Chapter 18

Full of wise saws and modern instances.
As You Like It.

"I wish to Heaven, Hector," said the Antiquary, next morning after
breakfast, "you would spare our nerves, and not be keeping snapping that
arquebuss of yours."

"Well, sir, I'm sure I'm sorry to disturb you," said his nephew, still
handling his fowling-piece;--"but it's a capital gun--it's a Joe Manton,
that cost forty guineas."

"A fool and his money are soon parted, nephew--there is a Joe Miller for
your Joe Manton," answered the Antiquary; "I am glad you have so many
guineas to throw away."

"Every one has their fancy, uncle,--you are fond of books."

"Ay, Hector," said the uncle, "and if my collection were yours, you would
make it fly to the gunsmith, the horse-market, the dog-breaker,--
_Coemptos undique nobiles libros--mutare loricis Iberis._"

"I could not use your books, my dear uncle," said the young soldier,
"that's true; and you will do well to provide for their being in better
hands. But don't let the faults of my head fall on my heart--I would not
part with a Cordery that belonged to an old friend, to get a set of
horses like Lord Glenallan's."

"I don't think you would, lad--I don't think you would," said his
softening relative. "I love to tease you a little sometimes; it keeps up
the spirit of discipline and habit of subordination--You will pass your
time happily here having me to command you, instead of Captain, or
Colonel, or Knight in Arms,' as Milton has it; and instead of the
French," he continued, relapsing into his ironical humour, "you have the
_Gens humida ponti_--for, as Virgil says,

Sternunt se somno diversae in littore phocae;

which might be rendered,

Here phocae slumber on the beach,
Within our Highland Hector's reach.

Nay, if you grow angry, I have done. Besides, I see old Edie in the
court-yard, with whom I have business. Good-bye, Hector--Do you remember
how she splashed into the sea like her master Proteus, _et se jactu dedit
aequor in altum_?"

M'Intyre,--waiting, however, till the door was shut,--then gave way to
the natural impatience of his temper.

"My uncle is the best man in the world, and in his way the kindest; but
rather than hear any more about that cursed _phoca,_ as he is pleased to
call it, I would exchange for the West Indies, and never see his face
again."

Miss M'Intyre, gratefully attached to her uncle, and passionately fond of
her brother, was, on such occasions, the usual envoy of reconciliation.
She hastened to meet her uncle on his return, before he entered the