"Pick out any dozen Scotchmen, and I'll find you a dozen Londoners who will fight them, or deal with them till they'd be glad to get over the borders again.

As for the Devon and Cornish lads, find me a Scotchman who will put me on my back, and I'll write you a cheque for a hundred pounds, my boy.

We English opened the trade of the world to your little two millions and a-half up in the north there; and you, being pretty well starved out at home, have had the shrewdness to take advantage of it; and now, by Jove, you try to speak small of the bridge that carried you over.

What did you do towards licking the Spaniards; eh?
And where would you be now, if they had not been licked in 1588, eh?
Not in Australia, my boy! A Frenchman is conceited enough, but, by George, he can't hold a candle to a Scotchman." Tom spoke in a regular passion; but there was some truth in what he said, I think.

Burnside didn't like it, and merely saying, "You interrupt me, sir," went on to his third volume without a struggle.
"You are aware, ladies, that there has been a gang of bushrangers out to the north, headed by a miscreant, whom his companions call Touan, but whose real name is a mystery." Mrs.Buckley said, "Yes;" and Tom glanced at Mary.