THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 \ 
 
 /' 
 
 X,
 
 LAYS AND LETTERS FROM LINTON.
 
 EAST LOTHIAN 
 
 A THREE-FOLD PICTURE— MOORLAND PLAIN AND SEA— 
 
 Behold OH I Luthiun, Ihttn'd .so matclilesdy ; 
 Her rocl-y Isles arid castellated shore — 
 Tlie blue, waves fondliny them for evermore! 
 The ivlilte-ivuii/d s]iips the sea-world couriers given, 
 Circling around her likv the birds of heaven ; 
 Her heathy moors, a tvaviiig background grand — 
 Dark forests rolling to Iter happij strand ! 
 Soft-contoiir d liills npspringiiig from Jie.r breast. 
 Where labour struggles and is lulVd to rest, 
 Crystalline streams sweet-habbling thro' her vales, 
 Like wandering maidens singing true love tales — 
 Her fields, her plains, and — smoking far and jiear, 
 Herfreemoi's peasant homes — to peace and virtue dear.! 
 
 S. M.
 
 LAYS AND LETTERS 
 
 FROM 
 
 LINTON. 
 
 By SAMUEL MUCKLEBACKET 
 
 (JAMES LUMSDEN). 
 
 AuiJwr of ^'' Rural Rhymes," ^'Country Clir 01 deles," tfec. 
 
 HADDINGTON; 
 
 WILLIAM SINCLAIR, 63 MARKET STREET. 
 
 Edinuuuuh : Joii.n Mknzies & Co.
 
 
 TO 
 
 JAMES WATT, Esquire, 
 
 PROVOST OF HADDINGTO N — 
 
 THE 
 
 author's NATIVE TOWN — 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH 
 
 MOST GRATEFUL FEELINGS, 
 
 FOR 
 
 ADVICE AND GREAT KINDNESS RECEIVED 
 
 FROM HIM. 
 
 S37763
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 The little town of East Linton is finely situated in the valley of 
 the Tyne, midway betwixt the western and eastern extremities 
 of East Lothian, and about three and a half miles distant from 
 the nearest point of its north-eastern sea-board. The southern 
 portion of the town is divided from the other and larger part by 
 the East Coast Line of the North British Railway ; and it is 
 distant from Edinbm-gh 23, Glasgow 70, Berwick-on-Tweed 34, 
 and London 372 miles, by rail. " Linton " — as its general and 
 homely name is in East Lothian — has been a " Police Burgh " 
 for many years, for it was one of the very earliest of the " wee 
 toons" of Scotland which adopted the Lindsay Act. Con- 
 sec^uently its municipal, and some other affairs are administered 
 (and administered masterfully, too) by a full quorum of nine 
 able-bodied, (and not too conspicuously consequential) Commis- 
 sioners. This fine municipal body, when in full array, consists of 
 the following indispensable members, namely, a Chief Magistrate 
 (locally and fondly, " the Provost "), two senior Commissioners 
 (the " Bailies "), a Town Clerk, a Treasurer, and three or four 
 ordinary Commissioners, who are not in the cabinet. On the 
 second Tuesday evening of every month these "most potent, 
 "rave, and I'everend " gentlemen— or some of them — meet for the 
 enactment of their occasionally very arduous public duties in the 
 Free Church Hall — a conniiodious room enough, and fortunately, 
 and appropiately, situated immediately under our highly-prized 
 " Toon Clock " and its in.spiring bell. Having often had occa- 
 sion to visit the hall, when burghal business was in full blast (if 
 such an epithet can be used to indicate snoring), we can with 
 some assurance declare that it would be positively difficult to
 
 VUl. 1- l: K I'' A T U K Y N U T IC. 
 
 discoviM- ;i more decorous, ov a more dignified ;iiul devoted band 
 of public functionaries in the kingdom. Some evil-disposed folk 
 dare to insinuate, indeed, tliat they are too decorous, too quiet, 
 and that many things which should be loudly and strongly 
 denounced, are scarcely even so much as heard of in the Council 
 Chamber — but we cannot adopt this dictum, at least without 
 large qualifications. 
 
 The present population of Linton is about 1000, that of the 
 parish (Prestonkirk) 1,900 — the rental of the latter being 
 <£15,860, and its area closely verging upon 5000 acres. Con- 
 siderable portions of the town have only been built for the first 
 time within the last thirty or forty years, but as it is strictly — 
 almost entirely — an agricultural village, and as farming has been 
 deplorably depressed in its vicinity for many years, the extension 
 of the clachan has been withheld, and the place has stagnated 
 lamentably for the last decade, or so. What it really lacks 
 apparently is a public work or two, and it is surprising that this 
 has not, ere this time, been gone into — considering its fine water 
 power, its nearness to the sea, and its position on a main line of 
 railway between Scotland and England. Surely, surely there is 
 something rotten in the state of Denmark here ? 
 
 Besides the famous parish church of Prestonkirk, Linton 
 possesses two other ecclesiastical buildings, but these do not pre- 
 sent any points of particular interest. It is far otherwise with 
 Prestonkirk. There, the " Auld Kirk " occupies the site of an 
 old Culdee place of worship— erected in the sixth century by St 
 Baldred — the " Apostle of the Lothians," and "a disciple of St 
 Hentigern or Mungo " — who, on his arrival in this part of the 
 country, took up his i-esidence on the Bass, in conformity with 
 the example of St Columba, and other " saints " of that period, 
 who sought, by making their chief habitation and headquarters 
 on islands near the principal scene of their labours, that retire- 
 ment and safety which could not then be found on the rude and 
 turbulent mainland. Fordoun, in the introductory chapter of
 
 P R E F A T O U Y N T E. IX. 
 
 his " Chronicles," makes mention of St Baldred's religious estab- 
 lishment in this locality, and the fact is also referred to in the 
 " Black Book of Cupar," and, moreover, specially accepted and 
 detailed by Chalmers in his " Caledonia." By the last writer- 
 indeed, we are told that St Baldred removed from the Bass to 
 Tynninghame (a village about a mile further east than Pre.ston, 
 kirk), where he established a religious house, or college, principally 
 as a school of instruction for his converts and followers. 
 
 From this centre he occasionally visited, and resided for a 
 space in various districts " between the Lammermoors and 
 Inveresk," and in the course of time founded churches at Auld- 
 hame, Hamer (Whitekirk), and Linton (Prestonkirk), which 
 last has, in one form or another, sheltered the " true worshippers " 
 among the Picts, Saxons, Scots, Culdees, Romanists, Episcopal, 
 and Presbyterians for thirteen hundred years. The ancient name 
 of the Church of Linton began, shortly before the Reformation, 
 to give place to that of the " Hauch," or " Halch," which again 
 changed to " Prestonhaugh," and, yet again, in the last century, 
 to' Prestonkirk — its present, and, we trust, its final designation. 
 Sir John Sinclair, in his " Statistical Account," says that it is 
 mentioned in the Saxon annals under the Latin name of EccUsia 
 Sancti Baldridi, the titular saint of the place, and that the 
 same old records bear that the Saxons, having made an irruption 
 into East Lothian in the eighth century, burnt Ecdesiam Bald- 
 ridi et adjacentum de Tyninyliam, and probably other churches 
 in the district. Bearing this in mind, it becomes intensely 
 interesting to learn that when the old church was taken down, 
 for restoration, in 1770, " the oak beams bore on them in several 
 places evident marks of fire ; so that it is probable they had 
 belonged to the ancient fabric, and if so, must have been there 
 for over one thousand years!" Some spots and natural objects 
 near by the church still bear the name of this renowned saint. 
 There is to this day an eddy or whirlpool in the Tyne at Preston, 
 known as " Baldred's Whii'l," and also a " Jialdrcd's Well," ^tc. 
 
 Tlie scene of Prestonkirk was chosen fur a church with the
 
 X. y u K V A 'I' u n Y N o T i:. 
 
 eye of a profound artist and propagandist, and of a v(>rity it is 
 not difficult to find good reasons for St Baldi'cd's preference for 
 it as the site of his greatest clmrch. The situation is one of 
 great and peculiar beauty at all times, but particularly during 
 summer and autumn. The church stands on the summit of a 
 knoll or small eminence on the north ))ank of the river, and 
 overlooks the public highway to North Berwick, via Tynning- 
 hame, about three hundred yards to the east of the lower 
 or northern part of the town of Linton. This graceful and 
 unique eminence slopes down gently and gradually on all sides 
 — on the south to the slow-flowing, broad, and placid Tyne, and 
 on the others to the. surrounding lands of Smeaton. It rises, 
 crowned with its ivy-mantled church, and from the midst of a 
 surrounding maze of wonderful trees, and a matchless wealth of 
 foliage, in our eye as the fit and hallowed scene and base of the 
 grand old evangelist's operations ; and the culminating point as 
 well of a wide-extending district of great natural beauty and 
 fertility, and agricultural richness and enterprise. Since the 
 seventeenth century its neighbourhood, with all its many notable 
 men, has stood pre-eminent in the science and practice of 
 husbandry and kindred industries, and even now, we believe, it 
 is unexcelled by any part of the United Kingdom in these 
 departments of human activity. 
 
 Other than Prestonkirk, in and around Linton, there are 
 many noteworthy places and edifices — e.g., Traprain Law, Hailes 
 Castle, the Linn, Balgone, Biel, Pressmennan, Binning Wood, 
 Markle, &c. ; but it would be manifestly out of place to devote 
 space to them here, though of a surety every one of them is 
 " weel worth gaun a mile to see." All that seems necessary to 
 do in this introduction, in regard alike to Linton, Prestonkirk, 
 and their surroundings, has already been written or indicated 
 in the foregoing — that is, what may i-easonably be accounted a 
 sufficient description of the Linton locality, to enable a reader, 
 wliether a native or a stranger, fully to apprehend the several 
 contents of this book so far as they relate to that locality.
 
 !-" H K F A T O R Y NOT K. XI. 
 
 Many of the " Lays and Letters " were in the first instance 
 addressed to Editors — acquaintances of the writer — in whose 
 publications not a few of them first appeared, under various 
 headings, and in one shape or other. They, with many additions, 
 have been drawn together and are now published in book form — 
 simply because the writer and many of his friends deemed it 
 advisable to do so. To them, also, for many reasons, was it 
 very desireable. If a gross error has been unwittingly run into 
 in the case — sure it is not the first, neither will it be the last, 
 literary mistake perpetrated. 
 
 All that is asked from the fair and just critic is — that he 
 may read the book honestly through, before pronouncing upon it. 
 Were we assured of the generosity of our friend, we might also 
 request him to remember (or as is likely, if he is unaware of our 
 ditHculties, to accept the sad fact of them on our word), the 
 terrible days and nights of trials and troubles to the author, 
 during which the " great feck " of the " Lays and Letters " 
 were composed and scribbled. Two small pieces which were 
 printed in a former work, reappear in this book — a fault which 
 could not either be easily or properly avoided. At the same 
 time, however, in the places which they now occupy in this 
 volume, they are just where they were originally meant to be. 
 Should the present one meet with a tithe of the success of the book 
 alluded to, certes, ere long, in a certain " canny neuk " of East 
 Lothian at least, there will be many russet rustic faces exhibit- 
 ing the broad grin of heart-felt glee and satisfaction. Perhaps 
 it is too audaciously presumptive to anticipate this ? 
 
 The characters and images of all the chief persons figuring 
 in the following pages were (or were attempted to be) " drawn 
 from life," and two of them, namely, " Mrs Pintail " and 
 " Samuel Macklebackit " still continue to endure it. " Sara," by 
 many, has been supposed to mean the author ! For this shock- 
 ing blunder, however, the writer, in a great measure, has himself 
 to blame ; because the misapprehension originated through his
 
 .Ml. P U E K A T O i: Y \ U T JC. 
 
 •■ippencling Sam's name as his pseudonym, or nom de plume to his 
 pieces in the local papers ; and because, in Sam's story, the 
 people fancied they recognised not a few incidents, &c., which 
 had undoubtedly been the sole experience and circumstances of 
 the author himself. Stuff and non.sense. The study of this amus- 
 ing error is to the scribe and a few friends a curious and inter- 
 esting psychological exercise sometimes over a " toothfu'," and 
 one that vividly demonstrates to them the really dreadful truth 
 of the proverbial danger there is in playing heedlessly with edged 
 tools. Speaking of a " toothfu'," reminds us to say that the fre- 
 (juent allusions to conviviality m the book (such as to the 
 Dominie's " Tappit Hen," and the Piper's " Athole brose horn ") 
 should not be accepted too literally, for assuredly than those two 
 worthies more temperate men in their eating and drinking never 
 stepped forth and honoured bonny Scotland. Like the writer, 
 both of them drew their inspiration from entirely other sources. 
 
 Mrs Pintail—" My Nannie O "—who is still " to the fore "— 
 ay, the fore front, where, from her lassie-hood, she has ever been, 
 is now a prominent resident and philanthropic citizen of Edin- 
 burgh, where the author never looses a single opportunity of in- 
 terviewing her, when he is in the town and the proper mood. 
 Mucklebackit, as of old, is " here, there, and God knows where," 
 but as bold, vigorous, jokesome, and tender-hearted as ever he was 
 and bids fair to rival even the Auld Dominie in r&spect to long- 
 evity. 
 
 All the others, alas ! The fussy, yet shrewd and loveable, 
 Auld Dominie ; the heroic, the acute, and subtle, the prophetic, 
 and philosophical, the never-to-be-forgotten "Piebald Piper"; 
 and Jamie and Mrs Harsman, and the idolised John Hootsman, 
 and Tam Coom, and " Heather Jock" — all, all of them, alas, are 
 where Vjoth writer and reader must be — almost ere ever they are 
 aware. A la mode. Yes, but dit/it vivimus vivarmis / 
 
 S. M. 
 
 East Linton, ibb'J.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 Preface. 
 
 The Auld Dominie — Nixe Letters. 
 
 Introductory Note, ------ i 
 
 First Letter — An Account of an Ice Block on the 
 
 Tyne, -------- 5 
 
 Second Letter — Mucklebackit's Return, and Disestab- 
 lishment, - - - - - - - 11 
 
 Third Letter — Mucklebackit's Visit, etc., - ■ 17 
 
 Fourth Letter — ^A Drive to the Seaside, - - 24 
 
 Fifth Letter — The New Electorate, - - - 32 
 
 Sixth Letter — Autobiographical, - - - - .39 
 
 Seventh Letter — Autobiographical — " Woo'd and 
 
 Married and a'," ------ 52 
 
 Eighth Letter — Autobiographical — The Interjacent 
 
 Letter, -------- .58 
 
 Ninth Letter — How the Large Farm of Blaebraes 
 
 was Taken, ------ 65 
 
 End of the Auld Dominie — " Twas in the deid o' 
 
 Winter," -------- 78 
 
 East Lothian Farm Folks' Club, ----- 83 
 
 Mingling with the Magnates, ----- 93 
 
 " Auld Castled Hailes," ------ 105 
 
 Auld Hansel Monday, - - - - - - 107 
 
 Hiring Friday, - - - 115 
 
 Testimonials to Provosts, - - - - - - 123 
 
 Poetic SAVAfiKRY, or Bespoke Epitaphs, - - - 127 
 
 To Rah o' THE Hill, 129
 
 XIV. C O N T i; N T S. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Tn Pkestonkirk Churchyard, 130 
 
 At A Brother's Grave, 132 
 
 Leaving liiNTON, - - 133 
 
 Two Scraps, - - - - 135 
 
 At Tin: A iLD Abbey Brig, 137 
 
 To an Aspiring Elder, 139 
 
 On Mr Sharp Leaving Linton, 141 
 
 Song, - - - 143 
 
 To THE Man in the Moon, 144 
 
 Julie- Annie, 145 
 
 The Brand OF Dunbar, 147 
 
 Spring, ---------- 148 
 
 Marriage Lines, - - - - - - - - 149 
 
 The Adventures op Benjamin Solomon, Yeoman, in 
 
 Search of a Spouse, - - - - - - 154 
 
 At the Mauthouse — A Rant, - - - - - 156 
 
 The " Piebald Piper " — Six Letters — 
 
 First Letter — First Meetings with the Piper, - 159 
 
 Second Letter — Factors and Farmers, - - - 164 
 
 Third Letter — Highland Superstitions, &c., - 172 
 " What can a Young Fellow do \vi' an Auld 
 
 Wife?" ------- 176 
 
 Fourth Letter — Dreams — The Modern Scoto- 
 Irish, &c., - - - - - - - - 182 
 
 " Some Sorrowful Harvest Cogitations, by Pharle 
 
 O'Rafferty," - - ^ _ 192 
 
 Fifth Letter — At Stirling and Bannockburn, - 195 
 
 "Wallace," - - - - - - 198 
 
 Sixth Letter — Last Day with the Piper, &c., - - 207 
 " At the Grave of a Young Friend who was Acci- 
 dentally Killed," - - - - - 216
 
 LAYS & LETTERS FROM LINTON. 
 
 THE AULD DOMINIE. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 This first letter by my old schoolmaster, and afterwards brother, 
 or neighbour farmer, Avas written by him a few months prior to 
 the 'time of my final departure from Clover Riggs. Shortly after 
 the period to which it alludes, I left again the locality of Linton 
 and was far away from it for several years. About three months 
 after coming back — for the last time, I hope — I accidentally 
 foregathered with the fussy, shrewd, old pedagogue, much in the 
 manner and under the circumstances which he describes so 
 graphically in his second e})istle. The celebrated tenant of the 
 large farm of Blaebraes, near Linton, w;is a retired country 
 schoolmaster, who rejoiced in the sedate ami appropriate sobri- 
 (juet of Tliomas PintaiL At the date of the letter he and I had 
 long been acquainted, for I hud been a pupil of his long before 
 that pei'icjd — an urchin in his lower classes. At the time referred 
 to he had held the farm for four oi' five years, and had, so far, 
 succeeded surpi'isingly, considering tlie evcirlastingly fussy, Hdgetty, 
 go.ssiping character of the man. The extremely clever and ener- 
 getic nature of his better half (who is still living and more 
 prosperous than evei-, although remaining in unmarried widow- 
 
 B
 
 2 L A Y S A \ I) L IC '1' '1' IC n S. 
 
 hood), no (loui)t would cdiistitute iiu OJirnost of the Pominio's 
 success as a tanner from the beginniii!;;, for Agnes, or still better 
 known as " My Nannie O," was to him more by far than a 
 rommon helpmate -in sti'ict fact, slu; was tiuly his "guardian 
 angel,'" iiis keeper, his lawgivei', and, T believe, when he wandered 
 asti-ay (which he would generally do about fifty times in a month), 
 his sa\iour, judge, and jailer, also. Under an exterior of 
 (lucrulous " cursedness " and sauciness, however, one could easily 
 perceive in the dame a deep underlying feeling of respect and 
 devotedness for the factious, eccentric, and restless Dominie. 
 The uni(iue pair combined — the two as one in holy matrimony — 
 i-eally constituted a double or compound })er.souage, wIkj was fit 
 to wage the battle of life right bravely and victoriously. What 
 Tammas lacked Agnes possessed superabundantly, and vice versa. 
 Their two sons and one daughter were, at the time the first letter 
 was penned, all grown up, and well settled in Edinbui-gh and 
 Ulasgow — the daughter Ijeing married t(» a nephew of the 
 univer.sally-honoured and admired farmei' of Leddyslove, John 
 Hootsman, Es([uire. 
 
 Of Thomas Pintail, the Dominie himself, it is extremely 
 difficult to give anything like a correct idea, he was such an 
 extraordinary moody, fitful, fluctuating, never-resting, chattering, 
 will-o-the-wisp mortal withal. Nevertheless I will tackle to him, 
 and give my i-eaders as accurate a description of the famous 
 " T. P." as I am capable of writing. Imagine, then, a very tall, 
 thin, stooping old man, habited in buckled shoes, blue hose, 
 woi'sted-coi'd knee-breeches, a snuff-coloured, swallow-tail coat 
 witli a high peaked collar, which almost reached to the crown 
 of his head behind — a coat of the fashion common in the first 
 years of this century — and a " lum " hat of the same period. 
 The personal f(!atures of this fascinating human oddity were as 
 keen and shai-p as those of a greyhound, or a stirring, go-a-he;ul 
 Yankee. His l)row, which was very ample, was overhanging and 
 very wrinkled and sh;iggy at the eyes, and receded a little. The 
 eyes themselves were small, bright gray, and eager and piercing
 
 T H E A U L D D M I N I E. 6 
 
 as those of a weasel. He wore no l)eai'd or moustache, and 
 his meagre whiskers were tliiu and " lyart." His chin was 
 prominent, but small and peaked, and his mouth, which in his 
 prime had been full and large, was in old age (the birth-time of 
 the letters) toothless and greatly fallen in, and there was ever- 
 lastingly a snuff drop pendant at the extreme tip of his high, 
 hooked, and nasal organ. 
 
 Such, as true as I can depict it, was the external aspect of 
 this long-limbed and somewliat splay-footed genius, the late 
 " maister" of Blaebraes. He was at the time of the letters of 
 unknown but immense age. People living, but now approaching 
 the end of their four-score years, declare to me that the Dominie 
 was an old man when they were in their leading strings. Be this 
 as it may, the inward nature — the moral and mental character- 
 istics — of this gigantic " forked radish " answered well to the 
 appearance of their corporeal lodgement. Above all he was 
 combative (but harmlessly so, like the dog whose bai'k was vvorse 
 than his bite) and argumentative to the last degree, and so he 
 wotild split polemical and political hairs with a Hottentot — like a 
 member of the first bench of the Opposition in the House of 
 Commons. He was deeply read and largely informed in general 
 literature, and chokeful of Scottish sectarian history. He was 
 also one of the shrewdest and e.xactest observers I ever knew, and, 
 without doubt, had his judgment and his discriminating and 
 reflective faculties been anytliing like equal to his perceptive ones 
 he would have made himself known even to a wider circle than 
 he did. Next to his argumentativeness — if not on a par with it 
 --was his most curious, prying, inquisitive disposition. Nothing 
 gave him moie heart-felt delight than to hunt up some rara avis, 
 or local " celebrity," dispute with him there and then, pump him 
 as dry as he could, feri-et out all his peculiarities, ways, and 
 manners, and then surreptitiously describe him totally in the 
 columns of one or other of our newspapers. 
 
 In this way he has reported, with added flourishes of his own.
 
 4 LAYS A N I) L !■: T T i: 1! S. 
 
 not a little of my own talk and other doing's in his latter days ; 
 but as ho was on the whole a capital colloquist, and a patient 
 listener when he was interested, I did not altogether discourage 
 him. Tn the solitudes of the country one is often glad to meet 
 with a willing and convenient listener — an agreeable and fit 
 receptacle into whom one can freely pour the v.-aste cogitations of 
 his overcharged brains. Hence the Dominie's letters, &c. 
 
 It is to me a curious and remarkable fact that the three 
 greatest men T ever came in contact with, Hugh Miller, the 
 Auld Dominie, and the Piebald Piper, have all died violent deaths 
 — the first lamentably by pistol shot, and the other two by 
 drowning. I hope that this sad and somewhat extraordinary 
 fact is not ominous of the manner of my own exit from the stage 
 of this perplexing world. 
 
 S. M.
 
 FIR S T LETTS R. 
 
 An Account of an Ice Block on the Tyne. 
 
 Wheu winds aff caulJcst airts do blaw, 
 An bar us in wi' drifted snaw, 
 
 And hing us owre the ingle." 
 
 Being, as I am, a man l)owed down and laden witli the burden 
 of innumerable years, infirmities, and sorrows, together with 
 the never-ending scoldings and complainings of an energetic 
 and limber-tongued spouse, anything like perfect punctuality or 
 Pharasaical regularity must not be expected of me ; although, 
 depend upon it, " Auld Tarn " shall at all times bustle him up 
 and endeavour to do his best. 
 
 It is already thoroughly well-known that Blaebraes lies 
 immediately adjacent to Clover Riggs, that world-wide celebrated 
 haunt and renowned dwelling place of the matchless Muckle- 
 backit — our own beloved and familiarly-known " 8am !" Be- 
 tween our respective steadings extends — which surely no 
 ignoramus needs be told — a space of about one Scotch mile 
 without the bittock ; but short as the distance is, the snow- 
 storm verily effectually l)arred our usual daily intercoui'se 
 with each other. The loss of this was felt by me in every 
 faculty of my spirit and in every bone and sinew of my body, 
 and T went nightly groaning to bed, suffering for lack of his 
 exhilarating discourse and stimulating tumbkir of toddy. At 
 length, last Thursday, the road Ijctwixt the fai'ms was opened up 
 by Mr Nelson in pui-e comi)assion ; and I crossed over in saf(!ty 
 to Clover lliggs just as tlie people were loosing from tlie barn.
 
 6 L A V S AND I, !•: T 'I' !•; H H. 
 
 INIr ]\[uckleb;ickit, T was told, was in the parlour, so T " stappit 
 ben," unannounced, as of t)ld. I found him sitting in liis stock- 
 ing-feet in the big chair, drawn up close and square, right in 
 front of a tremendous fire, composed of a Ijarrowful of mixed 
 sawmill cuttings and Deans it Moore's coals. The sweat 
 streamed down the deep gullies of his i-ugged, tiei'ce, and stai-tled- 
 looking face, as he turned t(» salute me, and 1 could see at a 
 glance that he had just returned fioiii sonic cxtraordinaiy 
 exjiedition. 
 
 "Oh, Mr Mucklebackit, dear Mr Mucklebackit ! what 
 is wrang 1 where have you been V I spasmodically, at inter- 
 vals, incjuired, as he shook m(> to pieces by the hand, and 
 then hugged and squeezed me in his vast embrace, like as a sea 
 dog is done by a liuge Polar bear, foi- my gigantic friend had not 
 yet dotted his large fur overcoat, and we had not met for three 
 weeks previously. At lang and last, f(jr lack of breath, "Oh, 
 Tam, Tam !" he cried, " hoo's a' wi' ye 1 sit doun, sit doun, 
 Tibb, the kettle — boil the kettle — tlie big ane, mak' the boiler 
 bubble, fesh ben the tappit hen, mind tlie sucker. Dominie 
 Pintail, hoo's a' wi' ye ; and hoo's youi' fair lady, the gentle, 
 charming, Nannie, O ?" (For long years back, let me here 
 explain, 8am had been addicted to the reprehensible habit of 
 waggishly designating my vigilant better-half behind her back 
 by the poetical, but not in her case at all, approjiriate title of 
 " My Nannie, O !" I often have gravely expostulated with him 
 against this custom, but he still wickedly adheres to it, and as I 
 know him to be at heart a .sarcastic knave, I begin to jalouse 
 that the term in his mouth means nothing but " ironic satire 
 sidelins sklented.'") 
 
 AVell, after our salutations were made, and all the usual 
 domestic inquiries had been duly honoured, I anxiously i-epeated 
 my first (juery, and asked him where had he been. " Been !" 
 he retorted fiercely, " been ; you auld gommerel. Weel may ye 
 speer, ' Whare hae I been f But I see that ye are burstin' wi'
 
 T n K A U L D D O M I N' I K. I 
 
 curiosity, sae in pity I shall e'en ettle t,ie relieve you gif you will 
 only steek, oi- draw some closer, the portals of that awfu' mooth, 
 whilk is gapin' e'enoo like a riftclud i' the deid oor o' nicht !" 
 After somewhat confusedly bringing together my lips, whicli had, 
 I must confess, in my astonishment separated, and kept them- 
 selves apart rather widely and vulgarly. Sam put his tumbler 
 to liis mouth, and then laid Iiimself out ns follows : — " When I 
 got up this morning, Pintail, an' saw what was wliat owre-heid 
 i' the sky, (juoth I to mysel', ' Tyne will break up this day, sure.' 
 Sae, after I had started the folk to the dung, I slippit cannily 
 awa' by mysel" an' the collie doug through the iields riverwaids. 
 Tarn, believe me, I hae trampit this day, waist-deep, through as 
 muckle snaw as micht staw and turn the stamack o' the dis- 
 coverei'S of a hail! bundle of Noi-th Poles. Wreaths o' snaw 1 
 Wreaths ! Man, Dominie, I tell ye, I passed and rounded at a 
 safe distance this day on my journey ;is mony mounds and 
 mountains, hillocks and hills, and peaks and pyramids, of pure 
 snaw, as whilk, had they been not snaw but granite or whin 
 stone, would stton have taken the shine out o' sic moudiewarts as 
 the Ochils, Tintoc Tap, an' sich. Weel, after nearly losing my 
 chart among the gorges and deep ravines of this Canadian scenery, 
 and at the cost of gallons of perspiration and half-hours of the 
 most exhausting labour imaginable, I at last struck the Tyne 
 between Stevenson and Hailes Castle. The river tliere was clear, 
 but swollen and turbid, and upon its glancing expanse floated, 
 slid, or tumbled past, numberless portions of shattered ice, of 
 every conceivable form and size. After I had glowered awliile, 
 and taken in and absorbed the whole scene, I noticed floating 
 and whonnnling towards me a considerably lai-gei- berg than the 
 general, and quickly did T make me ready, for, from the moment 
 I flrst perceived it coming swooping down in the distance, T 
 resolved, if possible, to bo;ird it. As it was sliooting jjast, witliin 
 about four or Ave feet from the bank, T s;iid hurriedly a short 
 j)rayer, spat on my hands, made a bound, landed aboard all right, 
 and instantly took entire possession. T then whistled on the 
 collie, and in the fraction of a jifley, the newly enlisted tar was
 
 8 L A V S A N 1) L K T T K 1! S. 
 
 Sit my side — the most able-bodied sailor, excepting the captain, 
 aboard. In a short time, T luckily succeeded in grabbing and 
 fishing on deck a paling-rail, about fifteen feet long, so, with 
 this handy rudder or scull I took post astern, while the 
 faithful collie at once figure-headed and manned the bow. 
 Soon were we in mid-channel, and making seaward at railway 
 speed, for never did sailing vessel or steamship lly as we flew. 
 I iiave assisted to pilot rafts of logs adown some of the ' creeks ' 
 in America, as I have told you of before, Dominie, but 
 I don't think I ever enjoyed so excitable a ' run ' as the one I 
 experienced this morning on the breakfast-looking table of ice 
 adorning my native stream. The only drawback, I thought 
 (after I had got safe ashoi'e), was its shortness. In the deep 
 pools at and above Hailes Castle, the ice still held together, and 
 of course the blocks from tlie higher reaches of the river had to 
 halt behind and wait till this moved. In this way, Tammas, the 
 block inci-easingly extended during the early part of the day from 
 Fadden's Hole, two hundred yards above the castle, westward as 
 far as the Mill Dean, fully three-quarters of a mile, and pre- 
 sented a most novel and grotesque spectacle — the scene remind- 
 ing me vividly of the muster and formation of a grand public 
 procession, such as one of those annually witnessed when I was a 
 youngster in Haddington of the Oddfellows or Freemasons. 
 Every moment fussily arrived at the gathering point at the west- 
 end parties of bergs, singly or in groups, which were every one 
 at once taken in tow by some unseen agency, halted, dii'ected, 
 wheeled about, coaxed, shoved, or thrust headlong into their 
 alloted positions. And strange positions, indeed, some of those 
 dispersed offspring of winter did occupy ! The rank and file of 
 this hoary array assumed more or less a recumbent attitude ; but 
 the higher members, the apparent superiors or officers of this vast 
 army of the Ice King, edged up, leaned, or stood bolt upright 
 in their lyart uniforms, and boldly surveyed and watched the 
 field. All were in silent suspense, awaiting the grand moment 
 to march, but their chieftain ahead, himself, dour Jack Frost, 
 still stubbornly restrained them. His (John's) headquarters and
 
 T II ]•; A U L I) I) M I X 1 K. 9 
 
 last entrenchment were immediately in that portion of the river 
 below the old Castle of Hailes. A little after three o'clock, from 
 Ijeneath the venerable ruins, were heard to issue a succession of 
 weird and unearthly noises — growlings, crackings, muffled ex- 
 plosions, angry mutteiings, rumblings, curses, hisses, and defiant 
 Billingsgate — as if a vei'italjle subaqueous Home Rule meeting 
 was being held there. This, as it proved, was bold Jack Frost 
 being counselled and compelled to assent to an immedi;ite 
 stampede seaward, his present foothold on the river being no 
 
 longer tenable, for the thaw " " Why, Sam, Sam 1" I here 
 
 impatiently edged in, " Oh, Sam, this is all balderdash and pure 
 imagination. You ai-e as excited as if you were recounting tlie 
 positive defeat and overthrow of an actual army. How, in the 
 name of common sense, could you or any one possibly fancy the 
 meagre sounds produced by the breaking up of a paltry sheet of 
 ice to have been the audible communings of the Frost King and 
 the officers of his staff?" "You blockhead I" wrathfully inter- 
 posed Mucklebackit, " you auld miserable, dry-as dust, literal, 
 pedagogic sumph I AVhat hae ye dune ? ye hae broken the spell 
 a1^ the very nick an' climax o' the sooblime enchantment ! Haud 
 yer tongue, or gae hame a,t ance, for I maun finish this recital in 
 my ain way, else wadna sleep enfauld her weary wings f)n my 
 eyelids this niclit. As I was saying, by three o'clock, the river 
 was packed and jannned fou with broken ice for nearly a mile 
 abune the auld castle — not sae much as ae inch o' bare water to 
 be seen owre the haill streetch. Suddenly, at about half-past 
 three, General Frost struck camp, and retreated with those 
 nearest him pell-mell over the mill dam. The knowledge of this 
 seemed instantly to have been transmitted through the whole 
 legion, for directly the entire frozen phalanx was astir and in 
 motion. Such a sight I I would not have lost it for even six 
 cosy yeai's of fireside })ook-reading, with auld Tibb darning 
 stockings at my side. To the sad nuisic of the hollow wind, 
 piping shrilly in the naked trees overhead, the hoary Ai-ctic 
 pageant, like winter's own funeral march, moved on, and was 
 lost in the eternal. Silently, and apparently reluctantly at first,
 
 10 I, A Y S A X 1) L K T r !•: K S. 
 
 each iiulividual unit of the vast icy troop stirred itself, fell into 
 its Hi)p<)iiite(l place in the ranks in silent order, ami then was 
 wliirh'd away. All the time, h)uder and louder soughed the 
 wailing wind, and hai'sher and harsher roared the rising flood 
 beneath and behind ; and, ere long, the mighty procession of 
 bergs was seen toKsing, jostling and struggling, down the valley 
 in disastidus tuimoil and retreat. Swish-swash, huriy-scurry, 
 rumble-tund)le, like the French in their llight from Waterloo, 
 poor Winters disper.sed offspring, in final defeat and overthrow, 
 were swept confu.sedly before the thaw, whose victorious and 
 pursuing forces every drain, ditch, and l)urn were debouching in 
 ever-increasing vt)lume and power. In half-an-hour all was over ; 
 and the only tokens left that such a drama liad been enacted a 
 few minutes before, were a scattered remnant of stranded bergs, 
 left high and dry on either bank."
 
