Many, come up, sir, with your gentle blood!   Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blue doublet,
  That warms the heart as as if
  From the far source of old Assyrian kings.
  Who first made mankind subject to their sway.
                           Old Play.
The sounds to which we in our last, were no other than the tones of Richie Moniplies's voice.
 
This , like some other persons who rank high in their own opinion, was very apt, when he could have no other , to hold conversation with one who was sure to be a willing listener—I mean with himself. He was now brushing and arranging Lord Glenvarloch's clothes, with as much composure and quiet assiduity as if he had never been out of his service, and grumbling betwixt whiles to the following purpose:—“Hump—ay, time cloak and jerkin were through my hands—I question if horsehair has been passed over them since they and I last parted. The finely too—and the gold buttons of the cloak—By my conscience, and as I am an honest man, there is a round dozen of them gane! This comes of Alsatian frolics—God keep us with his grace, and not give us over to our own devices!—I see no sword—but that will be in respect of present circumstances.”
 
Nigel for some time could not help believing that he was still in a dream, so improbable did it seem that his domestic, whom he supposed to be in Scotland, should have found him out, and obtained access to him, in his present circumstances. Looking through the curtains, however, he became well assured of the fact, when he the stiff and bony length of Richie, with a visage charged with nearly double its ordinary degree of importance, employed in brushing his master's cloak, and himself with whistling or humming, from to interval, some snatch of an old Scottish ballad-tune. Although convinced of the identity of the party, Lord Glenvarloch could not help expressing his surprise in the question—“In the name of Heaven, Richie, is this you?”
 
“And wha else suld it be, my lord?” answered Richie; “I dreamna that your lordship's levee in this place is like to be attended by ony that are not bounded thereto by duty.”
 
“I am rather surprised,” answered Nigel, “that it should be attended by any one at all—especially by you, Richie; for you know that we parted, and I thought you had reached Scotland long since.”
 
“I your lordship's pardon, but we have not parted yet, nor are soon likely so to do; for there gang twa folk's votes to the unmaking of a bargain, as to the making of ane. Though it was your lordship's pleasure so to conduct yourself that we were like to have parted, yet it was not, on reflection, my will to be gone. To be plain, if your lordship does not when you have a good servant, I ken when I have a kind master; and to say truth, you will be easier served now than ever, for there is not much chance of your getting out of bounds.”
 
“I am indeed bound over to good behaviour,” said Lord Glenvarloch, with a smile; “but I hope you will not take advantage of my situation to be too severe on my , Richie?”
 
“God forbid, my lord—God forbid!” replied Richie, with an expression betwixt a consciousness of superior wisdom and real feeling—“especially in consideration of your lordship's having a due sense of them. I did indeed , as was my duty, but I scorn to cast that up to your lordship now—Na, na, I am myself an creature—very conscious of some small weaknesses—there is no perfection in man.”
 
“But, Richie,” said Lord Glenvarloch, “although I am much obliged to you for your service, it can be of little use to me here, and may be of prejudice to yourself.”
 
“Your lordship shall pardon me again,” said Richie, whom the relative situation of the parties had invested with ten times his ordinary dogmatism; “but as I will manage the matter, your lordship shall be greatly benefited by my service, and I myself no prejudiced.”
 
“I see not how that can be, my friend,” said Lord Glenvarloch, “since even as to your affairs—”
 
“Touching my pecuniars, my lord,” replied Richie, “I am indifferently weel provided; and, as it chances, my living here will be no burden to your lordship, or to myself. Only I crave permission to certain conditions to my servitude with your lordship.”
 
“Annex what you will,” said Lord Glenvarloch, “for you are pretty sure to take your own way, whether you make any conditions or not. Since you will not leave me, which were, I think, your wisest course, you must, and I suppose will, serve me only on such terms as you like yourself.”
 
“All that I ask, my lord,” said Richie, gravely, and with a tone of great moderation, “is to have the uninterrupted command of my own motions, for certain important purposes which I have now in hand, always giving your lordship the of my company and attendance, at such times as may be at once convenient for me, and necessary for your service.”
 
“Of which, I suppose, you constitute yourself sole judge,” replied Nigel, smiling.
 
