I pity him, an auld, auld man; and his dochter had rin off wi' a Christian lad--they ca' her Jessica, and didn't she steal his very diamond ring that his ain lass gied him when he was young, an' maybe no sae hard-hairted ?" _Jean Carnie._ "Oh, the jaud! suppose he was a Jew, it was na her business to clean him oot." _A young Fishwife._ "Aweel, it was only a Jew body, that's my comfort." _Christie._ "Ye speak as a Jew was na a man; has not a Jew eyes, if ye please ?" _Lizzy Johnstone._ "Ay, has he!--and the awfuest lang neb atween 'em." _Christie._ "Has not a Jew affections, paassions, organs ?" _Jean._ "Na! Christie; thir lads comes fr' Italy!" _Christie._ "If you prick him, does he not bleed?
if you tickle him, does na he lauch ?" _A young Fishwife (pertly)._ "I never kittlet a Jew, for my pairt--sae I'll no can tell ye." _Christie._ "If you poison him, does he not die?
and if you wrang him" (with fury) "shall he not revenge ?" _Lizzie Johnstone._ "Oh! but ye're a fearsome lass." _Christie._ "Wha'll give me a sang for my bonny yarn ?" Lord Ipsden, who had been an unobserved auditor of the latter part of the tale, here inquired whether she had brought her book.
"What'n buik ?" "Your music-book!" "Here's my music-book," said Jean, roughly tapping her head.
"And here's mines," said Christie, birdly, touching her bosom.
"Richard," said she, thoughtfully, "I wish ye may no hae been getting in voolgar company.

Div ye think we hae minds like rinning water ?" _Flucker (avec malice)._ "And tongues like the mill-clack abune it?
Because if ye think sae, captain--ye're no far wrang!" _Christie._ "Na! we hae na muckle gowd maybe; but our minds are gowden vessels." _Jean._ "Aha! lad." _Christie._ "They are not saxpenny sieves, to let music an' meter through, and leave us none the wiser or better.

Dinna gang in low voolgar company, or you a lost laddy." _Ipsden._ "Vulgar, again! everybody has a different sense for that word, I think.

What is vulgar ?" _Christie._ "Voolgar folk sit on an chair, ane, twa, whiles three hours, eatin' an' abune drinkin', as still as hoegs, or gruntin' puir every-day clashes, goessip, rubbich; when ye are aside them, ye might as weel be aside a cuddy; they canna gie ye a sang, they canna gie ye a story, they canna think ye a thoucht, to save their useless lives; that's voolgar folk." She sings.

"A caaller herrin'!" _Jean._ "A caaller herrin'!" _Omnes._ "Come buy my bonny caaller herrin', Six a penny caaller from the sea," etc.
The music chimed in, and the moment the song was done, without pause, or anything to separate or chill the succession of the arts, the fiddles diverged with a gallant plunge into "The Dusty Miller." The dancers found their feet by an instinct as rapid, and a rattling reel shook the floor like thunder.