narration with "Wrang now--clean wrang--to draw a sword on your kinsman
is inhibited by the laws o' God and man; and to draw a sword on the
streets of a royal burgh is punishable by fine and imprisonment--and the
College-yards are nae better privileged--they should be a place of peace
and quietness, I trow. The College didna get gude L600 a year out o'
bishops' rents (sorrow fa' the brood o' bishops and their rents too!),
nor yet a lease o' the archbishopric o' Glasgow the sell o't, that they
suld let folk tuilzie in their yards, or the wild callants bicker there
wi' snaw-ba's as they whiles do, that when Mattie and I gae through, we
are fain to make a baik and a bow, or run the risk o' our harns being
knocked out--it suld be looked to.*--But come awa'wi' your tale--what
fell neist?"

* The boys in Scotland used formerly to make a sort of Saturnalia in a
snow-storm, by pelting passengers with snowballs. But those exposed to
that annoyance were excused from it on the easy penalty of a baik
(courtesy) from a female, or a bow from a man. It was only the refractory
who underwent the storm.

On my mentioning the appearance of Mr. Campbell, Jarvie arose in great
surprise, and paced the room, exclaiming, "Robin again!--Robert's
mad--clean wud, and waur--Rob will be hanged, and disgrace a' his
kindred, and that will be seen and heard tell o'. My father the deacon
wrought him his first hose--Od, I am thinking Deacon Threeplie, the
rape-spinner, will be twisting his last cravat. Ay, ay, puir Robin is in
a fair way o' being hanged--But come awa', come awa'--let's hear the
lave o't."

I told the whole story as pointedly as I could; but Mr. Jarvie still
found something lacking to make it clear, until I went back, though with