"Kess," roared the company.

_Chorus, led by Flucker._ "Hurraih!"

_Christie (pathetically)._ "Flucker, behave!"

_Sandy Liston (drunk)._ "Hur-raih!" He then solemnly reflected. "Na!

but it's na hurraih, decency requires amen first an' hurraih afterward; here's kissin plenty, but I hear nae word o' the minister. Ye'll obsairve, young woman, that kissin's the prologue to sin, and I'm a decent mon, an' a gray-headed mon, an' your licht stories are no for me; sae if the minister's no expeckit I shall retire--an' tak my quiet gill my lane."

_Jean Carnie._ "And div ye really think a decent c.u.mmer like Custy wad let the lad and la.s.s misbehave thirsels? Na! lad, the minister's at the door, but" (sinking her voice to a confidential whisper) "I daurna let him in, for fear he'd see ye hae putten the enemy in your mooth sae aerly. (That's Custy's word.)"

"Jemmy Drysel," replied Sandy, addressing vacancy, for Jemmy was mysteriously at work in the kitchen, "ye hae gotten a thoughtfu' wife."

(Then, with a strong revulsion of feeling.) "Dinna let the blackguard*

in here," cried he, "to spoil the young folk's sporrt."

* At present this is a spondee in England--a trochee in Scotland The p.r.o.nunciation of this important word ought to be fixed, representing, as it does, so large a portion of the community in both countries.

_Christie._ "Aweel, la.s.sies, comes a letter to Ba.s.sanio; he reads it, and turns as pale as deeth."

_A Fishwife._ "Gude help us."

_Christie._ "Poorsha behooved to ken his grief, wha had a better reicht?

'Here's a letter, leddy,' says he, 'the paper's the boedy of my freend, like, and every word in it a gaping wound.'"

_A Fisherman._ "Maircy on us."

_Christie._ "Lad, it was fra puir Antonio, ye mind o' him, La.s.ses. Hech!

the ill luck o' yon man, no a ship come hame; ane foundered at sea, coming fra Tri-po-lis; the pirates scuttled another, an' ane ran ash.o.r.e on the Goodwins, near Bright-helm-stane, that's in England itsel', I daur say. Sae he could na pay the three thoosand ducats, an' Shylock had grippit him, an' sought the pund o' flesh aff the breest o' him, puir body."

_Sandy Liston._ "He would na be the waur o' a wee bit hiding, yon thundering urang-utang; let the man alane, ye cursed old cannibal."

_Christie._ "Poorsha keepit her man but ae hoor till they were united, an' then sent him wi' a puckle o' her ain siller to Veeneece, and Antonio--think o' that, la.s.sies--pairted on their wedding-day."

_Lizzy Johnstone, a Fishwife, aged 12._ "Hech! hech! it's lamentable."

_Jean Carnie._ "I'm saying, mairriage is quick wark, in some pairts--here there's an awfu' trouble to get a man."

_A young Fishwife._ "Ay, is there."

_Omnes._ "Haw! haw! haw!" (The fish-wife hides.)

_Christie._ "Fill your taupsels, lads and la.s.ses, and awa to Veneece."

_Sandy Liston (st.u.r.dily)._ "I'll no gang to sea this day."

_Christie._ "Noo, we are in the hall o' judgment. Here are set the judges, awfu' to behold; there, on his throne, presides the Juke."

_Flucker._ "She's awa to her Ennglish."

_Lizzy Johnstone._ "Did we come to Veeneece to speak Scoetch, ye useless fule?"

_Christie._ "Here, pale and hopeless, but resigned, stands the broken mairchant, Antonio; there, wi scales and knives, and revenge in his murderin' eye, stands the crewel Jew Shylock."

"Aweel," muttered Sandy, considerately, "I'll no mak a disturbance on a wedding day."

_Christie._ "They wait for Bell--I dinna mind his mind--a laerned lawyer, ony way; he's sick, but sends ane mair laerned still, and, when this ane comes, he looks not older nor wiser than mysel."

_Flucker._ "No possible!"

_Christie._ "Ye needna be sae sarcy, Flucker, for when he comes to his wark he soon lets 'em ken--runs his een like lightening ower the boend.

'This bond's forfeit. Is Antonio not able to dischairge the money?'

'Ay!' cries Ba.s.sanio, 'here's the sum thrice told.' Says the young judge in a bit whisper to Shylock, 'Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee. Be mairceful,' says he, out loud. 'Wha'll mak me?' says the Jew body. 'Mak ye!' says he; 'maircy is no a thing ye strain through a sieve, mon; it droppeth like the gentle dew fra' heaven upon the place beneath; it blesses him that gives and him that taks; it becomes the king better than his throne, and airthly power is maist like G.o.d's power when maircy seasons justice.'"

_Robert Haw, Fisherman._ "Dinna speak like that to me, onybody, or I shall gie ye my boat, and fling my nets intil it, as ye sail awa wi'

her."

_Jean Carnie._ "Sae he let the puir deevil go. Oh! ye ken wha could stand up against siccan a shower o' Ennglish as thaat."

_Christie._ "He just said, 'My deeds upon my heed. I claim the law,'

says he; 'there is no power in the tongue o' man to alter me. I stay here on my boend.'"

_Sandy Liston._ "I hae sat quiet!--quiet I hae sat against my will, no to disturb Jamie Drysel's weddin'; but ye carry the game ower far, Shylock, my lad. I'll just give yon bluidy-minded urang-utang a hidin', and bring Tony off, the gude, puir-spirited creature. And him, an' me, an' Ba.s.sanee, an' Porshee, we'll all hae a gill thegither."

He rose, and was instantly seized by two of the company, from whom he burst furiously, after a struggle, and the next moment was heard to fall clean from the top to the bottom of the stairs. Flucker and Jean ran out; the rest appealed against the interruption.

_Christie._ "Hech! he's killed. Sandy Liston's brake his neck."

"What aboot it, la.s.sy?" said a young fisherman; "it's Antonio I'm feared for; save him, la.s.sy, if poessible; but I doot ye'll no get him clear o'

yon deevelich heathen.

"Auld Sandy's cheap sairved," added he, with all the indifference a human tone could convey.

"Oh, Cursty," said Lizzie Johnstone, with a peevish accent, "dinna break the bonny yarn for naething."

_Flucker (returning)._ "He's a' reicht."

_Christie._ "Is he no dead?"

_Flucker._ "Him deed? he's sober--that's a' the change I see."

_Christie._ "Can he speak? I'm asking ye."

_Flucker._ "Yes, he can speak."

_Christie._ "What does he say, puir body?"

_Flucker._ "He sat up, an' sought a gill fra' the wife--puir body!"

_Christie._ "Hech! hech! he was my pupil in the airt o'

sobriety!--aweel, the young judge rises to deliver the sentence of the coort. Silence!" thundered Christie. A lad and a la.s.s that were slightly flirting were discountenanced.