"But see, now," pondered Christie, "twa words fra a king--thir titles are
just breeth."

"Of course," was the answer. "All titles are. What is popularity? ask
Aristides and Lamartine--the breath of a mob--smells of its source--and
is gone before the sun can set on it. Now the royal breath does smell of
the Rose and Crown, and stays by us from age to age."

The story had warmed our marble acquaintance. Saunders opened his eyes,
and thought, "We shall wake up the House of Lords some evening--_we_
shall."

His lordship then added, less warmly, looking at the girls:

"I think I should like to be a fisherman."

So saying, my lord yawned slightly.

To this aspiration the young fishwives deigned no attention, doubting,
perhaps, its sincerity; and Christie, with a shade of severity, inquired
of him how he came to be a vile count.

"A baron's no' a vile count, I'm sure," said she; "sae tell me how ye
came to be a vile count."

"Ah!" said he, "that is by no means a pretty story like the other; you
will not like it, I am sure.

"Ay, will I--ay, will I; I'm aye seeking knoewledge."