"It be a marvel to think on how much a man does in the way of cheating,
as has the gift of the gab. Wants a Missis, talks her over--wants your
purse, talks you out on it--wants a place, talks himself into it.--What
makes the Parson? words!--the lawyer? words--the Parliament-man? words!--
words can ruin a country, in the Big House--words save souls, in the
Pulpits--words make even them ere authors, poor creturs, in every man's
mouth.--Augh! Sir, take note of the words, and the things will take care
of themselves--bother!"

"Your reflections amaze me, Bunting," said Walter smiling; "but the night
begins to close in; I trust we shall not meet with any misadventure."

"'Tis an ugsome bit of road!" said the Corporal, looking round him.

"The pistols?"

"Primed and loaded, your honour."

"After all, Bunting, a little skirmish would be no bad sport--eh?--
especially to an old soldier like you."

"Augh, baugh! 'tis no pleasant work, fighting, without pay, at least;
'tis not like love and eating, your honour, the better for being, what
they calls, 'gratis!'"

"Yet I have heard you talk of the pleasure of fighting; not for pay,
Bunting, but for your King and Country!"

"Augh! and that's when I wanted to cheat the poor creturs at Grassdale,
your honour; don't take the liberty to talk stuff to my master!"