be on the look-out. If any body
offers to harm ye, be sure ye cry out, and Saunders will be up in a crack.
He's as stieve as steel, and an auld Waterloo man."

As a considerable number of years has elapsed since the last great
European conflict, I confess that my confidence in the capabilities of Mr
Caup, as an ally, was inferior to my belief in his prowess. I therefore
declined the proposal, but accepted the weapon; and, after a valedictory
tumbler with my host, emerged into the darkened street.

CHAPTER IV.

Francis Osbaldistone, when he encountered the famous Rob Roy by night, was
in all probability, notwithstanding Sir Walter's assertion to the
contrary, in a very tolerable state of trepidation. At least I know that I
was, as I neared the bridge of Dreepdaily. It was a nasty night of wind
rain, and not a soul was stirring in the street--the surface of which did
little credit to the industry of the paving department, judging from the
number of dubs in which I found involuntary accommodation. As I floundered
through the mire, I breathed any thing but benedictions on the mysterious
Shell Out, who was the cause of my midnight wandering.

Just as I reached the bridge, beneath which the river was roaring rather
uncomfortably, a ragged-looking figure started out from an entry. A
solitary lamp, suspended from above, gave me a full view of this
personage, who resembled an animated scarecrow.

He stared me full in the face, and then muttered, with a wink and a
leer,--

"Was ye seekin' for ony body the nicht? Eh wow, man, but it's cauld!"

"Who may you be, my friend?" said I, edging off from my unpromising
acquaintance.

"Wha may I be?" replied the other: "that's a gude one! Gosh, d'ye no ken
me? Aum Geordie Dowie, the town bauldy, that's as weel kent as the Provost
hissell."

To say the truth, Geordie was a very truculent-looking character to be an
innocent. However, bauldies are usually harmless.

"And what have you got to say to me, Geordie?"

"If ye're the man I think ye are,
And ye're name begins wi' a D,
Just tak ye tae yer soople shanks,
And tramp alang wi' me,"

quavered the idiot, who, like many others, had a natural turn for poetry.

"And where are we going to, Geordie, my man?" said I in a soothing voice.

"Ye'll find that when we get there," replied the bauldy.

"Hey the bonnie gill-stoup!
Ho the bonnie gill-stoup!
Gie me walth o' barley bree,
And leeze me on the gill-sto