It was brought; and now the Demon of Politics envied even the harmony arising from this Dutch concert, merely because there was not a wrathful note in the strange compound of sounds which it produced.

Inspired by her, the Laird of Balmawhapple, now superior to the nods and winks with which the Baron of Bradwardine, in delicacy to Edward, had hitherto checked his entering upon political discussion, demanded a bumper, with the lungs of a Stentor, 'to the little gentleman in black velvet who did such service in 1702, and may the white horse break his neck over a mound of his making!' Edward was not at that moment clear-headed enough to remember that King William's fall, which occasioned his death, was said to be owing to his horse stumbling at a mole-hill; yet felt inclined to take umbrage at a toast which seemed, from the glance of Balmawhapple's eye, to have a peculiar and uncivil reference to the Government which he served.

But, ere he could interfere, the Baron of Bradwardine had taken up the quarrel.

'Sir,' he said, 'whatever my sentiments tanquam privatus may be in such matters, I shall not tamely endure your saying anything that may impinge upon the honourable feelings of a gentleman under my roof.

Sir, if you have no respect for the laws of urbanity, do ye not respect the military oath, the sacramentum militare, by which every officer is bound to the standards under which he is enrolled?
Look at Titus Livius, what he says of those Roman soldiers who were so unhappy as exuere sacramentum, to renounce their legionary oath; but you are ignorant, sir, alike of ancient history and modern courtesy.' 'Not so ignorant as ye would pronounce me,' roared Balmawhapple.