Now, I could speak to Mr.
Crossmyloof--he's weel ken'd for a round-spun Presbyterian, and a ruling elder to boot." "He's a rank Yerastian," replied Deans; "one of the public and polititious warldly-wise men that stude up to prevent ane general owning of the cause in the day of power!" "What say ye to the auld Laird of Cuffabout ?" said Saddletree; "he whiles thumps the dust out of a case gey and well." "He?
the fause loon!" answered Deans--"he was in his bandaliers to hae joined the ungracious Highlanders in 1715, an they had ever had the luck to cross the Firth." "Weel, Arniston?
there's a clever chield for ye!" said Bartoline, triumphantly.
"Ay, to bring popish medals in till their very library from that schismatic woman in the north, the Duchess of Gordon."* * [James Dundas younger of Arniston was tried in the year 1711 upon charge of leasing-making, in having presented, from the Duchess of Gordon, medal of the Pretender, for the purpose, it was said, of affronting Queen Anne.] "Weel, weel, but somebody ye maun hae--What think ye o' Kittlepunt ?" "He's an Arminian." "Woodsetter ?" "He's, I doubt, a Cocceian." "Auld Whilliewhaw ?" "He's ony thing ye like." "Young Naemmo ?" "He's naething at a'." "Ye're ill to please, neighbour," said Saddletree: "I hae run ower the pick o' them for you, ye maun e'en choose for yoursell; but bethink ye that in the multitude of counsellors there's safety--What say ye to try young Mackenyie?
he has a' his uncle's Practiques at the tongue's end." "What, sir, wad ye speak to me," exclaimed the sturdy Presbyterian in excessive wrath, "about a man that has the blood of the saints at his fingers' ends?
Did na his eme [Uncle] die and gang to his place wi' the name of the Bluidy Mackenyie?
and winna he be kend by that name sae lang as there's a Scots tongue to speak the word?
If the life of the dear bairn that's under a suffering dispensation, and Jeanie's, and my ain, and a' mankind's, depended on my asking sic a slave o' Satan to speak a word for me or them, they should a' gae doun the water thegither for Davie Deans!" It was the exalted tone in which he spoke this last sentence that broke up the conversation between Butler and Jeanie, and brought them both "ben the house," to use the language of the country.

Here they found the poor old man half frantic between grief and zealous ire against Saddletree's proposed measures, his cheek inflamed, his hand clenched, and his voice raised, while the tear in his eye, and the occasional quiver of his accents, showed that his utmost efforts were inadequate to shaking off the consciousness of his misery.

Butler, apprehensive of the consequences of his agitation to an aged and feeble frame, ventured to utter to him a recommendation to patience.
"I _am_ patient," returned the old man sternly,--"more patient than any one who is alive to the woeful backslidings of a miserable time can be patient; and in so much, that I need neither sectarians, nor sons nor grandsons of sectarians, to instruct my grey hairs how to bear my cross." "But, sir," continued Butler, taking no offence at the slur cast on his grandfather's faith, "we must use human means.

When you call in a physician, you would not, I suppose, question him on the nature of his religious principles!" "Wad I _no ?_" answered David--"but I wad, though; and if he didna satisfy me that he had a right sense of the right hand and left hand defections of the day, not a goutte of his physic should gang through my father's son." It is a dangerous thing to trust to an illustration.

Butler had done so and miscarried; but, like a gallant soldier when his musket misses fire, he stood his ground, and charged with the bayonet.--"This is too rigid an interpretation of your duty, sir.