Who is he?--One that for the lack of land Shall fight upon the water--he hath challenged Formerly the grand whale; and by his titles Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth.
He tilted with a sword-fish--Marry, sir, Th' aquatic had the best--the argument Still galls our champion's breech.
Old Play.
``And the poor young fellow, Steenie Mucklebackit, is to be buried this morning,'' said our old friend the Antiquary, as he exchanged his quilted night-gown for an old-fashioned black coat in lieu of the snuff-coloured vestment which he ordinarily wore, ``and, I presume, it is expected that I should attend the funeral?''
``Ou, ay,'' answered the faithful Caxon, officiously brushing the white threads and specks from his patron's habit.``The body, God help us! was sae broken against the rocks that they're fain to hurry the burial.The sea's a kittle cast, as Itell my daughter, puir thing, when I want her to get up her spirits; the sea, says I, Jenny, is as uncertain a calling''--``As the calling of an old periwig-maker, that's robbed of his business by crops and the powder-tax.Caxon, thy topics of consolation are as ill chosen as they are foreign to the present purpose._Quid mihi cum f
mina_? What have I to do with thy womankind, who have enough and to spare of mine own?
--I pray of you again, am I expected by these poor people to attend the funeral of their son?''
``Ou, doubtless, your honour is expected,'' answered Caxon;``weel I wot ye are expected.Ye ken, in this country ilka gentleman is wussed to be sae civil as to see the corpse aff his grounds; ye needna gang higher than the loan-head--it's no expected your honour suld leave the land; it's just a Kelso convoy, a step and a half ower the doorstane.''
``A Kelso convoy!'' echoed the inquisitive Antiquary; ``and why a Kelso convoy more than any other?''
``Dear sir,'' answered Caxon, ``how should I ken? it's just a by-word.''
``Caxon,'' answered Oldbuck, ``thou art a mere periwig-maker--Had I asked Ochiltree the question, he would have had a legend ready made to my hand.''
``My business,'' replied Caxon, with more animation than he commonly displayed, ``is with the outside of your honour's head, as ye are accustomed to say.''
``True, Caxon, true; and it is no reproach to a thatcher that he is not an upholsterer.''
He then took out his memorandum-book and wrote down ``Kelso convoy--said to be a step and a half over the threshold.
Authority--Caxon.--_Qu
re_--Whence derived? _Mem._ To write to Dr.Graysteel upon the subject.''
Having made this entry, he resumed--``And truly, as to this custom of the landlord attending the body of the peasant, Iapprove it, Caxon.It comes from ancient times, and was founded deep in the notions of mutual aid and dependence between the lord and cultivator of the soil.And herein Imust say, the feudal system--(as also in its courtesy towards womankind, in which it exceeded)--herein, I say, the feudal usages mitigated and softened the sternness of classical times.
No man, Caxon, ever heard of a Spartan attending the funeral of a Helot--yet I dare be sworn that John of the Girnel--ye have heard of him, Caxon?''
``Ay, ay, sir,'' answered Caxon; ``naebody can hae been lang in your honour's company without hearing of that gentleman.''
``Well,'' continued the Antiquary, ``I would bet a trifle there was not a _kolb kerl,_ or bondsman, or peasant, _ascriptus gleb
,_ died upon the monks' territories down here, but John of the Girnel saw them fairly and decently interred.''
``Ay, but if it like your honour, they say he had mair to do wi' the births than the burials.Ha! ha! ha!'' with a gleeful chuckle.
``Good, Caxon, very good!--why, you shine this morning.''
``And besides,'' added Caxon, slyly, encouraged by his patron's approbation, ``they say, too, that the Catholic priests in thae times gat something for ganging about to burials.''
``Right, Caxon! right as my glove! By the by, I fancy that phrase comes from the custom of pledging a glove as the signal of irrefragable faith--right, I say, as my glove, Caxon--but we of the Protestant ascendency have the more merit in doing that duty for nothing, which cost money in the reign of that empress of superstition, whom Spenser, Caxon, terms in his allegorical phrase, --The daughter of that woman blind, Abessa, daughter of Corecca slow--But why talk I of these things to thee?--my poor Lovel has spoiled me, and taught me to speak aloud when it is much the same as speaking to myself.Where's my nephew, Hector M`Intyre?''
``He's in the parlour, sir, wi' the leddies.''
``Very well,'' said the Antiquary, ``I will betake me thither.''
``Now, Monkbarns,'' said his sister, on his entering the parlour, ``ye maunna be angry.''
``My dear uncle!'' began Miss M`Intyre.
``What's the meaning of all this?'' said Oldbuck, in alarm of some impending bad news, and arguing upon the supplicating tone of the ladies, as a fortress apprehends an attack from the very first flourish of the trumpet which announces the summons --``what's all this?--what do you bespeak my patience for?''
``No particular matter, I should hope, sir,'' said Hector, who, with his arm in a sling, was seated at the breakfast table;--``however, whatever it may amount to I am answerable for it, as I am for much more trouble that I have occasioned, and for which I have little more than thanks to offer.''
``No, no! heartily welcome, heartily welcome--only let it be a warning to you,'' said the Antiquary, ``against your fits of anger, which is a short madness--_Ira furor brevis_--but what is this new disaster?''
``My dog, sir, has unfortunately thrown down''--``If it please Heaven, not the lachrymatory from Clochnaben!''
interjected Oldbuck.
``Indeed, uncle,'' said the young lady, ``I am afraid--it was that which stood upon the sideboard--the poor thing only meant to eat the pat of fresh butter.''
