don't wish to insinuate that I should like to be
eaten, either by lion or shepherd, but I confess that I consider that
the new drop would be a worse fate than either.

_North_.--Quite mistaken--the drop's a trifle.

_Moses Edrehi_.--Ja whoel, Milord.

_Shepherd_.--As to being hangit, why, that's a matter that happens
to mony a deacent man, and it's but a spurl or tway, and a gaspin
gurble, an' ae stour heave, and a's ower; ye're dead ere a body's weel
certified that the board's awa' from behind you--and the night-cap's a
great blessing, baith to you and the company. The gilliteen again, I'm
tauld its just perfectly ridiculous how soon that does it's turn. Up ye
come, and tway chiels ram your head into a shottle in a door like, and
your hands are clasped ahint ye, and swee gangs the door, and you upset
headforemost, and in below the axe, and hangie just taps you on the neck
to see that it's in the richt nick, and whirr, whirr, whirr, touch the
spring, and down comes the thundering edge, loaded with at least a
hunder weight o' lead--your head's aff like a sybo--Tuts, that's
naething--onybody might mak up their mind to be justified on the
gilliteen.

_Odoherty_.--The old Dutch way--the broadsword--is, after all, the
best; by much the easiest and the genteelest. You are seated in a most
comfortable arm-chair with a silk handkerchief over your eyes--they read
a prayer if you are so inclined--you call for a glass of wine, or a cup
of coffee--an iced cream--a dram--any thing you please, in fact, and
your desires are instantly complied with--you put the cup to the lip,
and just at that moment swap comes the whistling sabre.

_Shepherd_.--Preserve us! keep your hand to yoursell, Captain.

_Odoherty_.--Sweep he comes--the basket is ready, they put a clean
towel over it--pack off the cold meat to the hospital--scrub the
scaffold--take it to pieces--all within five minutes.

_Shepherd_.--That's capital. In fact a' these are civilized
exits--but oh! man, man, to think of a lion on the Burntsfield
Links--what would your gowfers say to that, Mr. Tickler?

_Tickler_.--A rum customer certainly.

_Shepherd_.--Oh! the een, the red, fiery, fixit, unwinkin' een, I
think I see them--and the laigh, deep, dour growl, like the purring o'
ten hundred cats--and the muckle white sharp teeth girnin' and
grundin'--and the lang rough tongue, and the yirnest slaver running
outour the chaps o' the brute--and the cauld shiver---minutes may
be