we find in the various
transmutations of Burgh, Burrow, Brough, Bruff, Buff, and Boff, which last
approaches very near the sound in question - since, supposing the word to have
been originally borgh, which is the genuine Saxon spelling, a slight change,
such as modern organs too often make upon ancient sounds, will produce first
Bogh, and then, elisa H, or compromising and sinking the guttural, agreeable to
the common vernacular practice, you have either Boff or Bog as it happens. The
word Quickens requires in like manner to be altered, - decomposed, as it were, -
and reduced to its original and genuine sound, ere we can discern its real
meaning. By the ordinary exchange of the Qu into Wh, familiar to the rudest tyro
who has opened a book of old Scottish poetry, we gain either Whilkens, or
Whichensborgh - put we may suppose, by way of question, as if those who imposed
the name, struck with the extreme antiquity of the place, had expressed in it an
interrogation, To whom did this fortress belong? - Or, it might be
Whackens-burgh, from the Saxon Whacken, to strike with the hand, as doubtless
the skirmishes near a place of such apparent consequence must have legitimated
such a derivation,« etc. etc. etc.
    I will be more merciful to my readers than Oldbuck was to his guest; for,
considering his opportunities of gaining patient attention from a person of such
consequence as Lord Glenallan were not many, he used, or rather abused, the
present to the uttermost.
 

                              Chapter Thirty-sixth

 Crabbed age and youth
 Cannot live together: -
 Youth is full of pleasance,
 Age is full of care;
 Youth like summer morn,
 Age like winter weather;
 Youth like summer brave,
 Age like winter bare.
                                                                     Shakespeare
 
In the morning of the following day, the Antiquary, who was something of a
sluggard, was summoned from his bed a full hour earlier than his custom by
Caxon. »What's the matter now?« he exclaimed, yawning and stretching forth his
hand to the huge gold repeater, which, bedded upon his India silk handkerchief,
was laid safe by his pillow - »what's the matter now, Caxon? - it can't be eight
o'clock yet.«
    »Na, sir, - but my lord's man sought me out, for he fancies me your honour's
valley-de-sham, - and sae I am, there's nae doubt o't, baith your honour's and
the minister'