a prayer if you are so inclined--you call for a glass of wine, or a cup
of coffee--an iced cream--a dram--any thing you please, in fact, and
your desires are instantly complied with--you put the cup to the lip,
and just at that moment swap comes the whistling sabre.

_Shepherd_.--Preserve us! keep your hand to yoursell, Captain.

_Odoherty_.--Sweep he comes--the basket is ready, they put a clean
towel over it--pack off the cold meat to the hospital--scrub the
scaffold--take it to pieces--all within five minutes.

_Shepherd_.--That's capital. In fact a' these are civilized
exits--but oh! man, man, to think of a lion on the Burntsfield
Links--what would your gowfers say to that, Mr. Tickler?

_Tickler_.--A rum customer certainly.

_Shepherd_.--Oh! the een, the red, fiery, fixit, unwinkin' een, I
think I see them--and the laigh, deep, dour growl, like the purring o'
ten hundred cats--and the muckle white sharp teeth girnin' and
grundin'--and the lang rough tongue, and the yirnest slaver running
outour the chaps o' the brute--and the cauld shiver---minutes may
be--and than the loup like lightning, and your back-bane broken wi' a
thud, like a rotten rash--and then the creature begins to lick your face
wi' his tongue, and sniffle and snort over owre you, and now a snap at
your nose, and than a rive out o' your breast, and then a crunch at your
knee--and you're a' the time quite sensible, particularly sensible.

_Odoherty_.--Give him a dig in the muzzle, and he'll tip you the
_coup-de-grace_.