 S E C X D L E T T E R. 
 
 [The reader will kindly remember that a liiatus of some years 
 extended between the periods of the first and this the second 
 letter of the venerable teacher.] 
 
 Mucklebackit's Return and Disestablishment. 
 
 " Todliii' haine, todlin" hamc, 
 
 As round as a iieep came todlin' hame.'" 
 
 — Old Sonrj, 
 
 It is not true that I am dead. The entii-e .story from end to end 
 is a heartless and a malicious fabrication of falsehood. The mere 
 fa,ct that you are now perusing this letter is proof conclusive 
 that I was at least living not more than two or three days ago. 
 And, moreover, when this lucubration left my desk, I felt not 
 only alive, but indeed exceedingly leesome and life-like and happy 
 and could have jumped over all the Tories in Scotland — and was 
 as vigorous and energetic as if I still had been in my twenties. 
 Nevertheless, I am fully aware that it may be pertinently and 
 justitiably asked how do I account for my long, })rofound, and 
 most unnatural silence ? The " Old Dominie " was wont to be 
 heard in East Lothian ? This query is easily answered, (ri-eat 
 or small, loud or lown, whatever my note may l)e, it is (»nly 
 as that of an echo — as all other humnu voices, .save only those 
 of a favoured few, two oi' thi-ee in the lapse of an age, 
 must be. My great chief and inspirer, in whom pul)licly T lived, 
 mo^'ed, and had my being, has, for a time exactly corresponding 
 to that of my lamentable silence, been mysteriously wandering and 
 sojourning in pai'ts remote far, fai', alas I l)ey()nd my longing
 
 12 I, A V S A X I) h i: T T K 1! S. 
 
 siijflit .■iiul ken. Therefore, my mournful and melancholy mute- 
 ness. The absence of Mucklebackit was more than sufficient to 
 i,nve the quietus to a whole trilje of mere promuli^ators and pro- 
 pagandists such as Pintail. 
 
 Lately, however, strange and startling rumours began to be 
 whispered abroad, wliich anon were deftly breathed into the 
 somewhat hairy portals of mine ancient ears ; and at last it was 
 reported to me by a faithful servitor that Sam was returned, and 
 had actually been seen by di\'ers benighted travellers haunting 
 the scenes of the departed glory. Yes. Everybody declared he 
 was certainly back again, but that in the meantime he only left 
 his secret lair, like the lions, after nightfall. Months passed — 
 blank desolate months — unblest with one peep of him, de die in 
 diem. I was now in the extremity of despair, raving, and on the 
 verge of giving up the ghost. But, the unexpected sometimes 
 happens. The other night I was returning from a large meeting 
 of " Liberal Churchmen," which had been holden in a tailor's 
 back shop, and was forlornly enough trudging aVjout midnight 
 through the somewhat sombre little hollow in which are still seen 
 brokenly standing the weird and naked ruins of the venerable 
 castle of Hailes. Suddenly, I heard a footfall close by my side, 
 and instantly I halted and looked up. " Angels and ministers of 
 grace !" what was it ? A gigantic figure, plaided, muffled, and in 
 deep shadow — a figure like unto that of an antediluvian, stalked 
 firmly and silently by my side. Tremblingly, I gasped liysterically 
 — " Whence comest thou 1 I know thee not. Avaunt !" " What ! 
 ye cankert, camsteerie, feckless, glaiket gomeral, what's wrang 
 wi' ye ? Ken na ye me — eh ?" Will the world believe it ? The 
 giant, the antediluvian, was none other than tlie Mucklebackit. 
 
 What passed betwixt us during the first ecstatic half hour 
 of our re-union no ear of mortal mould shall ever learn. Our 
 salutations and sacred rites of hallowed friendship at length 
 enacted, we retired with one accord to the top of a knoll near 
 the old castle, and sat us down. This scene at midnight was
 
 THE AULD DOMINME. 13 
 
 weird and unearthly ; yet grand, solemn, and impressive. The 
 stars looked down upon us ; a vast extending concave of cloud- 
 less azure canopied us ; the softest of balmy zephyrs fanned and 
 refreshed us ; flowers and herbs innumerable, and " milk white " 
 hawthorns diffused their fragrance to us ; the dark woods and 
 trees danced and bobbit to us ; while all the time the sedge- 
 singer and the fascinating " howlet " sang and hooted to us. It 
 was an impressive scene. Low down on the northern horizon a 
 broad spatch of bright unearthly-looking light betokened where 
 the " Witching hour " was being drawn in her ti'iumphal car. 
 All was sublimity and elevation of spirit I Mucklebackit sat 
 spell-bound and could not speak. And I think the " howlet " 
 perceived us and sympathised with our rapt adoration, for it was 
 strangely silent all the while. 
 
 At last, in order to destroy in its earliest stage a painful 
 drowsiness which I felt was beginning to creep over me, I shouted 
 loudly in Sam's ear, " Clover Riggs !" At the sound of the dear 
 old familiar name, he roused up and shook himself like a newly- 
 unharnessed horse, and pensively enquired, " Where had I been T 
 I told him at the gi-eat meeting of " Liberal Churchmen " in the 
 back shop, and he then asked me what had been the result of it. 
 I replied that a motion had been carried by a majority in favour 
 of the continued establishment of the Church. Whereupon, he 
 nimbly bent forward, and keenly scrutinised my face, and hissed 
 out between his set teeth, the following demand, " How did you 
 vote T " Vote !" I cried, " why for the Establishment, of course." 
 " For the Estal)lishment !" he rejoined, in his old serio-comic, 
 mock-combastic way, " for the Establishment ! a flne pillar o' the 
 Kirk you'll mak'. Faugh !" " Why Sam, Sam, what ails you ? 
 you're a member of the Kirk yourself." " Ay !" he retorted 
 quickly, " an' prood to be. Dominie, Disestablishment is a 
 theme I have given some consideration to, and I think that the 
 disestablishers have the best of the argument ; and tlierefore I 
 believe that Disestablishment will assuredly happen — happen 
 when it may. It must come — I think — because it is right."
 
 14 LAYS A \ I) L K T T K li S. 
 
 " Oh, Mucklel)ackit I" I groaned, " you dumbfouncler mo. How 
 on earth cm you reason so? Would you really desti'oy the 
 Church of your fathers — the Church with .such a history — the 
 Church of Scotland — the free Chuich of the poor ?" " Destroy, 
 you suniph !" he retorted somewhat violently. " Destroy : Wha 
 speaks aboot destroyin' ? Tiie Kiik will ,i,Miii a new lease be't — 
 a lease luair prosperous an' i^dorious than ony .she's ever trowed 
 yet ; because she will then exist an' llourish, unhated by her 
 ri\.ils, free an' unshackled ; and because .she will then become in 
 a nioie tendei' and endeariiij^ de<i;iee the l)eloved and cheiished 
 jiaivnt of all her grateful and devoted cluldren." " How do you 
 make that out?" I cjueried. " AVould you i"ob or conliscate the 
 endowments of the Church "i They are her own property : pro- 
 perty has its lights ; and those of the Church are at least as 
 inalienalile as those of any other institution." " Inalietiahle .'' 
 he rejoined. " Look here Pintail ! I have neithei' reached firm 
 nor sure ground in the ford of Disendowment yet. I am only 
 wading painfully and cautiously across — feeling my way step by 
 step, as it were ; but up to this time I am still at sea, albeit I 
 fancy that I can trace the outline of the distant shore. The (jues- 
 tion is — Would Disendowment pay 1 (To tjuestion the ' right ' of 
 the State to do so is foolishness.) I should think it would, but 
 all would depend upon the terms of disendowment. Any way, 
 there are at present extant some most absuid anomalies, and 
 many instances of shameful waste of the funds of the Church — 
 funds which are the property of the pet)ple, and not exclusively of 
 one section of them. 
 
 " Altogether the question is a matter for the people to decide 
 themselves, and for this reason I think that the subject should 
 have time to ripen, although at the same time I believe that 
 there will be little peace in Scotland until it is disposed of. A 
 main i-eason for desiring Disestablishment with me is that I 
 think it would inevitably prepare and clear the ground for a 
 reunion of the several Presbyterian denominations ; and thus 
 remove the prime instigation of the major portion of those
 
 THEAULDDOMINIB. 15 
 
 unseemly and unbrotlierly and sectarian alienations, squa])bles, 
 jealousies, envyin<j;s, grudges, spites, and the too often deadly 
 animosities, wliicli disturb and divide our Scottish Zion so 
 much at present. We are one in the " essentials," one in ritual, 
 one almost in Church government — why then divided, wasting 
 our strength, our substance, and our time in disputing, and revil- 
 ing, and brawling with each other 1 Are ye sleepin' man ?" 
 " No, Samuel, dear," I said, " but I am overcome with sorrow — 
 grieved to the core — to hear you exhale such puerile monstrosities. 
 Sui-ely your late wanderings to and fro on the earth have un- 
 settled your mind ? Can you really desire the dounfall of the 
 Kirk of Scotland — the church of the needy, the unfortunate, and 
 the poor ! Oh, Sam, Sam !" " What ! ye fushionless gumpus," 
 he warmly ejaculated, jumping to his feet. " Wad I tak' the 
 Kirk frae the puir. Oot upon ye. Steek the kirk dt)or on the 
 puir. Man, Dominie, disestablishment in a wee while wud fill 
 the kirk fu'er than ever. I have seen it in Canada and America. 
 The Scotch people baith directly and indirectly pay for the 
 kirk already, and were it disestablished to-morrow, they (the 
 people who were able) would only at the worst have to dole out 
 all the needful straight from the pouch — which they well could 
 afford to do, being entirely relieved from school rates and fees 
 Besides, such is human nature, religious ministrations would 
 then be far more sought after and prized — for a thing that's 
 gotten cheap (or apparently cheap) is just as cheaply appreciated 
 and valued. This, however, would not apply to education ; 
 because the education of all capable children is compulsory. 
 The business management of the Church, also, would become 
 revolutionised. Churches would be planted in abundance wher- 
 ever an abundance of them was really needed. Amalgamations 
 of small and detached congregations of the " Free," the " U.P." 
 and the '• Auld " would be the mode all round — one minister in 
 scores of districts gladly undertaking and accomplishing for a sum 
 no larger than his present " stipend " the woi-k of three, and T 
 tell you they will preach in churches and to congregations worthy 
 of the name then ; and not in gaping, ghastly, unsightly mockeries
 
 16 L A Y S A N' 1) L K T T li U S. 
 
 of hi(ie()us, gloomy, cold, dreary, droughty barns ; to half-lilled or 
 empty long rows of ugly wooden benches, as at present." " Well, 
 well, Sam. Could I feel assui-ed that your pictui'e would hv real- 
 ised, I would go in for Disestablishment also ; but I am in the 
 gravest doubt and perplexity. Your successoi- in Clover Higgs, 
 Mr Riddle, who is a Free Churchman, and who, if requested, is 
 willing to stand for the county, is not in favour of Disestablish- 
 ment." " Ha, ha, Dominie." he rejoined merrily, " that liiddle 
 will not hold water. My worthy successor is a talented fellow 
 and one wl\o is a million times more fortunate than pooi' 
 ' iSam,' but he will yet see the error of his ways, and come 
 over to us. Dominie, gae hame to Nanny, the young morn 
 is already red wi' laughin' at the Heein' niclit. I'll daunder up 
 your length this day week. We'll explore the kirk frae the foond 
 to the waather cock on the steeple o't." " Oh, Sam," I cried 
 eagerly and imploringly, retaining his hand, " Will you really 
 come 1 Agnes will loup to see you again. Never a day passes 
 but she is speaking about you. Oh, come Sam — do. Will you ?" 
 "Come, yes, certainly! Why not? Ta-ta, my trusty tiere ! 
 Dinna forget the Tappit Hen."
 
 THIRD LETTER. 
 
 Mucklebackit's Visit, etc. 
 
 " It is after six o'clock ! I tell you again, Agnes, this is the 
 evening he said he'd be here. And he hasn't come ! Whatever 
 on earth sliall I do ?" cried I despairingly to my aged better half 
 as I i*ampaged furiously through the house — kicking the cats 
 aside and tearing my hair — almost distraught with desponding 
 apprehensions that "something had come in Mucklebackit's way, 
 and would prevent the accomplishment of his promised visit." 
 Agnes, who is very fortunately of a less excitable and nervous 
 temperament, took the delay more cooly and good-heartedly, 
 aftet- her own peculiar way, tried to cheer me and keep me alive 
 with her own hopes that Sam, though late, would yet put in an 
 appearance. " Hoot awae. Dominie," says she, " hoot awae 
 man ! Ye ken fine that Sam is as gude as his word, and ne'er 
 disappointed ye even ance in the bygone times ; and what wey 
 sid he do sae e'enoo % Sit doun, ye gouk, an' content ye ! Are 
 ye gaun to gang gyte a'thegither % I'll rin up an' keek out the 
 upstairs window an' see." Rap, tap, tap ; somebody at the door ! 
 The three cats bounced simultaneously with astonisliing celerity 
 from their couch on the hearthrug, and wisely hid themselves 
 instanter away under the sofa. The two collies also roused 
 themselves and flew through the lobby to the " fore door " like 
 Tartars, disputing louder than a full conclave of Town Coun- 
 cillors the threatened intrusion into their own rightful domain. 
 The servant lass, however, with a few well-aimed cuts with the 
 kitchen poker, quickly caused the clamorous canines ignominiously 
 to beat a retreat towards the back s(;ttlements, -w here, for half an 
 
 c
 
 18 L A Y S A X D L E T T K U S. 
 
 liuur afterwards, they miglit have been heard yumpling and 
 complainintj to each other of their dire defeat and doleful distress. 
 As soon as I could be heard, T cried impatiently — ■" Agnes ! Oh, 
 Agnes ! is't him ? Ask Jenny !" " AVheest, wheest !" she an- 
 swered testily—" Losh ! can ye no' wait till she brings him ben?" 
 With that Jenny pressed ajar the half-open parlour door, 
 discovering in hei' immediate rear the large, hirsute, and em- 
 browned countenance, and the herculean form of the modern 
 colossus of the east. " What ! Nanny !" shouted Ham, as he 
 shook her })y the hand, and gazed upon her the first time for 
 four years. " Hoo's a' wi' ye ? Losh, lassie, ye're lookin' weel. 
 Younger than ever !" " Oh, Mr Mucklebackit," she demurred, 
 pleasedly, " Oh, Sam ; whae wad hae thocht to 've seen you here 
 again ! Sit doun ! — Gie me yer stick ! — Tak' aff yer plaid ! Oh, 
 guid forgie' us a' !", itc, itc. 
 
 In due time the three of us were snugly clustered around 
 the tea-table — ;iust as often we'd been in the olden time, the 
 hallowed memory of which subdued us all. Agnes, completely 
 thawed, giggled and girned at once, myself ecstatically ditto, and 
 Sam sat thoughtfully, silently and voraciously deA'ouring the 
 viands like a wolf. It was presently evident that before his 
 awful appetite was somewhat appeased, conversation was out of 
 the question, therefore until he had disposed of his fifth or sixth 
 cup, together with some towers of cheese and cookies, neither 
 Agnes nor I advisedly uttered one single word. After the 
 seventh, however, the flood gates of speech were instantly thrown 
 apart, and a three-some interlocutory on farming and other rural 
 affairs poured forth from us in a full-tide volume — Agnes, as I 
 have indicated, cleverly contributing her share to the swelling 
 theme. In this preliminary dialogue Mucklebackit gave it out 
 as his opinion that the agricultural depression had now reached 
 its lowest, and that better times might now be expected to 
 emerge from the future. In a few years, he declared pro- 
 phetically, the British farmer (though in a somewhat different 
 style) would be in a safer and more secure position than ever.
 
 THEAULDDOMINIE. 19 
 
 His industry could never die, and a thorough reform of the land 
 laws was only needed completely to resuscitate it. Amen ! 
 
 After tea, Sam and I sauntered out of doors to breathe a 
 while the caller air, and daundered, enjoying each other, as far 
 as the turnip break, which I wished to show him. I was happy 
 to observe that our walk round the old place did not seem too 
 greatly to dispirit him, by painfully awakening in his mind 
 recollections of other and happier days. Betimes, in the course 
 of our quiet stroll, we reached the little rustic bi'idge which spans 
 the burn above the stackyard, and here, at length, my friend 
 halted, drew himself together, and, pointing significantly to the 
 little rude structure, said feelingly, " Dominie, this is the bit. 
 It was from this wee brig that Nannie (Mrs P.) fell into the 
 spate while gathering in the deuks ae e'enin' langsyne. An' if 
 ye mind, it was here too, Dominie, that you an' me ance argued 
 for five hours at a streetch wi' the electioneering agent body frae 
 Haddinsrton. Ye'U nae doot be able to confirm that a' that I 
 predicted to you an' him that day has been wonderfully fulfilled 
 — refilised to the letter 1 He thought Lord Elcho had not the 
 ghost of a chance at the then approaching election, and, but for 
 fricht, would have assaulted me for contradicting and laughing 
 at his nonsense." " That's a fact, Bam," I replied. " I remember 
 it well ; but I also recollect that you said that a black day was 
 coming for Lord Elcho himself. Were you not out there ?" 
 " No, indeed. Dominie. It is coming — it is even now impending. 
 I was thinking then of the power of an enlarged constituency, 
 and I foresaw — or thought I foresaw — the inevitable result, the 
 unavoidable and certain end and overthrow of the old Toryism 
 in East Lothian, and said so accordingly." 
 
 " What ' certain end and overthrow ' do you mean Sara ? 
 The Liberals are a cloven host, divided irretrievably in equal 
 halves by the Church question and the Irish question, and 
 consequently — lacking, as they do, other powerful influences 
 — cannot possibly put in thoir man. Are you of the caucus,
 
 •20 LAYS AND L K T T E U S. 
 
 Mucklebackit ?" "No, I am not, nor never was. When the 
 Liberal Association was started I was absent — far awa' — and I 
 never joined it. But tak' tent. Dominie, and do not run away 
 with tlie superficial idea that our divisive courses will so surely 
 ensure victory to the enemy. I do not believe it. I decidedly 
 think, on the contrary, that the working men of East Lothian are 
 too shrewd and sensible, and too keenly alive to their interests, 
 to admit that. Believe me — they ken a scone frae a stone, and 
 will prefer the bread." "Yes, Sam," I rejoined, "but if that 
 ' scone ' is buttered with Disestablishment, the bread to many 
 will be as so much muck." " Na, na. Dominie — na, na. If the 
 butter were scraped off, the bread would still remain — though 
 leeze me on the Liberal scone, butter an' a'. Both of them to 
 some, no doubt, would be unpalatable ; but let these take heart, 
 for the bread is still unspread and the butter unchurned. Dis- 
 establishment is not yet a front question — it is not even within 
 measurable distance of being so. Before it can become possible, 
 the unquestionable voice of a united people must demand it. At 
 present there are few tokens of this — only infantile lispings and 
 piping child-like cries. I know that events come with startling 
 rapidity in these times ; but, notwithstanding, I believe that no 
 British Parliament would sanction Disestablishment before it 
 had been a test question at the polling booth. But here we are 
 back again. Let's in, an' hear what Nannie says aboot it." 
 " Lord have a care o' me ! whare hae ye been V exclaimed and 
 demanded my strong-minded beloved, as we jocosely re-entered 
 the cosy " spence." " What hae ye been doin' 1 At your auld 
 argal barglin' again, I'se warrant. Were politics potauties ye 
 waud baith choke." " Maybe, Mrs Pintail," laughed Sam, " but 
 my politics, the Dominie tells me, are buttered scones ; an' if 
 they are, an' gif they eat like yours, I'm provided for." " Hoots 
 toots," quoth she, " I kenna what ye mean, sit doun, Jenny will 
 be ben e'enoo wi' the Tappit Hen — anither auld friend o' yours." 
 
 So saying, and laughing at herself like one bewitched, my able 
 and hospitable spouse went to fetch the hot water and sugar,
 
 Til E AU LD DO M I X I E. 21 
 
 with which in a jiffey she returned, and had us immediately 
 snugly ensconced round the little parlour table discussing, as in 
 the olden time a smoking bowl of punch, the quality of which was 
 undeniable. " Here's t'ye, Mrs Pintail," cried Sam, leading off, 
 " here's t'ye. I trow I ne'er saw ye lookin' better. Lang life 
 an' luck an' love to the lassies. Tak' heart o' grace, altho' 
 your champion. Lord Denman, has ^ sen foiled this time ; he is 
 unconquerable ; your cause is the cause of the just — you will yet 
 be enfranchised — the women will win — eh, Dominie 1" "I hope 
 not votes," I returned quickly. "For were they to band together, 
 they would swamp the men." " No," said Sam, " only the un- 
 married portion of them. And a saving clause could he framed 
 and implanted in the bill, which would prohibit and withhold 
 electoral j^rivileges from all maidens who declared themselves to 
 be under thirty years of age, and that, I reckon would be effectual." 
 " Sam, Sam !" interposed Agnes, " let us alane. It isna fair, or 
 gallant either, for twa gentlemen sae to jeer ae leddy. My 
 sooth! had we the franchise an' 'equal rights,' you Disestablishers 
 wad hae to jouk. Lord Elcho micht shake defiance in yer face, 
 an' march to the poll as proud as a town crier." " Ha, ha !" 
 roared Sam, amused with the comicality of the idea so innocently 
 presented, " Ha, ha !" — at the first blast of the trumpet, an' at 
 the head o' anither monstrous regiment of women. "VVeel dune, 
 indomitable Nanny !" " However, Mrs Pintail," he resumed, 
 suppressing, with a heroic effort, his loud and long guffaw, 
 " laying a' jokes aside, tell me • — Wad ye not vote for Mr 
 Haldane f " No ! He's maybe liberal eneuch, an' clever 
 eneuch, an' gude eueuch — but he's no' for the Kirk. The 
 Dominie an' me, for a wonder, are baith agreed on that." 
 " Yes, dear Mucklebackit," I solemnly asseverated, " I also 
 could not see my way to support a candidate who would separate 
 Church and State — our hai-mony on all other points notwith- 
 standing." 
 
 No sooner were these last words spoken than ^luckle- 
 backit rapidly and informally drained his tumbler and instantly
 
 Z'l h A Y S AND L K 'I' T K 1! S. 
 
 l)(»iiiule(l to his feet, liis wliole frame convulsed with irre- 
 pressible emotion. "Friends," lie cried, "Mrs Pintail, and 
 you, Dominie, listen to nie. Ye baith want — ardently desire — 
 a real reform of the land laws. Ye baith !on<^ for a thoi'ough 
 measure of local govoi'nment. Ye baith seek further educational 
 reform. Ye l)aith eagerly wish and woik for ampler housing and 
 healthier sanitary conditions for the working classes. Ye baith 
 go in sincerely for popular control of the licjuor traffic — local 
 option. Ye demand justice and full redress of ail grievances for 
 Ireland ; equal rights, equnl privileges, a fair field and no favour 
 for Scotland ; a drastic reformation of both Chambers of Parlia- 
 ment — ^the House of Lords especially ; colonial federation ; a 
 policy of non-intervention l)ut of unyielding upi'iglitness towards 
 all foreign peoples ; and undiluted free trade, civil and religious 
 liberty ; equal rights and laws, and peace, reform, and retrench- 
 ment for ourselves. You desire, you say, all these and many 
 more good things, and you believe implicity that the Liberal 
 party is the only party capable of procuring them for you, and 
 yet, you say, you are ready to render their procuiement impossible 
 — or at least to prevent their acquirement it may be for many 
 years — by disowning and deserting that party, by sacrificing 
 your principles, by stifling your convictions, voting for those 
 whose whole history has shown them to be antagonists of progress. 
 And for what are you willing to do this 1 Because, forsooth, you 
 are entangled with a crotchet, betrayed with a will-o-wisp, Ijound 
 hand and foot on the high back of a holiby. Your church is in 
 danger — the black coats loudly aver it, and therefore it must be 
 so. Your battle-cry and slogan is, the ' Kii"k, the Kirk,' Dominie, 
 living or dying, the Kirk, the Kirk ! By doing this, my friends, 
 of course you are only playing the game for your political 
 opponents. You have tilled the soil, you have sown the seed, 
 and now you are turning your back on your own and running 
 away from the hai'vest. Preposterous !" " But, dear Sam !" I 
 interjected moui'nfully, as he resumed his seat, " we consider the 
 Church question to be a vital one — paramount over all others — 
 and it is not us, the friends of the Church, but those who are
 
 T H K A U L D D M I N' 1 K. 23 
 
 attacking the Church, that are thrusting it to the front, and into 
 the arena of what they call practical politics." " That's stuff' and 
 nonsense.'' he retorted impatiently. " But were it really a vital 
 question — which I say, it is very far from being yet — you must 
 admit its vitality can only at the utmost touch a mere fraction 
 of the people, whilst the other reforms enumerated will affect the 
 whole nation. Besides, I repeat, no conceivable British Parlia- 
 ment would — or could, for that matter — disestablish the Church 
 without having the clear and outspoken approval of the country 
 at large. What, therefore, I humbly think, it behoves Scottish 
 Liberal candidates to do is, at once to follow the example of Mr 
 Marjoribanks, M.P. for Berwick, and give, like him, a pledge 
 that they will resign tiieir seats (if elected) and hazard re-election 
 if ever, and as soon as, a serious measure for Disestablishment 
 is introduced into the new Parliament." 
 
 During the remainder of the evening, much more on these 
 and kindred topics was discussed, interspersed and enlivened with 
 many original songs and parodies, for which I have no space, 
 and ^ jaunt to the seaside in our own dogcart was arranged to 
 be taken by the three of us that day week.
 
 FOURTH LETTER. 
 
 A DUIVK TO THK SkASIDE. 
 
 The morning of the 9th day of July was to us in many respects 
 a memorable one. I was standing on end by the bedside that 
 morning by half-past four, and so also was Mrs P.^ — both of us 
 without doubt, awake. We were bound for a trip to the seaside 
 in our own dogcart, and were besides, to meet Mucklebackit, who 
 had consented to accompany us, down at the Ford by six o'clock. 
 As Agnes had been shrewdly preparing for the jaunt for a whole 
 week before the auspicious day, she managed, with the deft aid 
 of the servant lass, to get ready at last — not much more than 
 three-quarters of an hour behind the stipulated time. But my 
 spectacles and her gloves had been mislaid the night before, and 
 could not be found anywhere. 
 
 The whole house was turned upside down and searched for 
 them, but in vain. I was not angry — oh, no ! I never am — but 
 I was a little piqued, and had a strange tendency to blaspheme 
 some. Fortunately all the bottles and victuals had been packed 
 and stowed away in the trap the night previous, and so at last 
 we got off. And when we were off about a mile or so, we became 
 gradually conscious of some one bawling loudly behind us, and on 
 looking back, behold it was Jenny, the servant lass, with our 
 gloves and .spectacles. After all the seeking and searching, there 
 they were. She had dicovered both the missing articles lying 
 behind my desk, where I had abstractedly laid them when fetch- 
 ing the cork-screw. This discovery was a grand triumph to 
 Agnes, and she exultantly made the most of it. I waved aside
 
 THE A U L D D M I N I E. 25 
 
 lier annoying hilarity, however, by stoutly maintaining that the 
 things would never have been lost at all if she had only risen 
 from her bed half-an-hour earlier. Our conjugal bickerings over 
 this one topic afforded us mutual entertainment till we reached 
 the river. There — ah, there ! I shall never forget our arrival. 
 However, I shall say nothing about it, ])ut wisely leave it entirely 
 to the imagination of the reader. Mucklebackit was there before 
 us in his canonicals — that is, he sported for the occasion his 
 hodden-grey suit, and his indescribable American sombrero — an 
 immense wide-awake hat, of about the dimensions of an ordinary 
 gig wheel, and twirled jauntily in his hand his renowned ash sapling 
 — a long, rugged, knotty stick, as lithe and supple as a cow's tail. 
 His "Tib," or " Tibbie," accompanied him, which happy circum- 
 stance made Agnes still further greatly to rejoice, for, said she, 
 " the neeborhood o' Tibbie wad mak' her feel mair at ease — as 
 twae gentlemen an' ae leddy thegither didna sowther weel." 
 " Hallo, Mrs Pintail," cried Sam, approaching the vehicle, and 
 gently pushing Tib before him, " I thocht ye werena comin' — 
 Tib an' me fell asleep waitin' for ye. Sit aboot a wee, mem. 
 N9W Tib — here goes, ance, twice, thrice — up ye go. Nanny an' 
 you maun ligg an' lair thegither i' the backside o' the machine — 
 but ye maunna fecht. I'll tak' the Auld Dominie in han' mysel' 
 i' the front. Be na fleyed — I'll manage him. Gee up, Donal ; 
 off we go !" 
 
 After the ascent of the northern bank of the Tyne was made, 
 we bowled merrily and rapidly along, and passed through the 
 clean-looking, wind-swept rural village of Tyne-linn just as its 
 swarms of work-people were issuing from their houses, yawning 
 and rubbing their eyes, preparatory to setting forth for another 
 day's darg. What surprised us was the large number and the 
 tender years of the younger workers— mere little boys and girls 
 — who constituted by far the major part of this awakening army 
 of labour. Fat, rosy, sturdy, well-clad, clever, briglit looking 
 little varlets they were though. But why were they in the yoke 
 already. Surely the harsh harness of toil was being strapped
 
 '2G I- A V s AND I, i; r r k i: s. 
 
 prem;itui-ely on those tender little .sliouldeis. We wei'e told it 
 was the carrot thinjiing season, and that the poor jiarents of those 
 children were, in these hard depressed times, constrained to 
 augment the meagre weekly earnings of their several households 
 by whatever their little ones could gather for this work an 
 employment for which, it was said, they were more suited than 
 up-grown people. To this cruel apparent necessity we were bound 
 on the spot reluctantly to acquiesce, although at the same time 
 we could not well help thinking how much better it would have 
 been both for the general connnunity and the children themselves 
 had the Fates permitted their attendance at school for a few 
 years longer. Besides the culture of the carrot in this district, 
 flower, goose and strawberry growing are likewise practised to 
 some extent, and in these industries a good many youngsters are 
 also engaged at this season. As we emerged from the village 
 street into the open, Sam declared he believed this incipient town 
 to be at once the most energetic and public-spirited place in the 
 county, and one that was sure to expand and increase in import- 
 ance in the future. The liberty and capital to feu and build, and 
 the enterprise to start public works were only needed. The first, 
 the coming land law reform measure would secure, and the capital 
 and enterprise would surely follow suit. The natural advantages 
 and resources of the town were as manifold as they were mani- 
 fest, and its proximity to the sea and the railway would ensure 
 their acceptance and development. But the place, he said, ought 
 to be re-christened, and instead of " Tyne-linn " it sliould become 
 known to all the world by the name of "Lin-toun." 
 
 It was by the old road that we drove. On either hand — re- 
 member that our jaunt was taken during desperate "drouth" — 
 on either hand we looked aslant upon the crops, shook our towsy 
 heads, and silently breathed another fervid prayer for i-ain. We 
 felt that speech was useless and inappi-opi-iate and therefore 
 indulged, both of us, in a rare spell of voluntary sad and silent 
 cogitation. But our two females behind fully made up for our 
 transient taciturnity. They did ! The way that their two mature
 
 T 11 E A U L D D M I N I K. '27 
 
 tongues wagged simply defies description. All the news and all 
 the gossip relative to all the hundreds of their friends and acquain- 
 tances within the four seas must have been overhauled and dis- 
 counted during their drive. It was impossible to tell which of 
 tliem had the best of it — so close, prolonged, and incessant was 
 the double and terrible clatter ! Presently, for a blessing, we 
 trotted through another and smaller clachan, and then immediate- 
 ly were taken into the solemn embraces of the mighty woods. 
 Alas ! large, melancholy, gaping gaps in the woodlands showed 
 where the Storm Fiend had been. The bulk of the remains of the 
 forest fathers had disappeared, but huge, unsightly, up-canted 
 roots still mournfully told of the woeful havoc. Alas, O Binning ! 
 thy glory is shorn, thy loss is irreparal)le for generations to come. 
 It is still, however, quite evident in daylight that all the trees in 
 this locality were not laid low by the blast of October 1881. We 
 indubitably saw and renewed our acquaintance with not a few of 
 the patriarchs of the grove who ai'e happily " still to the fore." 
 And neither did these remaining worthies display any symptoms 
 of either recent disaster or present weakness or decay ; but 
 proudly lifted aloft, as of old, unenfeebled and unfliminished, 
 their tossing crowns of summer glory and greenery. Indeed, on 
 every hand and all around were apparent and palpable the 
 manifold evidences of their yet good grip of existence and high 
 prosperity. Away over in the parks and policies vast, dark, 
 thundercloud-like masses of densest and the most superb foliage 
 swayed and nodded slumberously in the heavy, hazy sunshine. 
 " Oh, Dominie," sang out 8am, breaking into extempore verse— 
 
 " Oh to rove, an' rave, an' raine 
 Thro' the woods o' Tynninghame !— 
 A' the live-lang summer day 
 Thro' their benmaist bournes to stray ; 
 An' never mair come sicht within 
 This weary warld's strife an sin ! 
 
