She is cruelly hard set this mare of mine; but she has carried me in field and forest, and through some passages that were something perilous, so Jezabel and I part not.

I call her Jezabel, after the Princess of Castile." "Isabel, I suppose you mean," answered the smith.
"Ay--Isabel, or Jezabel--all the same, you know.

But here comes Bailie Craigdallie at last, with that poor, creeping, cowardly creature the pottingar.

They have brought two town officers with their partizans, to guard their fair persons, I suppose.

If there is one thing I hate more than another, it is such a sneaking varlet as that Dwining." "Have a care he does not hear you say so," said the smith, "I tell thee, bonnet maker, that there is more danger in yonder slight wasted anatomy than in twenty stout fellows like yourself." "Pshaw! Bully Smith, you are but jesting with me," said Oliver, softening his voice, however, and looking towards the pottingar, as if to discover in what limb or lineament of his wasted face and form lay any appearance of the menaced danger; and his examination reassuring him, he answered boldly: "Blades and bucklers, man, I would stand the feud of a dozen such as Dwining.