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 your honour, to distinguish us by a visitation."—

"De'il's in the wife and nae gude!" whispered Cuddie to his mother; "an ye come out wi' your whiggery they'll no daur open a door to us through the haill country!" Then aloud and addressing Morton, "My mother's auld, stir, and she has rather forgotten hersel in speaking to my leddy, that canna weel bide to be contradicted, (as I ken naebody likes it if they could help themsels,) especially by her ain folk,—and Mr Harrison the steward, and Gudyill the butler, they're no very fond o' us, and it's ill sitting at Rome and striving wi' the Pope, sae I thought it best to flit before ill came to waur—and here's a wee bit line to your honour frae a friend will maybe say some mair about it."

Morton took the billet, and crimsoning up to the ears, between joy and surprise, read these words, "If you can serve