 Ay, Dominie, T never see Binnin', but I tliink on a' the puir 
 toiling multitudes, an' the swarms o' pale, duddy Ijairns that are
 
 28 I' A Y S A \ ]) I, )•: ■!" T u i; s. 
 
 cooped up, a' smeekit, .in' stunk, an' stewed like vermin in oor 
 lairge towns an' cities. Had I the power, I wud tak' every soul 
 o' them in my airms — dirty as tliey are — an' carry them out an' 
 set them down here, whether they would or no'. In the good 
 time which I see com in', a' this '11 be in the reach o' ilka ane. 
 God hasten, oh hasten on that good time. Gee ! Whup up auld 
 Donal'. You drive, ye misbegotten nonentity. Gie me the 
 reens." 
 
 Ere we were well out of the umbrageous forest we obtained 
 a few exciting glimpses of the blue sea on our right, and soon 
 afterwards we shot out into the open country again. This was 
 the ultima thu/e of that segment of the county, and we were 
 surprised and pleased to observe what fine crops it promised 
 itself to reap by and bye. Here we halted and stabled our 
 ancient Highland quadruped at the steading of a well-known 
 farm near the mouth of the Peffer. For the purpose of having 
 the long summer day all alone and undisturbed to ourselves, we 
 had advisedly chosen as the scene of our " outing " this retired 
 and out of the world corner — a veritable tei-ra incognita to the 
 ordinary tourist or holiday taker. In the carrying out of this 
 laudable design, however, we were not disagreeably frustrated, 
 as the sequel will show. 
 
 From the farm steading to the sea intervenes a distance of 
 about a half of a Scotch mile — the path at first leading by the 
 middle " headrig " of a large and vigorous looking potato field, 
 and then over a series of " bents " or " links " of rolling knolls 
 and sandbanks, luxuriantly mantled with the coarsest of sea-side 
 herbage, and at intervals strewed with the broken-up hulls and 
 the residue of the wreckage of the craft of other days. Beyond 
 the bents, which are only about the fifth of a mile in breadth, 
 the sea beach proper begins. This is where the wanton little 
 brook called Pefier, after wandering sluggishly and dreamily for 
 many miles by waving woods and fertile haughs and corn fields, 
 finds at last an ampler home for itself in the roomy plains aiul
 
 THE A U L D DOMINI E. 29 
 
 salt brine of the North Sea. The strip of coast — whereat the 
 brook hides itself, and enters into its maritime inheritance — ■ 
 gracefully curves round the hay, %vhich extends betwixt Whit- 
 bury Point on the right and Seacliff on the left, and is locally 
 known by the names of Petfer Sands and Scoll Rocks. 
 
 The sands stretch away south and east from the rocks. 
 Both portions are nearly equal in length, and it is where they 
 join and mingle together that Sam resolved to establish our head- 
 quarters for the day. A more desolate, secluded — if not repulsive 
 — region could hardly be imagined. Whatever induced Muckle- 
 backit to wile us from the wai'm busy world into such a naked 
 woe-begone wilderness it would be difficult indeed to conjecture. 
 In spite of the beautiful day and the brilliant sunshine, an air of 
 dreary desolation and eerie, vacant, and unnameable mournful 
 loneliness brooded over the scene, and would not depart from it. 
 The sea was blue and calm, and barred and dappled with streaks 
 and patches of shade and shine, but it did not matter. The 
 eternal monotony of the splish-splash of the waves below, as they 
 tumbled over and ran ashore, and then as quickly receded, pro- 
 duced in me a feeling of lassitude and weariness, and made me 
 long to engage with Sam in some interesting converse. The pair 
 of females had strayed away by themselves down amongst the 
 rocks and boulders, and were now visible ploutering like two 
 mermaids in the pools for molluscs. As they moved to and fro 
 amidst the black rocks, they resembled the creations of a horrible 
 nightmare, and made all my flesh creep. 
 
 Sam, unheeding them, lighted his pipe and flung himself 
 prone on the green bent, ejaculating to himself ever and anon, 
 between puffs — " magnificent !" " shooblime !" awfu' !" " What," 
 I said, crouching down beside him- — " What — what in the name 
 of conscience or common sense is magnificent 1 A more gloomy 
 utterly comfortless and deplorable desert I have not seen this 
 many a day." "You," he returned with inimitable contempt, 
 You, wha cares what ye hae seen ! You, a more dowflie,
 
 30 L A Y S A \ D L K T T K H S. 
 
 forlorn, utterly stupid an' sand-blind numskull — I ha'ena' seen 
 this mony a day. Rax me owre a pint o' Bass out o' the 
 basket, and syne lie still. What an awfu' universe we live in ! 
 To lie up here an' look down on that heaving, restless living 
 sea ; and to wonder hoo it a' cam' there, an' whan an' what 
 will be the end o't ! And its living creatures — the slimy deni- 
 zens o' the great deep — numberless — inconceivable — frae the 
 monster Leviathan down to the tiniest Crustacean an' Coral. 
 Oysters, limpets, mussels, partans, herring and baddies o' a' 
 kinds, cods, skates, an' turljots, sturgeons an' Heein' fish, .sharks 
 an' alligators, an' seals an' Polar bears. It's awfu'. That 
 sea ! Boundless it is to look at, but far mair unbounded is 
 it in fact, an' grandeur, an' wonderment. An' yet, for a' that, it 
 is only a portion o' the airth, an' the haill airth itsel' is but a 
 speck, an insignificant needle-point in space — an atomy — a mole- 
 cule — an emphemeral mote of dust, flickering for a day in the 
 infinite an' eternal All. A forlorn, comfortless desert, ye say ! 
 Oh, Dominie — " 
 
 Just at this stage the impassioned ruminations of my friend 
 were suddenly arrested by the furious barking of a dog, and, 
 looking round, we beheld to our gi-eat surprise a large party of 
 merry holiday folks perambulating the links close beside us. 
 They proved to be an excursion party of conunon country people 
 from the upper district of the county, and comprised many good 
 specimens of the ordinary working class poi'tion of our rural 
 community — male and female — ploughmen, labourers, joiners, 
 and blacksmiths, hinds' wives and servant girls, &c. 
 
 They had, it appeared, come down on a trip to the seaside 
 in two long carts, which had been unyoked at Hcoughall. As 
 they came sauntering leisurely towards us, Sam and I recognised 
 a few of them as old friends and acquaintances, particularly one 
 of their number — the respected father of Sam's astonishing god- 
 child, to wit, Jamie Horsman, the modest and unassuming, but 
 able and astute farm-steward of Leddyslove. As soon as Jamie
 
 T 11 E A U L D D M I N I E. 31 
 
 noticed us, his large eyes and mouth opened to their utmost 
 capacity with amazement, and a moment afterwards he ran 
 forward, and shook us both vigorously by the hand. "The 
 Lord preser^■e us a'," he cried ; " JMaister Mucklebackit an' 
 Maister Pintail ; of a' the folk in the warld, an' of a' the places 
 in the warld, wha wad hae thocht it. To meet you twae here. 
 I can hardly believe my een." In a few minutes, we were re- 
 joined by the ladies, now returned from their whelk-hunting 
 expedition, and directly an undisputed amalgamation of the two 
 societies took place, and held good for the remainder of the day 
 — by far the most interesting part of it. But the further liistory 
 of the day must indeed be left for a fresh letter, for the record 
 of what was said and done is too important to admit the curtail- 
 ment of a single sentence.
 
 FIFTH L E T T E R. 
 
 The New Electorate. 
 
 " Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, 
 Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
 The tone of languid Nature." 
 
 So sings the ever gentle, ever pleasing, and most lovable Cowper, 
 haply anticipating the poor Dominie, now old and feeble, yet 
 yearning with unspeakable eagerness to disclose to his impatient 
 country, from an obscure and disreputable nook of the coast of 
 East Lothian, what follows — yea, 
 
 "The grand debate, 
 The popular harangue, the tart rt ply, 
 The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit. 
 And the loud laugh— I long to tell them all ; 
 I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers free, 
 And give them voice and utterance once again." 
 
 These simple yet exquisite lines beautify, forecast, and depict my 
 present and our late meeting at Peffer Sands. As I suc- 
 cinctly indicated in the last letter, the assimilation of the two 
 parties was complete after the return of our two ancient females, 
 " Nanny," and " Tibbie," from their inglorious crab and peri- 
 winkle hunting among the black " rocks," and as it was by that 
 time near noon, we all with one consent retired to a smooth level 
 spot not far off, with all our baskets and hampers, for a general 
 pitched and deliberate onslaught upon the bottles and provender 
 which they contained — -Mucklebackit and Horsman heroically
 
 T H E A U L D D M I N I E. 33 
 
 leading the van, the others following pell-mell, and the pains- 
 taking Dominie encouraging the stragglers and bringing up the 
 rear in a style peculiar to himself. 
 
 The baskets, })oxes, hampers, craters, and parcels, were 
 deposited, mixty-maxty, in one grand heap in the centre of the 
 chosen scene of devastation, and after they had been all unpacked, 
 and their appetising contents all disengulphed and made sensible 
 to our longing sight, the whole assembly of us squatted down 
 merrily around them. " Wlia says ham f immediately cried 
 )Sam, bending down on his knees with a large naked carving 
 knife in his hand over a huge toily of boiled pork, as white and 
 as fat as a hundred-weight of Yorkshire lard — " Wha says ham ? 
 Ane at a time. Here's a shave like a flag o' truce for My 
 Nannie O. Dominie, mind the lasses. Boose about the porter 
 — an' rax me athort a spaul o' that roasted cock." " Maister 
 Mucklebackit," presently rifted out an old she^Dherd of the name 
 of John Heatherbell, " I'll thank 'e for anither bit snack o' the 
 ham. 'Od, its rale fine. Its no' owre lean. Just a wee bit 
 snicky, Samil, just a wee bit snicky. I haena eaten as muckle 
 sin' last Hansel Monday." 
 
 The July day, from a sky of unbroken azure, poured down 
 upon us a bewildering and scorching flood of sunshine of tropical 
 brilliancy and power, which was rendered only tolerable by reason 
 of a quiet but steady breeze which was wafted simultaneously to 
 us from the outspreading sea adjoining. We all panted and 
 perspired copiously, but, notwithstanding, our appetites appeared 
 worthy of tlie day, for truly oui- hunger and thirst seemed as 
 extreme as the terrible heat. Whole baskets and liampers of 
 sandwiches, tongues, rounds, and roasts, together with multi- 
 tidinous bundles and stores of biscuits, and penny baps and 
 scones, and sundi-y multifarious heaps of fruit and confectionery, 
 quickly disappeared, and were seen no more. And with what a 
 quantity of liquor were these tootlisorae edibles washed down. 
 But in no single instance was there excess, or anytliing to mar 
 
 D
 
 '.\\ 1. A V S A \ l> I, K I' I' ]■: H S. 
 
 the li.ii'nKHiv and iiK'iiinifnl of our liajijiy imrty. It was really 
 a pleasure — a pure and inispeakable ]deasure of the highest — to 
 me to observe all those hard-workiut^ and industrious sons and 
 (lau<ifhters of the soil conduct themselves so sensibly, and yet so 
 <,deefnlly and joyously. They well mi^ht have shamed and put 
 to the l)lush some pic nic and excursion parties of far hi<>fher 
 social and educational pretensions. And barring perhaps a slight 
 tincturing of unintentional rudeness, or natural coarseness, their 
 manners and general deportment were irreproachable also. 
 
 After the lusty and memorable collation, we had songs and 
 toasts all round, wliicii were provocative of the greatest fun, 
 and a few of the richest peals of genuine laughter that it has ever 
 been my happiness during the course of a long life to hear. To 
 the songs and toasts succeeded a dance. As we had no fiddler, 
 and T being past the pei'iod of tripping it on the light fantastic 
 toe, Mucklebackit had the audacity to call upon me to " teedle '' 
 to the pai-ty. T, of course, demurred, and said I thought this 
 demand upon me was outrageous, but he would take no denial, 
 and I was therefore compelled to get up and make a merry 
 Andrew of myself in broad day. As the performance was to be 
 a " Hcotch reel," I resolved to put the desiderated mettle into 
 their heels with an attempt at the tune of the " Highland 
 Laddie." A large flat greenstone boulder of about a ton in 
 weight lay handy close by the scene of operations, and on this 
 secure foundation I improvised an appropriate I'ostrum and 
 mounted and began forthwith. All that I shall say in reference 
 to this part of the day's proceedings is assuredly very little. 
 
 My voice naturally is not of the nightingale order — to say 
 the least — and now, what with feebleness and a host of cognate 
 infirmities peculiar to old age, it is absolutely excruciating even 
 to a fishwife when raised a single note higher than just an 
 audible sing-song hum. Imagine then how it sounded, and 
 creaked, and squeeled, and fizzed, and sputtered, and squirmed 
 when in full blast and fury in my fond and wild endeavour to
 
 T JI K A U L T) D M I X I E. 35 
 
 give " music " to this energetic ]);ind of some ten or ;i dozen 
 couples of agriculturists, all in the very flower and hey-day of 
 life. It was a godsend there were so few spectators and listeners 
 around. 
 
 The kittiwakes and seaniews all disappeared, and I should 
 expect them not to revisit that spot for some time to come. The 
 dancer.s, however, despite both me and the intolerable heat, 
 careered and held out wonderfully, and Mucklebackit, every time 
 he came louping to my side, waved aloft his powerful arm, and 
 vigorously exhorted me with speech and gesture to put foi'th my 
 very best, and let them have it. The perspiration, accordingly, 
 with the ecstatic and super-human ettbrts which I made to please 
 him, streamed from me in a deluge, and my unparallelled exertions 
 made my jawbones stound and ache like a lively young lumbago 
 in a backward spring. At last they all jumped and reeled them- 
 selves literally out of breath, and liad perforce to desist for sheer 
 lack of pliysical aliility fui-ther to jirolong their wild antics. 
 Upon the bents they flung themselves headlong, exhausted, half 
 melted, and elemented, where they lay speechless and dissolved, 
 and di'ipped, like heaps of sheep skins on the floor of a tannery, 
 for the next half-liouj-. At length Sam aroused himself, and 
 shouted out, " Jamie Horsman, well dance nae mair the day. 
 Dancing is the madness of Ijedlamities in such a heat as this is. 
 Sae let us a' sit still, an' sing, an crack. Jean "' (]\[i-s Horsman) 
 " hoo's my little Sammy ?' (the son of Jamie and Jean Hoi'sman, 
 and Mucklel)ackit's name-child). " AVhat foi- is the young hero 
 no' here ? T'ln gaun to send Iiis Stuart kilt an' i'eathei' next 
 week. Busk him in them, Jean, an' never such anithei' fowr- 
 year-auld Gildeioy e\ex- Jjlessed a Scottish god father's e'e. 
 Never. In twenty years hence we'll ha'e him returned as Mend)ei' 
 o' Parliament for his native county." 
 
 These half-serious, half-humorous sentences f)f Sam's, which 
 were made to l)e understood by the whole (•omi)aMy, incited the 
 male members of it to instant political conversation and debate.
 
 36 L A Y S A N I) L K T T K U S. 
 
 aiul ininiPfliatoly the 2"*™^P6cts of tlic ii\,il Parliamentary can- 
 (li(lrtte« of tlie county were canvassed and discussed a]l round witli 
 astonishing interest and ability. Now is the time, I bethought 
 me, now is the glorious and longed for o])portunity afforded you, 
 Dominie, for exploiting and making manifest of what stuff the 
 " New Electorate " is really made. Adroitly perceiving this with 
 my usual and characteristic alacrity, 1 at once bawled over to 
 Horsman to know what he thought of the situation 1 " Oh I 
 dinna ken, sir," he replied, cautiously, " T haena thocht vei-y 
 much aboot it yet." " It will be a deid heat ;" interjected Tam 
 Coom, the blacksmith. " Haldane wad haul doun the Kirk, 
 but the Kirk 'ill maybe haul doun Haldane." " That canna 
 be," cannily put in Willie Sawyer, the joiner, " Ye canna 
 haul doun what never has been up. Mr Haldane is only 
 yet trying to get up." " An' he sail geet ma vote ;" cried 
 " Heather Jock," the shepherd frae Muirhill, " Kirk or nae Kirk, 
 nae Toiy for me. Wha gied us the vote ? Wes it no' the Lee- 
 berals ? an' sail we thanklessly an' treacherously use their ain gift 
 to ding them doun noo ? Get awae. Lat the working men stick 
 to their true freends, an' lat the Kirk fend for itsel'. Nae fear o' 
 the Kirk." " No, nae fear for the Kirk," answered Sandy 
 Briggs, the roadman — a U.P.^ — " but for the estaiblishment o't ? 
 It's a standing injustice to twa-thirds o' the country. Endow us 
 a', or nane ava. Lat us a' be aiqual." " Than gang a' to the 
 Auld Kirk," retorted Jenny Geddes, a smart, gashlooking, hind's 
 wife. " That's oot o' the question, Jenny ma wumman," rejoined 
 Sandy. " An' besides ye ken, Jenny, though a' the Presbyter- 
 ians war to do sae, there wad still be the Episcopawlians, an' the 
 Roman Catholics, an' ithers. We want ai<iual justice an' richts, 
 an' privileges for a' alike, an' the best plan is just to disestaiblish 
 an' gie a' the bairns free education, and nae wi"ang to the Kirk 
 either. The thing's as plain as a bing o' stanes." 
 
 " Its just a' fules' havers !" bi'oke in here a middle aged 
 ploughman — Peter Greenfield by name — who had hitherto sat 
 stolidly and silently, eyeing the speakers aslant, " What guid
 
 T II E A U L D D M I M E. 37 
 
 wull a vote dae to huz 1 It'll naither j^it a shullin' intae your 
 pooch nor mine. If they had ^ien us a hauf-day every Seterday 
 like other fowk, it wad been wicer like. That wad been some- 
 thing. A vote ; what's a vote ? Ca !" " Hoot awae," cried 
 Jenny Geddes, " what do ye think yersel ' 1 My conscience, but 
 ye sanna get aff sae easy. Na ! sae stand forrit on the bit, an 
 tell us belyve what ye think o' the bruilzie. As they say at yer 
 club, I ca' upo' you an your freend Samil to sum up the debate." 
 " I beg to second that," laughed Jamie Horsman, " for I believe 
 that the lead o' you twa will be followed by the best feck o' the 
 ferm folk in East Loudon." Thus urged, and so save further 
 bother, I at once sprawled to my feet and briefly said — 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, you have unfortunately called upon 
 
 me at a time when it is physically out of my power to speak two 
 
 sentences consecutively. I cannot do what you wish. I believe 
 
 I have dislocated or otherwise damaged the organism of my jaws 
 
 with my late musical effort. Therefore, with this apology, I will 
 
 simply call upon Samuel himself to take my place, and resume 
 
 my 'seat in the background. We are, politically, much-and-much 
 
 alike." " What ?" cried the astonished Oracle, bounding to his 
 
 feet. " What ; politically alike — you an' me ? I never deem it 
 
 worth while to contradict or thwart him, but with regard to our 
 
 coming election, and the chances of the opposing candidates, I 
 
 have listened to your several opinions with the greatest interest, 
 
 for I believe it will depend largely upon the rural vote how 
 
 the contest is decided. If you are, as I suppose. Liberals — 
 
 that is, if you are believers in the principles of progressive action 
 
 being applied to the legislation and government of your country 
 
 more surely and more thoroughly by them than you tliiuk the 
 
 Tory party would be either willing or capable of applying those 
 
 principles — then it is evident for whom you nmst ^'ote, if you 
 
 vote manfully and conscientiously. To do aught otherwise, no 
 
 matter for what reason, would at once be unmanly and stupid. 
 
 You are now the responsible citizens of your country, and each 
 
 of you must act at the polling l)0oth as if the destiny of the
 
 38 LAYS AND L K 'V T K 1{ S. 
 
 whole empire depended upon your individual vote. You must 
 not suppose, like poor Mr Greenfield, that it is all ' fool's havers,' 
 or that it does not matter. Tt matters far more than I can ex- 
 press, and he is not worthy of the name of Briton — he is not 
 worthy of the name of man, who does not recoifnise in thefraiu;liise 
 the higliest and most sat-ied trust ever put into his iiands, and who 
 does not religiously resolve to exercise it conscientiously and 
 courageously. If your minds are not y(!t made up, so nuich the 
 better ; take time. The programmes l)y the leaders of both 
 parties will shortly be laid before us, and tlum it will evidently 
 be our duty to read the newspapers, and try to undei'stand them, 
 and afterwards to decide calmly and sinceiely, and vote accord- 
 ingly. Home say there is to be a dithculty with regard to the 
 Church. I am as sincere a well-wisher of the Kirk as any of 
 you, but it will be no oljstacle to me, because I believe that it 
 can never be disestablished before it has been made a test question, 
 and placed before all others at the bar of the whole country— 
 the polling-booth. Tf that be done at the impending election — 
 which T do not expect — but if it Ix; done, my course is clear ; I 
 am for religious equality, as a simple measure of right and 
 justice to each and all. But as I think there are more important 
 questions than even tlie Church one, calling urgently for .settle- 
 ment, I would very willingly let the suliject of the proposed 
 disestablishment of the Kirk ripen and lie over till the others 
 are disposed of." On the motion of Sawyer, the joiner, a hearty 
 vote of thanks was accorded Sam for his unusually serious but 
 invaluable address.
 
 SIXTH LETTER. 
 
 Autobiographical. 
 
 Telegrams ! telegrams ! ! telegrams ! ! ! Truly it never rains but 
 it pours. If, in this country, we have a drought — the earth 
 cracks, we do have it, and vice versa. I was boi'ii in an evil 
 hour. I am a pattern of a man who, above all things, loves 
 slow-going, and comfort, and quiet — notwithstanding what in- 
 numerable busy-bodies may insinuate or aver to the contrary. 
 And to be tormented and pestered as I have been for the last 
 two weeks with all those confounded Ijuiidles and bunches of 
 letters and telegrams ! It would turn the brain of a Dutchman. 
 But in my case, I confess, the torment absolutely grew beyond 
 my capacity of (holing. So, as at any rate my ripe corn was all 
 cut, I manfully resolved to illustrate again practically the admir- 
 able maxim that discretion out of all (juestion is the better part 
 of valour, and lly for a time the scene of the struggle which was 
 rapidly making a ghost of me. Accordingly, I propounded some 
 paltiy story to Agnes by way of excuse, and then slipped out to 
 the stable, and yoked old Donald into the gig, and skedadled 
 instanter. But as I was jogging nicely down the entry, slyly 
 chuckling to myself ovei- the apparent success of my politic ruse, 
 T was aViruptly waylaid, on turning the corner, by a certain too 
 well-known imp of darkness, a boy on a pony, who, as soon as I 
 became cognisant to his keen young optics, held up his hand as 
 if to arrest me, and then gleefully and discordantly shouted at 
 his loudest — 
 
 " Maister Pintail ; stop, Mr Pintail ; aw hiv a tailygraum
 
 40 L A Y S A N I) L E T T K R S. 
 
 for 'e." The British law of assault and battery must never either 
 be assaulted or battered by the respectable and responsible 
 Dominie, else — • — The boy, therefore, is not Iniried yet. But 
 the message — the infernal " tailygraum " — the well-known slip of 
 flimsy paper direct from the Post Ofhce. Ah ! It never was 
 read, and never more will be, for T rent it violently on the spot 
 into ten thousand slireds and fractions, and then instantly 
 whipped up Donald, and left tlie imp sitting on horseback in 
 the middle of the road, a perfect patent monument of speechless 
 horror and amazement. Telegrams ! I dreaded even driving on, 
 for I was taking a course which brought me every step nearer 
 the railway, where those naked telegraph wires ai'e night and 
 day to be seen extended from pole to pole, like the very twanging 
 and trembling nerve iil)res of Pandemonium itself. But I 
 daringly ventured forward, for I had a noljle pui-pose in view. 
 
 After an interval of half an hour or so, I quieted down 
 
 considerably, and succeeded in regaining reason, and my usual 
 
 equanimity and urbanity before T had well passed the mill. At 
 
 that jioint, I began to look around me in my ordinary suave and 
 
 composed style. On all sides were to be seen the newly-stooked 
 
 fields. And all about me also the now familiar whirr and rattle 
 
 of the modern harvester was still heard like the song universal — 
 
 the chant triumphant — that was alone tolerable in the land — 
 
 for all other sounds and voices were silenced or hidden Vjy this 
 
 ubiquitous pieon of the season, and of this our mechanical epoch 
 
 — the Age on Wheels. In the hollow Ijeyond the smiddy the 
 
 clamour was absolutely perplexing, and vividly recalled to my 
 
 mind a stanza of Mucklebackit's boyish song on the same 
 
 subject — 
 
 " Wi' a birr aa' a whirr, awa, awa, 
 Wi' a birr an' a whirr, awa, awa, 
 Owre rigg an' fiu we ca' \vc ca,' 
 Wi' a birr an a whirr, awa, awa ; 
 Nae hooks are noo, ava, ava, 
 But muckle machines hae a', hae a', 
 Ad' blue look th' grey coats frae Armagh 
 At oor birr an' oor whirr, awa, awa."
 
 THE A U L D DOMINIE. 41 
 
 The crops, speaking generally, appeared somewhat dwarfed. 
 They wanted — it seemed to me, as a whole — more of them. 
 Perchance the extra quality of the wheat and barley will scjuare 
 matters. Perchance ! Imperceptil)ly I was drifting again into 
 the slough of nervous irritability and low spirits, and beginning 
 to regret that my span of life had been dwindled out into such 
 an unconscionable length. The poor modern Methuselah ! If 
 my brother, the Wandering Jew, and I ever foregather, I mused, 
 what would be thought of us ? Tliat was a question I dared not 
 ponder. And so again I plucked up the reins, and urged Donald 
 forward faster and faster. The cross-roads, the ash tree, and the 
 wood and the craig were all passed in a hurricane of speed and 
 distraction. I was like Jonah of old — trying to fly from myself ; 
 and ere the ci'own of the brae which overlooks the clachan was 
 surmounted, the pony was exhausted, and I had to let him walk 
 down. Before I was at all aware, we were passing under the 
 railway bridge, above which the telegraph wires were humming 
 and bumming away in full song and symphony. I started at 
 their dreaded melody as if I had been caught up in their meshes, 
 and had received from them an excruciating electric shock. In 
 less time than even a telegraphist would believe, I wa.3 at the 
 door of the inn giving hasty directions to the ostler anent the 
 stabling and feeding of Donald. He was at home — the man of 
 the inn. I absorbed more raw spirits in five minutes that day 
 than I had done for whole years previously Immediately after- 
 wards, I bent my aged steps for Mucklebackit's straight. He 
 also was at home, I was informed, and in his sanctum. 
 
 " Come in !" he cried when I had tapped at the door, and in 
 straightway I went, and found him sitting in his high chair 
 reading — a — a — angels and ministers of grace — a telegram ! 
 " Oh Sam !" I yelled in a tone of superlative apprehension and 
 distress. " What is that ! Put it away, oh put it away, dear Sam 
 — do." " What is the matter, I don't understand you !" he cried, 
 rising huiriedly. " Is onything wrang — Nanny T " Never 
 mind," I returned, picking up the miserable telegraphic despatch
 
 f5 
 
 42 L A Y S A \ I) L ]■: '1" T K U S. 
 
 which lie liud hiid aside on my entrance, " Is it read 1 is it 
 answered f "Yes." "Then kindly aUow me, Sam," I said, 
 tlirusting viciously the oti'endiiig missive between the bars of the 
 grate. " Oh Mucklebackit, I am literally done for — unnerved — 
 unhin^'ed — and disconsolate and distiau^dit beyond remedy !" 
 "Sit down," he replied soothin;Li;ly, "an' tell nw. what it is. T 
 trust — wi' an anxiety as <,'reat an' as deep as your ain - I hope 
 its no Nanny 'i Tell me cjuick I" " Sam, no, it is not Agnes. 
 She is well and hearty— thank (lod." " Then, ye auld drivelling 
 antediluvian ass, what is it 1" he demanded, kindling up im- 
 l)atiently and furiously. " Nae mair mystical palavers wi' me, I 
 say. Out with it, at once." " Yes, yes, Sam," I rejoined, 
 beginning strangely to (juieten down the more I noticed him 
 blazing up ! 
 
 " Yes, dear Sam, Agnes is well— content yourself. It is 
 those unutterable, insidious, and disturbing telegi-ams. Do you 
 get them too 1 By me they are insupportable. And yet every 
 friend and every enemy I have got t)Ji this earth, who resides a 
 gun-shot beyond the radius of Blaebraes, seems resolved to present 
 me with a .sample of them. AVhat can I do to prevent the 
 further inlet of these obnoxit)US visitants — the wieckers of my 
 health, the worry of my old age — the accursed disturbers and 
 destroyers of my ease and trancjuility ! 1 have come to you, 
 Sam, as my oldest and best friend, I have Hown to you to seek 
 your valued advice — to ask you to assist me, and to tell me what 
 you think I ought to do. For if they be not stopped, and 
 stopped at once, I verily believe the sable plumes of my hearse 
 will be seen coming down your street before a month is over. 
 You know, I told you about that unfortunate transaction in 
 Glasgow 'I Well, anent that, tw(j weeks ago the telegrams began 
 to drop in intermittently, night and day — although harvest was 
 begun. Then there was the price of the hay to settle with the 
 Leith merchant, and nothing would serve him else than sending 
 me a whole long array of them about that. Next, poor Agnes 
 was laid up for a few days with a swollen tongue, occasioned, I
 
 THE A U L D DOMINIE. 
 
 43 
 
 surmise, by her somewhat imprudent and extraordinary linguistic 
 performances in the part she took in the interminable " auld 
 wife's clatter " with your Tibbie during our late successful trip to 
 the seaside in our own dogcart. My son and daughter, who are 
 married and settled (as you are aware) in Edinburgh and Glasgow 
 respectively, both somehow heard of this illness, and instantly 
 began of course to opei'ate on the wires also, and in a short time 
 they peppered me to the extent of even two and three messages 
 a-day apiece. Hiid the swelling not (juickly abated I was a 
 doomed man — clearly. But Doctor Gordon soon released us (so 
 far as she was concerned at any rate) by an ample and skilful 
 application of oatmeal porridge and fresh lard to the distempered 
 larynx. For a day or two after this, the despatches began 
 \ isibly to lessen, and I fondly hoped in my innocence that the 
 brunt of the pestiferous blast had passed. Foolisli, foolish old 
 man. Sam, will you credit it ? the storm is renewed worse than 
 ever. Even this xevy day I have been made the demented 
 recipient of no less than three more of the detested plagues — one 
 of them all the way from New York." 
 
 " Good gracious !" laughed 8am, " what's it about, Dominie, 
 at all ?" " About. It is about me — it is about you. The 
 inquisiti^'e operator in New York demands to know, per return 
 of cable, if the rumour is true that you are to publish a new 
 book ? Such a report, he says, is (juite current in all the large 
 cities of the Union. My instant and laconic answer to the 
 curious Yankee was one word — certainly ! But what the 
 result of it will be, brief as it was, I tremble to conjecture. 
 I fear you may look out, Sam, for no less than an order for a 
 half of the first edition. Strangely, l>ut yet naturally, the other 
 telegrams of the last day or two — all those I have read — have 
 had their origin in the same cause. I say ' naturally ' advisedly, 
 Sam." "Why, Dominie 1 I am not sure if T follow you. Un- 
 ravel, unravel." " I will, as often as T have heard you say Sam, in 
 five flashes. I have received a large sheaf of telegrams, from 
 both near and distant corresp(jndents, and from all the four cor-
 
 44 L A Y S AND L 1>; T l' !•; H S. 
 
 ners of the country — Balmoral included — the good half of them 
 seeking to know if I am mixed up with your puV)lication, and the 
 remainder as anxiously enquiring who or what the deuce am II 
 It seems that all these l)enighted or mystilied telegraphists cannot 
 bottom the Old Dominie at all, and hence their consuming 
 anxiety and curiosity on the subject. Wliat am T to do? Sug- 
 gest me a way out of my deplorable fix, Samuel, if you can. T 
 cannot survive nmch longer, I am persuaded, this terrific deluge 
 of despatches. I have written, and rewritten, to Mr Raikes — 
 but all to no effect. He is powei'less in the matter. Of course, 
 Sam, your countrymen have no difficulty with you — every man 
 and mother's son know Mucklebackit, his Ijirth, his boyhood, and 
 the marvellous deeds of his i-ipei' years are more familiar in their 
 mouths than fheir parritch spoons. But of me they know only 
 enough to awaken their curiosity, and to create in them a craving 
 to learn more. What do you think Sam ?" 
 
 " Hemm ; hemm ;" he mused, " its raither a ticklish quan- 
 dary, naedoot. Pass your snuff'box. Let me see, let me see. 
 (Ha-chee ! ha-chee ! Confound that snuff' ! I would gie my 
 aith the feck o't's mercury.) The chiels wha are threshin' the 
 last shaird o' life out o' ye wi' their multitudinous epistolary an' 
 telegraphic queries evidently ken a guid swatch o' yer history 
 already, an' aiblins the easiest method to quaten them a'thegither 
 wad be to gie them the haill o't ? I have had an inklin' o' this 
 before mysel', for I hae aften been bathered wi' fouk speerin' 
 about ye. An' the feint ane o' me could satisfy them either, for 
 the guid reason that it was abune my power to do sae. I ken 
 literally nocht about ye Dominie — your early history, I mean. 
 For wha ye are, what ye are, or whare ye cam' frae, are three 
 hooly questions as dark an' as inscrutable to the saul of Sam 
 Mucklebackit as the origin an' minority o' Clootie himsel'. Sin' 
 the time whan I used to writhe aneath your lang tawse at the 
 schule, nae douf)t I hae gotten a wee wheen glimpses o' mair or 
 less extent o' some portions o' yer existence — but the beginnin' 
 o't, an' a' the lave o't, are just as blank an' as unknown as the
 
 THE A U L D DOMINIE. 45 
 
 black core o' chaos to me." " You have your own self to blame 
 for this," I pleaded, "you have never asked to be informed, 
 Ham." 
 
