his ears, and endeavor to tease him into a frolic. The old dog would
keep on for a long time with imperturbable solemnity, now and then
seeming to rebuke the wantonness of his young companions. At length he
would make a sudden turn, seize one of them, and tumble him in the
dust; then giving a glance at us, as much as to say, "You see,
gentlemen, I can't help giving way to this nonsense," would resume his
gravity and jog on as before.

Scott amused himself with these peculiarities. "I make no doubt," said
he, "when Maida is alone with these young dogs, he throw's gravity
aside, and plays the boy as much as any of them; but he is ashamed to
do so in our company, and seems to say, 'Ha' done with your nonsense,
youngsters: what will the laird and that other gentleman think of me if
I give way to such foolery?'"

Maida reminded him, he said, of a scene on board an armed yacht in
which he made an excursion with his friend Adam Ferguson. They had
taken much notice of the boatswain, who was a fine sturdy seaman, and
evidently felt flattered by their attention. On one occasion the crew
were "piped to fun," and the sailors were dancing and cutting all kinds
of capers to the music of the ship's band. The boatswain looked on with
a wistful eye, as if he would like to join in; but a glance at Scott
and Ferguson showed that there was a struggle with his dignity, fearing
to lessen himself in their eyes. At length one at his messmates came
up, and seizing him by the arm, challenged him to a jig. The boatswain,
continued Scott, after a little hesitation complied, made an awkward
gambol or two, like our friend Maida, but soon gave it up. "It's of no
use," said he, jerking up his waistband and giving a side glance at us,
"one can't dance always nouther."