, »to encourage the
trade of the place, and to refresh the throats of the officers who had bawled
themselves hoarse in the service of their country.«
    »Take care, Monkbarns! we shall set you down among the black-nebs by and
by.«
    »No, Sir Arthur - a tame grumbler I. I only claim the privilege of croaking
in my own corner here, without uniting my throat to the grand chorus of the
marsh - Ni quito Rey, ni pongo Rey - I neither make king nor mar king, as Sancho
says, but pray heartily for our own sovereign, pay scot and lot, and grumble at
the exciseman - But here comes the ewe-milk cheese in good time; it is a better
digestive than politics.«
    When dinner was over, and the decanters placed on the table, Mr. Oldbuck
proposed the King's health in a bumper, which was readily acceded to both by
Lovel and the Baronet, the Jacobitism of the latter being now a sort of
speculative opinion merely, - the shadow of a shade.
    After the ladies had left the apartment, the landlord and Sir Arthur entered
into several exquisite discussions, in which the younger guest, either on
account of the abstruse erudition which they involved, or for some other reason,
took but a slender share, till at length he was suddenly started out of a
profound reverie by an unexpected appeal to his judgment.
    »I will stand by what Mr. Lovel says; he was born in the north of England,
and may know the very spot.«
    Sir Arthur thought it unlikely that so young a gentleman should have paid
much attention to matters of that sort.
    »I am advised of the contrary,« said Oldbuck. »How say you, Mr. Lovel? -
speak up for your own credit, man.«
    Lovel was obliged to confess himself in the ridiculous situation of one
alike ignorant of the subject of conversation and controversy which had engaged
the company for an hour.
    »Lord help the lad, his head has been wool-gathering! - I thought how it
would be when the womankind were admitted - no getting a word of sense out of a
young fellow for six hours after. - Why, man, there was once a people called the
Piks« -
    »More properly Picts,« interrupted the Baronet.
    »I say the Pikar, Pihar, Piochtar, Piaghter, or Peughtar,« vociferated
Oldbuck; »they spoke a Gothic dialect« -
    »Genuine Celtic,« again asseverated the knight.
    »Gothic! Gothic! I'll go