 " True, Dominie, vera true. But can ye really mind as far 
 back as your youth f " No doubt," I answered readily, " that 
 is, as far back as the public rejoicings for the great victory of 
 Trafalgar. " What ! Dominie ! Trafalgar ! ! Do I really see 
 before me with the eye of flesh, and being clothed, and in my right 
 mind — do I really see — what of course, is only a vestige of a 
 man — but do I really look upon a living man-relic of that epoch 
 of almost misty antiquity ? Trafalgar ! Prodigious ! Prodig- 
 ious, indeed — three times prodigious. Tra — fal — gar! The 
 little living frog that was lately disentombed from the heart of 
 an eight ton whinstone boulder, which was quarried out of the 
 middle of a seam of coal in an eighty-fathom-deep mine in West 
 Lothian, is no more than thy rival in interest to me. Indeed, 
 not so much ; for the frog lacks proof, but there thou art. Tell 
 me, O Dominie, disclose to me the enthralling story of thy 
 earliest time — if happily so he it that an expressionable recollec- 
 tion of it be still extant in that wonderful assortment of 
 crumbling bone and parchment which thou callest thy skull f 
 '• Sam," I broke in, laughing before he had half done, " 8am, I 
 don't know how it is — but so it is — when I first came in here 
 to-night I felt all over miserable. My old heart seemed to have 
 l)ecome a veritable cauldron of unrest, and woe, and trouble. 
 And now, such is the magic and cheering influence of your 
 gracious and mirth-provoking presence and company, I ;im 
 already, as it were, renovated throughout, my dejection is fled 
 or flying me fast, and altogether I feel as if the old life-lilood of 
 my youth was streaming and bounding in full tide tlii-ough this 
 withered and shrunken frame once more. God bless you, Sam." 
 " All right, my patiiarch," he replied feelingly. " Don't mention 
 it. P>ut I am in earnest — I never was more so. I have this 
 night to spare, and I want to hear your account of youi-self — 
 your autol)iography, in fact, up to the time when 1 knew you
 
 46 L A Y S AND I, K 'I' T K K S. 
 
 first ;i3 the tenant of Blaebraes." "And you shall liave it," I 
 clechuTcl warmly, "if for no other reason than as a partial 
 acknowleclgnient of your invaluable instrumentality and services 
 to ine this evening." 
 
 » 
 
 So saying, we each of us drew our t-liaii- nearei' the fire ; 
 for the autumn air, even in the cosy sanctum, ftdt already shrewd 
 and snelly, and after Sam had re-filled and lighted his enormous 
 meerschaum, and I had re-primed my Welliiigtonian nasal organ 
 with a full charge of Princes mixture, we nodded to each other 
 and then I coughed, and began forthwith the unfolding of my 
 extraordinary narrative. 
 
 In the somewhat chilly autumn evening we hob-noljbed, as 
 only old friends can do, over the cosy sanctum hearth together — • 
 Sam and I, alone. He appeared most nnxious to hear my event- 
 ful story, and I was as eager to begin, foi- T dreaded as the 
 plague a relapse of my late bitter recollecti(ms. Nothing is so 
 propitious as idleness to sadness. This T had proved tens of 
 thousands of times previously, and, therefore, immediately, and 
 with an heroic effort, T launched myself back into my early 
 years and began as follows : Tiike yourself, Sam, I am entirely 
 one of the people — I belong to the people, am a son of the 
 people, and a very old man of the people also. 
 
 My ancient but ignoble blooil 
 
 Has crept through scoundrels ever since tlie flood. 
 
 T was born, Sam, T really don't know where, but T was ejected 
 from the unknown into this earthlv scene of perplexing affairs in 
 one of the decades of the last century -probably in the last or 
 the immediately preceding decade. No baptismal record, no 
 parish register notification, nor even a homely excerpt from the 
 fly-leaf of the old Ha' Bible, can be laid hands on and brought 
 forth as evidence indubitalile of the exact decade of my earthly 
 advent. 31y father was a Hying tailor, and my mother a fiying 
 washerwoman, in the merry toun o' Tranent. They arc both dead
 
 r H K A U L 1) 1) O M I NM K. 47 
 
 nnw. They both died before Robert Bums. Bold John Barley- 
 corn early tripped up the restless heels of my erratic father, and 
 his loving spouse, my poor mothei', fell over him and never rose 
 again. Peace — peace to their ashes. T never had the faintest 
 recollection of either of them, albeit I was their ae an' only 
 bairn. After the deplorable collapse of my earthly authors, I 
 was left to tend and fend for myself, which at lirst I did by 
 herding black cattle for the farmer of Southtield on Glad's Muir, 
 and afterwards for the then tenant of Beanston on Beanston 
 Muir — on the north bank of the Tyne, between the county town 
 and Linton — which was all fenceless and totally unenclosed in 
 those days. Anent those far back early years I remember very 
 little, and absolutely nothing worth recording. My first vivid 
 reminiscence, as previously mentioned, relates to Nelson's crown- 
 ing victory of Trafalgar, which made the village people for the 
 space of a week delirious with delight and the drinking of seas 
 of home-brewed ale to his immortal memory. And shortly 
 after this, Sam, I remember going with crowds (if other people 
 to the top of the Law, for the purpose of verifying or falsifying 
 forv ourselves a rumour which was then current that the French 
 ships, with the threatened army of in\asion on board were 
 straightway making for Leith Roads. Nothing was too absurd 
 for the fear and credulity of those terrible times. I chiefly 
 recollect the Law excursion, however, from the painful fact that 
 I had the mischance to lose my new Ijlue Scotch bonnet there, 
 and consequently had to find my way back Beanstonwards like a 
 bareheaded savage. I have a vague idea still, also, that the 
 bulk of the population in these parts at that period were of, or 
 were in some way or other cfinnected with the red-coated pro- 
 fe.ssion of arms. Every other man was either of the militant 
 military itself, or belonged to one or other of the numerous 
 militia corps garrisoned or barracked in the district. The great 
 post road swarmed with them at all times, night and day. 
 
 After leaving my old master at JJeanston, with whom 1 
 served some years, I tilled the arduous post of ladeujan, or
 
 48 I. A Y s A\n I. V. r r v. i: s. 
 
 miller's carter, at a <,'rinrlin,i!; mill on tlio Tyne a little below 
 Hadtliiigton. 1 was alone in the world, Sam, a wanderer, an 
 alien, a stray waif, and barring an uncle, who was supposed to be 
 still in life and sojourning in foreign parts, had not a single 
 relative to the fore. I5y my old master I had been sent for a 
 month or < wo duiing the nights of three winters to school, where 
 1 pirkcd up the means to improve myself — i.e., learnt to read 
 and write a little, and these means constituted the sum total of 
 all the academical assistance I ever received. My progress 
 litcraiy wise, however, was rapid — I was capaljle actually to 
 slowly read aloud (to myself), in an old nameless and dateless 
 portion of a newspaper, an original account of the " Bloody 
 Battle of Waterloo," within even less than nine months after it 
 was fought. I was my own preceptor, and this one fact explains 
 my progress. The afore-mentioned old ragged bit of a paper, 
 a tattered, boardless Bible, and half a dozen weil-thum]:)ed, dog- 
 eared penny chap books, and Jielfast almanacks, comprised for 
 some yeai'S my entire valuable library. During this great 
 educational period, T had also succeeded in filliiig a half stocking 
 foot with my sa\ed earnings. I therefore advisedly forsook the 
 ser\ice of the millmaster, bought an a^^ology for a horse, and 
 another one for a cart, for an old song, .and started instantly on 
 my own account as puldic carrier between this village and 
 Edinburgh. Tn this new and aristocratic profession I succeeded, 
 so that my highest anticipations were soon laughed at and 
 forgotten. My stores of knowledge and book-learning were, 
 besides, immensely increased by my weekly journeys into the 
 Modern Athens. 
 
 I got all sorts of literature at the old book shops in the old 
 town for the asking almost. In the district my learning soon 
 became so well-known that, when the schoolmaster of a neigh- 
 bouring clachan suddenly succumbed, I was called by the 
 unanimous voice of the whole country side to become his 
 successor — which I did. My school was not the parish one 
 of the district, as you are aware, oidy an offshoot of it — the
 
 T II E A U L D D O M I N I E. 49 
 
 main establislnnent being distant about a mile and a bittock. 
 My schoolroom itself was a couple of old outhouses knocked into 
 one building by simply driving a six feet square aperture 
 through the gable which formerly divided them, and boarding up 
 one of the doorways. When I first began my professional 
 labours in this venerable institution, I possessed as raw matei'ial 
 the " harns " inside the craniums of four boys and three girls, all 
 country urchins, and the whole of them about six years of age 
 a-piece. One of those little girls afterwards in due time became 
 my most able and efficient better half — my truly adorable Agnes. 
 " Indomitable Nanny !" shouted Sam, sympathetically and with 
 stentorian virr and energy. " How did ye court her ? How was 
 she won 1 I die to hear how ye woo'd and won such a woman of 
 women. As Jonathan has it, ' Hurry up, right away, Kerslap'!" 
 " Yes," I returned, " but everything in its own place, Sam. 
 
 During my tirst session the little students increased to 
 over sixty, and ere my third terminated, T had one hundred and 
 tifty on my regular roll — all taught by myself, and all paying me 
 one * common fee of twopence each a week. My system was 
 simplicity itself. Lessons all leai'ned to a word — or ! Corporal 
 chastisement was the universal method for ensuring diligence. 
 My scholars had got to learn, and they knew it — and did it. My 
 inflexible manner was known far and wide, hence the parents of 
 delicate or extra dull children invariably gave me a wide berth, 
 and none other than the robust and capable entered this hard 
 wcjrld thi'ough my iron portal. My success was complete and 
 everywhere acknowledged. 
 
 Yeai-s prior to my resignation, my Academy was tilled to 
 overflowing daily with two different sets of learners — from 9 a.m. 
 to 4 or 5 P.M. with the usual promiscuous assemblage of juveniles 
 attending a country school, and from 7 to 9 (jr 10 p.m. with a 
 sturdy tumbling batch of young ploughmen and others from the 
 adjoining hamlets and fai-iiis around. The one reason I believe 
 of my extreme popularity was my success as a teacher of the 
 
 E
 
 ")0 LAYS AND L li T T K 1{ S. 
 
 robust porridge fed country lads and lasses. Many of those 
 urchins became learned prodigies under the quickening and 
 never-failing influence of my dreaded ' tawse.' And I somehow 
 had a way of making even tlie children themselves perceive that 
 the inflicting of physical punishment was painful in the extreme 
 to me, and that I only liad recourse to it for their own 
 benefit. I drop you these professional remarks, Sam, just by the 
 way, for the obvious consideration of the dominies of the present 
 day. 
 
 After cultivating this human nursery and teaching the 
 young idea how to shoot for full sixteen weary years — with a 
 comfortable amount of profit withal — I at last determined for 
 divers urgent and weighty reasons to relinquish it, and renounce 
 for ever my charge of this intellectual vineyard, and to cast 
 about for another in the agricultural world, and, in short, go in 
 for farming during the remainder of my long lease upon this 
 earth. Twice weekly, wlien ofiiciating as public carrier of the 
 district, I had to pass at a distance the sombrous and bleak-look- 
 ing farm and steading of Blaebraes, on the desolate estate of the 
 Right Hon. Lord Glum of Barehall, then tenanted by a Mr John 
 — or more familiarly "Jock" — Towzler, a reckless spendthrift, 
 and trafficker in fighting cocks, baiting bull-dogs, badgers, and 
 racehorses. From the very first, this dilapidated, yet — in a style 
 of its own — picturesque, and exceedingly moderately-rented farm, 
 took by storm my fancy. I gazed at it always with eager, and I 
 confess, with longing and covetous eyes. Ere long, therefore, as 
 I grew big and prosperous in the world, I resolved and solemnly 
 made a vow within myself, never to rest or relax one jot my 
 earnest and frugal ways and habits, until I had attained the 
 secret object of my daring ambition, and become the proud 
 occupier and tenant of it. Many long and laborious years, 
 crammed full of sore troubles, sorrows, difficulties, and disappoint- 
 ment, Sam, I knew well I would have to plod, plan, and struggle 
 through, before I came within even a distant sight of the happy 
 goal of all my desires. But I was in those days a man of the
 
 T U E A U L D DOMINIE. 51 
 
 stamp that can wait — one who could resolutely will to work on 
 silently and wait. Such a man, Mucklebackit, given health, can 
 accomplish anything. Why do you frown so ?" " Dominie, had 
 you been gifted with reflective powers equal to your others, ye 
 would ha\'e been a great genius. Ye lack only reason — high 
 judgment I mean, for your worldly ratiocination is indubitably 
 over the average. I never held you in so much estimation as I 
 do this moment." " Oh, Sam ! the <»ld pedantic and polemic 
 Dominie is already a sad egotist — and there you are, doing your 
 utmost to puff and wind him up in his own conceit larger and 
 more absurd than ever. But, to resume. The full tide of oppor- 
 tunity (after, you know, keeping school for sixteen years) had 
 suddenly swollen and flooded to my very feet. Will you credit 
 it Samuel ? I was accepted of my peerless and beloved Agnes. 
 The spendthrift farmer of bonny Blaebraes became a fled bank- 
 rupt, and my Lord Glum's big burly factor advertised for a tenant 
 for the farm, for which I ofl'ered myself at 20 per cent, under 
 poor Mr Towzler, and was at once thankfully embraced. That 
 makes you gape. Of course, I will explain how it all fell out, 
 and the story, take my word for it, will be worth the hearing. 
 Fill your pipe."
 
 SEVENTH L E T T E R. 
 
 Autobiographical — "Woo'd and Married and a'." 
 
 At this point of my life story, Sam, my solitary interlocutor, 
 and I were abruptly disturbed by the unannounced entrance of 
 " Tibbie," mindfully inquiring, " Did we no' want a bite o' some- 
 thing?" "She had the buttock o' the last goudy cheese still i' 
 the press, and it, wi' a chack o' white bread an' a mouthfu' o' 
 ale, wad maybe pit us owre a' nicht." "Tibb," says Sam, with 
 a greedy look in his eye, and his mouth watering, " Tibb, my 
 love, we want to be left alone ; l)ut I daresay ye may bring ben 
 the bread and ale, just for the look o' the thing. The gabbie auld 
 Dominie is enow on the eve o' his weddin' in his crack — sae tlie bap 
 an' the goudy we'll in fancy gar stand for the marriage feast. No 
 words, dearie. Hurry up." On her almost instant return with 
 the viands and a large stone jar, we sat us ])oth down at the 
 table and partook. Tibbie mended and renewed the fire, and 
 tidied up the snuggery, and then bade us guid evening, and left 
 us for good Before I had finished my diminutive half slice, 
 " Drink, Dominie," said Mucklebackit in his ordinary indifferent 
 way, pouring out a large bicker of reaming ale from the earthen- 
 ware jar. " Ye maun surely be thirsty after the concoction and 
 emission o' that dry, lang-winded yarn. But hist ye — hist ye up. 
 Hoo did ye woo an' win your Nanny 1 Such a woman ?" I 
 must begin at the beginning," I replied, returning tlie empty 
 bicker. " Don't disturb me, Sam, please, and 1 will make my 
 recital as lucid and as succinct as it is within my now-enfeebled 
 capacity to do. Well, then, as I told you before your late 
 ' marriage feast,' Agnes was put under my tuition in my rural
 
 THEAULDDOMINIE. 53 
 
 academy as a scholar at the age of six. The little minx from 
 the very beginning evinced a decided strong-mindedness and 
 individuality of character. She also (somewhat strangely) simul- 
 taneously with doing so, became my pet and favourite pupil. 
 To quote a verse of your own, Sam, upon a similar subject^ 
 
 ' Like a common flower she was 
 A simple fact of every clay, 
 No queenly grace of form or face, 
 And yet— how charming in her way.' 
 
 To me, indeed, she never was a common flower, and I doubt if 
 ever externally she appeared so to many others. Need I say 
 that she soon overtook and distanced scholars twice her age ? 
 She has been a paragon ever since she left the cradle. She was 
 equally and remarkably capable with head, tongue, and hands. 
 Her extraordinary lingual endowments (I am sorry to say) can 
 be proven even now. They remain as full and as unimpaired 
 and as energetic as ever. She can still, when in temper, audibly 
 and successfully maintain her ground against all comers — be 
 they male or be they female. 
 
 At the green age of fifteen (the usually ' green ' age I mean, 
 for in her case such an adjective could never with propriety be 
 applied), at fifteen she left my school for good, and carried off 
 my heart — holus-bolus — along with her. Sam, whether you 
 credit it or not, I tell you that, when Agnes left school, I felt, 
 (of course I didn't know why at the time) as outre, as amazed, 
 and as forlorn as a forty-year wanderer returned to his native 
 village may be supposed to be on finding the old scene, the same 
 outwardly indeed, but with all old friends departed, and a new 
 race of unfamiliar strangers filling their places. My love was 
 as true and pure and sincere as that of a saint, but it was there 
 unknown to me. I could not eat, I could not sleep, I literally 
 pined away. My school became to ine a prison — a haunt of 
 agonising memories, in which I alternately wept, and sighed, and 
 languished, and from which I longed with my whole soul to 
 escape. To quote you again —
 
 54 L A Y S A N I) L K T T K H S. 
 
 ' Life's flood ran on its weary course ; 
 Day after day athwart me row'd, 
 Time seemed still to augment the force 
 Of that great grief which oVr me flowed." 
 
 Her father was a sm.ill fanner, iiuinerserl in debt and difficulties, 
 a 'broken-down' man- — a widower with a small family, my 
 divinity being eldest — and rapidly and visibly tending, poor 
 fellow, away fast to the 'Land o' the Leal,' whither his 'Jean' 
 had preceded him some years. Thus it was that Agnes was 
 taken from school and retained altogether at home — to be the 
 care-taker and mistress of her father s household, and to become 
 as best she might, a second mother to his helpless children. 
 And most nobly and devotedly, Sam, did my peerless princess 
 take up and fulfil this .sacred filial duty — God bless her for it. 
 You knew the old man's place ?" " No, it wasna Sprotland ?" 
 " Yes, the very same. From the schoolhouse it would lie apart 
 about a couple of miles — a dismal road, over lonely, rugged braes, 
 which were then all common moss and moor. 
 
 Along this dreary, foi^lorn track, Sam, I twice weekly, fair 
 weather or foul, distractedly trudged for years — ostensibly to 
 inquire after the health of, and enjoy an hour's society, with 
 ' Auld Ritchie,' but in reality for no other I'eason than to fill up 
 my yearning, aching soul with the divine vision and presence of 
 my indefatigaljle goddess as she fiew rampaging about the house 
 at her work, or deftly spanked and bundled the younger children 
 off to bed. Every Tuesday and Friday after school hours I 
 would invariably set off on this love-lorn mi.ssion to Sprotland, 
 crooning happily as I paced along some characteristic extempore 
 parody of mine, such as this — 
 
 ' Oot owre yon brae.";, whaur Tyne deep flows 
 
 Thro' wuds an' ploo'd fields canny, O ; 
 The bairns rin wild— the schule is closed — 
 
 And I am off to Nanny, O.' cScc. 
 
 By-and-bye the children at Sprotland grew up into striplings,
 
 T II E A U L D D M I M E. 55 
 
 and were severally dispatched to ' service ' or ' trades.' The 
 much-suffering old man died suddenly within a week after creat- 
 ing me by his last testament his sole executor, and the liquidator 
 likewise of the hopelessly bewildered muddle of his mundane 
 aftairs. At my earnest and disinterested solicitation, Agnes and 
 her elder brother agreed at once to the renunciation of the lease 
 of the farm. Thereafter, with really astonishing skill and 
 alacrity, I discharged all the claims against the estate to the last 
 farthing, and effected a clearance and a complete redment of the 
 financial and professional matters within six months of tlie 
 testator's decease — and had my hands washed. 
 
 These sad circumstances, of course Sam, compelled my high- 
 souled but unfortunate empress ultimately to abdicate and vacate 
 the once happy scene of her supreme rule. Then the all- 
 absorbing question to each of us became — where Avas she to go ? 
 Where could the orphan, where could the poor, homeless lassie 
 find a refuge 1 With one poor exception, she had not a surviv- 
 ing friend that could shelter her even for a week. Hers was a 
 case, Mucklebackit, tliat might have moved her stoniest hearted 
 enemy (supposing she had enemies), and so I leave you to 
 imagine how I, her enthralled lover and devoted worshipper, felt 
 over it. The only living relative or friend she had who, even 
 for the shortest space, could possibly have afforded her a resting 
 place, was an old (about thirty), miserly, disappointed maiden 
 aunt, who for some years had i-esided by herself in a large 
 house in the village. But then the two detested each other. 
 However, by my reiterated assurances and counsels, the couple 
 were both at last persuaded to draw together. Agnes consented 
 only after she was convinced that there was really no other 
 outlet or alternative remaining for her. Of course, I was the go- 
 between and the politic negotiator for both maidens. The 
 crabbed, jealous .spinster aunt (as I knew well) was of a temper 
 and disposition not dissimilar to those of my adored ; and was 
 indeed, like my own Cleopatra, a bit of a shrew and termagant 
 also. Just as I desired, so it all came to pass !
 
 56 1- A V s A X 1) L !•; T r !■: i; s. 
 
 As T liad foreseen, the high-mettled couple were not many 
 days together under the same riggin' before they were at daggers 
 di-awn. Of course these contentions brought affait's quickly to 
 a crisis. T foresaw that they would, and therefore (juite con- 
 fidently and deliberately watched and waited my opportunity. 
 When it came, I clearly and l)oldly one evening (it was the ides 
 of March, Sam,) pushed forwaixl, and h(>roically delivered to my 
 soul's idol the all important question — and was accepted without 
 one moment's hesitation. As I was the senior of my alKanced — 
 say, two score years — the loving Amazon for once yielded 
 willingly to another's will, and graciously permitted even me to 
 name the happy day for the celebration of our projected 
 espousals as, arm in arm, and now publicly linked together for 
 life, we fondly sauntered by ourselves along the sunny banks of 
 the Tyne. Sam ! I know the very inch and sjDot of ground to 
 this day whereon she stood when she looked up into my face, and 
 then blushingly said ' Yes !' Oh, the unspeakable rapture of that 
 hour ! I visit the hallowed scene of our blessed betrothal 
 regularly every year at the ides of March. The last time I was 
 there I was so moved with the flood of my fond recollections that 
 I had to take out my pencil and jot the following down on the 
 bit to unburden and relieve my oppressed heart : — 
 
 By thee, dear Tyr.e, again by thee 
 
 I stray where aft I wont to stray, 
 When youthfu' Nanny roain'd wi' me, 
 
 By boskie bauk an' breerie brae ! 
 Weel, weel I lo'e thee, bonnie Tyne, 
 
 O I will lo'e thee till I dee ! 
 The bands o' love did first entwine 
 
 My willing heart, lang syne, by thee ! 
 
 Here is the scene — the bonnie bower, 
 
 Where first-love's posie fragrant grew ! 
 The bonnie bower, wherein my flower — 
 
 That precious posie — I did pu' ! 
 The tears o' age now dim my e'e, 
 
 IVhen I my early time reca', 
 The stang an' t.tuund o' memorie, 
 
 Is aye — thae days are wede awa' !
 
 T If E A U L L) DOMINI E. 57 
 
 But I will lo'c thee, bonnie Tyne, 
 
 O I will lo'e thee till I dee ! 
 The bands o' love did first entwine 
 
 My willing heart, sweet stream, by thee ! 
 
 I was then a youth of only about sixty, or seventy-five at 
 the most. Well, the grand, auspicious marriage clay at length 
 dawned and wore on, we were united in the guid auld Scotch 
 fashion ; but more than that about it I am not going to say — it 
 isn't worth while. The honeymoon we passed decently in our 
 own house, and amidst the quiet scenes of our own native valley. 
 
 I am anxious to press on, and to give you the other and far 
 more important parts of my story, which, I believe, are still 
 beyond your knowledge." "Yes, certainly !" said Mucklebackit, 
 seemingly rousing himself from some sad and sentimental reverie. 
 " I cannot imagine, for instance, Dominie, how you managed to 
 secure the lease of your farm ; or how you overcame the, in your 
 case, almost insuperable difficulties I should think, of starting 
 farming on such a large scale. You stated that Nanny had 
 nothing, and your sixteen years teaching could not possibly have 
 profited you to the extent of the sum required. How then in the 
 name of wonder, did you manage it. I should like to know that." 
 " Sam !" I replied warmly, " I had Agnes. Nanny, as you 
 persist in calling her, was then mine. We were just newly 
 wedded. You forget that. But it is now too late for this — the 
 most interesting portion of my whole history. I must go. 
 When shall I see you again, Sam ?" " Weel," he yawned 
 dubiously, scratching his tumbled, tousy head, and reverting to 
 his usual Scottish idiom, " I'm as forjeskit an' forfochten enow 
 as a baxter's aiver in hairst. Your late bout o' tailygraums' 
 were but as a sunny shoo'r to the paper storm I hae had frae the 
 Post Offish. But gie ye my best respecks to Nanny, an' hint 
 that, gif the brittle thread o' life bauds lang eneuch, I'll e'en stap 
 up an' pree a spoonfu' o' her harvest parritch afore they're a 
 suppit."
 
 EIGHTH L E T T E R. 
 
 AUTOBIOGKAPHICAL An InTEKJACENT LeTTEK. 
 
 " Near, and more near the thunders roll !" 
 
 Tn the last letter the promise of my friend was duly and 
 accurately recorded — to wit, that in order to pree a spoonful of 
 our " harvest parritch," and to hear the remainder of my eventful 
 early history, he would certainly take occasion by the forelock 
 some canny leisure evening about the end of harvest, and revisit 
 the old home of the old "Dominie " and his own old dear friend 
 and admirer, the adorable but formidable " My Nannie, O." In 
 harmony, therefore, with this gracious promise, the other day our 
 nimble post-runner dropped me a note in the old, large, uncouth, 
 caligraphy of Sam, saying that we might look for him on the 
 following evening about six. This characteristic and laconic 
 intimation somehow got wind (no doubt through Jenny, the 
 jaud !) and all the farm hands and others resolved to give him — 
 it being the merry end of harvest — a right hearty country all- 
 hail and welcome in their own approved style. The furnace in 
 the porridge house was that day made up, and the match put to 
 it exactly at 3 p.m. Agnes herself, alive and alert, and as brisk 
 and energetic in her three-score-years-and-ten as an ordinary 
 gipsy at sweet ane-and-twenty, superintended the cooking, 
 culinary, and other preparations, which were all indeed upon a 
 scale commensurate with the greatness of our expected guest, 
 and the vastness of her own housewifery skill and management. 
 Redoubtable Agnes, long may she rampage about. The oats 
 from which the meal was manufactui'ed of which the " parritch "
 
 THE AULD DOMINIE. 
 
 59 
 
 were to be made were grown in the Castle park of Clover Riggs, 
 and the grinding of them was performed in a really super- 
 excellent manner at the mills of Mr Watt of East Linton. The 
 salt wherewith the feast was to be savoured was gotten straight 
 down from the refinery in Bermondsey. 
 
 About tive o'clock, the profound mistress of the mess (Agnes) 
 proclaimed the parittch tf) be " ready,' and ordered them to be 
 " bickered " forthwith. The " coggie " designed for Mucklebackit 
 was a " twa-some," specially built for the occasion by a famous 
 local cooper — one of the new electorate — from timber obtained 
 from the grand old " Elm Tree " (said to have been the oldest in 
 the county) which overhung, and sheltered, and adorned so long 
 the great Ha' door of Gosford House, and which, it is alleged, 
 strangely succumbed to Boreas, and age and infirmity combined, 
 and fell crash and prone upon mother earth, on the very evening 
 that Mr Haldane left Cloanden to contest the shire with my Lord 
 Elcho. The milk for the ensuing banquet, I may state, was 
 gifted by a friend, to Agnes, from the matchless kine of Yester. 
 
 At a quarter to six the watchman stationed atop the highest 
 knowe behind the steading signalled attention, and then lustily 
 announced to us all the dim, yet unmistakable approach of 
 Mucklebackit in the far distance. Instantly everybody leaped 
 up within his or herself and became excited, and friend to friend 
 shouted — " He's comin' !" " He's comin' f At the same memor- 
 able moment of time an agile young ploughman (Forsyth) 
 sprang like a tar up a long ladder, and hoisted and fixed on the 
 apex of the highest stack a resplendent flag — a banner, a signal 
 and token of boundless hospitality and dearest welcome — a red 
 and blue table cover attached with cart nails to a pheerin' pole. 
 
 The very dogs appeared to share and sympathize with the 
 universal high strung human feeling. At length the object of 
 all this expectancy and elaborate preparation hove largely in the 
 gloaming in full view — tramping with gigantic strides towards
 
 GO L A Y tS A N* 1) L !•: T T H H S. 
 
 US, utterly ignorant and unsuspicious of everything about to hap- 
 pen, solemnly, tlioughtfully, and all alone. As he rounded the 
 turn at the end oi the entry, suddenly a tremendous cheer startled 
 and reverbei'ated afar through the peaceful evening, and a band 
 of upwards of a dozen stalwart and bronzed rustics were seen to 
 rush frantically from the hedge, and seize without palaver the 
 dumfoundered champion, and then to lift him up and bare him 
 shoulder high with songs and shouts in triumph to the corn barn. 
 In this late swept-out hall of Agricultural Science and Industry, 
 the astounded bard was slowly lowered down upon his feet, and, 
 then immediately escorted to a big chair at the end of a long 
 extemporised table, along both sides of which were ranged the 
 bickers and tankai'ds containing the wholesome elements of the 
 feast now about to be enjoyed. 
 
 Sam seemed to take the meaning of it all in at a glance, for 
 no sooner had he somewhat settled himself in his chair than his 
 mouth opened to its Avidest limit, and he ejected from his " ben- 
 most " internals a burst of laughter like the roar of a mighty 
 cataract in winter. " Dominie," he cried, after partially recover- 
 ing himself, " Dominie, you old Reynard ; this is a' your doing ! 
 But what are the bickers for ? This is not the parritch house ? 
 Open up. Dominie, open up." " No Sam," I merrily rejoined, 
 " this is certainly not the parritch-house. But don't you remem- 
 ber your concluding words at our last interview ? You then 
 obligingly signified your heroic intention to pree a spoonful of 
 Mrs P.'s homely harvest fare. The people found out this — hence 
 the result, and a most fitting, natural, and laudable one I 
 consider it to be. Take all your seats callants. Mrs Pintail 
 and Jenny will be here with the spoons directly." " Ay, an' 
 afore they come," boldly interposed the steward, " I propose that 
 Mucklebackit be urged to invoke a blessing on the providers 
 of this noble feast in his ain fashion — that is, I mean in 
 poetry." Whilst the grieve, in the simj)licity of his heart, was 
 quietly puting forth this (in his case) quite innocent, yet most 
 ludicrous proposal, the elongated phiz of Sam assumed gradually
 
 THE AULD DOMINIE. 
 
 61 
 
 the most lugubrious and puritanical expression that I ever 
 witnessed on the face of mortal man. " Silence," he whis- 
 pered solemnly, and we were all silent indeed. " Oh, gentlemen, ' 
 he expostulated, " this is no mocking matter. I am incapable, 
 totally incapable of giving countenance to anything of that sort. 
 But to please you, I will reverentially, and in good faith, say 
 this in my own way — 
 
 '■ Lord, with this parritcb, grant me grace 
 
 To i)ray the donors weal I 
 May ' Nauny ' years yet, rin life's race, 
 And ' Tarn ' be at her heel ! Amen." 
 
 At this awe-struck stage, Agnes and Jenny, the servant lass, 
 entered with a sackful of horn spoons, which, after salutations, 
 they deftly distributed amongst the large company, and then 
 without ceremony we all greedily fell to. For some minutes 
 nothing inside the large hall was heard but slorp, slorp ; while 
 eveiy student there, with bent head and eager assiduity, appeared 
 engrossed in discussing and mastering his own particular problem. 
 The comparative deepness of the silence was only audibly lessened 
 as Sam ever and anon muttered hurriedly between soups to 
 himself enthusiastically, " Shoopreme crowdy ! Oh what a feast ! 
 Such meal — such milk ! Hemman !" &c., &c., " Maister Muckle- 
 backit," interrogated Agnes at length, " is the parritch to your 
 taste, dear ? Dinna scrimp yersel. We keepit anither bickerfu' 
 in reserve, in case ye ran short." "Oh! Mistress Pintail," 
 returned Sam, wiping off the large drops of perspiration which, 
 like blabs of dew on a cabbage stock, adorned his weathei'- 
 beaten countenance, "I ha'ena had such parritch as thae for mony, 
 mony a day. Indeed, indeed I have not ! Dominie, I dinna' 
 wonder Burns spak' o' the halesome parritch as being the chief 
 o' Scotia's food. When your candidate. Lord Elcho, ca's upon 
 ye, gie him such anither feed as this, an' then he may weel excuse 
 you your vote." 
 
 After the removal of the things, Agnes, who had been
 
 62 LAYS AXD LET T K U S. 
 
 absent for a brief space, again made her appearance in our midst 
 —this time with a large decanter and an empty glass in her 
 hands. With these she made tlie round of the tables and offered 
 every man a full caulker, with which, if he pleased, " he might 
 drink to the health an' prosperity o' Maister Mucklebackit, an' 
 the great success o' his grand new book." I then explained to 
 the men that tlu; object of our friend's i)re6ent visit was of a 
 private and professional nature, and that it was absolutely 
 essential for us both to retire immediately to the house. Here 
 was a most provoking hitch. Jiy and by, their clever and locally ^ 
 well-known spokesman the grieve (who.se surname, curiously, 
 is also Grieve) stood uj) once more, and said that he and his 
 neighbours were without doubt much disappointed. " We had 
 a' lookit forrit," he continued, "for a few words frae Sam on the 
 political situation ; an' sae in fact it is a sad and grievous end to 
 a' our fond hopes to find noo tliat we are to be denied them. 
 We a' ken that for abune twenty years he has spoken, an' striven, 
 an' written, an' feuchan for the cause, an' for the betterment o' 
 the hard lot o' the puir hind. Weel trow we that we hae nae 
 better nor truer freend in braid Scotland than Samil Muckle- 
 backit.' " Gif sae be that ye think sae," keenly interposed 
 Agnes, " why dinna ye put down your name for his book, Robin?" 
 " I beg yer pardon mem," he replied, a little sensitively, " my 
 name is down for the book long ago. And what is mair, if you 
 please mem, I can say the same for every man-servant also ; he 
 is not so dull as a deid coo, nor so green as a mouldy cheese 
 neither. We are all subscribers — every man of us." "Mr 
 (rrieve," cried Sara, rising up at the end of the bench, " I thank 
 you from my heart. I do not so merely because your name is 
 down for the book, but for what you have said. And had it 
 been at all in my power to have spoken to you to-night, most 
 assuredly I'd have moved heaven and earth to have done so. But 
 my time is really so limited that it may not be. T must retire 
 with the Dominie." 
 
