I repeat the little history now, as I have a hundred times
before, merely because I would wring some sense out of it. Turn,
then, thy sharp, wire-drawing, lawyer-like ingenuity to the same
task--make up my history as though thou wert shaping the
blundering allegations of some blue-bonneted, hard-headed client,
into a condescendence of facts and circumstances, and thou shalt
be, not my Apollo--QUID TIBI CUM LYRA?--but my Lord Stair,
[Celebrated as a Scottish lawyer.] Meanwhile, I have written
myself out of my melancholy and blue devils, merely by prosing
about them; so I will now converse half an hour with Roan Robin
in his stall--the rascal knows me already, and snickers whenever
I cross the threshold of the stable.

The black which you bestrode yesterday morning promises to be an
admirable roadster, and ambled as easily with Sam and the
portmanteau, as with you and your load of law-learning. Sam
promises to be steady, and has hitherto been so. No long trial,
you will say. He lays the blame of former inaccuracies on evil
company--the people who were at the livery-stable were too
seductive, I suppose--he denies he ever did the horse injustice--
would rather have wanted his own dinner, he says. In this I
believe him, as Roan Robin's ribs and coat show no marks of
contradiction. However, as he will meet with no saints in the
inns we frequent, and as oats are sometimes as speedily converted
into ale as John Barleycorn himself, I shall keep a look-out
after Master Sam. Stupid fellow! had he not abused my good
nature, I might have chatted to him to keep my tongue in
exercise; whereas now I must keep him at a distance.