"
"That will nto be in our days, Master: the iron has entered too deeply
into our sides and our souls."
"It will be, however, one day," replied the Master; "men will not always
start at these nicknames as at a trumpet-sound. As social life is better
protected, its comforts will become too dear to be hazarded without some
better reasons than speculative politics."
"It is fine talking," answered Bucklaw; "but my heart is with the old
song--
To see good corn upon the rigs,
And a gallow built to hang the Whigs,
And the right restored where the right should be.
Oh, that is the thing that would wanton me."
"You may sing as loudly as you will, cantabit vacuus----," answered the
Master; "but I believe the Marquis is too wise, at least too wary, to
join you in such a burden. I suspect he alludes to a revolution in the
Scottish privy council, rather than in the British kingdoms."
"Oh, confusion to your state tricks!" exclaimed Bucklaw--"your cold
calculating manoeuvres, which old gentlemen in wrought nightcaps
and furred gowns execute like so many games at chess, and displace a
treasurer or lord commissioner as they would take a rook or a pawn.
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