 " You will all," he continued, still lingering, " do your duty
 
 T H E A U L D D O M I N I E. 63 
 
 at the polling booth — I know you will. Let no born man, no 
 matter who or what he is, induce you individually or personally 
 how to vote. If any sneaking canvasser, or any one in authority 
 over you, asks how you intend to vote, straightway look him in 
 the face and quietly say, ' According to my con.science.' One 
 word more only. Many of you, I know, are Churchmen, and 
 perhaps this fact bothers and retards you at present. If it be 
 so, I beseech you at once to discard all your doubts and fears. 
 They are unworthy of you. Were every ploughman, every son 
 of the soil, ay, every working man in Britain, to vote ' Tory,' the 
 Church would not be one whit safer during the next Parliament 
 that it will be with a large Liberal majority in it. The Kirk 
 cannot possibly be disposed of before the question is put as a test 
 issue before the country at a general election, and this will not, 
 cannot, be for years to come. My dear friends, acquit yourselves 
 all like men, and Scottish men too. Refuse to be coddled with 
 specious blarney. Think for yourselves. I do not ask that you 
 should vote either for this man or for that man. Vote ye true — 
 only true to yourselves and to your conscientious convictions, 
 and I for one shall have no fear for the result. Remember the 
 ballot is your perfect and inviolable safeguard. If you wish to 
 keep secret, and if you do not blab upon yourselves, it is abso- 
 lutely and utterly impossible for anyone to discover how you 
 vote — mind that. 
 
 For the country, for all classes, but for the working classes 
 and the rural communities especially, the next Parliament pro- 
 mises to be the most important one that ever sat within the four 
 seas of our beloved Britain. Tlie old land-laws shall be ap- 
 proached and tackled with as they never have been before. 
 Again, we will have a broad, liberal, and popular scheme of local 
 self-government. This also will be a measure of tirst-class con- 
 cern to all of us, for a hundred different reasons. In its ample 
 sweep will be embraced such questions as those of local rating, 
 local option, primary and secondary education, pauperism, and 
 an entire new system of county and road management, land
 
 64 L A Y S A X n L IC T 'I' F. R S. 
 
 allotments for the people, itc, itc. Only do your duty finnly 
 and religiously at the polling booth, and all this will follow. 
 Good bye all — ' Gude nicht an' joy be wi' you a'.' " So saying, 
 my friend suddenly wheeled him round, and started, or rather 
 bolted, for the door, on reaching which, however, he paused a 
 moment, and, looking over his shoulder, vigorously shouted Ijack 
 to his surprised audience, " The polling day ! the polling booth !"
 
 N I iV T II L E T T E R. 
 
 How THE Laiuje Farm of Blaebraes was Taken. 
 
 " From the east to western Ind, 
 No jewel is like Kosalind ; 
 Her worth, being mounted on the wind. 
 Through all the world bears Rosalind !" 
 As You Like It, 
 
 When at last we found ourselves alone in the parlour before a 
 capital fire and a well-plenished " tappit hen," Sam said, 
 impatiently, " Now Dominie, yerk in. Let us hear how the 
 deevil you, an auld fusionless, and nearly penniless schulemaister, 
 w^on and started this lairge and celebrated East Loudon ferm 1 
 I'll blaw awa' an' pree the jorum, and sit mum, until yer story is 
 finished. Go on — and go on at once !" Well, Sam, I began, the 
 honeymoon of the old teacher and his young bride was to be 
 passed decently in their own house and amidst tlie quiet scenes 
 of theii- own native valley. Even on the lirst day after our 
 marriage, Agnes, who was in strict fact an energetic, and a 
 l)ustling, thrifty, " thorough gaun," sensible, healthy Scotcli 
 country lass, was up betimes in the morning, and " redding up " 
 and putting to rights the old " l)ut and ben " of the schoolhouse 
 ;is doucely and as demurely as if tlie doing of it had been part of 
 her daily duty for the best portion of her life. " Ma certie," 
 quoth she, " is a' the warld no' afore us ? an' haena we oor way 
 to cut throo't oorsel's ? liaena we oor vera Ijried to yearn bie the 
 sweat o' oor l)i'oos, as the Lord has ordained it in His Wisdom 1 
 Up, up ! Syne swallow yer l)rekfast as featly as you can, an' be 
 aft' an' awa like a scaur'd ccnvte to ILgh-Iee an' see the factor
 
 66 I. A Y S A XI) I. K. r ■!• I'. I! H. 
 
 aboot the fenn — (O bonny P.laebraos, an' at twenty per cent, less 
 tlmn Jowler's !) — My sant,', TamiiiMs, l)nt ye've played yer wiivds 
 wecl. Up, I say, ye auld havercl, up lliis moment, an' owre to 
 Hiijh-lee. Gin the factor be na at iianie wlien ye gang, then bide 
 till lie come — see him —close wi' liim — tak' liim at his word — 
 clinch tiio l)ai-gain^strik(« while the aii-n's hett — mak' yer hay 
 when th<> sun shines— or— " "This day, Agnes? Tlic lirst day 
 after our marriag(\ Oh. fy, dearest, fy, fy. What would the 
 people say ?" " Th(> fow k say, ye gowk ! Wha cares what 
 a' the fowk at lairge an' oot o' I'.edlam wad say ? Jkit I 
 say the ferm maun be gotten, an' if it's to be gotten, as 
 gotten it maun ))e, as 1 say — it sail be gotten this vera 
 day— ay, tho' T should seek oot the factor an' agree to the 
 lease mysel'. A fine kippage ye'd mak', T 'sure ye, war ye to 
 lose it noo — because, forsooth, ye michtna grip it, awin' to it 
 bein' the day efter yer waddin'. O ye Tannny-norry." " Well, 
 my love," T replied, sitting down to ;i splendidly laid breakfast 
 table, and after giving its miitchless mistress anothei- adorable 
 smack with my watering lips, " Well, my jewel, I can deny you 
 nothing, and T will, therefore, even tear myself from your 
 celestial presence for a brief space, in order that I may visit as 
 vou wish the gruff and buily factor. But what about all those 
 prohibitive and entangling clauses that I told you of? There are 
 thirty-five of them in the proposed lease, and the major part of 
 them are of the most restrictive and stringent character conceiv- 
 able. Lord Glum retains the sole right to fish and shoot game 
 upon the farm, together with the authority to quarry stones and 
 minerals, cut timber, and to alter or make roads. Besides all 
 that, I am, if his lordship gets his way, to be bound down, under 
 ridiculously heavy penalties, to a particulai- and, I think, an 
 antiquated and a false .system of cultivating the lands — for 
 instance, he wishes it to be irrevocably enacted that I never shall 
 be allowed during the course of the nineteen years' lease to grow 
 two crops of the same kind, and upon the same land, in 
 succession. Further, a sixth part of the farm must be sown down 
 with grass seeds each year, said grass only to be cut once, and
 
 T UK A U L D D O M I X I E. 67 
 
 afterwards (lopastured for two years ; no more than one twelfth 
 to be cropped with potatoes during any one year; and a sixth part 
 of the entire holding always to be fallowed or devoted to turnips, 
 &c., itc. Now, dearest, what say you about all these monstrous 
 clauses ? I fear I can never agree to them."' 
 
 " The clauses "" interjected iiuiriedly and loudly my infal- 
 lible counsellor, " the clauses in the lease. Gae 'wa', Tammas. 
 Is that really a' ye ken aboot it ? Just you mak' the best 
 bargain ye can, an' let the clauses, as ye ca' them fend 
 for themsel's. Get the Jerni. Before mony months ho by- 
 gane there'll be an election for a new member to send up 
 to the Reformed Parliament, whilk yell do weel sleely to 
 remind the factor o' afore ye're mony meenits thegether. We 
 ken wha my Lord (Hum favours, and wha he wad vera pleasantly 
 gie awa the doup half o' his estate to see returned. Keep a 
 calm sough. Get the/enn. Besides, Tammas man, the 'clauses ' 
 ye boggle at are only set whare they are as a fence an' protection 
 against scoundrels — (jet the ferin.. They are never meant to 
 Iiurt or hirple the open dealings, or control the enterpreeze, o' 
 weel-daein', gude-paying', sensible, honest men. They are just 
 the lawyers' whip to baud the blackguards in order. Get the 
 ferm. Sae lat the clauses e'en gang — if sae ye caiina do better. 
 What is f.vr mair important is the rent, an' the bai-gain ye mak 
 aboot the steedin', for atweel it is e'enow a soriy an' a fushionless 
 rauchle. Be ye as firm as the Bass anent that, Tam. (But get 
 the ferm.) The Big-house ye maun coggle to get new-roofed an' 
 renovated inside, an' a ]iew hen-house, an' a derry forbye. Come 
 cannily roond him. Say that yer dear young mistress at hame 
 is a great newspapei- woman, an' a sickei', an' a staunch an' 
 stoure stickler for his lordship's politics, as weel as a perfeck 
 fury for the landed interest. Let a' tliis oot as if the factor was 
 drawing it frae ye unwillingly. O get the ferm. I'^lrech Jiim 
 cannily, an' siraik liini wi' the hail', Tammas, an' wyse atl' him a,' 
 ye want. Sae gae yer ways, an niuc-klc lurk an' braw tidings 
 come l>ack wi' ye. Set afi — hoots, toots— dinna kiss ony mair.
 
 68 L A Y s A \ I) 1, i: 'I' 'I' !•: u s. 
 
 Get the ferm, an' efterhend that ye may kiss." 
 
 Tlius admonished and educated by my admirable general, I 
 set oft", and arrived at the factor's estate office at Highlee, just as 
 he was dismounting from his riding colt, after coming from an 
 interview with his Lordship in tlie mansion house of Dare Hall. 
 " Hallo " cried he, coming hurriedly forward and grasping me 
 eagerly by the hand, " Glad to see ye, Mr Pintail — glad to see 
 ye — I wish you an' Mrs Pintail muckle joy — a lang an' happy 
 union — rowth o' peace an' plenty. T hope she is nane the waur 
 o' the wedding dance ; I am told she danced like anither ' Cutty 
 Sark ' Haith, Tammas, an' she dinna turn oot a Tartar (excuse 
 me for saying so) I'm dooms sure ye hae married a lass that will 
 loup poortith an' misfortune like a red deer — an' she be ambitious 
 or that way mindit. Step in to the offish — I'm rale glad to see 
 
 ye-" 
 
 As we entered the room — an apartment attached as a wing 
 to his dwelling house, I remarked that no one was present but 
 ourselves, but in truth this was nothing unusual, for Mr Sterne 
 • — a great, rougli, stalwart, and somewhat stout gentleman, a few 
 years past the middle period of life — did all tlie estate business 
 that could be done on the ground himself. He bore the character 
 amongst the countiy people of a harsli and soinewhat coarse 
 tongued man, but a shrewd, and true, and honest-hearted one at 
 the core. A large coal fire burned on the hearth, on each side of 
 which he placed a chair for himself and visitor, invited me to sit 
 down, and then immediately broaclied the special business on 
 which I had come. 
 
 " His Lordship thinks, Mr Pintail, that your otier for Blae- 
 braes is no sae far amiss — as I do mysel', an gin we can sowther 
 atween us the ither bit odds an' ends, the haill thing may be 
 settled atf-hand. Ye hae nae objection to showing me your bank 
 book, eh 1 I ken ye no hae it here, but ye can gie me an idea o' 
 the soom stan'in' to yer credit in it ?" " Only," I replied witli
 
 T HE A U L D DO M I X I K. 69 
 
 breathless haste, anxious to have it out and be at the worst of it, 
 " only a little over eiglit hundred pounds sterling, Mr Sterne, 
 but — " " What !" he furiously interjected, " eicht hundred 
 pounds for a muekle fowre-pair-horse ferm — twa liundred an' 
 forty acres Scots. AVhy, man, that's no tlie length o' three pund 
 ten for ilk acre. Ye are a confounded, presuming auld humbug. 
 Ken ye wha ye're making a fule o' ? War it no' an advantage to 
 this accursed warld, I wad ring yer gusey weason like Davie 
 Hagart's. What for did ye no' tell me this at first ? An' noo 
 ye only bring it oot efter a' the ither ofterers are refused. There 
 war abune forty in for't. O Dominie, Dominie !" " Mr Sterne,'' 
 I answei'ed with oti'ended yet quiet dignity (for I had previously 
 been privately assured by a good authority that no otter other 
 than my own had been received, although the farm had been 
 advertised for two months ; agriculture being then, as now, 
 greatly depressed — that is, in the fifth decade of this century) 
 — " Mr Sterne, if my otter is not now acceptable — no matter — 
 the lease is not yet signed — and I can go elsewhere. Lord H — 
 has twelve arable farms in the mai'ket at present. Perhaps it 
 
 may be as well that I should tiy Lord H . Therefore I shall 
 
 just wisli you a very good moi'iiing, Mr Sterne." " Never ! Ye 
 are a tticlity, fiery, ramstam Dominie. O ye fouter ! Sit still, 
 sit still ! Jean !" he shouted — with a stentorian vehemence as he 
 opened the door of the passage which communicated with his 
 house. " Jean, I say ! Jean, fesh ben directly the Blue Bottle 
 an' twa glasses an' tummlers. Sit still, dear Mr Pintail. 
 (That'll dae, Jean ! No, nae sugar.) I was wrang. Dominie, 
 excuse me, but I am pestered beyond endurance, an' my nerves 
 ai'e as feckless as the hairs in a deid horse's tail. 
 
 "At ttrst sicht, too — ye'll own that yersel' — (continued Mr 
 Sterne) it does in gude sooth seem but an insignifeecant soom to 
 begin a ferm like Blaebraes wi'. But ane maun e'en tak' into 
 account the kind o' the man. Dominie. For instance, war ony 
 living mortals but you an' your clever, through-gaun, smeddum- 
 fou', young gude wife to propose sich a thing, it wad be a leal
 
 70 1. A V S A N I) 1, i; ■[■ ■[■ K I! S. 
 
 i-.ilc rliarity to tak' thciii ))ic the cutis ci' the neck, .iiid sliakc 
 thi'iu like lotti'u.s ill a tan-iei-".s 111011'. But I'se be williii', ay 
 luillin' to obleege a pushing soiisiblc man like yersel' — siie aboot 
 the rent. As T taukl ye in my note, his lorclshij) will tak" your 
 ofi'er ()' £1 in cash, an' twa l)usliels o' barley, an' twa o' yaits, an' 
 ane o' wheat (to be a' paid for in siller, an' computed according 
 to the second iiars prices o' the Coonty o' lleddinton for ilka 
 year) per Scots acre. Vera week Noo, 1 daursay, l)ie this time 
 ye hae redd owre the proposed lease, an' gif sac what think ye 
 o't Dominie?" Not forgetting my confab with Agnes in the 
 morning, albeit thus abruptly appealed to, I craftily, and with 
 assumed carelessness, replied — " Although I thoroughly agree, 
 Mr Sterne, with yourself and his lordship in politics — even so 
 far, I believe, as to who should l)e the new member for the 
 county, I am not altogether in accord with either of you regard- 
 ing farm leases — that is, if you take such a document as that you 
 sent me as a specimen of what you think right in that line. The 
 clauses, many of them, I humbly do opine, are too restrictive — 
 ridiculously restrictive, Mr Sterne. 1 am iu)t to be allowed, for 
 example, to sell hay during the last iive years of the lease." 
 " Heuch, Tamnias, lieuch;" exclaimed the old factor, rising 
 from his seat and shaking with suppressed mirth. " Capital I 
 The last tive years o' the tack 1 lord man, we'll a' be deid or then. 
 But I'm fain an' i)rood to heer ye say wliat ye say o' oor can- 
 didate. I thocht I wasna sure o' ye there. Heuch, heuch I 
 Agree to sign the lease just as it stands — hit the clauses gang — 
 to the deevil wi' them — a' lawyers' nonsense. But is Agnes as 
 true blue as yersel' think ye?" "Agnes," I rejoined, "Mr 
 Sterne, Agnes is a perfect Scottish Queen Bess — a manager and 
 a diplomatist born. Were she a man and on your committee, 
 the election were simply as good as won." 
 
 " Capital, Dominie !" Sam irresistibly interjected, though he 
 was in the greatest hurry to be gone on pressing business. " I 
 kenned all along what Agnes was, though I never described her 
 half so graphically as ye do. Co on, I'll speak nae mair the
 
 T II E A U L D D O M I \ I E. 71 
 
 niclit. Go on !" " But this reminds me to ask you," I con- 
 tinued, seeing with satisfaction the effect of my description and 
 laudation of my adored one, " this reminds me to enquire about 
 the steading. I hope you intend thoroughly overhauling it — 
 although there is not yet one word aljout this in the lease, and 
 before I can sign it, to be candid with you Mr Sterne, I must 
 satisfy Mrs Pintail." " What does she want, Dominie '(" he 
 eagerly and spasmodically interrogated, " I am sure — I ken weel 
 — she is a recognised leader an' favoui-ite o' a' the fermers' wives 
 an' dochters for mony miles roond, an' nae doot she micht be 
 vera valuable to us as a private canvasser. (His Lordship is per- 
 fectly mad to get in his young freend as a member. Keep a 
 calm sough. Dominie.) Weel, what dis she want dune to the 
 steading ?" " The house gutted and new roofed ; a brand new 
 hen-house, and a dairy built ; and all the other out buildings put 
 into decent and habitable condition." "Ill do what I can," 
 retui-ned the experienced land agent cautiously, " I'll do a' that 
 I can. I'll see his lordship the morn, an' if it can be accom- 
 plished, I'll send ye a scrape o' the pen an' lat ye ken. In the 
 meantime, sleely egg up Agnes to veesit a' her ac(iuaintances 
 an' do what slie can — an' that's nae little, I jaloose — for oor 
 candidate. I trow his lordship wad build twenty steadings to 
 have him returned." 
 
 As I wended merrily my happy way homewards, I reflected 
 with great pleasure upon the successful issue of my journey, and 
 ere I cros.sed the dooi-step of our modest habitation my mind 
 was in a state bordering upon ecstasy with triumph. My ex- 
 pectant darling, her household duties performed, and having 
 herself trimmed and dressed for the afternoon, confronted me at 
 the door of our sitting-room, as i-adiant and l)eautiful as an April 
 rainl)ow. " My soul, my angel !" I cried, enfolding her in my 
 manly bosom, and lavishing thunder-showers of kisses On her up- 
 turned rosy cheeks, " my life and light, my (jwji love for ever — 
 We have Won the Day ! Both the Laird and the Factor are 
 crazy on the, election ; and as you, my Rosalind, advised, I
 
 72 L A Y S A \ I) L i: T T i; 1! s. 
 
 attacked tlie weak point and stormed with ease the ^•ery citadel 
 and stronghold of their misgivings. Yes, dearest, in sober truth, 
 it has come to this — that if ye will use your great influence with 
 your neighbours in behalf of the Laird's Nominee, ye are simply 
 to him undeniable, and may command at pleasure. The new hen 
 house and dairy are as good as yours already. We have got the 
 farm — everything is arranged — and the lease is to be signed next 
 Wednesday. Oh, Agnes, what a genei-al you are !" 
 
 This was in March, and by the end of that month the great 
 lease (just as it was originally drawn out) was duly signed, and 
 every other preliminary settled to our satisfaction. The entry 
 to the farm was — as the fallow or turnip break — at the May 
 term ; and to the house and steading, and the other lands, at 
 Martinmas following. By the latter day the "big house" had 
 undergone a complete renewal ; and all the other buildings, 
 which aggregately constituted the "Mains," had been severally 
 dealt with and altered to suit the requirements of the highest 
 system of modern husbandry. The turmoil and excitement of 
 the great parliamentary election of tliat epoch was passed 
 through — and his Lordship's hero had been victorious by a 
 large majority of votes. Owing to many unforeseen difficulties 
 and mishaps, however, the farm house was not ready for us 
 until the following Christmas ; but when at last a day could be 
 confidently fixed for our final removal from the village, a large 
 number of notes with Mr and Mrs Pintail's compliments were 
 despatched to our neighbours, inviting them all to a grand 
 " house-heating " banquet, to be given at the farm house of 
 Blaebraes on the evening of the 25th of December. On the 
 memorable evening of the day on which those friendly billets 
 were sent off, Agnes having departed with the 4 p.m. train on a 
 two days' jaunt to Edinburgh to visit some of her old school 
 companions, I, the fond old Dominie, to amuse myself in my 
 deplorable and unusual solitude, penned some impromptu lines 
 in her praise, as a kind of soothener or antidote for the unspeak- 
 able love and yearning which was devouring me."
 
 T n K A U L D DOMINI K. 73 
 
 " And no wonder, Dominie, for your Queen was a Queen 
 Bess indeed. I could have destroyed quires and reams of fools- 
 cap in the praise of such a matchless Cleopatra. But go on, 
 finish your tale, I must back to Linton instanter. Hurry np !" 
 
 "Yes, Sam, yes," I resumed, "But a few lines of Richard 
 Tliird's fit here, and allow me to remind you of them — 
 
 " Since you will buckle fortune on my back, 
 
 • To bear her burden whe'r I will or no, 
 I must have patience to endure her load : 
 But if black scandal, or foul-faced reproach, 
 Attend the sequel of your imposition. 
 Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
 From all the impure bolts and stains thereof.'' 
 
 Hhakcspcare. 
 
 The assertion that an arable farm of three hundred Imperial 
 aci'es could be fully equipped and started with a capital of less 
 than £850 sterling, by a man who was previously unpossessed 
 of a single head of live stock, a bushel of seed of any kind, or of 
 any> of the multitudinous and multifarious implements, tools, 
 and machines, absolutely indispensal>le for the successful prose 
 cation of the business of the husl)andnian, will no doubt aj^pear 
 to the modern agricultural mind as a slip of arrant and wanton 
 balderdash. Yet such, stated plainly, vxis done, and now stands 
 recorded as an actual and indefeasible fact. And further, the 
 adventure was not only started, l)ut it has been carried on 
 successfully up to the present day, sans extraneous aid or assist- 
 ance of any kind. 
 
 No doubt, on my entry into Blaebraes, I was much favoured 
 with certain circumstances — e.g., I had all the straw and dung 
 then upon the fai'iu free, and also the right to use the fallow 
 break for turnips if I wished. Besides, draught horses, and in- 
 deed all kinds of live stock, were then much easier bought in 
 than at present; and the various implements, &c., necessary, could 
 also be obtained foi' a considerably less outlay than now. More-
 
 74 I, A V S AM) L K y 'V K I{ S. 
 
 over, T was " back-rented," reciuiivd to pay nothing to the hiird 
 during tlie Urst year and nine months of my occupancy, that is 
 computing from the period in which T took possession of the 
 fallow or turnip break. During the first summer I had likewise 
 the i)ri\ ilege of grazing my woik horses on the old grass belong- 
 ing to the outgoing tenant. As T said, iSam, my entiy to 
 the fallow was at Whitsunday, and to the other lands immedi- 
 ately on the removal of the last gi'ain crop of the out-going 
 tenant at the following "back end." 
 
 Till' mode and cost of my procedui'c of entry, as near as I 
 can recollect, were exactly as fortliwith to be set down. Im- 
 mediately after the signing of the lease, T magnanimously 
 resigned my terrible "tawse," together with the whole other stock- 
 in-trade, chattels, and paraphernalia aj)pertaining to my peda- 
 gogic sovereignty, and put them cheerfully into the hands of my 
 daring successor — a pert, feeljle, little llute-playing dominie from 
 the South, who had, with the consent of the inhabitants, foolishly 
 bought over my lucrative business for a matter of <£10, an old 
 white pony, and the use of the schoolmaster's cottage for a year. 
 I then proudly engaged two strapping young ploughmen — the 
 sons of elder ploughmen then resident on the farm — to work for 
 me from Whitsunday tirst forth, at the rate of 12s each weekly ; 
 and, as the great day of my entry di'ew nigh, I warily purchased, 
 at displenishing sales on neighbouring farms, four good stark, 
 middle-aged wurk-horses, with suitable harness, ploughs, carts, 
 harrows, itc, — the whole lot amounting exactly to only £il Us. 
 As the " fallow " had been all well and deeply cross ploughed 
 during the preceding winter, and as the most part of it had l)een 
 liberally dunged just two years previously for beans, I decided 
 simply to give it a double-time with the harrows, and then drill 
 it up and sow the seed — " East Lothian Impro\ed Swedes " and 
 " Green Top Globes." I gathered no " wrack " or couch grass, 
 and as the entire section of forty Scots acres was sown with 
 Samson's (the new teacher's nick-name) old pony by myself, the 
 whole expenditure for the inputting of the seed — which was ac-
 
 T H E A U L D DO M I N I E. I ■> 
 
 complished within three weeks — was just £8 10s. The season 
 tnrned out a very propitious one for green crops — my turnips 
 brairded early, and flourished and grew like mushrooms, and were 
 all " thinned " by the end of the first week in July. The sing- 
 ling and after hoeing cost together £22. By an agreed upon ar- 
 rangement, my two servants were, after the clearing of the 
 tui'nips, taken oft" my hands, and empkiyed by the trustee for the 
 creditors of the late tenant until after harvest ; wliile at the 
 same time the shoes were drawn from my new nags and they 
 were put to grass for they much needed rest. In the October 
 cattle market at Dalkeith, I purchased from a well-known dealer 
 from Berwick-on-Tweed, thirty-flve two-year-old crossed bullocks 
 for £10 a-head ; and during the same month, at the Gitt'ord fair 
 in East Lothian, five scores of draft Cheviot ewes, for a lump 
 sum of £97 for the lot. 
 
 By the time the trustee had his harvest secured, I had my- 
 self thoroughly fitted with the requisite number of horses, <kc„ in 
 order to begin ploughing and other operations in earnest as early 
 as possilile. The purchase money of my entire stud of nine really 
 gallant-looking brutes (leaving out "Jupiter" the old pony — so 
 called after his former master) represented aggregately the 
 modei-ate sum of £60, and my whole stock of ploughs, carts, and 
 all other implements — exclusive only of the thrashing mill and 
 steam engine — cost a few shillings less than £70 sterling. Not 
 one single article of any description on the whole farm was new ; 
 and very many of the implements, I should say, were as old as 
 myself — and were doubtless far more than " second-handed." 
 The whole country side for miles round was ransakced in the get- 
 ting of them together — the only merit listened to being cheajmess 
 — and a large number went to pieces in the process. 
 
 On a memorable morning in the latter end of the pensive 
 month of October, T took my melancholy departure from the 
 village on pui'pose to attend the celebrated weekly grain market 
 at Haddington in ordei" to secure by some means as much seed
 
 76 L A Y S A X I) L V. T T ]■: U S. 
 
 Avlieat as would sow down tliiity-tive Scots acres. Before leavin<j; 
 the liouse, I had over hauled my business books and papers, and 
 found tliat my hard-earned little hoard of £850 had, with one 
 thing and another, already dwiiidlc^d down to a little over £200. 
 True, I had the cattle and sheep well l)oui,dit and apparently all 
 secure ; but what if the meat markets went down, or if the 
 stock should ill any of the countless possible ways, miscarry ? 
 I remember well, as I paced hurriedly along the lea\e-strewn 
 road, that all the diiiiculties of the vast task I had undertaken 
 seemed suddenly to arise up before me, and magnify, and assume 
 to themselves the immeasurable proportions of insurmountable 
 obstacles. How were my Ijelovcd and I to sustain life uiitil 
 next harvest 1 Vie were already down to potatoes and salt 
 herrings. Every shilling of which I was then possessed would 
 be recjuired for seed alone. And then the people's wages. The 
 profits from the cattle, I sadly ruminated, might turn out to be 
 oiil. And if they did so, alas, what then 1 Oh Jehoshophat ! 
 wreck and ruin would surely overtake and utterly overwhelm 
 me ; ruin, irremediable ruin, with shame, disgrace, dishonour. 
 At this liorrible stage, I abruptly halted and sat rae down on an 
 old log by the wayside, and almost wept with chagrin, vexation, 
 and despair. Over and over again I put to myself the appalling 
 and unanswerable query — ■' What if the cattle and sheep don't 
 realise a handsome profit f 
 
 From the beginning, I had l^een fixedly determined that I 
 would sooner shake myself free of the whole concern, ratlier than 
 borrow a single shilling of any one ; but even if I had not been 
 so minded, where or from whom could I borrow 1 In sad verity 
 I knew not. Then, fearfully, wildly, and confusedly, dark agoniz- 
 in<^ thoughts of self-destruction flitted across my vision, but when 
 I thou,<^ht of Agnes at home, I shrank from them in dismay and 
 scorn, and in great anger reljuked myself for entertaining them 
 one moment. Having done this partly to my satisfaction, I at 
 length arose from my temporary seat, half distracted, with my 
 achin'^ brow wet with the sweat of baffled care and anxiety, and
 
 T HE A U L D i> O M I N I K. 77 
 
 with my lieart and mind clouded with the gloomiest forebodings 
 conceivable. However, I pursued my way and eventually 
 reached the market stance (then on the open street) and bought 
 and paid for the wheat I needed, and tlien straightway returned 
 home — still in the same deplorable and desponding mood. 
 
 However, Sam, what do you think 1 This in verity was my 
 last grand ditliculty in connection with the farm. I see you 
 must away. I should like to tell you a little more of the open- 
 ing story of my tenancy of Blaebraes, but another time will do as 
 well. About the New Year your business will allow you time — 
 wont it ? " Yes, Dominie, Yes ! Don't tell Nanny that I am 
 going. I'll slip out at the back door, and she will never know. 
 The New Year, Dominie, the New Year. Ye hae tauld me the 
 nicht what will keep me chewing my cud till that time. Ta, ta!" 
 (So saying I slipped out secretly by the back kitchen door — and 
 never beheld the rare old Dominie-farmer again. In tlie winter 
 ensuing, his health, never at any time very "grand," began to 
 decline visibly, and in December the tragic catastrophe occurred 
 as described in the poem which follows.
 
 'TWAS IX THE DEID 0' WIXTEli. 
 
 "\V;i,t, Wilt a)i' cauld, an' dosolate — 
 
 Oil ! (Iripcli was tliat ])('C(^inl)er day ! 
 And wild an' dci-n, tlu' hui-ns, in full spate, 
 
 lUisli'd ail' roar'd 'tween scaur and brae. 
 Owre the di-oukit, dreepin' yird aye 
 
 Clung a dun eloud-niurky screen, 
 That frae mankind, beast, an' birdie. 
 
 Hid complete the lift's blue sheen ; 
 And the .tcusty winds on hie 
 Wail'd an' whistled pensivelie 
 
 Owre a' the soi-iy sciMie ! 
 
 At oor onstead, lorn an" lonely, 
 
 Man an' beast were hush'd an' housed ; 
 Not a cratur' not — deuks only. 
 
 Quacking, in the dubs caroused. 
 Drowsy dozed the naigs in stable, 
 
 Resting limbs an' cosritatinsr ; 
 In the coorts the nowt did wauble 
 
 To the shed-mooths, ruminating ; 
 Cocks an' hens, an' pou'try fry, 
 Cower'd an' twitter'd, glum but dry. 
 
 In within their netting. 
 
 In the barn the men were packit, 
 
 " Mendin' seeks " — nae ploos that day — - 
 Snug an' bien they shoo'd and crackit 
 
 Tete-a-tete — as guid's a " play." 
 A' the news the country otler'd 
 
 Crinch for crincli they trockit lang ; 
 Mulls an' pipes they plied and protier'd, 
 
 An' mony a merry joke an' sang. 
 But hoo sune the i'loamin' comes ! 
 " Men, lay by your shears an thrumbsj 
 
 And hame, lads, let us gang."
 
 T II E A U L U DOMINI E. 
 
 Hooch ! the storm o" rain had given 
 
 Phvce to ane o' fog^y liaur — 
 Like 's the cluds had just frae heaven 
 
 Closer drawn to urge the war ! 
 tSair befoul'd an' ill seem'd Nature, 
 
 Even's her latest breath she'd draw 
 Thro' the welkin wing'd nae creature — 
 
 'Cept ae solitary craw, 
 
 Flappin' j'ookwards, lieavilie, 
 Just 's thro' Chaos Nick did Hie 
 
 When bent on Adam's fa'. 
 
 Hamewards trudged the sturdy ploomen 
 
 Thro' the gutters an' the glaur. 
 When a' at ance a strange — a new man 
 
 Strode beside them in the haur. 
 A lang, lank shape — an' wan It's face was 
 
 As a weirdly daylicht mune. 
 Whan in Autumn morn the leaf fa's 
 
 Wavering frae its hame abune. 
 Silently it stude an' waved them, 
 Solemnly l)y signs It craved them. 
 
 It to follow suiio. 
 
 'Mang the braes whare Peti'er windeth 
 
 There's an ancient cjuarry hole, 
 Whare in sp/ites the waste flood flndeth 
 
 A capacious gruesome goal. 
 Thereto 'twas the Bogle sped them, 
 
 Thro' the whins wi' ghaistly grace ; 
 To the very brink it led them. 
 
 Such a spell was in that face ! 
 
 Yet on, ;in' on — nae pool it stoppit — 
 Till — sudden — owre the marge It ploppit 
 
 Deep in its dark em})race ! 
 
 Koond they wheel'd, and never waited, 
 
 Fear ga'e wings to ilka flt ; 
 But, as sune's tlie storm abated, 
 
 Back they cam" an' dragg'd the pit ; 
 Lo I tliey fund a coi'pse, whase face was 
 
 Faded as a davlicht Jiiuue, 
 Whan in Autumn tin)e the leaf fa's.
 
 8U 
 
 L A Y S A N I) L K '1' 'I' !•; li S. 
 
