Scotch is and what it
is not; he has told them before what it is, a very sorry jargon. He will
now tell them what it is not--a sister or an immediate daughter of the
Sanscrit, which Romany is. "Ay, but the Scotch are"--foxes, foxes,
nothing else than foxes, even like the gypsies--the difference between
the gypsy and Scotch fox being that the first is wild, with a mighty
brush, the other a sneak with a gilt collar and without a tail.

A Charlie o'er the water person attempts to be witty, because the writer
has said that perhaps a certain old Edinburgh High-School porter, of the
name of Boee, was perhaps of the same blood as a certain Bui, a Northern
Kemp who distinguished himself at the battle of Horinger Bay. A pretty
matter, forsooth, to excite the ridicule of a Scotchman! Why, is there a
beggar or trumpery fellow in Scotland, who does not pretend to be
somebody, or related to somebody? Is not every Scotchman descended from
some king, kemp, or cow-stealer of old, by his own account at least? Why,
the writer would even go so far as to bet a trifle that the poor
creature, who ridicules Boee's supposed ancestry, has one of his own, at
least as grand and as apocryphal as old Boee's of the High School.

The same Charlie o'er the water person is mightily indignant that
Lavengro should have spoken disrespectfully of William Wallace; Lavengro,
when he speaks of that personage, being a child of about ten years old,
and repeating merely what he had heard. All the Scotch, by the bye, for
a great many years past, have been great admirers of William Wallace,
particularly the Charlie o'er the water people, who in their nonsense-
verses about Charlie generally contrive to bring in the name of William,
Willie, or Wullie Wallace. The writer begs leave to say that he by no
means wishes to bear hard against William Wallace, but he cannot help
asking why, if William, Willie, or Wullie Wallace was such a particularly
nice person, did his brother Scots betray him to a certain renowned
southern warrior, called Edward Longshanks, who caused him to be hanged
and cut into four in London, and his quarters to be placed over the gates
of certain towns? They got gold, it is true, and titles, very nice
things, no doubt; but, surely, the life of a patriot is better than all
the gold and titles in the world--at least Lavengro thinks so--but
Lavengro has lived more with gypsies than Scotchmen, and gypsies do not
betray their brothers. It woul