

IN GREAT BRITAIN. 247 



Shep. Never fear, sir. He'll no pit me aff my guard 

 by keepin' the croon o' the causey in that gate. I ken 

 what he's ettlin' at and it's naething mair nor less nor 

 yon island. Thinks he to himsell, wi' his tail, * gin I get 

 abreist o' the broom, I'll roun' the rocks, doon the rapids, 

 and break the Shepherd.' And nae sooner thocht than 



done but bauld in my cork-jacket 



North. That's a new appurtenance to your person, 

 James ; I thought you had always angled in bladders. 



Shep. Sae I used but last season they fell doon to 

 my heels, and had nearly droon'd me sae I trust noo to 

 my body-guard. 



North. I prefer the air life-preserver. 

 Shep. If it bursts you're gone. Bauld in my cork-jacket 

 I took till the soomin', haudin' the rod abune my head 

 North. Like Caesar his Commentaries. 

 Shep. And gettin' footin' on the bit island there's no 

 a shrub on't, you ken, aboon the waistband o' my breeks 

 I was just in time to let him easy owre the Fa', and 

 Heaven save us ! he turned up, as he played wallop, a side 

 like a house ! He fand noo that he was in the hauns o' his 

 maister, and began to lose heart; for naethin' cows the 

 better part o' man, brute, Me, or fish, like a sense of in- 

 feriority. Sometimes in a large pairty it suddenly strikes 



me dumb 



North. But never in the Snuggery, James never in 



the Sanctum 



Shep. Na na na never i' the Snuggery, never i' the 