 Flii'licrin', frae the trees abuiie. 
 Whase was it 1 They didna fail 
 To see 'twas that o' auld Pintail, 
 
 Kenned a' tliat country roun" I 
 
 \_Note. — The uui(iu(' porsonat^c whose strange and dreadful 
 departure at last from this under cellar of tiie universe, in which 
 he has so long l)urrowed and squacked, is here publicly set forth 
 for the first time in tlie foregoing homely verses, was, as is 
 plainly enough indicated in the i-hyme, assuredly no other than 
 the somewhat renowned or notorious tenant of the well-known 
 farm of Blaebraes in tliis county. The deceased was of an 
 unknown, nay, even a conjectural age, as neither himself nor 
 anyone else for the last half century was ever sufficiently daring 
 to hazard even a guess at it. ikit he has gone at last — peace to 
 his manes — and neither he nor his eccentric performances shall 
 East Lothian and other parts behold again. Amen. The poor 
 man, we learn, had for a few days })rior to his lamentable and 
 dramatic exit been exhibiting, both in public and private life, 
 unmistakable signs and symptoms of extra mental derangement, 
 and developing an outrageous suicidal mania. So much, indeed, 
 was this the case that Nanny, his celebrated and vigorous spouse, 
 had actually to resort to physical force and tie him to bed, in 
 order to allay or restrain his unconscionable ongoings. Unfor- 
 tunately, during a temporary absence of Mrs Pintail from his 
 bedroom, the patient reached over, clutched at, and secured a 
 large shaip table-knife which happened to be lying at the time 
 on a chair near his bedside. With this powerful and dangerous 
 weapon he appears to have soon made I'ope ends of the heavy 
 coil of hemp with which he was bound to the bed-posts, for on 
 the return of Agnes in a few minutes to the apartment she 
 discovered to lier terrible dismay that the poor prist)ner-patient 
 had only too surely effected his liberty — with what horrible 
 result the reader already knows. Far and near, by thousands 
 and by tens of thousands, this shocking calamity will be read.
 
 TH E AU L D DOM I N I B. 81 
 
 and talked and written, and preached about, and deplored, and 
 that notwithstanding the immeasurabe age of the poor idiotic 
 victim. In a future letter we may properly tackle to an A 1 
 analysis of the character and psychological peculiarities which so 
 distinguished " T. P.," but at present we earnestly beg all our 
 readers to excuse us. The shock and stun of the unheard of 
 catastrophe was too damaging to our hearts, and is yet much too 
 recent even to permit us to contemplate such a labour of love. 
 Bye-and-bye. Meantime we only assure Mrs Pintail that she 
 can comfort herself as best she may for her irreparable loss with 
 the heartfelt sympathies and condolences of the entire people of 
 the land, from Maidenkirk to John o' Groats, for they are, or 
 shall be, hers indisputably.] 
 
 G
 
 THE EAST LOTHIAN FARM E0LK8' CLUB. 
 
 When Sam in his auld airm-sate clanks doon, 
 
 An' doses the fire afore, 
 What dreams does he dream in his warlock croon 
 Ere he droosily starts to snore ! 
 An' wliat memories droll 
 Kise an' rave in his poll 
 Of his merry-^o times of yore ! 
 Sing, hey trix, trim-go-trix. 
 — Oh, lang may he dream, an' — snore ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 At the time I returned to Scotland, after all my boyish wander- 
 ings, my death-rubbing 'scapes by flood and field, football-like 
 knockings up and down, and to and fro the "dale" of this 
 wondrous and wide, and, alas, weary world, the social condition 
 of farm folk was a deal harder than that of country people of 
 the present day — particularly in the matter of dwellings. In 
 these half-forgotten times, a ploughman's domicile was simply an 
 ugly, unhewn stone, barn-like building of four bare walls, with 
 two holes gaping in one of them, meant for a door and a " win- 
 nock." The inside was sans ceiling, sans plaster, sans any floor 
 but the clay, and sans the faintest vestige of any attempt at 
 partitioning or dividing. In other respects, however, the present 
 outward state of the working agriculturist varies little from 
 what it was some twenty years ago — the period embraced by 
 these later letters. The wage of farm folk has been augmented, 
 and, as a consequence, their intellectual status, at least as 
 members of the body politic, has been considerably raised since 
 the time spoken of. J^ut it is strange, and may seem at first 
 sight difficult to explain, that, while circulating libraries, read-
 
 84 L A Y S A N D L IC T T E U S. 
 
 ing rooms and clubs, night schools, lectures, soirees, concerts, &c., 
 have been initiated, and are being carried on successfully in 
 almost all our towns and villages in behoof of our poorer urban 
 classes, not one attempt (that I am aware of) of a like kind — 
 and hundreds have been made — have been charitably instituted 
 and masterfully organised purposely to elevate the rural race, 
 but has gone to the wall — died, in fact, a premature death, 
 simply for the lack of tlio requisite interest and support of the 
 people intended to be benefited. Tn two or three abortive 
 enterprises of this nature I took a prominent part when I 
 i-eturned at first to Scotland ; but, like other people, I soon 
 perceived the intense and invariable vanity of those efforts — 
 indeed the impossil)ility of their succeeding in any fruitful degree. 
 The necessities and circumstances of the position of the country 
 people form, in nineteen cases out of twenty, an impregnable 
 barrier against the victory of such schemes. But in the trials 
 of combined self-help which we did make I gleaned a harvest of 
 the richest knowledge of the true character of my countrymen, 
 and reaped an aftermath of laughter and diversion which often 
 threatened to burst me altogether. At the close of some of 
 these ridiculous scenes I have many a time retreated to a quiet 
 corner and sat me down, and shook, and roared so hilariously 
 for hours that I have wondered where I found all the wind to 
 make such an infernal and inhuman commotion. Had a body 
 of capable men suddenly discovered me in any of these retired 
 ecstasies, Mucklebackit would have had free quarters in Bedlam 
 next night — sure. 
 
 Today, I shall try to recall and rehearse the true history 
 of one of those laudable, albeit foredoomed, essays at peasant self 
 cultuee — to wit, the formation, and the first monthly meeting 
 of that never-to-be-forgotten mimic and muscular league, most 
 appropriately denominated the " East Lothian Farm Folks Club." 
 I shall all the more easily do this, as — from the fact of S. M. 
 having from the first been exalted to the Secretaryship, and to 
 the end retained at that giddy pinnacle — I am in the possession
 
 THE FARM F O L K s' CLUB. 85 
 
 of the minutes and all other official documents of the aforesaid 
 Association. Of course no conceited ridicule is intended to be 
 raised in the following report at the members' expense. Nothing 
 further from the purpose of the writer could be imagined. 
 
 Go to, then ! Sam snatches at the ribbons and lustily cries 
 his countless readers " all on board." The first stage is the 
 
 "secretary's report." 
 (Carefully viamij'actured for the Local Press.) 
 
 "The first monthly meeting of this recently organised club 
 was held in the Big Room of Mr Sandy Trotter's Red Calf Hotel, 
 Tynolinn, on Friday evening — Sam Mucklebackit of Clover Riggs 
 the secretary, being asked to take the chair, which he did, the 
 more readily as it was large and near the jorum. This new society, 
 which has been constituted entirely by a few kindred spirits upon 
 the exact model of the East Lothian Agricultural Club, is pur- 
 posely instituted for the sake of the "good things" which, no 
 doubt, will be cheaply come by at its meetings, and for the free 
 and easy discussion of everything relating in the strongest or 
 the slightest degree to the business or pleasure of its members. 
 No party, male or female, is eligible as a member who is not of 
 the following professions — viz., that of small farmers, grieves, 
 ploughmen, shepherds, cattlemen, drainers (Scotch), odd and orra 
 men of all sorts, mechanics, ferriers, bakers, and brewers. The 
 chiefly excluded pi'ofessions are those of schoolmasters, police- 
 men, factors, and strict teetotallers. None of the female sex 
 can be admitted to take upon themselves the few responsibilities, 
 and be entitled to the good fare and manifold other privileges of 
 this popular association, saving and except those who can pro- 
 duce incontestable proof to the private committee that they 
 either are, or have been, actually and bona fide hinds' wives, and 
 under the strength and length of tongue of the great majority of 
 their class. At an introductory meeting, John Hootsman, Esq., 
 farmer, Leddyslove, was elected by ballot, treasurer, and Sam 
 Mucklebackit, farmer. Clover Riggs, secretary and scribbler in
 
 8G L A Y S A N 1) L K T T K U S. 
 
 genenil to the young club — under whose masterly auspices, and 
 restless, plucky, public-spirited vigour and enthusiasm great 
 hopes are entertained by the wliole country, tliat the juvenile 
 institution will rush up before long into mature and triumph- 
 ant prosperity and social usefulness. 
 
 The first monthly meeting, as was stated, was held in the 
 Red Calf last Friday night (S. M. in the chair) and was largely 
 attended. Amongst some dozens of other members we specially 
 took note of the following well known originals — Messrs Pate 
 Stoure, orra man, Windymill ; Jack Hunter, farmer's son. Fox- 
 ley ; John Heatherbel (familiarly " Heather Jock "), shepherd, 
 Muirhill; Tarn Coom, blacksmith and ferrier, Tinglering; Donald 
 Ronald M 'Donald, of Castle Wa's ; Davie Carter, carrier, Ony- 
 where. Arc, etc. After one single little genial "here's tae 'e " 
 had been pree'd all round of Sandy Trotter's cheapest, the 
 meeting smacked its lips and settled down to serious business. 
 
 The Chairman led off by tabling a catalogue of the names 
 and addresses of some twenty ladies whom, he said, he would do 
 himself the high honour of proposing as fit members at the next 
 monthly assembly. 
 
 Mr Cowdoun, Tireneuk, demurred to the very alarming 
 number and gender of the proposed addition to the club, but 
 after some prolonged, good-humoured banter and merry conver- 
 sation, it was at length, by common consent, agreed to let the 
 matter go on. 
 
 ON THE MANAGEMENT OF THE COW. 
 
 Mr Tarn Coom, blacksmith's man, Tinglering, then reared 
 erect and strode forward to where a not yet empty vessel stood 
 upon the table, and, after wetting his lips with its contents with 
 much fuss and coughing, inaugurated the subject set down for 
 the evening's discussion by reading the following paper, entirely
 
 T 11 E F A R M F L K s' C L U D. 87 
 
 written by himself, on " The wa' til manidge a kow." The wor- 
 tliy village vulcan's man and veterinarian spoke exactly as 
 follows : — Mainy a man cood keep a kow, bit for the mailinkoly 
 fawk thit hee hizna wan til keep. (Hear, hear.) A good fue 
 ither men, sich as gentry, hiv 2 or 3 or mor, and,divna no hoo till 
 keejD wan. (Hear, hear, and a Voice—" Wire in, Tam.") This 
 world is ill deevidit ! For insince, geegs ev'ry day in wintir rin 
 bi the smidy with people intil them rowd up in shawls an' 
 muflirs an' mitens, whoo hiv nothing whativir too doo. On the 
 ither hand, owr the dike in the feelds, yeel see poor boys an' 
 kalants an' weemin klapin thir bare kald hands agane thir sides 
 for perfik stervashin, but whoo must wurk day aftir day or dee. 
 (Applause.) The manidgeraent o' a kow also deepends grately 
 on yoor meens. The lioo too doo it is no say mutch the questin 
 in most kases as the no haein the meens too dade wee. (Great 
 cheering, and the Voice — " Three cheers for the Vulcan.") For 
 maself, the kow's keep in the spring is offin a sor thocht. Hoo- 
 somevir, where the meens is, and whain the kow hiz cauved safe, 
 the follyin treetmint 'ill generly bee fund too ansir. As sune as 
 posyble eftir the cauving wash yoor hands an' give the cauf a 
 hen's eg. This, if it disna chok the kraytur, tests and kleens the 
 allymentery kawnall an' dodedendrum, an' gives in wan moothfy 
 the rakysite nurizhment for a hoi day. (The Voice — " Ends 
 the weld thegither wi ae heat ; three cheers for the smith !") 
 Eftir this the yung thing shood geet beeston for a fue days. 
 Now for the kow ! Bilt barly sum peepil give thir ky, but I say 
 an' kan proove that kookit food is vera injoorus. Barley heets 
 and ferments in the stamick, an' is offin the kaws o' indyjeestin 
 an' the kow's death. Beter, far beter, is it too give poor 
 Krummy noo an' agane sum loo wattir wee a handfy o' yitmeel. 
 In all kases avide ovirfeedin ; but there's no feer o' that in East 
 Loudon for some time too kum. (Great laughter.) Eftir the 
 old kow hiz gotten all betir shee shood bee at the gress bee the 
 Noo Tairm, and milkit three times evry day. What a byooty- 
 fool, V^yootyfool site, it is too see a kleen tidy wife sittin milkin 
 hir kcjo in a rich pastur on a bony simir mornin. (Great
 
 88 L A Y S A X D L K T T E R S. 
 
 applause.) The kow shood be keepit at tlie gress til the next 
 wuntir apeers, an thain shee shood hiv plenty stray an turneeps. 
 Keep the bii'e klean an wel muckit cot an warim. This is awl 
 aw hiv been able too not doon abowt the manidgement of the 
 kow ; and as this is ma first papir — egseptin akoonts — aw hiv 
 writin sin my skool days, aw hop ma brither membirs ill 
 eksyoose ony smal mistaik in't. (Great applause, during which 
 the Voice was overheard bawling — "Three cheers for the 
 Vulcan ; gie him a drink ; three cheers for the Vulcan," ifcc, etc.) 
 
 Treasurer Hootsman — Gentlemen, I rise in the name of my 
 whole countrymen, including, of course, the noble members of 
 this patriotic and most admirable society ; I rise to thank, with 
 a full heart's spontaneous language, our stalwart club-fellow, Mr 
 Tam Coom, for the exceedingly interesting and most valuable 
 paper which he has just read us. (Hear, hear.) Mr Coom, let 
 me shake hands with you. You are a noble fellow, sir. Depend 
 upon it, as the representatives of the press are here present, that 
 by next week at this time you will be a famous man, and that 
 your homely patronymic — yea, even " Tam Coom " — will be in 
 everybody's mouth. You are a philosopher in the block, you 
 are ; and were you hewn out, you would be worth a plum to 
 your country. As treasurer of this important institution, I call 
 upon you, Mr Coom, to hand me over instantly your magnificent 
 paper upon " kow management," so that I may see full justice 
 done to it by the press. 
 
 Mr Coom (excitedly) — Certainly, Mr Hootsman ; there it 
 is. And gin it's to be prentit, maybe ye'll look after the spellin' 
 o' some o' the big words." 
 
 Mr Hootsman — Spelling ; to Auchtermuchty with your 
 spelling — it is spirit, Tam, spirit — the thought — the " light 
 that never was on sea or shore " — which in these things is every- 
 thing ; and, albeit I am an old speechifier myself, I care not one 
 pinch of snuff for correct spelling. (Applause by the whole
 
 THE FARM F L K S' CLUB. 89 
 
 rcxini.) The startling vastness and the unique brilliancy of the 
 light whicli you have thrown upon this great theme would 
 excuse the spelling of a Laplander. No doubt, continued our 
 "joking John," .speaking to the general meeting — no doubt, the 
 " light " shed by Mr Coom does not, gentlemen, illuminise the 
 entire subject under debate. But what light under the moon 
 could ever do so, I ask 1 The various breeds of the cow, for 
 example, have not received a single ray from this intellectual 
 luminary. The best variety of the cow, for your needs, I take 
 to be the Ayrshire. I do not think a full-bred shorthorn would be 
 a profitable cow for a poor man. I have heard great things of 
 the Guernseys, but my own experience decidedly points to an 
 Ayrshire, or a cross between a shorthorn and an Ayrshire, as 
 the right thing. With regard to the keeping or the feeding of 
 milk cows, I would advise in all seasons a liberal use of bran, 
 and particularly at the time when the rye-grass in East Lothian 
 ripens and l^egins to wither — i.e., the latter end of June and all 
 July. Over and above the sedative and laxative qualities of 
 bran, it is, next to young clover, the cheapest and greatest milk 
 protlucer we have. I agree out and out with all Mr Coom's 
 dissertation on the " manidgement of the hire." It goes to the 
 mark straight as an arrow ; and I am sure, gentlemen, you will 
 allow me to say that we are all placed under a very deep load of 
 indebtedness to him, indeed, for his learned and scientific and 
 most valuable speech. (Great cheering and laughter.) 
 
 Mr John Heatherbel, shepherd, Muirhill — I dinna see the 
 use o' a' this fuss an' noise about a wheen kye. Gin a stranger 
 cam' in, he micht think some o' the rowtin' beasts had gotten in 
 among us. I sid like weel tae ken what MuckleV)ackit him.sel's 
 thinkin' aboot a' this kij^page. He's sittin' at the heid end o' 
 the table up there, toozlin' the hair o' his awfu' heid an' bitin' 
 his nether lip ; but I'm sair ganc gif he's no lauchin' at ye a'. 
 (Hissing, and cries of " Order, oi'dcr.") 
 
 After tlic uproar had subsided Mr lieatherbel resumed l)y
 
 90 L A Y S AN'D L IC '1' 'I' !■: 1{ S. 
 
 dechirin^ that he had keepit a coo for coiiiiu' on thirty years noo, 
 and he ne\ er had ony diliiculty wi' her management, by ord'nar'. 
 Ony man wi' a partickle o' sense in his pow could pick up in five 
 meenits a' that was needfu' to be kent for the proper manage- 
 ment o' kye. As for Tarn Coom's paper thereanent, lie believed 
 that ony auld wife in Lammernmir micht hae spoken as muckle 
 to the purpose ; and he said that meaning no disrespect to his 
 worthy friend, but just as his candid and independent opinion 
 upon the matter in hand. He concludetl by saying that after all 
 he had listened to that nicht upon the subject, he had heard 
 naething that he didna ken Ijefore, excepting Mr Hootsman's 
 advice aboot gien' the coo a bran mash at the end o' simmer. 
 But Hootsman was worth sittin' listening to, for they a' kent 
 him to be a clever fallow, an' ane o' the best-hearted men living, 
 besides. (Hear, hear, and three cheers for John Hootsman.) 
 
 Mr Davie Carter, carrier, Onywhare, deprecated, in homely 
 and canny, cautious doric, the tone of the previous speaker's 
 remarks, and smoothly asseverated that he, for one, had been 
 greatly benefited and entertained by the discussion. His ex- 
 perience of cows was chiefly confined to the buying and disposinf 
 of their hides, after the poor animals had died by the act of God, 
 or by the hand of his creature — man. He had always found that 
 the hides of the best kye brought the most money in the market, 
 and vice versa. Would butchers, shepherds, and others take a 
 little more pains in the skinning of the poor creatures, he had no 
 doubt it Avould be to their advantage. He declared, ruefully, 
 that he had often been exceedingly tantalised by having first- 
 class looking skins offered him for purchase, which, upon 
 examination, were seen to be almost worthless, by reason of the 
 countless tears, cuts, and holes in them, caused by ignorant or 
 careless skinning. (Cheers.) 
 
 After some half-dozen other members had fully discharged 
 themselves of this engrossing topic.
 
 T II n F A U M F L K S' C L U B. 91 
 
 The Chairman, on rising to sum up the debate, was received 
 with a welcome of applause, which lasted fully ten minutes by 
 the clock. After every individual in the room had cheered him- 
 self hoarse and black, Mucklebackit said — My friends, I hope 
 you will be quiet for the next three minutes. I have little to say, 
 and certainly no jokes. I know hardly anything yet about cows 
 — -though I mean to learn — and I'm not sure if I could distinguish 
 say on a Hallow E'en or a Hansel Monday night — between the 
 cries of a real ranting, rowting crummy and that of our brawny 
 friend, Mr Coom. (Laughter, in which Mr Coom al)ly assisted.) 
 My life hitherto has not been passed in the haunts of the cows, 
 although it has been sufficiently crowded round and jannned in 
 by the John Bulls. Therefore, on the subject of tlie debate I 
 pray you to be excused ; but anent the debate itself, I crave leave 
 to say that it has proved conclusively to my mind that agricul- 
 tural topics can be as spiritedly and as intelligently discussed in 
 this I'oom, by ourselves, as they are in the Chamber of the 
 Agricultural Club in Haddington, by the great oratorical 
 magnates of the county. (Loud and long applause.) Well 
 then, my friends, if you are really for pushing this, your 
 young and noble institution, to a high and a lasting success, I 
 earnestly advise you, after this night's experience, to affix one 
 more rule to your list instanter — a rule which shall efficiently 
 prohibit any member from reading a paper who has not previously 
 received the sanction of the Private Committee to do so. (Were 
 our friends up the water also to adopt a similar regulation it 
 might be as well for their club.) Mr Coom, we will kindly say, 
 has laid the Club to-night under a deep debt to him — so he has. 
 Do you understand me 1 (After a pause, sudden and great 
 applause.) I have listened to many a public speaker, but to a 
 speaker of Mr Coom's calibre — never before. His unparallelled 
 boldness — or call it what you will — astounded me. And then 
 the scene betwixt him and our too good-natured friend. Hoots- 
 man. Shall I say a few plain words to him? (Hear, hear.) 
 Well tlien, Mr Coom, look here. I know you to be a capable 
 blacksmith, and a respectable and respected man in your sphere.
 
 92 LAYS AN I) 1, K T T K I! S. 
 
 But you weren't content with this — you must have more — 
 therefore the •' papir." Now, there is no ill in a blacksmith, or 
 any other body, writing, or trying to write, a " papir "• — indeed 
 the doing so may be exceedingly laudal^le, but your act ceased to 
 be praiseworthy, and became blameable, and merited nothing 
 but reprehension and ridicule, the moment you resolved to mount 
 the rostrum of this infant Association with it, for the purpose 
 of blazing your mighty self aljroad to all the world — because, 
 by doing so, you were not only going to draw down ridicule 
 pell-mell upon your own head — and that would have been wrong 
 enough — but you were also going to bring discredit and the 
 world's scorn upon every member of this mighty and admirable 
 institution. However, we'll all go home and sleep over it, Mr 
 Coom, and perhaps in to-morrow's daylight it may turn out to 
 be a satire ! only a satire, after all.
 
 MINGLING AVITH THE MAGNATES. 
 
 What time the mune, like deid Sol's ghost, 
 Among the clouds — now seen, now lost — 
 
 Abruptly flared and fled ; 
 An' wan an weird owre Nature fell 
 The licht's an' shadows o' her spell 
 
 In fitfu' shine an' shade ; 
 There, sheltered in a lordly ha', 
 
 John Hootsman and his " Sam " 
 Resolved to scan an' study a' 
 
 Wealth's glittering show or sham. 
 An' seeking an' keeking. 
 
 The scales fell frae their een ; 
 For a' there they saw there. 
 Was just Life's fairer sheen. 
 
 S. M. 
 
 My intimacy with Hootsman was, par excellence, the means of 
 my introduction to the grandees — for handsome "joking John " 
 was hob and nob with people of all denominations and degrees. 
 He first brought me under the dubious and brief patronage, and 
 aristocratic wings, of Sir and Lady Richard Stuart Pickle of 
 Glun — promising and prominent types both of the geiius homo, 
 he and slie. Sir Richard, a slim, pert, dapper, feeble gentleman, 
 as the eldest and only son (pardon the bull) of his two parents, 
 had succeeded in his twenty-second year to his fine and extensive 
 estate. In liis days of single blessedness he had, I was told, 
 been addicted to " sport " — as far, that is, as his very parasitic 
 and meek nature would allow him. He was now in the mid 
 years of his fourth decade. Alas foi- poor Sir Richard ! for in 
 his thirtieth year he had been coaxed, or wheedled into the 
 meshes of matrimony by the present " wife of his bosom," and 
 was now by her literally and absolutely extinguished. Such
 
 94 L A Y S A \ U L V. T T K It S. 
 
 another obliteration and stamping out of the masculine nature 
 of a living man was never known in these parts. Lady Pickle 
 (her husband's senior by ten years at least) was the exact 
 physical, mental, and moral antithesis of her lord. Tall, com- 
 manding, and handsome ; she was a woman of a subtle, scheming 
 mind, and of an extremely proud, self-willed, and capricious 
 disposition. Before she " catched " Sir Richard, she was living 
 in a neighbouring town, an "adventurous widow," and not an 
 over rich one. By the time of which I am talking, she had 
 acquired an ascendency and control over her facile and feeble 
 husband. And this despotic sway she exercised utterly regard- 
 less of time, place, or persons present. 
 
 Hootsman one day had business with Lady Pickle (for when 
 at home she was the resident administrator of the estate — the 
 " laird " — and not Sir Richard), and asked me to accompany 
 him. As we drove up the grand avenue of old oak and elm 
 trees leading to the mansion house, Hootsman started in his seat 
 suddenly, and cried — " By the Lord Harry, Sam, here they both 
 are of whom we were just speaking." And, sure enough, in a 
 second or two, we encountered the noble dame and her other 
 half, apparently out for an airing. Lady Pickle was dressed 
 and bedizened in the fullest blow and flush of fashion, yea, even, 
 in royal magnificence, and moved and stalked before us like a 
 modern Cleopatra and Lady Macbeth combined. She was 
 remarkably handsome, but pride and vanity had puckered up 
 and sadly distorted her once beautiful face, still you saw at a 
 glance that she was a clever and powerful woman. Sir Richard, 
 dressed in a fantastic suit of slashed Lincoln green, and with a 
 feather in his bonnet — something like a page of mesdames in the 
 olden times — when we met, was walking demurely some ten 
 paces in advance of his lady, carrying over one arm a mantle, 
 and a silk umbrella in the other hand. 
 
 As Lady Pickle recognised Hootsman, and stopped to shake 
 hands with us, she called out to Sir Richard, " Dickie, Dickie !
 
 T II E F A K M V O L K s' C L U 1!. 95 
 
 wait till I come." He halted at once, like a soldier brought up 
 at the command of his officer, wheeled a little round, and 
 answered, without daring to look at her, and in a cowed, piping, 
 treble voice. He was a good-looking little man enough, despite 
 his beardless and rather juvenile seeming visage ; and under 
 happier circumstances he might have become — who can tell ? — 
 quite a "good fellow." I do not think he wanted intellect — I 
 should rather suppose the reverse — but that intellect was too 
 refined, too sensitive, too " soft " to fit into the making of a true 
 and proper man. What he lacked, I should say, was will, resolu- 
 tion, and courage, pith, force of character, to execute it. Much 
 of his seeming effeminacy, and the whole of his present external 
 circumstances, were forced upon him, and were not the outcome 
 of his real nature. And that force which made him look what 
 he was, was exerted by a far superior will — a will which he was 
 all unable to withstand — merely to gratify a love of power. For, 
 to a female nature such as that of Lady Pickle's, power is the 
 eveiything — the Alpha and Omega of its supreme and ceaseless 
 desire. 
 
 When Jack had stated and disposed of his errand, " Cleo- 
 patra " bended graciously to me, and said she ardently desired 
 Mucklebackit' s better acquaintance. " And for that purpose," she 
 condescendingly added, " she would take to herself the honour of 
 formally inviting both of us (through her viattre d'hutel) to 
 dinner on Thursday evening." Messrs John and Ham were to be 
 had to dinner on Thursday first. So soon as we had got fairly 
 beyond sight of this extraordinary couple, we both jumped from 
 the trap, hanked the nag to the nearest ti-ee, and then lay (or 
 rather fell) down and rolled over and over on the grass, helpless 
 with laughter, for half an hour or more thereafter. In due time 
 we came to the resolution to honour the invitations — and in our 
 funeral blacks and white chokers. 
 
 Accordingly, on the aforesaid Thursday evening, punctually 
 at seven, we made our gallant entry into the lordly reception
 
 9G L A Y S A N 1) I, I', T T K K S. 
 
 room of Glun. To our intense astonishincnt indeed, dismay — 
 we found it already crowded with a distinguished and fashionable 
 assemblage of the surrounding nobility and other notables, 
 amongst whom, after t)ur presentation to our regal-looking 
 hostess, we emphatically took intent note of the following 
 specials : — The Duke and Duchess of Arden Forest and their 
 two sprightly and enchanting nieces, the Ladies Rosalind and 
 Celia ; the Lady Matilda, maidei^ sister, and the seven unmarried 
 daughters of Lord Glum of Bleakanbare ; Lord and Lady Strae 
 of llaymouth Castle; tlie young Hon. Oh Ah Yawning Dandy and 
 his brother, near relatives of Lord Dundreary, from London ; Lord 
 Mawkin and Lord Blue Scot, the conservators of every head of 
 " same " and the rest of the immaculate British Constitution on 
 Tyneside, etc., itc. 
 
 Hootsman, of course, was at once entangled in the midst of 
 a coterie of comely dames and maidens fair (I verily believe this 
 man might have woo'd and won and married the Sublime 
 Favourite of the Sultan of Turkey had he chosen), whilst I (alas, 
 poor Sam !), who had — quite absent-mindedly — donned a large 
 blue worsted muffller, instead of my neat and dainty snow-white 
 necktie, which had employed Tibb a full half day getting up, 
 was left out in the cold to argle-bargle with old dads, uncles, 
 bachelors, and wife's cousins. When the dinner bell rang all 
 was hurry and scurry, and ere I knew well what was in my 
 mind, I found myself in the midst of a long procession of ladies 
 and gentlemen, " coupled in pairs," marching off gaily to the 
 mess-room. My partner was a charming gazelle of some fifty 
 and odd winters, large and full-boned, and as square and angular 
 as a new-built house, to wit, the sharp-featured and gleg-witted 
 spinster sister of my Lord Glum of Bleakanbare. Before we had 
 reached the mess-room we were both madly in love with each 
 other. What numskulls they are that declare there is no such 
 thins as love at first sight. But hei^e is the dining chamber. 
 Mercy ! Such a blaze of light ! Such a sparkling, beaming, 
 (^littering, glistening, flashing, flaming I never did see ! Arabian
 
 MINGLIXG WITH THE MAGNATES. 97 
 
 Nights — fairy palaces — pooh ! Hastily I handed my dear Lady 
 Matty to a seat, and planked my own huge carcase upon another 
 one on her right, and tlien — stared. Stared long and marvel- 
 lously, stared till I had understood, or, at least seen, every nook 
 and crany of it all ; and then I turned my attention — with a 
 sigh that might, if it didn't, have aroused St Peter — to the dear 
 bewildei'ing maiden at my side. She wanted to know if I were 
 ill. I said a slight crick in the neck only, and then dived deep 
 into conversation with her immediately. 
 
 Slie had been reading, she said, some recent vei'ses of mine 
 on the "Probable Future Tactics of the Devil," and stated that she 
 did not agree with me. "I see," she charmingly continued, " I 
 see, Samuel, that you are a believer in a personal fiend or Evil 
 One. Have you ever speculated upon his probable ultimate 
 destiny 1 I am very anxious you should tell me this. Yes ! 
 Come, do tell me !" she pleaded tenderly. The darling was 
 irresistible, so I answered — " Yes, Oh yes, Leddy Matty, oifin. 
 He's to be brunt — brunt to a literal naethingness, lea'in' ahint 
 him no sae muckle ase as will bulk wi' a ten thoosandth pairt 
 o' ane o' Tyndall's atomies !" " Oh, dear me !" cried Leddy 
 Matty, pale and breathless, " and how is such a dreadful destiny 
 to be accomplished ?" " Weel," I replied cautiously, " weel, 
 Auld Hornie, my dear Leddy Matty, Auld Hornie is maist like 
 to be burned and blazed aff at the hinder end in some such a 
 style as wickit Auld Red was — only still mair spontaneously and 
 mair completely." " Wicked Old Red, Samuel, who was he ? 
 and how was he consumed ?" [At this point Hootsman, who 
 was sitting nearly opposite me to the left, I noticed, was as the 
 Apollo Belvidere — actually instinct with life and inspiration. 
 He was the sun and centre around which young and old lady 
 satellites revolved unceasingly ; and as he saw that I was get- 
 ting along well, he verily seemed to flame with happiness.] 
 "Auld Red," I resumed, "my Leddy Matty, Auld Red was an 
 aristocrat o' the aristocrats, an' a limb o' the Evil Ane, oot and 
 oot. For lang years afore the final catastroffy whilk teuk him 
 
 II
 
 9S L A Y S A NM) L K T T l) U S. 
 
 att'this yircl, body an' sowl at ae an' ane wliusk, he ilka day used 
 to drink nine bottles o' port — nine bottles an' ne'er a gill less ! 
 And at last he grew sae big and fat, my Leddy, that his doors 
 had to be widened some twa feet to let him oot an' in. When 
 he wanted a new suit, he had to gie warning to the merchant a 
 week or twa afore sae that lie could oi'der frae Galashiels for the 
 emergency. Aboot a hunder yairds in front o's hoose there was 
 a snia' hill, Leddy Matty, ca'd the Warlock's Knowe, an' on the 
 croon o' this wee warlock hillock, Auld Red had gotten a divot 
 sate built for his ain individ'al use. On this, every guid efter- 
 nune, he used to sit an' drink an smoke for oors an' oors 
 thegether, an' his face shone like a setting sun seen thi'o' 
 a l)lue screen. The herds on the Lammermuirs — miles aff — 
 a' kend it, and used to say when they saw him — ' It's a 
 line afternoon — Auld Red's oot the day.' AVell (will your 
 Leddyship lauch less an' listen ?), weel down upo' this tui'f 
 bench, the last afternoon o' his existence, Auld Red squatted, 
 efter drinkin' afF a ae-some bicker o' his favourite beverage, an' 
 syne shouted to his valet to bring him a licht for his cigar. 
 The flunkey (a fine chiel and auld freend o' mine) did sae, an' 
 returned to his plate cleaning an' chaffing to Jean Ann, the 
 ])onnie hoosekeeper. Auld Red scartit a spunk belyve an' held 
 the lowe forrit to his cigar — when hooly, hooly — Oh, ma darlin' 
 Leddy Matty, wad ye trow it ? — the breath o' the auld drucken 
 fouter, whilk was become nocht but a vile-smellin' alcholic gas, 
 took baud and bleezed like a tar'd torch. Frae the mooth o' him 
 in a second there shot a flafHn' flame an ell long, whurlin' aboot 
 his heid like an avenging swurd, which, do his best, he couldna 
 extinguish. He clappit ae loof efter anither on till his mou', 
 l)ut only got his fingers brunt for his pains. In a jifly the gas 
 set Are to the fat, the fat to the flesh, an' the three thegether 
 sune made sma' bouk o' Auld Red." " Extraordinary ; most 
 extraordinary," gasped Lady Matty, " was he totally burned up, 
 Samuel, dear?" "Ay, my bonnie Leddy Matty, when the 
 flunkey cam' oot to fetch him in he stared, like Burns's wee 
 Hughoc, at a gowpinfu' o' gray, win-strewn ase — a' that was left
 
 MIXGLIXG WITH T II IC MAGXATES. 99 
 
 o' the mortal o' Auld Red. After a wee, he poutert the ase wi' 
 his fore finger to see gin he couldna tin' some sma' unburned 
 remnant — sich as a ring — for a keepsake. In the middle o' the 
 toorie o' ase he fand something hard, and teuk and pat it in his 
 pooch. That was a' he cud discover. The flunkey cam' to me 
 wi' the little hard knot he had found. It was about the size 
 and shape o' a walnut, but a' ])leert an' dimmed wi' the tire. I 
 set to that nicht wi' some sweet oil and a wheen cloots an' 
 scoured it up, and it turned out to be the neb o' Auld Red's 
 nose. Ye see, my Leddy, it had burned sae lang on his face wi' 
 the drink that it couldna burn ony mair. I hae't at hame in my 
 museum o' kickshaws an' nickuacks — sliining like a cai'buncle 
 o' the first water." "Oh, Mucklebackit, Mucklebackit ; speak 
 no more — I am sore with laughing at you," interrupted Lady 
 Matty, and just as she did so I was further obstructed by an 
 officious serving man behind our chairs, who wished, he said, to 
 put away and secure my large worsted cravat in a proper place, 
 I having just unwound it from my neck, as the heat of the 
 apartment was only too consciously affecting me. " Not a 
 stiver," I said ; " not a stiver, my billie. A three yaird owrelay 
 is no tae be had sae cannily, my man. Gae fleece yer 'oo' aif 
 anither sheep — this comforter gaes hame to Clover Riggs wi' 
 me. And, tak' ye tent, my braw lad, that my hat and stick are 
 forthcoming when I want them, or I'll wring your weast)n like a 
 capital malefactor's." And so saying I rolled up my uiutller and 
 stowed it away in my oxter pooch, to the manifest satisfaction 
 and glee of my charming Lady Matty. 
 
