wane as it will,« Morton thought, as he
looked around him, »enough will be found to fill the places which chance renders
vacant; and, in the usual occupations and amusements of life, human beings will
succeed each other as leaves upon the same tree, with the same individual
difference and the same general resemblance.«
    After pausing a few minutes, Morton, whose experience had taught him the
readiest mode of securing attention, ordered a pint of claret, and, as the
smiling landlord appeared with the pewter measure foaming fresh from the tap
(for bottling wine was not then in fashion), he asked him to sit down and take a
share of the good cheer. This invitation was peculiarly acceptable to Niel
Blane, who, if he did not positively expect it from every guest not provided
with better company, yet received it from many, and was not a whit abashed or
surprised at the summons. He sat down along with his guest in a secluded nook
near the chimney; and while he received encouragement to drink by far the
greater share of the liquor before them, he entered at length, as a part of his
expected functions, upon the news of the country, - the births, deaths, and
marriages - the change of property - the downfall of old families, and the rise
of new. But politics, now the fertile source of eloquence, mine host did not
care to mingle in his theme; and it was only in answer to a question of Morton,
that he replied with an air of indifference, »Um! ay! we aye hae sodgers amang
us, mair or less. There's a wheen German horse down at Glasgow yonder; they ca'
their commander Wittybody, or some sic name, though he's as grave and grewsome
an auld Dutchman as e'er I saw.«
    »Wittenbold, perhaps?« said Morton; »an old man, with grey hair and short
black moustaches - speaks seldom?«
    »And smokes for ever,« replied Niel Blane. »I see your honour kens the man.
He may be a very gude man, too, for aucht I see, that is, considering he is a
sodger and a Dutchman; but if he were ten generals, and as mony Wittybodies, he
has nae skill in the pipes; he gar'd me stop in the middle of Torphichen's Rant,
the best piece o' music that ever bag gae wind to.«
    »But these fellows,« said Morton, glancing his eye towards the soldiers that
were in the apartment