en? No--not to condemn a
dog!"

Having thus summarily disposed of Gubbins, I turned my artillery against
the attendant drover and the policeman. The first I indignantly
denounced as either an accomplice or a tool: the second I smote more
severely. Policemen are not popular in Hawick; and, knowing this, I
contrived to blacken the Scottish Vidocq as a bloodhound.

But by far the finest flight of fancy in which I indulged was reserved
for the peroration. I was not quite sure of the effect of my commentary
on the evidence, and therefore thought it might be advisable to touch
upon a national raw.

"And now, gentlemen," said I, "assuming for one moment that all my
learned friend has said to you is true--that the sheep really belonged
to this Gubbins, and were taken from him by M'Wilkin--let us calmly and
deliberately consider how far such a proceeding can be construed into a
crime. What has my unfortunate client done that he should be condemned
by a jury of his countrymen? What he stands charged with is simply
this--that he has prevented an Englishman from driving away the produce
of our native hills. And is this a crime? It may be so, for aught I
know, by statute; but sure I am, that in the intention, to which alone
you must look, there lies a far deeper element of patriotism than of
deliberate guilt. Think for one moment, gentlemen, of the annals of
which we are so proud--of the ballads still chanted in the hall and in
the hamlet--of the lonely graves and headstones that are scattered all
along the surface of the southern muirs. Do not these annals tell us how
the princes and the nobles of the land were wont to think it neither
crime nor degradation to march with their retainers across the Borders,
and to harry with fire and sword the fields of Northumberland and
Durham? Randolph and the Bruce have done it, and yet no one dares to
attach the stigma of dishonour to their names. Do not our ballads tell
how at Lammas-tide,

'The doughty Earl of Douglas rade
Into England to fetch a prey?'

And who shall venture to impeach the honour of the hero who fell upon
the field of Otterbourne? Need I remind you of those who have died in
their country's cause, and whose graves are still made the object of
many a pious pilgrimage? Need I speak of Flodden, that woful place where
the Flowers of the Forest were left lying in one ghastly heap around
their king? Ah, gentlemen! have I touched you now? True, it was in the
Olden t