 The dinner consisted of thirteen courses, and lasted from 
 sun.set to moonrise. Every one, with his (or her) neighbour, 
 was blythely engaged in talking all the time ; and I could not 
 have believed, unless I liad witnessed it, how little of pride, 
 flummery, or ceremony there is among the real gentry. Gran- 
 deur, splendour, magnificence were all around — richest furniture, 
 pictures, plate, glistening candelabra, flowers, fashion, and 
 dignitv, and here and tliere remarkable female beauty ; and yet
 
 100 L A Y S AND I- i; T '1' IC U S. 
 
 all the company — the whole company, with one exception — 
 seemed to look upon and to speak to each other just as other 
 folks do. " Conscience," I cried, within my ain sough, " is this 
 a fact 1 or is it only a dream V Answering Lady Matty in. 
 monosyllables, I gazed, and scanned, and surveyed, and sought 
 the whole table from end to end for signs of haughty patrician 
 pride— which, I thought, might have indicated themselves by 
 tlie presence of Hootsman and myself — but no ; I could detect 
 none. " Leddy Matty," I said, " ye ken weel that sic scenes as 
 the present are a kennin' removed beyond my sphere in life, sae 
 tell me, Leddy Matty, an' tell me truly, gif this be a fair average 
 example o' a denner in high life 1 I want to ken, and I want to 
 ken richtly." 
 
 " I am not sure," she answered slowly, " if I understand you 
 correctly, Samuel. You speak so — so — excuse me — so eagerly. 
 But I suppose you wish to learn if the conduct and personal 
 bearing, the deportment and general manners, of the people here 
 are similar to those which are to be commonly met with in 
 society?" "Yes," I jerked in, "that's just it. Go on Leddy 
 Matty, go on !" She says — " I am delighted to find that I have 
 divined your query so exactly. Well, don't you know, your ques- 
 tion is such a big one that I am afraid I really cannot definitely 
 answer it on the bit. There are people and people, and there 
 are parties and parties. And you know there are individual 
 cases so exceptional, and so very exceptional, at times. But, 
 upon the whole, I should say that the company here offers a 
 perfectly fair pattern of the manners, and etiquette, and modes 
 which should always govern, and which, indeed, do generally 
 govern, I believe, polite circles. Of course I do not include in 
 this statement the rather imperious ways of our hostess. Lady 
 Pickle's management of poor Sir Richard you will i-ightly think 
 rather odd and outre. This is an extreme, but by no means a 
 solitary, case of its kind in the upper ranks of society. I have 
 myself known a good many hen-pecked husbands belonging to 
 the higher classes ; and I think they are far more commonly
 
 MINGLING WITH TIIK MAGNATES. 101 
 
 met with in the higher than they are in the middle and lower 
 grades of life. And this too is rather a private and family 
 arrangement, you know ; otherwise, too, she is a far more 
 efficient person than her husband, and consequently can natu- 
 rally overlook the administration of their large estates with 
 more skill and judgment than 8ir Richard. It is given out, 
 besides, that he is scarcely 'all there ' in his intellect." 
 
 Just at this point — the dinner being then sometime over — 
 all the ladies with one consent clutched at their voluminous 
 skirts, and paraded, rustling and bustling, out of the apartment. 
 So soon as they were fairly gone, one or two of the gentlemen 
 sidled up to Sir Richard, wlio was sitting close to the head of 
 the table on the left hand side, and helped liim to some wine. 
 He glanced timidly towards the door by which the ladies had 
 just passed out of the room, nodded to his friends, and then 
 drank hurriedly off, without more ado, a tumbler containing 
 about two ordinary glasses of port. I arose with the intention 
 of having a chat with him if possible, but just as I was placing 
 myself by his side the door suddenly swung ajar, and a gigantic 
 flunkey, in claw-hammer coat, white choker, and knee pantaloons, 
 entered and stalked rapidly over to us, and whispered to Sir 
 Richard that he was wanted immediately. Sir Richard's coun- 
 tenance fell and darkened a little when he heard this arbitrary 
 command ; he seemed to look at me appealingly, and bit reso- 
 lutely his under lip, but observing the serving man (a thing of 
 Lady Pickle's) waiting for him, he said, " Oh yes," and humbly 
 rose to obey. I grasped him by the arm and retained him like 
 a vice, and said — I believe rather violently — " Do not go. Why 
 should you go if you don't want to ? Be a man. I will stand 
 by you against a regiment." The long flunkey, gaping and 
 staring, and strutting like a fluttered peacock in his pumps at 
 my unheard-of audacity, meekly intimated — in a low sneaking 
 voice, and witli a cringing air — what he no doubt considered 
 would be a conclusive clencher and settler of tlie dispute, " Oh, 
 Mr Mucklebackit, Sir Ricliard lautit go ; it in her ladjsldp's
 
 102 LAYS AN n L K T T K H S. 
 
 orders." Not deigning to tuko notice, and, indeed, intentionally 
 disregarding tlie presence and words of this apparently thoroughly 
 cowed and effectively trained lady's dog, T said — " Are you want- 
 ing to go, Sir Kichard? Do you vill to go?" "Oil yes, dear 
 Mucklebackit, I must — that is, 1 want to — go," he replied 
 l>rokenly ; and so I quitted his hand, and he immediately trotted 
 oti' after the flunkey in extreme haste. 
 
 " What's this you have done, 8ani T cried Hootsman, 
 approaching at the moment. "I .saw and heard it all. Don't 
 you know that that giant in tlie white calves is Lady Pickle's 
 personal property, her instrument, her factotum, her willing, 
 bound slave and servitor? This is your last dinner at Glynn 
 during her reign, you may bet." " Hoots, toots, Hootsman, but 
 gif sae, that muckle winna brak the back o' Mucklebackit. Let 
 us rejoin the others down there. Hee, they are calling us." 
 "Mucklebackit," cried three or four gentlemen at once, "you 
 smoke ? Will you neiglibour us in the smoking-room ? Then 
 come along. Hootsman is for the ladies in the drawing-room. 
 Come on." 
 
 We went out by a side door, and passed along a splendid 
 corridor of some twenty yards in length, and having a floor 
 inlaid after an ancient Roman style, wrought in mosaic of many 
 coloured marbles. The high roof was adorned with gaudy 
 mosaic pictures of seemingly countless objects. The walls, up to 
 six feet from the floor, appeared to be stuccoed, and from that 
 to the top beautifully frescoed. On what looked like slabs and 
 pedestals of lapis luzuli, were ranged at intervals along both 
 sides of the passage statues of children strewing flowers, and 
 other flcfures, all in beautiful white marble. At the far end of 
 this magnificent pathway was situated the smoking-room into 
 whicli we all filed at once, and were instantly overwhelmed in a 
 whirlwind of talk and tobacco reek. 
 
 There would be about a dozen of us altogether. Excludin 
 
 to
 
 MINGLIXfJ WITH THE MAGNATES. 103 
 
 myself, they, with one or two marked exceptions, were .a group 
 of mild-mannered, courteous, high-bred, intellectual fellows. The 
 precious " exceptions " alluded to — the gad-flies, real snobs, 
 gaggling dandies. Cockney gawks — at first thought to gammon 
 and poke fun out of the rustic, awkward, and uncouth Muckle- 
 backit. But they both suddenly (l)ut not prematurely) retired 
 from the attempt, confusedly, and Ijlushing like two boarding 
 school brats, before I had spoken to them twice ; and they very 
 wisely kept at the full room's length from me the whole night 
 afterwards. The other gentlemen, who were all middle-aged or 
 elderly, I found to be hobby-riders — every one. 
 
 Two were for maintaining the sacred game laws even, if 
 need were, at the point of the bayonet. A third enthusiast was 
 for sweeping at once and for ever every known evil of every kind 
 and name out of the country with a " Permissive Bill." (This 
 gentleman's private personal appearance rather belied his public 
 professions, however, for he was al)out the neatest tilter and 
 emptier of a brandy-and-water glass ever I saw. And I did not 
 wo:5ider at it, for he practised the trick with the most assiduous 
 regularity). A fourth was an eager archaeologist, of doubtful 
 accuracy and deductive power, I should surmise. A fifth was a 
 keen biologist of the Huxley school — a troubled-looking, thought- 
 worn, cadaverous philosopher — the ablest man in the room, in 
 my opinion. A sixth was a watery-eyed, long-locked dweller 
 upon Parnassus — not on its very summit, T should think. And 
 so on, and so on. 
 
 Each and all of these patronised me by turns, wanting to 
 know my views of this, that, and the other thing. At the close, 
 a general — and very hot — discussion arose upon the universal 
 topic — and the most momentous of all — religion. I sat and 
 listened in amazement, saying nothing. I was dumbfoundered, 
 and sorry beyond speech, to hear some of the views expressed by 
 these good and noble men. The disciple of Huxley at last, like 
 a judge pronouncing doom, gave it forth that eventually all the
 
 ^0 t L A Y S A N I) L K T T K H S. 
 
 old faiths — if not reli,<;ion itself — wore hound to go by the board. 
 One of the idiots, unutterable, who had tried to laugh at me, on 
 hearing this cried from his corner, " Oh, ah, yeth, of cauce ! 
 Played out, you knaw, of cauce !" I noticed that the Huxleyan 
 was indubitably earnest in what he said, and that the belief in 
 its truth was causing him great soul-anguish, so I spoke in my 
 turn and said, addressing myself especially to him : — 
 
 '• Mr Grier — How can a man escap(> tliat which is in him ? 
 I refer specially at present to grief or the burden of melancholy 
 thought — on the apparent doom of man — the mystery of the 
 universe, &c. There are only two ways, and one of them — that 
 of engaging vigorously in a favourite pursuit, and, by a strong 
 effort of will, refusing to think — can only, in the nature of things 
 be but partially successful at best. The other is the religious 
 one, finding peace in Him who cries, " Come unto me all ye who 
 labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." (Of the 
 antidote for mental trouble by death, we can say nothing, since 
 we do not, and can not, know what follows dissolution.) The 
 religious one, then, alone remains. And as a solemn fact — and 
 as a glorious fact, too— I say I have encountered a few who, I 
 believe, have found this way. Of course I am speaking just now 
 to men of thought — earnest thinkers — of men who were oppressed 
 by the phenomena of Nature — the seeming end of humanity, and 
 other appalling problems. Were they deluded? If they were, 
 no softening of the brain ensued, and they seemed to live as good 
 and happy men — only to me they looked and became as somehow 
 different and above all other people — sort of etherealised, spirit- 
 ualised, as it were. And after long years of all kinds of cares 
 and trials, borne even cheerfully, I thought, one or two of them 
 died and passed, in the usual fashion, away into the inscrutable, 
 awful blackness of death. Now, I say, the men I speak of were 
 
 men of thought — scientists — men in the fore front of the age 
 
 intellectual pioneers. If this, their peace, was a delusion, Mr 
 Grier, what call you your present state 1 You wince, and well 
 you may. What sulhced the early gods — Dante, Shakespeare,
 
 MINGLING WITH THE MAGNATKS. 105 
 
 Bacon, Locke, Newton, Milton, Scott, and their peers— let 
 satisfy you. Your need of religion is an overpowering argument 
 for it." The yellow philosopher shook his weighty head as we 
 left to go to the drawing-room and I never saw him again. The 
 rest of the evening was passed very pleasantly, and some of the 
 young ladies present played and sang like veritable cherubim. 
 To Hootsman the party was as a night in paradise all through. 
 Some of the gentlemen, also, shone like professionals in the way 
 of stretching their windpipes. I was asked, seriously asked, to 
 sing. As there were there no rattle of coal carts or thrashing 
 mills to accompany me, I simply refused. The ladies then 
 pressed me for a recital of one of my own screeds, and, to escape 
 their irresistible importunities, I abruptly jerked up and yerked 
 them off this blaud about — 
 
 AuLD Castled Hailes. 
 
 (On Leaving for a Foreign Land.) 
 
 Meander on an' glide awa', 
 
 My gentle Tyne ; 
 Wend by Hailes' ruined castle wa' 
 
 Like stream divine ! 
 Too soon to me shalt thou hidden be, 
 For aye, for aye. 
 
 Shoot high thy broken battlement, 
 
 Auld castled Hailes ; 
 Thy rugged turrets, riven, rent, 
 
 'Till time, beaten, wails ! 
 Grim and hoary, tell thine own grand story 
 
 To the endless years. 
 
 " For ever !" oh, the heart is sair — 
 
 For ever, ever, ever ; 
 And I shall scan thee with proud eye nae mair, 
 
 Oh never, never ! 
 Wail, thou wintry gales, through castled Hailes- 
 
 Och hone the day !
 
 ion L A Y S AM) L K T T K H S. 
 
 Jlt'iv my youiii^ footsteps lov'd thy keep, 
 
 Romantic Hailes ! 
 What time the howlet, weird an' deep, 
 
 The moon assails. 
 And here — oh, liere — I trysted here, 
 
 My Jean, sweet Jean ! 
 
 Here the martin and the water ouzel, 
 
 When gloamings wane 
 Shall come, sweet summer, musical, 
 
 When 1 am gane ; 
 And the cushat crood in the drowsy wood, 
 
 Like Nature's saul 1 
 
 The jenny Avren an' the sedge singer, 
 
 The wagtail, sae spree ; 
 In the golden evenings here shall linger. 
 
 While unremembered Me 
 Drees wind or lee in a far countrie — 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 
 O drift my bark where earth's Lethe's — 
 
 Ye westlin' gales — 
 Hold memories of thee far owre the sea, 
 
 Auld Castled Hailes ! 
 Fareweel this day, fareweel for aye — ■ 
 
 Fareweel ! fareweel !
 
 AULD HANSEL MONDAY. 
 
 Whan grim King Winter bauds his reign, 
 
 'Mang trains o' gloom appearin', 
 Aukl Hansel Monday comes again 
 
 Wi' routhy mirth an' cheerin' ; 
 His look is like the Freend o' Man's — 
 
 To aukl and young endearin' ; 
 A haill year's walth is in his han's — 
 
 He scatters without fearin' 
 
 To a' this day ! 
 
 His bags are fou o' wondrous cheer, 
 
 His social face is glowin' 
 Wi' heartfelt glee — tho' whiles a tear 
 
 Doun his fat cheek is rowin'. 
 On happy auld langsyne thinks he ! 
 
 But shortly does it tout him, 
 For auld Scots hospitality 
 
 Mak's a'thing roond about him 
 
 Blythe, blythe this day 1 
 
 Hail, merry morn ! the puir man's day ! 
 
 When furth the cottar's fowre wa's 
 Care packs him ati" without delay 
 
 To girn in touns his puir cause ! 
 Then ilka en', Jock's butt and ben, 
 
 The lichtsome foot on floor fa's, 
 0' rustic joy, nor shy nor coy 
 
 When Time a tittin' hour shaws 
 As now this day. 
 
 ]^y screich o' morn the bairns are up, 
 
 And loud the auld folk rousin' ; 
 What braws are donn'd, what sangs arc conn'd. 
 
 What daflin an' carousiii' !
 
 108 LAYS A y 1) L !•; T T K H S. 
 
 Tlu', parritch })at this mom, I wat, 
 The mice theinsel's may doze in — • 
 
 On rarer fare baith rich an' puir 
 Do deeply shute their nose in 
 
 Wi' joy tliis (lay ! 
 
 Our wamcs appeas'd, the young an' stoot 
 
 Maun graith tliem for tlie shootin' ; 
 And mony a queer gun's faitchin cot, 
 
 And liuUets ticht to put in. 
 Tarn shouthers auo like a rain spoot — 
 
 A roostit Copenhagen, 
 That " even auld Nick wi' couldna shute," 
 
 As Pate coniides the lug in 
 
 O' Jean this day ! 
 
 AfF wi' the lads — we leave a while 
 
 The auld folk, bairns, an' lasses, 
 Wha, cosh at hanie, shall time beguile 
 
 Wi' ane and a' that passes ; 
 Sae brisk and bauld we jump the style, 
 
 And for the toun address us, 
 Owre wintry roads, for mony a mile 
 
 Thick-thrang wi' maist a' classes 
 
 Gaun lowse this day ! 
 
 The toun it stands beside a Ijurn 
 
 That loups a rockie linn there, 
 And as below the l^rig we turn — 
 
 Oh, Wow ! the deavin' din there ! — ■ 
 The Linn, galore, did ramp an' roar. 
 
 And trains and crowds cam' in there ; 
 And whalm'd an' whirl'd, and brawl'd an' birl'd, 
 
 And vortex-like did spin there, 
 This awfu' day ! 
 
 The " Red Lion's " fount our drouth maun slake 
 
 Wi' genial Jamie's best ane, 
 Syne to the Games, weel-primed, we'll make, 
 
 And see the grand contestin' I 
 Within a ring o' hemp an' stake. 
 
 Some chields their claes are castin'. 
 While sliifting crowds around them break 
 
 In laughter loud, an' jestin', 
 
 llicht gleg this day !
 
 A U L D II A X S E L M X D A Y. 109 
 
 In skin-ticht duds o' flannel soy 
 
 They loup, and rin the races ; 
 Lang, lang they've practised for this ploy, 
 
 Noo they maun shaw their paces. 
 But vain, alas ! Baith man and boy 
 
 The day ere lang disgraces ; 
 Few win, maist fa' and sair destroy 
 
 Their braws, or splairge their faces 
 Wi' glaur this day ! 
 
 Hammers, and cumbrous caubers now 
 
 Like willow wands are swingin' ; 
 Wi' wild huzzas at each big throw 
 
 The startled lift is ringin' ; 
 But we maun go — the targets, ho ; — 
 
 And leave the giants flingin' 
 Their shafts an' dread bolts to and fro, 
 
 Like Jove, some great god bringin' 
 To grief this day ; 
 
 " Three shots a shillin' ! — bleeze awa ;" 
 
 A sturdy auld carle cries us. 
 As we draw near the butts in fear 
 
 0' burstin' guns' surprises ; 
 " A muckle cheese, twa chairs and a', 
 
 Forbye some tea, 's the prizes. 
 Ma faith ! he is nae man ava 
 
 Wha comes an never tries us 
 
 Ae roond this day j" 
 
 Dick shoutliers first the trusty gun 
 
 That craw-herd Johnnie lent him 
 (Wha chuckie stanes wi't, mony a pun'. 
 
 Aft 'mang the sprugs had sent 'em) 
 He took a lang and deadly aim 
 
 At the bull's e'e foment him, 
 Syne steekt his een, an fired as game. 
 
 As gin his lass ahint him 
 
 Look'd on this day. 
 
 Whare did the wayart bullet speed 1 
 
 (iae speer in Jieanston Valley ; 
 The muckle target, right a-heid. 
 
 It cleared as clean 's a swallow ; 
 Tam neist for Copenhagen paid
 
 L A Y S A X 1) L K r r V. u s. 
 
 His last bob — but, puir fallow, 
 Not even a lowiu' clout to 't laid 
 Could coax a single volley 
 
 Frae it this day. 
 
 Lang, lang, wi' freendly joke an' crack 
 
 The crowd gart muskets smack there. 
 But gif the target ere ane strack 
 
 We didna stey to mak' sure. 
 On leaving, as we keekit back, 
 
 All huge in white and ])lack there, 
 It stude, defying the haill pack. 
 
 As lairge, and as intack there. 
 As Sol this day. 
 
 Sune ran we hame wi' anxious haste 
 
 For our grand Hansel denner. 
 Pork chops and dumplins, sich a feast, 
 
 A boon for saunt or sinner. 
 Our country core were a' weel braced, 
 
 And wearyin' to begin her ; 
 The l)oard's richt eithly served an' graced 
 
 That's spread for health an' hunger 
 Like ours this day. 
 
 The furious onslaucht, knife and fork, 
 
 Was a' owre in a whuti'y, 
 Sae weel our tusks an' talons work 
 
 In this wee glorious jiriy. 
 At Prestonpans his Hielant dirk 
 
 Nae clansman plied mair stutly. 
 Than did our lads their wapons jerk 
 
 Among the creesh an' tatly 
 
 In lochs this day ! 
 
 And aye atween the stechs galore 
 
 We pree the tither drappie. 
 To synde the gusty mouthfu's ower 
 
 And clear our claggit crappy ; 
 Ilk lad and lass their glasses pass. 
 
 And touzzle owre the nappy 
 The auld folks see, but let a-bee, 
 
 xVnd wyte the time sae happy 
 
 For pranks this day !
 
 A U L D HANS E L :\I X D A Y. Ill 
 
 When toasts were dune and things aside, 
 
 In stumps auld Andrew Brodie, 
 Wha in his oxter like a bride 
 
 His fiddle braucht, blythe body ; 
 He screwed her up wi' conscious pride, 
 
 And rosin'd her that snoddy ; 
 He saw'd us afi' sweet Delvinside, 
 
 Like Gow, inspired wi' toddy 
 
 And sneesh this day ! . 
 
 Then soon wi' reels and waltzes even, 
 
 The wee cot hoosie dirled, 
 As a' the blasts o' yearth an' heaven 
 
 AVere 'gainst its boukie hurled ; 
 Braw lads and lasses lap and skirled, 
 
 Bang men, and folk wha's striven 
 Man's number'd years in this hard woidd, 
 
 Cried, " heuch !" like warlocks driven 
 Clean gyte this day ! 
 
 But daffin jigs, an' sangs, an' tales, 
 
 Sped far too swith the hours on, 
 For freends were met whom morrow's gales 
 
 Must waft apart life's course on 
 Anither year, and maybe ne'er 
 
 Again while time's flood roars on, 
 Micht they e'er meet, or even greet, 
 
 Abune this world's horizon, 
 
 Tho' here this day ! 
 
 Strange hopes and fancies till'd each heart, 
 
 A wild fond sadness moved us ; 
 We lingered lang — sae laith to pairt ; 
 
 And the " farewell !" it proved us. 
 But blessings on that Hansel ploy. 
 
 Still it the mair behoved us, 
 To pray the Powers — for oh ! what joy 
 
 It braucht wi' those wha leved us, 
 This matchless day ! 
 
 [Note. — Hansel Monday, the first Monday of the new 
 year, is equivalent to lioxing Day in England and America,
 
 II- L A Y S A X I) L K T T 10 R S. 
 
 Auld ir.'insol ]\loncl;iy is tlie first Monday aftor the 12th 
 of January, the New Year's Day in old style. Both days 
 have the same signification. The way that Auld Hansel 
 Monday originated we are told, was this. Before the 
 Reformation thei'e were certain well-defined and marked holidays 
 and festival seasons, and Christmas, or Yule, was the chief one. 
 At this period in feudal times it was customary for the lord of 
 the manor to present his retainers with a " box," or gift, hence 
 Boxing Day. At the overtlirow of the Papacy the stern Presby- 
 terian divines proved themselves so zealous for the cause of tlie 
 new faith that they even forbade their flocks to observe the old 
 holidays. Christmas, it was given out in every pulpit in the 
 land — was to be obliterated at once. Every good man, and every 
 matron or maiden, was commanded to be at the plough, or to 
 bring the spinning wheel and work at it before the eyes of all 
 men at the cottage door on that day — defaulters to sit on the 
 ci-eepie stool for three consecutive Sundays. The very buskings 
 of Popery were to be burned up and not a visible shred to 
 remain. In pity, however, those ardent theological reformers, 
 for the loss of the old Yule, humanely granted their devoted 
 followers a gift, or hansel day, which they appointed should be 
 the first Monday of the year, old style. In Banff, Fife, Peebles, 
 and other parts, Hansel Monday — the first Monday of the year 
 — -is still in a fashion observed, but it is only in East Lothian, 
 and in a part of East Lothian only, that Auld Hansel Monday is 
 recognised and observed in anything like its pristine glory. It 
 is there a hallowed, an almost sacred, name to East Lothian men, 
 women, and children. Auld Hansel Monday ! With it, the 
 v^ery name, are associated feelings, and thoughts, and fond long- 
 ings and yearnings of the human heart peculiarly. With it also 
 are associated the tenderest memories of the family and the fire- 
 side circle, and every home tie that a loving heart holds dear. 
 From the loud-sounding, sense-confounding busy cities come the 
 servant girls, the shop boys, and the artisans, back to their 
 native calf ground. Whole families are re-united, and here and 
 there, al;is, there is one amissing. In the rapid glance of the eye,
 
 A U L D II A N S K L MONDAY. 113 
 
 in the hurried, vigorous, grasp of the hand, untold volumes of 
 well-understood meanings, are conveyed by Scottish men and 
 women from one to another on Hansel Monday morning. Long- 
 suppressed feelings have this day an outlet. In Linton the 
 streets, from an early hour in the morning are thronged with 
 visitors. The early trains bring in large numbers of them from 
 almost every conceivable quarter of the country. From the 
 suri-ounding rural districts come all the forenoon literally crowds 
 of youngsters, well-dressed, respectable-looking young men and 
 " bonnie lassies," and grave, sagacious - looking, conscientious, 
 grey - headed Scotchmen — men, the like of whom can be 
 seen in no other country, men who are at once the stay 
 and the glory of our beloved Caledonia. All these in due 
 time find their way to the Public Park — the scene of the 
 games and the merry-making of the day. The town band 
 is in attendance in their smart caps, and well indeed do they 
 perform the onerous duties which devolve upon them. Saunter- 
 ing leisurely through the great crowd on the ground with our 
 eyes open, two great facts shortly become apparent. The first 
 is the astonishing well-dressedness and respectability of the 
 people, their grand health and physique ; and the other the 
 almost total absence of immoderation in either personal deport- 
 ment or conduct. After a scrutiny and keen survey, lasting over 
 hours, we come away from the ground with a higher idea of the 
 Scottish character than even we had before — though that idea 
 was not a low one. In the evening we ask the local policeman 
 to tell us the results of the day from his standpoint. His answer 
 is that the conduct of the people was everything that could have 
 been desired. During the whole day only one lock-up had been 
 made, and, on asking if it was a district man, he said proudly, 
 " Na, na ; a traveller — a sort of tramp." In other times — not 
 so long ago — it used to be different. In our young days, for a 
 week after Auld Hansel Monday, the streets of our beautiful 
 little town used to be disgi-aced and defamed by the i-eeling forms 
 of responsible men and women, in drink, struggliiig through 
 them. We can now take the pleasure and the merry-making 
 
 I
 
 114 L A Y S A N' I) I. K T T K U S. 
 
 iiiul the brotherly-friendliness of Auld Hansel Monday tem- 
 perately, and in good sense and morality. Nothing else is 
 outwardly noticeable in the day's performances. During the 
 day there are continuous dances, sometimes as many as thirty 
 and forty couples being engaged at one time. In the evening, 
 at nine o'clock, the Hansel Monday ball opens in the Public 
 Hall. At this assembly there is generally a good gathering— 
 l)eautiful women in beautiful dre.«;sos, and strong, valiant men 
 swinging them around in tlie mazes of the waltz or the reel. 
 This goes on till about four or five o'clock in the Tuesday morn- 
 ing. No doubt, in various ways, the memory of Hansel Monday 
 will dwell with all in a style peculiarly fitted to each one's 
 individual experience.]
 
 HIRING FRIDAY. 
 
 Like ither folk, I gaed tae toon, 
 
 Tae see the hirin' warsle, 
 Sae thae impressions I note doun 
 
 O' this great human hirsel. 
 Morosely, by a glowing fire, 
 
 I reti-ospect the habble ; 
 But scorn my soon-suppressed desire 
 
 Tae execrate the " rabble." 
 
 For while humanity is dust. 
 
 And man a vagrant creatur', 
 Whose mad, daft antics aye disgust 
 
 Your sage-deep meditator ; 
 He isna a' he seems to be 
 
 In holiday careering ; 
 Aft thro' the scum on frowthy sea 
 
 The pearly treasure's peering ! 
 
 Whaur ignorance an' folly meet 
 
 Wi' youthfu' glee to prompt them, 
 What if vulgarity should greet. 
 
 An' her dear children compt them ? 
 The boorish speech, the gait, the leer, 
 
 An' mind a blank — we pity ; 
 Yet what ye lack — God's truth — is here, 
 
 Ye shams in toun an' city ! 
 
 Here simple human nature shows 
 
 All unsophisticated ; 
 Untrain'd, unheeding fashion's laws. 
 
 Its yearning heart unsated ! 
 That puir heart worn on rustic sleeves 
 
 This day for knaves to peck at, 
 Is Adam's still — an' joys, an' grieves. 
 
 Or plush or purple deck it.
 
 116 LAY S A N I) L K T T I". H S. 
 
 Sae cross'd was I oor iiian-liko hinds 
 
 Tae see sac fuled an' cheated, 
 By gallows scamps, wi' tricks an' blinds, 
 
 A schule miss micht defeated. 
 By ritl-rati' rogues, whosi^ \ ictims were, 
 
 In a' that decks the wearer, 
 Tae sich tag knaves, as Tyneside air 
 
 Tae Coogate I'eek, superior. 
 
 But drunts aside — the ither facts. 
 
 Let us a moment scan them- — 
 Behold auld Scotland's l)uirdly backs. 
 
 And shanks that show men own them. 
 " Beloved at liame, revered al)road," 
 
 The " Wall of fire " around her. 
 The arm with whilk she clears her road 
 
 When thick foes wad confound her. 
 
 An' lassies sweet ass lads are stoure ; 
 
 Braw, cockernonied leddies, 
 Wi' faces that wad papists sour, 
 
 Mak' benedicts an' daddies ! 
 Nae prim-faced, dwarfish, dolly jades. 
 
 That lad or guidman bothers, 
 But ticht an' sti-appin', stately maids. 
 
 Proud Scotland's future mothers ! 
 
 [Note. — This day is a "red-letter" day in the lives of the 
 peasantry of East Lothian — the Hiring Fi'iday at Haddington. 
 From time immemorial public markets for the hiring of agricul- 
 tural and domestic servants have been common in Scotland and 
 in the north of England. The questions of their utility, desir- 
 ability, &c., have been long discussed. Is it derogatory, or is it 
 not, to a free-born Briton to expose himself for the purpose of 
 selling his labour to the best advantage before the eyes of all 
 men in a public street 1 If it be derogatory, then the practice 
 must necessarily be degrading all round, and the workmen in our 
 larce towns and cities who come out and hang around dockyards 
 and the gates of manufactories awaiting employment must be 
 put under the same ban beneath which the countryman stands
 
 JI I K I X c; F IJ I I) A Y. 117 
 
 at a hiring fair. The principle, if in one case, must necessarily 
 and logically hold in ail. Whether it would be better that 
 employers should engage their servants and workmen by means 
 of registration, or in any other quiet and private manner, there 
 scarcely, we think, can be two opinions — tliat is, were it always 
 practicable. There is, without doubt, something exceedingly 
 repugnant to the idea of freedom and manly independence 
 in the siglit of bands of men and women standing like dumlD 
 brutes in the market place awaiting a purchaser. But this 
 semblance to a cattle market or a slave mart is an entirely 
 misleading one. The instances are really not analogous in the 
 slightest degree. The j^loughmen themselves neither see nor 
 feel any derogation to their manhood in attending or entering 
 into engagements in the hiring market. Indeed, both for the 
 ploughman and the farmer, such a custom possesses many 
 advantages. In the first place, for the ploughman it secures 
 at once a day's remission from his ceaseless toil, and the best 
 imaginable opportunity for meeting old acquaintances and 
 renewing old friendships. Moreover, in the market he lias the 
 means ready at hand in the presence of his fellows of hearing 
 and finding out all about any place he may be after — his pro- 
 spective master, &c. — before he finally contracts for the coming 
 year. At the market he learns the current rate of payment, 
 and he knows in consequence almost to a penny what he should 
 ask and what he should receive for his services, which it would 
 1)6 extremely difficult for him to do were any other conceivable 
 system adopted. For the farmer the hiring market also affords 
 a ready, and upon the wliole a safe, method of supplying his 
 wants. He needs, say two or three ploughmen and cottars ; he 
 goes to the market, meets and sees the men personally, talks 
 with them and their present employers — if he has a mind to — 
 at the same time and place, and completes the whole business 
 ofi'liand, without further expense, fuss, or bother. The real evils 
 of hiring markets are the social temptations to excess which the 
 rc-union of so many old friends and neighbours natui'ally leads 
 to, the too often unavoidable huriy and confusioji in which
 
 lis L A Y S A N I) I, r, T T K H S. 
 
 bargains have to be made, and the bad encouragement they 
 sup{)ly to inferior workmen. If a man has the body and the 
 outward appearance beiitting a sturdy son of the soil, no matter 
 how shiftless and useless he may be at the tail of the plough or 
 in the farmyard, he may, in tlie market, with a little push and 
 forwardness, secure as large a wage as tlie iiist-class workman. 
 This gross injustice to the clever workman is too often perpe- 
 trated, and its perpetration offers perhaps the greatest argument 
 acrainst hirins: fairs. But this, of course, with the exercise of 
 more caution, and the expenditure of more time on the part of 
 the farmer, might be obviated ; but the inducements to effect a 
 rapid agreement are often so many and urgent that the practical 
 result is too generally what we have stated it to be. 
 
