in our sleep, as one that was wandering night and day blindfold, down the long, dark, lampless avenue of destruction, and destined never more to visit Dalkeith again, except with a wooden stump and a brass virl, or to have his head blown off his shoulders, mast high, like ingan peelings, with some exploding earthquake of combustible gunpowder.—Call in the laddie, I say, and see what he would like to be himsell.”
Nanse ran but the house, and straightway brought Benjie, who was playing at the bools, ben by the lug and horn. I had got a glass, so my spirit was up. “Stand there,” I said; “Benjie, look me in the face, and tell me what trade ye would like to be.”
“Trade?” answered Benjie; “I would like to be a gentleman.”
Dog on it, it was more than I could thole, and I saw that his mother had spoiled him; so, though I aye liked to give him wholesome reproof rather than lift my fist, I broke through this rule in a couple of hurries, and gave him such a yerk in the cheek with the loof of my hand, as made, I am sure, his lugs ring, and sent him dozing to the door like a peerie.
“Ye see that,” said I, as the laddie went ben the house whingeing; “ye see what a kettle of fish ye have made o’t?”
“Weel, weel,” answered Nanse, a wee startled by my strong, decisive way of managing, “ye ken best, and, I fancy, maun tak’ the matter your ain way. But
ye can have no earthly objection to making him a lawyer’s advocatt?”
“I wad see him hanged first,” answered I. “What! do you imagine I would set a son of mine to be a sherry-offisher, ganging about rampauging through the country, taking up fiefs and robbers, and suspicious characters, with wauf looks and waur claes; exposed to all manner of evil communication from bad company, in the way of business; and rouping out puir creatures that cannot find wherewithal to pay their lawful debts, at the Cross, by warrant of the Sherry, with an auld chair in ae hand and a eevery hammer in the ither? Siccan a sight wad be the death o’ me.”
“What think ye then of the preaching line?” asked Nanse.
“The preaching line!” quo’ I—“No, no, that’ll never do. Not that I want respect for ministers, who are the servants of the Most High; but the truth is, that unless ye have great friends and patronage of the like of the Duke down by, or Marquis of Lothian up by, or suchlike, ye may preach yoursell as hoarse as a corbie, from June to January, before onybody will say, ‘Hae, puir man, there’s a kirk.’ And if no kirk casts up—which is more nor likely—what can a young probationer turn his hand to? He had learned no trade, so he can neither work nor want. He daurna dig nor delve, even, though he were able, or he would be hauled by the cuff of the neck before his betters in the General Assembly,