“Oh, pray sit still, dear Sir Sampson,” cried they as usual all at once; “our sweet niece will come to you, don’t take the trouble to rise; pray don’t,” each putting a hand on this man of might, as he was half risen, and pushing him down.

“Ay, come here, my dear,” said Lady Maclaughlan; “you’re abler to walk to Sir Sampson than he to you,” pulling Lady Juliana in front of the easy chair; “there—­that’s her; you see she is very pretty.”

“Zounds, what is the meaning of all this?” screamed the enraged baronet.  “My Lady Juliana Douglas, I am shocked beyond expression at this freedom of my lady’s.  I beg your ladyship ten thousand pardons; pray be seated.  I’m shocked; I am ready to faint at the impropriety of this introduction, so contrary to all rules of etiquette.  How could you behave in such a manner, my Lady Maclaughlan?”

“Why, you know, my dear, your legs may be very good legs, but they can’t walk,” replied she, with her usual sang froid.

“My Lady Maclaughlan, you perfectly confound me,” stuttering with rage.  “My lady Juliana Douglas, see here,” stretching out a meagre shank, to which not even the military boot and large spur could give a respectable appearance:  “You see that leg strong and straight,” stroking it down—­; “now, behold the fate of war!” dragging forward the other, which was shrunk and shrivelled to almost one half its original dimensions.  “These legs were once the same; but I repine not—­I sacrificed it in a noble cause:  to that leg my Sovereign owes his life!”

“Well, I declare, I had no idea; I thought always it had been rheumatism,” burst from the lips of the astonished spinsters, as they crowded round the illustrious limb, and regarded it with looks of veneration.

“Humph!” emphatically uttered his lady.

“The story’s a simple one, ladies, and soon told:  I happened to be
attending his Majesty at a review; I was then aid-de-camp to Lord -----. 
His horse took fright, I—­I—­I,”—­here, in spite of all the efforts that
could be made to suppress it, the royal cough burst forth with a
violence that threatened to silence its brave owner for ever.

“It’s very strange you will talk, my love,” said his sympathising lady, as she supported him; “talking never did, nor never will agree with you; it’s very strange what pleasure people take in talking—­humph!”

“Is there anything dear Sir Sampson could take?” asked Miss Grizzy.

"Could take?  I don’t know what you mean by could take.  He couldn’t take the moon, if you meant hat; but he must take what I give him; so call Philistine; he knows where my cough tincture is.”

“Oh, we have plenty of it in this press,” said Miss Grizzy, flying to a cupboard, and, drawing forth a bottle, she poured out a bumper, and presented it to Sir Sampson.

“I’m poisoned!” gasped he feebly; “that’s not my lady’s cough-tincture.”