse, with his usual appearance of imperturbable civility.
" He has you there, I think, my Lord Duke," said one of the Privy Coun
cillors.
* Then the place of public execution.