—See, then, Lovel—See—
See that huge battle moving from the mountains!
Their gilt coats shine like dragon scales;—their march
Like a rough tumbling storm.—See them, and view them,
And then see Rome no more!—
Yes, my dear friend, from this stance it is probable—nay, it is nearly certain, that Julius Agricola beheld what our Beaumont has so admirably described!—From this very Praetorium"—
A voice from behind interrupted his ecstatic description—"Praetorian here, Praetorian there, I mind the bigging o't."
Both at once turned round, Lovel with surprise, and Oldbuck with mingled surprise and indignation, at so uncivil an interruption. An auditor had stolen upon them, unseen and unheard, amid the energy of the Antiquary's enthusiastic declamation, and the attentive civility of Lovel. He had the exterior appearance of a mendicant. A slouched hat of huge dimensions; a long white beard which mingled with his grizzled hair; an aged but strongly marked and expressive countenance, hardened, by climate and exposure, to a right brick-dust complexion; a long blue gown, with a pewter badge on the right arm; two or three wallets, or bags, slung across his shoulder, for holding the different kinds of meal, when he received his charity in kind from those who were but a degree richer than himself:—all these marked at once a beggar by profession, and one of that privileged class which are called in Scotland the King's Bedesmen, or, vulgarly, Blue-Gowns.
"What is that you say, Edie?" said Oldbuck, hoping, perhaps, that his ears had betrayed their duty—"what were you speaking about!"
"About this bit bourock, your honour," answered the undaunted Edie; "I mind the bigging o't."
"The devil you do! Why, you old fool, it was here before you were born, and will be after you are hanged, man!"
"Hanged or drowned, here or awa, dead or alive, I mind the bigging o't."
"You—you—you—," said the Antiquary, stammering between confusion and anger, "you strolling old vagabond, what the devil do you know about it?"
"Ou, I ken this about it, Monkbarns—and what profit have I for telling ye a lie?—l just ken this about it, that about twenty years syne, I, and a wheen hallenshakers like mysell, and the mason-lads that built the lang dike that gaes down the loaning, and twa or three herds maybe, just set to wark, and built this bit thing here that ye ca' the—the—Praetorian, and a' just for a bield at auld Aiken Drum's bridal, and a bit blithe gae-down wi' had in't, some sair rainy weather. Mair by token, Monkbarns, if ye howk up the bourock, as ye seem to have began, yell find, if ye hae not fund it already, a stane that ane o' the mason-callants cut a ladle on to have a bourd at the bridegroom, and he put four letters on't, that's A. D. L. L.—Aiken Drum's Lang Ladle—for Aiken was ane o' the kale-suppers o' Fife."