“Unquestionably, my lord,” answered Richie, gravely; “for your lordship can only know what yourself want; whereas I, who see both sides of the picture, ken both what is the best for your affairs, and what is the most needful for my own.”
 
“Richie, my good friend,” said Nigel, “I fear this arrangement, which places the master much under the disposal of the servant, would scarce suit us if we were both at large; but a prisoner as I am, I may be as well at your disposal as I am at that of so many other persons; and so you may come and go as you list, for I suppose you will not take my advice, to return to your own country, and leave me to my fate.”
 
“The deil be in my feet if I do,” said Moniplies,—“I am not the lad to leave your lordship in weather, when I followed you and fed upon you through the whole summer day, And besides, there may be brave days behind, for a' that has come and gane yet; for
 
“It's hame, and it's hame, and it's hame we fain would be, Though the cloud is in the lift, and the wind is on the lea; For the sun through the mirk blinks on mine ee, Says,—'I'll shine on ye yet in our ain country!”
 
Having sung this in the manner of a ballad-singer, whose voice has been cracked by matching his windpipe against the of the north blast, Richie Moniplies aided Lord Glenvarloch to rise, attended his toilet with every possible mark of the most solemn and respect, then waited upon him at breakfast, and finally withdrew, pleading that he had business of importance, which would detain him for some hours.
 
Although Lord Glenvarloch necessarily expected to be occasionally annoyed by the self- and dogmatism of Richie Moniplies's character, yet he could not but feel the greatest pleasure from the firm and which this faithful had displayed in the present instance, and indeed promised himself an of the of his , in having the advantage of his services. It was, therefore, with pleasure that he learned from the warder, that his servant's attendance would be allowed at all times when the general rules of the permitted the entrance of strangers.
 
In the meanwhile, the magnanimous Richie Moniplies had already reached Tower . Here, after looking with contempt on several scullers by whom he was , and whose services he rejected with a wave of his hand, he called with dignity, “First !” and stirred into activity several lounging Tritons of the higher order, who had not, on his first appearance, thought it worth while to him with of service. He now took possession of a wherry, folded his arms within his ample cloak, and sitting down in the stern with an air of importance, commanded them to row to Whitehall Stairs. Having reached the Palace in safety, he demanded to see Master Linklater, the under-clerk of his 's kitchen. The reply was, that he was not to be spoken withal, being then employed in cooking a mess of cock-a-leekie for the king's own mouth.
 
“Tell him,” said Moniplies, “that it is a dear countryman of his, who seeks to with him on matter of high import.”
 
“A dear countryman?” said Linklater, when this pressing message was delivered to him. “Well, let him come in and be d—d, that I should say sae! This now is some red-headed, long-legged, gillie-white-foot frae the West Port, that, hearing of my , is come up to be a turn-broche, or deputy scullion, through my interest. It is a great hinderance to any man who would rise in the world, to have such friends to hang by his skirts, in hope of being towed up along with him.—Ha! Richie Moniplies, man, is it thou? And what has brought ye here? If they should ken thee for the that scared the horse the other day!—”
 
“No more o' that, neighbour,” said Richie,—“I am just here on the errand—I maun speak with the king.”
 
“The king? Ye are red wud,” said Linklater; then shouted to his assistant in the kitchen, “Look to the broches, ye —pisces purga—Salsamenta fac macerentur pulchre—I will make you understand Latin, ye knaves, as becomes the scullions of King James.” Then in a cautious tone, to Richie's private ear, he continued, “Know ye not how ill your master came off the other day?—I can tell you that job made some folk shake for their office.”
 
“Weel, but, Laurie, ye maun befriend me this time, and get this wee bit sifflication slipped into his Majesty's ain most gracious hand. I promise you the contents will be most grateful to him.”
 
“Richie,” answered Linklater, “you have certainly sworn to say your prayers in the porter's , with your back bare; and twa , with dog-whips, to cry amen to you.”
 
“Na, na, Laurie, lad,” said Richie, “I ken better what belangs to sifflications than I did yon day; and ye will say that yoursell, if ye will but get that bit note to the king's hand.”
 
“I will have neither hand nor foot in the matter,” said the cautious Clerk of the Kitchen; “but there is his Majesty's mess of cock-a-leekie just going to be served to him in his closet—I cannot prevent you from putting the letter between the bowl and the platter; his sacred Majesty will see it when he lifts the bowl, for he aye drinks out the .”
 
