Summary

Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland…

I see, by the very mouths thou makest, thy throat is as dry as a dander, and, by and by, may set fire to my red liquor. Ha! I love a jolly gossip for a tosspot; for she gives more speech, and takes more liquor, than your 'breeked' steers that drink down the words, and drown them in the throat. Nothing drowns a woman's speech. It strengthens and improves in ale or whisky as if it were its natural element. Come open thy word-mill, Kate, and pour in the red grist, lass."
"The soopleness o' his tongue has been long kent," whispered Kitty to Meg Johnston.
Source: Gutenberg

Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland…

For spearing a salmon or a Southron, dissolving that old foolish tenure between a proprietor and his cattle, or cutting the tie of forced duty between a rich old Mayor and his daughter, where shall the bastard of Hume be equalled on the Borders? My fair Bell, thou wouldst spring with the elasticity of this bent blade, and dance like these moonbeams in the Tweed, if thou wert in the knowledge of this thought that now tickles the wild fancy of thy lover, whom thou equallest in all that belongest to the gay heart and the bounding spirit.
Source: Gutenberg

Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland…

Will Pearson was unable to speak a single syllable; and the flask that had been filled for him stood upon the table untouched. He sat with his eyes fixed upon the stranger, and his skin as pale as a corpse. Betty was in the same state of immovable terror. Every word that fell from his lips was a death-knell—every drop of his red drink was as much liquid fire—and every look was a flame.
"Why won't drink, Will Pearson, mine good old crony?" said he again, with the same boisterous manner. "What grieves thee, man? and Betty too?—what loss hast thou sustained? Cuffed by fortune?
Source: Gutenberg

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