It was to these attendants that Dumbiedikes addressed himself pretty nearly in the following words; temporal and spiritual matters, the care of his health and his affairs, being strangely jumbled in a head which was never one of the clearest.
"These are sair times wi' me, gentlemen and neighbours! amaist as ill as at the aughty-nine, when I was rabbled by the collegeaners.* * Immediately previous to the Revolution, the students at the Edinburgh College were violent anti-catholics.

They were strongly suspected of burning the house of Prestonfield, belonging to Sir James Dick, the Lord Provost; and certainly were guilty of creating considerable riots in 1688-9.
-- They mistook me muckle--they ca'd me a papist, but there was never a papist bit about me, minister .-- Jock, ye'll take warning--it's a debt we maun a' pay, and there stands Nichil Novit that will tell ye I was never gude at paying debts in my life .-- Mr.Novit, ye'll no forget to draw the annual rent that's due on the yerl's band--if I pay debt to other folk, I think they suld pay it to me--that equals aquals .-- Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye're sleeping.* * The Author has been flattered by the assurance, that this _naive_ mode of recommending arboriculture (which was actually delivered in these very words by a Highland laird, while on his death-bed, to his son) had so much weight with a Scottish earl as to lead to his planting a large tract of country.
"My father tauld me sae forty years sin', but I ne'er fand time to mind him--Jock, ne'er drink brandy in the morning, it files the stamach sair; gin ye take a morning's draught, let it be aqua mirabilis; Jenny there makes it weel--Doctor, my breath is growing as scant as a broken-winded piper's, when he has played for four-and-twenty hours at a penny wedding--Jenny, pit the cod aneath my head--but it's a' needless!--Mass John, could ye think o' rattling ower some bit short prayer, it wad do me gude maybe, and keep some queer thoughts out o' my head, Say something, man." "I cannot use a prayer like a rat-rhyme," answered the honest clergyman; "and if you would have your soul redeemed like a prey from the fowler, Laird, you must needs show me your state of mind." "And shouldna ye ken that without my telling you ?" answered the patient.
"What have I been paying stipend and teind, parsonage and vicarage, for, ever sin' the aughty-nine, and I canna get a spell of a prayer for't, the only time I ever asked for ane in my life ?--Gang awa wi' your whiggery, if that's a' ye can do; auld Curate Kilstoup wad hae read half the prayer-book to me by this time--Awa wi' ye!--Doctor, let's see if ye can do onything better for me." The doctor, who had obtained some information in the meanwhile from the housekeeper on the state of his complaints, assured him the medical art could not prolong his life many hours.
"Then damn Mass John and you baith!" cried the furious and intractable patient.

"Did ye come here for naething but to tell me that ye canna help me at the pinch?
Out wi' them, Jenny--out o' the house! and, Jock, my curse, and the curse of Cromwell, go wi' ye, if ye gie them either fee or bountith, or sae muckle as a black pair o' cheverons!"* *_Cheverons_--gloves.
The clergyman and doctor made a speedy retreat out of the apartment, while Dumbiedikes fell into one of those transports of violent and profane language, which had procured him the surname of Damn-me-dikes.
"Bring me the brandy bottle, Jenny, ye b--," he cried, with a voice in which passion contended with pain.

"I can die as I have lived, without fashing ony o' them.

But there's ae thing," he said, sinking his voice--"there's ae fearful thing hings about my heart, and an anker of brandy winna wash it away .-- The Deanses at Woodend!--I sequestrated them in the dear years, and now they are to flit, they'll starve--and that Beersheba, and that auld trooper's wife and her oe, they'll starve--they'll starve! -- Look out, Jock; what kind o' night is't ?" "On-ding o' snaw, father," answered Jock, after having opened the window, and looked out with great composure.
"They'll perish in the drifts!" said the expiring sinner--"they'll perish wi' cauld!--but I'll be het eneugh, gin a' tales be true." This last observation was made under breath, and in a tone which made the very attorney shudder.