Well, there they all were started on another hare; Mr. Balfour’s cause, and what kind of speeches could be there delivered, and what officials could be thus turned out, and who would succeed to their positions.  I shall give but the two specimens.  It was proposed to approach Symon Fraser, whose testimony, if it could be obtained, could prove certainly fatal to Argyle and Prestongrange.  Miller highly approved of the attempt.  “We have here before us a dreeping roast,” said he, “here is cut-and-come-again for all.”  And methought all licked their lips.  The other was already near the end.  Stewart the Writer was out of the body with, delight, smelling vengeance on his chief enemy, the Duke.

“Gentlemen,” cried he, charging his glass, “here is to Sheriff Miller.  His legal abilities are known to all.  His culinary, this bowl in front of us is here to speak for.  But when it comes to the poleetical!”—­cries he, and drains the glass.

“Ay, but it will hardly prove politics in your meaning, my friend,” said the gratified Miller.  “A revolution, if you like, and I think I can promise you that historical writers shall date from Mr. Balfour’s cause.  But properly guided, Mr. Stewart, tenderly guided, it shall prove a peaceful revolution.”

“And if the damned Campbells get their ears rubbed, what care I?” cries Stewart, smiting down his fist.

It will be thought I was not very well pleased with all this, though I could scarce forbear smiling at a kind of innocency in these old intriguers.  But it was not my view to have undergone so many sorrows for the advancement of Sheriff Miller or to make a revolution in the Parliament House:  and I interposed accordingly with as much simplicity of manner as I could assume.

“I have to thank you, gentlemen, for your advice,” said I.  “And now I would like, by your leave, to set you two or three questions.  There is one thing that has fallen rather on one side, for instance:  Will this cause do any good to our friend James of the Glens?”

They seemed all a hair set back, and gave various answers, but concurring practically in one point, that James had now no hope but in the King’s mercy.

“To proceed, then,” said I, “will it do any good to Scotland?  We have a saying that it is an ill bird that fouls his own nest.  I remember hearing we had a riot in Edinburgh when I was an infant child, which gave occasion to the late Queen to call this country barbarous; and I always understood that we had rather lost than gained by that.  Then came the year ’Forty-five, which made Scotland to be talked of everywhere; but I never heard it said we had anyway gained by the ’Forty-five.  And now we come to this cause of Mr. Balfour’s, as you call it.  Sheriff Miller tells us historical writers are to date from it, and I would not wonder.  It is only my fear they would date from it as a period of calamity and public reproach.”

The nimble-witted Miller had already smelt where I was travelling to, and made haste to get on the same road.  “Forcibly put, Mr. Balfour,” says he.  “A weighty observe, sir.”