“More properly Picts,” interrupted the Baronet.
“I say the Pikar, Pihar, Piochtar, Piaghter, or Peughtar,” vociferated Oldbuck; “they spoke a Gothic dialect”—
“Genuine Celtic,” again asseverated the knight.
“Gothic! Gothic! I’ll go to death upon it!” counter-asseverated the squire.
“Why, gentlemen,” sad Lovel, “I conceive that is a dispute which may be easily settled by philologists, if there are any remains of the language.”
“There is but one word,” said the Baronet, “but, in spite of Mr. Oldbuck’s pertinacity, it is decisive of the question.”
“Yes, in my favour,” said Oldbuck: “Mr. Lovel, you shall be judge—I have the learned Pinkerton on my side.”
“I, on mine, the indefatigable and erudite Chalmers.”
“Gordon comes into my opinion.”
“Sir Robert Sibbald holds mine.”