, and all was sunk in the sound sleep of
midnight, it chanced that I was busy dreaming that I was sitting one of
the spectators, looking at another play-acting piece of business. Before
coming this length, howsoever, I should by right have observed, that ere
going to bed I had eaten for my supper part of a black pudding, and two
sausages, that Widow Grassie had sent in a compliment to my wife, being a
genteel woman, and mindful of her friends--so that I must have had some
sort of nightmare, and not been exactly in my seven senses--else I could
not have been even dreaming of siccan a place. Well, as I was saying, in
the playhouse I thought I was; and all at once I heard Maister Wiggie,
like one crying in the wilderness, hallooing with a loud voice through
the window, bidding me flee from the snares, traps, and gin-nets of the
Evil One; and from the terrors of the wrath to come. I was in a terrible
funk; and just as I was trying to rise from the seat, that seemed somehow
glued to my body, and would not let me, to reach down my hat, which, with
its glazed cover, was hanging on a pin to one side, my face all red, and
glowing like a fiery furnace, for shame of being a second time caught in
deadly sin, I heard the kirk-bell jow-jowing, as if it was the last trump
summoning sinners to their long and black account; and Maister Wiggie
thrust in his arm in his desperation, in a whirlwind of passion,
claughting hold of my hand like a vice to drag me out head-foremost.
Even in my sleep, howsoever, it appears that I like free-will, and ken
that there are no slaves in our blessed country; so I tried with all my
might to pull against him, and gave his arm such a drive back, that he
seemed to bleach over on his side, and raised a hullaballoo of a yell,
that not only wakened me, but made me start upright in my bed.

For all the world such a scene! My wife was roaring "Murder,
murder!--Mansie Wauch, will ye no wauken?--Murder, murder! ye've felled
me wi' your nieve,--ye've felled me outright,--I'm gone for evermair,--my
haill teeth are doun my throat. Will ye no wauken, Mansie Wauch?--will
ye no wauken?--Murder, murder!--I say murder, murder, murder, murder!!!"

"Who's murdering us?" cried I, throwing my cowl back on the pillow, and
rubbing my eyes in the hurry of a tremendous fright.--"Who's murdering
us?--where's the robbers?--send for the town-officer!!"

"O Mansie!--O Mansie!" said Nanse, in a kind of greeting tone, "I daursay