“Enough said,” replied Richie, and deposited the paper accordingly, just before a page entered to carry away the mess to his Majesty.
 
“Aweel, aweel, neighbour,” said Laurence, when the mess was taken away, “if ye have done ony thing to bring yoursell to the withy, or the post, it is your ain deed.”
 
“I will blame no other for it,” said Richie; and with that undismayed of conceit, which made a fundamental part of his character, he the issue, which was not long of arriving.
 
In a few minutes Maxwell himself arrived in the apartment, and demanded hastily who had placed a writing on the king's trencher, Linklater denied all knowledge of it; but Richie Moniplies, stepping boldly , pronounced the emphatical , “I am the man.”
 
“Follow me, then,” said Maxwell, after regarding him with a look of great curiosity.
 
They went up a private staircase,—even that private staircase, the privilege of which at Court is accounted a nearer road to power than the grandes themselves. Arriving in what Richie described as an “ill redd-up” ante-room, the made a sign to him to stop, while he went into the king's closet. Their conference was short, and as Maxwell opened the door to retire, Richie heard the conclusion of it.
 
“Ye are sure he is not dangerous?—I was caught once.—Bide within call, but not nearer the door than within three geometrical cubits. If I speak loud, start to me like a falcon—If I speak loun, keep your lang out of ear-shot—and now let him come in.”
 
Richie passed forward at Maxwell's mute signal, and in a moment found himself in the presence of the king. Most men of Richie's birth and breeding, and many others, would have been at finding themselves alone with their Sovereign. But Richie Moniplies had an opinion of himself too high to be controlled by any such ideas; and having made his stiff , he arose once more into his height, and stood before James as stiff as a hedge-stake.
 
“Have ye gotten them, man? have ye gotten them?” said the king, in a fluttered state, betwixt hope and eagerness, and some touch of suspicious fear. “Gie me them—gie me them—before ye speak a word, I charge you, on your allegiance.”
 
Richie took a box from his , and, stooping on one knee, presented it to his Majesty, who hastily opened it, and having that it contained a certain carcanet of , with which the reader was made acquainted, he could not resist falling into a sort of , kissing the , as if they had been capable of feeling, and repeating again and again with childish delight, “Onyx cum prole, silexque—-Onyx cum prole! Ah, my bright and bonny sparklers, my heart loups light to see you again.” He then turned to Richie, upon whose stoical his Majesty's demeanour had excited something like a grim smile, which James interrupted his rejoicing to , saying, “Take , sir, you are not to laugh at us—we are your anointed Sovereign.”
 
“God forbid that I should laugh!” said Richie, composing his countenance into its natural . “I did but smile, to bring my visage into coincidence and with your Majesty's physiognomy.”
 
“Ye speak as a dutiful subject, and an honest man,” said the king; “but what deil's your name, man?”
 
“Even Richie Moniplies, the son of auld Mungo Moniplies, at the West Port of Edinburgh, who had the honour to supply your Majesty's mother's royal table, as weel as your Majesty's, with flesh and other vivers, when time was.”
 
“Aha!” said the king, laughing,—for he , as a useful attribute of his situation, a memory, which every one with whom he was brought into casual contact,—“Ye are the self-same who had weelnigh coupit us endlang on the causey of our ain courtyard? but we stuck by our . Equam in arduis servare. Weel, be not dismayed, Richie; for, as many men have turned , it is but fair that a traitor, now and then, suld prove to be, contra expectanda, a true man. How cam ye by our jewels, man?—cam ye on the part of George Heriot?”
 
“In no sort,” said Richie. “May it please your Majesty, I come as Wynd fought, for my own hand, and on no man's errand; as, indeed, I call no one master, save Him that made me, your most gracious Majesty who governs me, and the noble Nigel Olifaunt, Lord of Glenvarloch, who maintained me as lang as he could maintain himself, poor nobleman!”
 
“Glenvarlochides again!” exclaimed the king; “by my honour, he lies in for us at every corner!—Maxwell knocks at the door. It is George Heriot come to tell us he cannot find these jewels.—Get thee behind the arras, Richie—stand close, man—sneeze not—cough not—breathe not!— Geordie is so damn............