There was a waggish twinkle in Clifford’s eye, as he left the room with Mr. Macpherson. They were not long gone, and when they did return, our young friend appeared leading in the Dominie, clad in a short-gown, and a blue flannel petticoat, both belonging to our hostess. The Scottish garment called the short-gown, is a sort of loose jacket, covering one half the person only, and when tied tight round the waist, it is admirably calculated to show off the mould of a handsome woman to the best advantage. On the present occasion, it was with some difficulty confined round the bulky Dominie, by a red cotton handkerchief, so as fully to display his shape; and as the petticoat reached but a little way below his knees, it exhibited the full proportions of his Herculean legs, enlarged as they were by a pair of the thickest grey worsted hose, and brogues of enormous size, accidentally left there by a Highland drover. Over his head was placed one of Mrs. Shaw’s tartan shawls, which Clifford had recommended to be tied under his chin, as a precaution against toothache, to which he declared himself to be frequently a martyr. Such a woman, as the Dominie appeared to make, is never to be seen on the face of this earth, except in some exaggerated specimen of those marine, or rather amphibious animals, to be found on the sea-coasts of Britain, and which are called bathing women. We were all so much taken by surprise with his appearance, that to control our laughter was a matter of utter impossibility.
Clifford.—Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the great Princess Rustifusti.
Dominie—(striding in like a Grenadier.)—Truly, gentlemen, I am ashamed to appear among you in this unbecoming disguise. But my worthy and kind friend Mr. Clifford is so careful of me—mercy on me, what would my boys say if they beheld me?
Grant.—They would be astonished, no doubt, Mr. Macpherson. But come, sit down—here is something comfortable for you to eat. I am sure you must require food by this time.
Dominie.—I must honestly confess to you that I am downright ravenous.
Clifford.—Nay, now, do not disgrace the delicate feminine character which you are at present supporting, by eating like a masculine creature.
Dominie.—Masculine, feminine, or neuter, I am so famished, that I must eat liker, I fear, unto a male wolf, than a delicate leddy, such as fortune has this night forced me to represent.
Clifford.—Nay, then, if that be your way, I must cease to be your chaperon. So do you take charge of your own delicate self, and go on, if you must do so, to disgrace the lovely sex to which you now belong, by your immoderate eating and drinking, whilst I call upon Serjeant Archy Stewart to proceed with his narrative.