“Ay, but they had baith to sup the sauce o’ ’t sooner or later,” said Wandering Willie; “what was fristed wasna forgiven.  Sir John died before he was much over threescore; and it was just like a moment’s illness.  And for my gudesire, though he departed in fulness of life, yet there was my father, a yauld man of forty-five, fell down betwixt the stilts of his plough, and rase never again, and left nae bairn but me, a puir, sightless, fatherless, motherless creature, could neither work nor want.  Things gaed weel aneugh at first; for Sir Regwald Redgauntlet, the only son of Sir John, and the oye of auld Sir Robert, and, wae’s me! the last of the honourable house, took the farm aff our hands, and brought me into his household to have care of me.  My head never settled since I lost him; and if I say another word about it, deil a bar will I have the heart to play the night.  Look out, my gentle chap,” he resumed, in a different tone; “ye should see the lights at Brokenburn Glen by this time.”

THE GLENMUTCHKIN RAILWAY, By Professor Aytoun

[The following tale appeared in “Blackwood’s Magazine” for October, 1845.  It was intended by the writer as a sketch of some of the more striking features of the railway mania (then in full progress throughout Great Britain), as exhibited in Glasgow and Edinburgh.  Although bearing the appearance of a burlesque, it was in truth an accurate delineation (as will be acknowledged by many a gentleman who had the misfortune to be “out in the Forty-five"); and subsequent disclosures have shown that it was in no way exaggerated.

Although the “Glenmutchkin line” was purely imaginary, and was not intended by the writer to apply to any particular scheme then before the public, it was identified in Scotland with more than one reckless and impracticable project; and even the characters introduced were supposed to be typical of personages who had attained some notoriety in the throng of speculation.  Any such resemblances must be considered as fortuitous; for the writer cannot charge himself with the discourtesy of individual satire or allusion.]

I was confoundedly hard up.  My patrimony, never of the largest, had been for the last year on the decrease,—­a herald would have emblazoned it, “ARGENT, a money-bag improper, in detriment,”—­and though the attenuating process was not excessively rapid, it was, nevertheless, proceeding at a steady ratio.  As for the ordinary means and appliances by which men contrive to recruit their exhausted exchequers, I knew none of them.  Work I abhorred with a detestation worthy of a scion of nobility; and, I believe, you could just as soon have persuaded the lineal representative of the Howards or Percys to exhibit himself in the character of a mountebank, as have got me to trust my person on the pinnacle of a three-legged stool.  The rule of three is all very well for base mechanical souls; but I flatter myself I have an intellect too large to be limited to a ledger.  “Augustus,” said my poor mother to me, while stroking my hyacinthine tresses, one fine morning, in the very dawn and budding-time of my existence—­“Augustus, my dear boy, whatever you do, never forget that you are a gentleman.”  The maternal maxim sank deeply into my heart, and I never for a moment have forgotten it.