air, "How merrily we
live that soldiers be!" and between each bar comforting himself with
a spoonful of mock-turtle soup. He ordered a similar refreshment for
Oldbuck, who declined it, observing, that, not being a military man, he
did not feel inclined to break his habit of keeping regular hours for
meals--"Soldiers like you, Bailie, must snatch their food as they find
means and time. But I am sorry to hear ill news of young Taffril's
brig."

"Ah, poor fellow!" said the bailie, "he was a credit to the town--much
distinguished on the first of June."

"But," said Oldbuck, "I am shocked to hear you talk of him in the
preterite tense."

"Troth, I fear there may be too much reason for it, Monkbarns;--and
yet let us hope the best. The accident is said to have happened in
the Rattray reef of rocks, about twenty miles to the northward, near
Dirtenalan Bay--I have sent to inquire about it--and your nephew run out
himself as if he had been flying to get the Gazette of a victory."

Here Hector entered, exclaiming as he came in, "I believe it's all a
damned lie--I can't find the least authority for it, but general rumour."

"And pray, Mr. Hector," said his uncle, "if it had been true, whose
fault would it have been that Lovel was on board?"

"Not mine, I am sure," answered Hector; "it would have been only my
misfortune."

"Indeed!" said his uncle, "I should not have thought of that."

"Why, sir, with all your inclination to find me in the wrong," replied
the young soldier, "I suppose you will own my intention was not to blame
in this case. I did my best to hit Lovel, and if I had been successful,
'tis clear my scrape would have been his, and his scrape would have been
mine."

"And whom or what do you intend to hit now, that you are lugging with
you that leathern magazine there, marked Gunpowder?"

"I must be prepared for Lord Glenallan's moors on the twelfth, sir,"
said M'Intyre.

"Ah, Hector! thy great chasse, as the French call it, would take place
best--

Omne cum Proteus pecus agitaret altos
Visere montes--

Could you meet but with a martial phoca, instead of an unwarlike
heath-bird."

"The devil take the seal, sir, or phoca, if you choose to call it so!
It's rather hard one can never hear the end of a little piece of folly
like that."

"Well, well," said Oldbuck, "I am glad you have the grace to be ashamed
of it--as I detest the whole race of Nimrods, I wish t