feature, not only in my own history, but in that of worthy James Batter.
To me it might be considered as a passing breeze--having been accustomed
to see and suffer a vast deal; but my friend, I fear much, will bear
marks of it to his grave. Yet I cannot blame myself with a safe
conscience for James having fallen the victim to Cursecowl. I had tried
everything to solder up matters which the heart of man could suggest; and
knowing that it was a catastrophe which would bring down open war and
rebellion throughout the whole parish, my thoughts were all of peace, and
how to stave off the eruption of the bloody heathen. I had thought over
the thing seriously in my bed; and, reckoning plainly that Cursecowl was
not one likely soon to hold out a flag of truce, I had come to the
determination within myself to sound a parley--and offer either to take
back the coat, or refund part of the purchase-money. I may add, that
having an unbounded regard for his judgment and descretion, I had, in my
own mind, selected James Batter to be sent as the ambassador. The same
day, however, brought round the extraordinary purchase of the
Willie-goat's head, and gave a new and unexpected turn to the whole
business.

Folk, moreover, should never be so over-proud as not to confess when they
are in fault; and from what happened, I am free to admit, that James,
harmless as a sucking dove, was no match in such a matter for the like of
Cursecowl, who was a perfect incarnation, for devilry and cunning, of the
old Serpent himself.

My intentions, however, were good, and those of a Christian; for, had
Cursecowl accepted the ten shillings by way of blood-money, which it was
thus my intention to have offered, this fearful and bloody stramash would
have been hushed up without the world having become a whit the wiser.
But "there is many a slip," as the proverb says, "between the cup and the
lip"; and the best intentions often fall to the ground, like the
beggarman between the two stools.

The final conclusion of the whole tradegy was, as it behoves me to
mention, that Cursecowl, in consideration of a month's gratis work in the
slaughter-house, made a brotherly legacy of the coat to his nephew, young
Killim. The laddie was a perfect world's wonder every Sunday, and would
have been laughed at out of his seven senses, had he not at last rebelled
and fairly thrown it off. I make every allowance for the young man; and
am sorry to confess that it was indeed