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.

TIIE HEART OF MI-D-LOTHIAN. 409
a word about the matter -But whiles I wish the bairn had lived - Weel,
God guide us, there's a heaven aboon us a'," - (here she sighed bitterly,)
"and a bonny moon, and sterns in it forby" (and here she laughed once
more.)
"Are we to stand here all night?" said Sharpitlaw, very impatiently.
"Drag her forward."
"Ay, sir," said Ratcliffe, " if we kend whilk way to drag her, that would
settle it at ance. -Come, Madge, hinny," addressing her, " we'll no be in
time to see Nichol and his wife, unless ye show us the road."
" In troth and that I will, Ratton," said she, seizing him by the arm, and
resuming her route with huge strides, considering it was a female who took
them. "And I'll tell ye, Ratton, blithe will Nichol AMuschat be to see ye,
for he says he kens weel there isna sic a villain out o' hell as ye are, and he
wad be ravished to hae a crack wi' you-like to like, ye ken —it's a proverb never fails-and ye are baith a pair o' the deevil's peats, I trow-hard
to ken whilk deserves the hettest corner o' his ingle-side."
Ratcliffe was conscience-struck, and could not forbear making an involuntary protest against this classification. " I never shed blood," he replied.
"But ye hae sauld it, Ratton -ye hae sauld blood mony a time. Folk
kill wi' the tongue as weel as wi' the hand-wi' the word as weel as wi' the
gulley!It is the bonny butcher lad,
That wears the sleeves of blue,
He sells the flesh on Saturday,
On Friday that he slew."
"And what is that I am doing now?" thought Ratcliffe. "But I'll hae
nae wyte of Robertson's young bluid, if I can help it;" then speaking apart
to Madge, he asked her, " Whether she did not remember ony o' her auld
sangs?"
" Mony a dainty ane," said Madge; " and blithely can I sing them, for
lightsome sangs make merry gate." And she sang,'"When the glede's in the blue cloud,
The lavrock lies still;
When the hound's in the green-wood,
The hind keeps the hill."
"Silence her cursed noise, if you should throttle her,", said Sharpitlaw;
"I see somebody yonder.-Keep close, my boys, and creep round the shoulder of the height. George Poinder, stay you with Ratcliffe and that mad
yelling bitch; and you other two, come with me round under the shadow
of the brae."
And he crept forward with the stealthy pace of an Indian savage, who
leads his band to surprise an unsuspecting party of some hostile tribe.
Ratcliffe saw them glide off, avoiding the moonlight, and keeping as much in
the shade as possible. "Robertson's done up," said he to himself; "thae
young lads are aye sae thoughtless. What the deevil could he hae to say to
Jeanie Deans, or to ony woman on earth, that he suld gang awa and get his
neck raxed for her? And this mad quean, after cracking like a pen-gun,
and skirling like a pea-hen for the haill night, behoves just to hae halden
her tongue when her clavers might have done some gude! But it's a'ye the
way wi' women; if they ever haud their tongues ava', ye may swear it's for
mischief. I wish I could set her on again without this blood-sucker kenning what I am doing. But he's as gleg as MacKeachan's elsbin, that ran
through sax plies of bendleather and half an inch into the king's heel."
le then began to hum, but in a very low and suppressed tone, the first
stanza of a favourite ballad of. Wildfire's, the words of which bore some
distant analogy with the situation of Robertson, trusting that the power of
association would not fail to bring the rest to her mind:
"There's a bloodhound raging Tinwald wood,
There's harness glancing sheen;
There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae,
And she sings loud between."
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