 It is impossible to overlook the fact of the absence of 
 combination which there is amongst farm servants. Miners, 
 weavers, artisans of all kinds, and even sailors, have their trade 
 unions and other associations for the maintenance of what they 
 deem their rights, and the advancement of their orders, and 
 furtherance of their several causes nowadays. The fai-m 
 labourers, almost alone, stand aloof from such societies. Of 
 course there are reasons which can easily be advanced, partly 
 to explain this to the satisfaction of some people. A plough- 
 men's strike of any length would be a most disastrous matter 
 for East Lothian and the country generally ; and, happily, such 
 a dreadful misfortune — so long as the present system of yearly 
 engagements holds — is practically an impossibility, because the 
 moment they struck the men would come under the whip of the 
 law, and render themselves liable to the penalties of heavy fines, 
 and even terms of imprisonment for breacli of service contract. 
 If the mode of engagement were the same as that which obtains 
 in the midland and southern counties of England, the risk of 
 such a calamity would be increased incalculably. About forty 
 or forty-two years ago, a large number of East Lothian hinds 
 publicly combined, and, in a manner, "struck." Their object 
 was the removal of the compulsory " bondager." Prior to that
 
 HIKING F U 1 D A V. 119 
 
 time, every plougliman — every person on the furui who held a 
 cottage as part of his or her yearly agreement, was bound to 
 provide a full-bodied out-worker, or bondager, for service on the 
 farm ; and for the cottage itself, this worker — it was always 
 stipulated for — gave twenty-one days' labour in the harvest tield, 
 without other cliarge than the usual rations to the farmer. 
 Where the hind had a " halflin " son, or a grown-up daughter, 
 this iniquitous custom did not press severely ; but in all those 
 cases in which a stranger had to be engaged, and taken in, and 
 lodged and fed in the wee cot-house as the '• bondager,' the 
 enactment was cruelly expensive, and peculiarly galling and 
 annoying to the poor men and their families. One, Thomson, 
 from about Tranent, was the leading man up in ai-ms against 
 this truly obnoxious condition in the ploughmen's lot. On the 
 morning of Hiring Friday 1845 or 1846, all tho.se opposed to the 
 bondager system were invited by messengers to meet him in the 
 East Haugh. The invitation was widely accepted, and a very 
 large concourse of farm people and others assembled at the 
 appointed time and place. Speeches by Mr Thomson and many 
 others were delivered at this unique meeting, all warmly exhort- 
 ing the ploughmen to prove true to themselves and their 
 families ; and a resolution was unanimously passed that all 
 the farm servants present should stand out as one man jigainst 
 the deprecated condition, and not enter into engagements unless 
 their demands were conjplied with. Bows of blue ribbon were 
 distributed to all the men favourable to the movement. These 
 they were instructed to pin to the lappits of their coats, so 
 that the farmers might .see at a glance that their wearers would 
 not hire if the intolerable bondager was sought to be thrust 
 upon them. At the close of the meeting, the men marched in a 
 body to the scene of the market — Market Street, from the 
 Black Bull to the east end of Court Street — and there dispersed. 
 Before the close of day, it was estimated that fully one-half of the 
 men had broken their pledge, and weakly allowed themselves to 
 become V>ound as of old, through sheer terror that if they man- 
 fully stood out they might at the ensuing Whitsunday become
 
 1 20 L A Y S A\I) L lO T T IC K S. 
 
 homeless outcusts. Shortly after tliis aljortive strike, the shrewtl 
 f.-irmers Avisely settled the matter themselves by conceding the 
 just demands of their men, and now the hated "bondager" system 
 is looked back upon in East Lothian as one of the horroi's of a 
 dark and by-gone age. 
 
 During this period, and long subsequent to the time of the 
 bondager agitation, the wages of the hind were mainly paid in 
 kind, with a cow's keep for each family. The common yearly 
 remuneration for a capable man was as follows : — £12 in cash, }j 
 boll potatoes planted, or 1000 yards, 9 ])olls oats, 4 bolls barley, 
 1 boll beans, a cow's keep, or £5 in cash, and a free house and 
 garden. The usual wage of outworkers was lOdper day through- 
 out the year, and a firlot of potatoes planted. Within the last 
 twenty years the above plan of paying ploughmen has been 
 greatly modified, and in some instances entirely abolished, and a 
 weekly or monthly money wage substituted. The vast majority 
 of the men, however, are now in receipt of a yearly pay of 6^ 
 bolls oatmeal, 5 or G bolls potatoes, 1 l)oll beans, and from £18 
 to £24 cash, and house and garden, and coals driven free. 
 Liberty to keep and feed a pig, or even two, is likewise generally 
 given. Tlie old and much-prized piivilege of cow's keep has now 
 almost universally been lost by the men — which is, we think, an 
 evil almost amounting to a national calamity. The practice also 
 of paying in cash monthly or fortnightly, we think, has been 
 detrimental to the welfare of the ploughmen and their families. 
 Notwithstanding all these too patent di'awbacks, however, there 
 can be no question that the general lot of the present-day 
 working agriculturists is a vast impi'ovement uj^on that of 
 their predecessors of forty or iifty years ago. Houses, wages, 
 educational facilities, social and political position — all these 
 within the period specified have in a manner been quietly 
 revolutionised for our noble, hard-working ploughmen. Forty 
 years ago the social and political standing of our hinds was little 
 in advance of that of the serfs of Russia ; they were, in fact, as 
 much ignored politically as the horses which they daily yoked to
 
 n 1 R 1 N f; F li I D A V. 
 
 121 
 
 the plou,f,fli. To-day they are recognised, they are enfranchised 
 and free, they are a great party in the State, their vote is 
 courted and sedulously sought for, and the present day plough- 
 man can in literal fact exert as much influence over the Govern- 
 ment of his country as his master, or even the laird and owner of 
 the broad acres on which he spends his life and strength in 
 cultivating. 
 
 *»• 
 
 Hiring Friday market, however, despite all these great 
 changes, remains much as it was thirty or forty years ago. We 
 can indicate no great alterations which have been effected in its 
 general characteristics during that period. No doubt the con- 
 duct, the demeanour, the customs and manners of the people 
 attending it have in the interval infinitely improved. There is 
 a thousand times less rudeness, vulgarity, rowdyism, and intem- 
 perance observable now. In the crowd a drunk man is the 
 exception ; forty years ago a perfectly sober man was the excep- 
 tion. Towards nightfall in those days the burgh on a Hiring 
 Friday was a miniature pandemonium, and bloody battles be- 
 tween young intoxicated hinds enlivened every street of the 
 town. All this has now happily passed away, we hope for ever 
 and a day. The other aspects of the fair ai-e much on a par as 
 they appeared long ago. Perhaps the numbers who habitually 
 frequent Haddington on a Hiring Friday, are greater now than 
 they were then — we are inclined to think, much greater. We 
 have been intimately acquainted with this celebrated market, 
 off" and on, for about seven-and-twenty years, and we do not 
 detect umcli difference in the fairs of the present and those of 
 our early days. During the last few years, it is thought by 
 some observing people, that the mai'ket has not been as nume- 
 rously attended as in the immediately preceding years. However 
 that may be, there can be no doubt that the Hiring Friday 
 market in Haddington is still, for the rural population at least, 
 the one event — the great day of the year — that which is preg- 
 nant with the happiness or misery, the weal or woe, the destinies 
 of thousands of human beings in a high and peculiar degree.
 
 1-2 L A Y S A N 1) L E T T K It S. 
 
 On Hiriiif,' Friday, hy early morninf,', every farm " touii,'' 
 every hamlet and villa<,'e almost in the county is astir with many 
 of the inhabitants dressing and busily preparing to take the 
 road. They who live along the line of railway come in by train, 
 but all those who dwell in the upper regions of the county 
 must perforce trudge the distance on shanks-nagie, and long 
 distances too some of them are. From about Duns, Longforma- 
 cus, Black.shiols, Lauder, and Upperkeith, come the plaided, 
 dog-attended shepherds, in company with the douce, tweed-clad, 
 industrious tillers of the soil. Every road, lane, and bypatli, 
 debouching from the hills and the cultivated fields into the 
 capital of the county, swarms with its quota of rustics — all 
 pacing on and vigorously pursuing their way marketwards. 
 By ten or eleven o'clock at the outside, they have all arrived. 
 What an assemblage they are. Hard tillers, sons and daughters 
 of the soil, rural people of both sexes and all ages and degrees. 
 They constitute the pith and pride, and are the mainstay of their 
 country — its inexhaustible fountain of life and strength. But 
 for them our marrowless city populations would degenerate 
 and die away in a few generations.
 
 TESTIMONIALS TO PROVOSTS 
 A Dream. 
 
 When I had read the ell lang list 
 O' names o' them wha did persist 
 
 To gi'e a gift to Brodie, 
 I slippit canny atf to bed 
 An' fell a dov'rin' — sair bestead 
 
 An' rack'd in mind an' body ; 
 I didna mind the " uncos" lang 
 
 That Friday nicht, I trew ! 
 " Births, Marriages, an' Deaths " — an' " sang 
 
 An' "jokes " (a motley crew !) 
 Gaed whummlin' an' jummlin' 
 
 In riot thro' my brain, 
 Till sound sleep did me steep 
 
 In Lethe's stream again. 
 
 But faigs ! nae mair than ance or twice 
 I hadna snored, whan, in a trice, 
 
 An' distinck in a dream. 
 An ancient carle before me rose, 
 Whase features — tousie heid, an' nose — 
 
 'Maist like my ain did seem. 
 Quoth he — " Son Sam ! tak' ye nae fricht, 
 
 In peace look me upon ; 
 I'm come tae ha'e a crack the nicht — 
 
 Hear me, my Famous Son ! 
 Auld Dauvid, your braw lad,* 
 
 Lies sair upo' my heart — 
 To wham ye nae gift gi'e 
 
 For a' his great desairt. 
 
 * David StuTL'iisoii, Kaij., ex-1'rovost of Haddington.
 
 121 I. A V s AN I) I. !•; r T i: if s. 
 
 " Hooso up, my son, let lly tliy wit — 
 The curst tlisgi'uce n;iil to the bit 
 
 Till Loudon girns for siKUue ; 
 Tell o' his great warks 'niaug the drains — * 
 Tell o' his superhuinan i)ains 
 
 To bring the water hanie. 
 2'hat caller water, saft and clear— 
 
 That pi-iceless Chesters Water ; 
 Than ' swijjes,' or ' yill,' or ' table beer,' 
 
 Oh ! hoo sae muckle better. 
 Sae sure aye, sae pure aye, 
 
 In coggie, caup, or tin ; 
 To cook wi', to douk wi'. 
 
 An' wash the warkman's skin. 
 
 " That water triumph, tell him 8am, 
 A greater was tlian ony sham 
 
 Won on the battle field — 
 Napoleon, Lord of Austerlitz, 
 Nae, your ain Brand, wi' a' his wits, 
 
 To such a feat maun yield. 
 At their high best, what did they do 
 
 But tap puir human l)luid ? 
 But Dauvid tapt a stream, I trew, 
 
 That Hows for nocht but guid, 
 Live-giving, I'eviving 
 
 The weary mortal man, 
 And watering, and scattering 
 
 Wealth, health on either han', 
 
 " But when ye thro' the past hae run, 
 Mind Dauvid, Sam, o' wark undone — 
 
 The Railway and the Gas ;t 
 The Schules, likewise, micht better be ; 
 The Streets — the Streets, raair grim to see 
 
 Than Killiecrankie Pass. 
 Whan ye gang to the guid auld toun 
 
 Wi' tatties cheap an' tine, 
 
 * He was the leader of the party who ultimately succeeded in efficiently 
 drainin" and bringing a supiily of water into the " Auld Toun " at an estimated 
 exi)ens°of about a seventh of the real ultimate charge. 
 
 t Two other long spoken of schemes of his.
 
 TESTIMONIALS TO P K V O S T S. 125 
 
 I'm aft deid feart that ye'll clash doun, 
 
 An' row strecht intae Tyne ; 
 The knowes there, the howes there, 
 
 As ye drive ower yer cairt. 
 Do bait me, and thrait me 
 
 Your jaws an' teeth to pairt. 
 
 " And last, but not the least, my son — • 
 The chief o' a' that's left undone — 
 
 A New Brig ower the Tyne ;* 
 The Nungate ane — the shame o' Cairns — 
 For dougs may dae fu' weel — or bairns. 
 
 Their bits o' ' cairts ' to twine. 
 But wow, its back is hump'd wi' age. 
 
 It mocks what it adorns ; 
 Ev'n Robb, your Antiquarian Sage, 
 
 Its wasp waist passage scorns. 
 Sae narrow, a barrow 
 
 It's risky owre't to whirl ; 
 Whare snobl)ies an' bobbies 
 
 Dreid sair to meet a churl. 
 
 " And noo, aboot the gift ye'll gi'e : 
 Son Sam, appropriate it shid be. 
 
 And worthy o' the man. 
 His pictyoor ? Pooh ; he kens himsel' 
 He is your Local Gladstone Swell. 
 
 What thain 1 My lad— aff haun'— 
 Gi'e him a bath ! There he may dip, 
 
 An' douk an' drench him weel, 
 In that fine liquid pi-ecious sip 
 
 He brocht from far a-tiel'. 
 'Twill lichten and brichten. 
 
 Far mair than plumps in Tyne ; 
 'Twill clean him, 'twill sheen him. 
 
 The mair an' mair to shine. 
 
 * A finully cherished project of his Cirr since he first held office ; but one, 
 alas, which is not even initiated yet — • 
 
 " The best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft a-gley," 
 Ev'n Provost Stevie's may be seen, a hoax to be.
 
 126 i' A Y S AND L K T T K K S. 
 
 " Fareweel, my son ; my date is up ; 
 Ye ken that speerits daurna clip 
 
 An oor frae aff the morn ; 
 But at the first craw o' the cock 
 Atr we maun pack, like tod or brock, 
 
 To our dark mystic bourne. 
 Ta-ta ; I'll see ye sune again," 
 
 He waved his hand an' lied. 
 I turn'd niysel', an' oped my een, 
 
 Syne bounced strecht up in bed ; 
 How, Lord ! then, T roar'd then, 
 
 An' fair wi' mirth did scream ; 
 An' cough'd lang an' laugh'd lang 
 
 To lind 'twas a' a di'eam !
 
 POETIC SAVAGERY, Oil BESPOKE EPITAPHS. 
 
 I. — For the. "r/.O.il/." 
 
 Here, beneath this high but sad stane, 
 Is grafF'd, at hxst, oor AVillie Gladstane ; 
 " Cilib-gabbit WilHe, glib nae mair " 
 (This warld cried oot) " My heart is sair." 
 For fifty year ye dinn'd an' deaved me, 
 Yet lang I grat when last ye leaved me. 
 
 //. — For Ex-Provost St n. 
 
 Oor toun he d mined an' watered weel, 
 
 Oor drink he watered tae ; 
 But owre Tyne water a' his skill, 
 
 A new brig couldna lay. 
 That sair, sair proljlem play'd the deil, 
 
 An' brak' his hairt in twae ; 
 That he was but a mortal chiel, 
 
 He saw, syne slipt awae. 
 
 III.— For Jock Little. 
 (This epitaph has been called for.) 
 
 Lang Jock Little, mucky an' muddy, 
 Toddled aboot wi' hi.s wee white cuddy ; 
 Noo, here he lies, as deid as a herrin', 
 An' the cuddy, its grave lies also therein. 
 
 IV.— For K. n. II. e, M.P. 
 
 O, death, thou Unionist an' villain, 
 Tae gang wi' thee I wasna willin' 
 I said I'd raither stump wi' Dillon.
 
 128 L A Y S A \ 1> I, !•: T T K U S. 
 
 " N;i, n;i," said thou, "conic on \vi' nic, 
 Thou subtle Gladstiuic, lly (.,).CV" 
 Sae whupt me aff an' laid nic here, 
 Deid, cauld, an' stifl" uimiu my bier ; 
 AVhare I can ne'er " advance " again, 
 Renown an' votes to win frae men. 
 
 V.^For S. M. 
 
 (This epitaph was l)csjioke by a rival savage and 
 philosopher — an ass.) 
 
 Trenched deep in deatli's dark })itchy pool. 
 
 Here lies a double-seer and fool ; 
 
 The first was wicht, the itlier crackit, 
 
 Then baith conjoined made — " Mucklebackit." 
 
 VI. — For ]>. Solovuin. 
 
 Soloman of linton, here 
 Rests his profoond heid an' cpieer ; 
 The man who " ne\er told a lie," 
 Withoot a word before me lies. 
 If " letters " are received on high, 
 Nae doot, he's safe ayont the skies ; 
 Till death, like Ottar, claim 'd the chiel, 
 He was a slipp'ry fish atweel.
 
 TO RAB 0' THE HILL. 
 
 {A Wee Rhyme for Bis on " Tiva Wee Weans.") 
 
 " They toddle up an' doun the stair " — 
 Your twa wee weans ; 
 
 And there they'll toddle evermair — 
 The twa wee weans ; 
 
 The " dainty cherubs " ne'er again 
 
 Shall leave fond Memory's sweet domain, 
 
 But ever in our hearts remain 
 
 Your " twa wee weans." 
 
 Fa' blessings doun on you an' them— 
 
 The twa wee weans ; 
 They canna help but bless your hame, 
 
 Sich twa wee weans ; 
 To be the dad o' sich a pair 
 I'd swap a hantle i-hyming ware, 
 Syne point, detiant, dool an' care — 
 
 My twa wee weans. 
 
 The" I'm a stranger to you a'. 
 
 And your wee weans, 
 I wadna fear to swear ava 
 
 Your twa wee weans 
 Were bonnier than flowers in May, 
 Were sweeter than a laverock's lay. 
 And innocent as lambs at play — 
 
 Your twa wee weans. 
 
 I fancy noo, an' think I see 
 
 Your twa wee weans 
 Trot Ijut an' ben in merry glee — 
 
 Twa rare wee weans ; 
 Their little cheeks — the budding rose, 
 
 K
 
 130 L A Y H A X I) L K T T K H S. 
 
 Their srift l)liie oyos — the violet shows, 
 And snawy white the seraph biows 
 O' your wee weans. 
 
 Thoir daddy sits and Ijids the wife 
 
 Se(! tlieir wee weans, 
 And prizes higher than Iiis life 
 
 Their sweet wee weans ; 
 For them Ikj'II act tlie man, and be 
 A sturdy strugs^ler, firm an free — 
 Nae weakly fool shall faither ye — - 
 J\ly twa wee weans. 
 
 Fareweel ! my couthie, canty chiel. 
 
 An' your wee weans ; 
 I ken your heart beats true an' leal 
 
 For thae wee weans ; 
 T havena felt for weeks afore 
 As when your rhyme I read it o'er — 
 They moved me to the vera core. 
 Your twa wee weans. 
 
 IN PRESTONKIRK CHURCHYARD. 
 
 March 12th, 1888.* 
 
 The eastlin' wind blew cauld an' keen. 
 The auld Kirkyaird was clad in snaw ; 
 
 But eastlin' wind an' snaw, I ween, 
 That day I neither felt nor saw. 
 
 * Alexander Lumsden, a singularly strong natured and very remarkable man, 
 tlie father of the scribe, died at East Linton, on the Uth of March 1888, in his 
 88 th year.
 
 IN PRESTONKIKK CIIURCHYAKD. 131 
 
 My heart was in a coffin tliere, 
 
 Slow sinking down an open grave ; 
 The wide warld inicht be foul or fair 
 
 For me, sae sunk in sorrow's wave. 
 
 I kenn'd the king that coffin held, 
 
 As nane on earth could ken like me, 
 An' loyal love would not be quelled. 
 
 An' death but quickened momorie. 
 
 My thochts, like birds, winged thro' the past. 
 
 Dead summers blossom'd green again ; 
 I saw the king, baith iirm an' fast, 
 
 Enthroned among his fellow men. 
 
 The sceptre in liis hand, it was 
 
 The carle stalk — integritie ; 
 His croon was truth, an' for his cause 
 
 He claim'd the friend of right to be. 
 
 Wi' stern, but kind and valiant mien, 
 Owre life's high-way he marched alang ; 
 
 Whate'er he wist, he gain'd, I ween, 
 Wi' resolution fix'd an' Strang. 
 
 But sicker ills pursued the king. 
 
 His lofty crest was stricken low 
 A thousand times, Ijut nocht could bring 
 
 That regal heart desj^air to know. 
 
 Thro' wreck an' ruin, woe an' want, 
 
 Wi' nerve unslacked, he held his way ; 
 Nor age, nor pain, nor death could daunt 
 
 That matchless spirit to this day. 
 
 Wi' breaking hearts we leave him here, 
 
 (Jh, may his sleep be deep an' blessed ! 
 For never on earth's roonded s^Dhere 
 
 Did truer man or stronger rest.
 
 AT A BROTHER'S GRAVE. 
 
 (It is now full \i tiveiitij years since Kjhcn — a mere boij — the folknnituj 
 lines were imtten. They are now revised.) 
 
 Hoi'e is the spot. " Wcc John," 
 
 Whare, forty years a-gone, 
 Thy little " chest o' ashes " low was laid ; 
 
 An still thy grave is green, 
 
 Aukl playmate, billie, freen' — 
 For gi'een thy life, l)y death, was nippit bud an' blade. 
 
 () lang, lang hast thou lain 
 
 Wi' thy held anetli this stane — 
 Thon wee toosie heid that nichtly coor'd hy mine ; 
 
 Gin I thocht I'd see't again, 
 
 I wad long for death as fain 
 As thou long'd to meet •' Ham " comin' frae the schule langsyne. 
 
 I start, as frae deep sleep. 
 
 Woke by the plaintive " weep " 
 0' a restive crested plover circling near ; 
 
 Tho' the cry was scarce divine, 
 
 Did I sin to deem it thine — 
 Pealing to me down the ether words of cheer ? 
 
 For John, wee, seraph John — 
 
 Thou mayest be hovering on 
 Thy spirit wings of light o'er this grave ! 
 
 Lost in the moaning night. 
 
 The saft sough of thy flight 
 May around me murmur sweeter than the gentlest summer wave. 
 
 But rather John, that cry 
 0' the wailing lapwing by,
 
 L E A V I N G L I N T N. 1 33 
 
 Speaks to my heart o' days lang, lang gane ; 
 
 When the fever struck us twa, 
 
 An' thou wert ta'en awa — 
 Ta'en awa to this wee grave a' thy hme. 
 
 O God, naebody kent 
 
 How my laddie-heart was rent — 
 How it bled, an' stormed, an' pray'd, an' bled again ; 
 
 How the barrow in the rack 
 
 Was kept till "John comes back," 
 And twa little pairs o' shoon were hidden a' in vain. 
 
 But Time, that scathing woe. 
 
 Hath given a calmer glow. 
 Till a sad set star it seems in Memory's dome — 
 
 To beacon, John, the way 
 
 To thine azure fields of day, 
 For this grave is but between us till I come. 
 
 LEAVING LINTON. 
 (Written for a Fkiend.) 
 
 The sun shines owre yon grassy lea, 
 
 Whence singing laverocks spen' on high 
 An flocks an' herds, sae peacefulie. 
 
 Move here an' there, or wearied lie : 
 A' Linton glitters in the glare, 
 
 An' gladsome blink o' bonnie May ; 
 And licht o' heart is ilk aue there — 
 
 Tho' I maun leave't this Term Day. 
 
 And I will never see it iiiair, 
 
 Oh, never mair again, again ' 
 O wearie me, my heart is sair. 
 
 To say farewecl to a' T ken.
 
 L A Y S A N 1) L 1-, '1' '1' !■: H S. 
 
 The ;uil(l kirkyjiird, tlie watev side, 
 
 The jumping trouts, the siller saughs ; 
 
 The I'ockie Linn an's gushing tide, 
 
 Tyne's banks an' braes, an' bonnie haughs. 
 
 I daunder dowie thro' the street, 
 
 I stoiter weary up and dctun ; 
 A tether's woond about my heart — 
 
 The tither end o't's roond this toon. 
 Oh, bitter fate, that I should dree 
 
 My last day here in maiden prime. 
 And forsake a' that's dear to me. 
 
 Or e'er will be this side o' time, 
 
 Yestreen I wandert to the Law, 
 
 I clamb again the waly brae ; 
 I kenn'd it was the last o' a' 
 
 The times that I that dim' wad hae. 
 An' wasna my een wat to see. 
 
 An' wasna my heart wae tae feel, 
 How bonnie is oor auld countrie, 
 
 An' how I loe it a' sae weel. 
 
 I've gane to a' where roond aboot — 
 
 To auld Hailes Castle grat fare weel ; 
 Wi' breaking heart an' lingering foot, 
 
 Pressmennan left, an' ])onnie Biel. 
 An' Binnin' Wood where aft T stray'd 
 
 Wi' Jamie in the dear langsyne ; 
 The Auld Wa's, Roond Taps, an' Langside, 
 
 Pencraig, an' up an doon a' Tyne. 
 
 And noo, this warld hechts nocht to me 
 But the sad memorie o' them a'. 
 
 O Linton ! what wey sid it be 
 
 That I frae thee maun shog awa' ? 
 
 Here, in thy dear lap, wad I rest, 
 Here, in thy bosie, live an' dee — 
 
 My native nook, my native rest- 
 But fate says, na, it canna be.
 
 TWO SCRAPS. 
 
 I. — In Prestonkirk Church. 
 
 By the river, flowing sweetly, 
 
 In the time, when, bright and featly, 
 
 Young May cam' to braird the corn. 
 And it upward sprung to greet her, 
 Gleaming green, and fresher — sweeter, 
 
 In the dew o' early morn ! 
 
 Doun the gate I quietly daunder'd 
 To the Kirk, and sadly ponder'd 
 
 On the lives o' rich and puir ; 
 The peer and peasant in their hames, 
 The pomp and poverty that shames 
 
 Alike their joy and care ! 
 
 When lo, the Kirk ! sae heichly cantled 
 On its knowe, and ivy mantled, 
 
 'Man" tlie tombs fu' sacredlie ! 
 Large an' hamely 'tis — nae feature 
 Grand or gorgeous, nor in stature 
 
 As our " Lamps " o' Lothian be. 
 
 But if here Man's works be barren, 
 Fairest Nature doth adorn 
 
 Matchlessly the hallow'd scene ! 
 Wood and water, corn fields fertile — 
 Teeming with luxuriance — kyrtle 
 
 Tills God's Acre like a queen ! 
 
 Now th(; worshippers draw liitluir ; 
 Men and women, a' thegither, 
 
 Fill the House o' God within. 
 Hark ! their Sang o' Praise they're singing,
 
 130 L A Y S A N D L V. T T !• R S. 
 
 From frail siiifu' hearts 'tis winging 
 To tlie God who hateth sin ! 
 
 Next the sheplierd, young and fervent, 
 A true leader, and Christ's servant, — 
 
 For this great flock rev'rently, 
 With no mock ecclesiastic, 
 But, with heart-born words, makes plastic 
 
 Their souls' wants to soar on high. 
 
 Then the Inspired Word he readeth, 
 Earnestly, as when he pleadeth 
 
 At the Divine Cross for man : 
 A' aboot the auld devices — 
 Offerings and sacrifices — 
 
 Needful in Jehovah's plan. 
 
 Anon the sermon. Whare the text was. 
 If in Psalms or Eccles'astes — 
 
 Haith ! I really have forgot ! 
 Surely, surely 'twas from David — 
 But as I its gist have savM, 
 
 Book and cliapter matter not. 
 
 From the simple words — " Then let us 
 Into the Lord's House beget us," 
 
 Such a theme's developed 
 Of fresh thought and reasoning subtle — 
 Yet true Gospel ring and metal — 
 
 Paul seems risen from the dead. 
 
 Logic, eloquence — ay, passion 
 But devoid the clap-trap fashion 
 
 That obtains with narrow minds ; 
 Sensible — and credit craving 
 Only for what's worth believing — 
 
 Ev'ry word a heart-home finds. 
 
 Leeze me on such halesome preachers ; 
 Best examplars — helpers — teachers. 
 
 Leaders fraucht with God-like powers, 
 On the Master — all reliance ; 
 Hand in hand with sense and science — 
 
 May such priests be ever ours !
 
 AT THE AULD ABBEY BRIG. 13^ 
 
 II. —At Home : Midnight. 
 
 The fire burns dimly in the ojrate, 
 
 The lamp upun the table — so, 
 As I sit questioning my fate, 
 
 Neither in joy nor in woe ; 
 I know tliat I must surely die, 
 
 But what death is I cannot tell ; 
 No surety unto me draws nigh 
 
 Beyond the dead man's fun'ral bell. 
 But I have hope, and hope means life, 
 
 For all the tongues of Nature say 
 That naught is useless — so this strife 
 
 A calm Hereafter may repay : 
 If that hope's false, this Universe, 
 
 To all mankind, is but a curse. 
 
 AT THE AULD ABBEY BRIG. 
 
 (Below Haddington.) 
 
 Sae as thou wert langsyne, 
 
 Braid-sheeted, gleamin' Tyne, 
 Thou sweeps this hallow'd scene o' ray life's early morn — 
 
 Aye still the same fair stream, 
 
 Tho' sair, sair's changed life's dream. 
 An' I'm a stranger grown i' the place whare I was born ! 
 
 As ower the brig I gaze, 
 
 I'm lost, as in a maze, 
 While the gloamin' breeze comes soughin', like the sound o' the 
 dead past ; 
 
 And in the river clear, 
 
 Dim, dusky shades appear — 
 Tlie forms o' friends departed, l)y memorie fond recast !
 
 1 .3S L A Y S A \ D L 10 T T E U S. 
 
 The wecl-komied banks 1 scan, 
 
 The woods on either lian' ; 
 The glimmering " Cascade," like a fair vestal's sheen ; 
 
 Tlie auld mill an' tlie -weir, 
 
 The kiikyaird lone an' drear — ■ 
 The white-wa'd ancient clachan, whare sae happy I hae been ! 
 
 Aneath me is the " Green," 
 
 And the dark, deep pool wheiein 
 I hook'd my maiden trout ae memorable fast-day ; 
 
 Wi' nervous joy an' fear, 
 
 Owre head T whisk'd liim clear — 
 High through the middle air, some twa score yards away ! 
 
 And there, by " Corbie Wall," 
 
 Grew the spire-like spruce tree tall, 
 From whase cloud-stabbing tap I shook the May morn dew, 
 
 Reiving a starling's brood, 
 
 When, in owre careless mood, 
 I slipt my daring pex'ch, an' swith cam' doun, I trew ! 
 
 But ilka bush an' tree, 
 
 Bank, brae, an' grassy lea. 
 To Sam's fond sorrowing heart reca's its tale o' yore ; 
 
 To him a' Nature here — 
 
 Yearth, lift, an' atmosphere — 
 Are loaden sick wi' memories o' the " days that are no more !" 
 
 Whaur's a' the auld folk flown, 
 
 That, thirty towmonds gone, 
 Ca'd this auld village " Hame," ere its last glory fled ? 
 
 Saved wi' the wreck, not ane 
 
 Alas ! is left behin', 
 Upo' the flnal exodus ae mournfu' gleam to shed ! 
 
 It's Worthies, weel I min' ! 
 
 Shae-cobblin', " Auld Corrine !" 
 A veteran Peninsular, wha focht wi' Sir John Moore — 
 
 How keen was he to tell 
 
 O' the nicht his hero fell, 
 When on pension days he quafled a dram, and loud for "grief " 
 wad roar ! 
 
 " Dick Scott !" wee " Sandie Baird !" 
 " Auld Steele !" — anither caird
 
 TO AX ASPIRINf! ELDER. 139 
 
 Frae that red pack o' Mars that o'er-ran Waterloo ; 
 
 But, wou ! nae sot was he — 
 
 Owre stern an' prood to " spree," 
 He strode a " soldier " to the last, majestical an' true ! 
 
 Noo, ane an' a are gane ! 
 
 Fled, scatter'd, dead — alane 
 Here on the Brig I stand, an' muse on life an' death ; 
 
 The murmuring stream below 
 
 Wails like the voice of woe, 
 As I turn and face the wide warld, an' its lowering sturt an' 
 scaith ! 
 
 TO AN ASPIRING ELDER. 
 (On Iiearkig a rnmour tJiat tJie kirk hell ivaa cracked.) 
 
 Losh elder, this is awfu' news — 
 Far waur than war wi' the Zuloos ; 
 Upon the patriotic broos 
 
 O' Mucklebackit. 
 Grief broods, like houlet in the blues — 
 
 Oor kirk bell's crackit. 
 
 O' waefu' day, O waefu morn, 
 W^hen, like an auld sark it was torn ; 
 O black, black day, wi' hate an scorn 
 
 Thou'rt retrospeckit. 
 Nae Linton bard thy fate does mourn — 
 
 Oor kirk bell's crackit. 
 
 Frae ony standpoint ane can view it. 
 
 The crack's a fearsome fack, seen through it. 
 
 Lord, what 'twill cost us to renew it, 
 
 (^r, better mak' it ? 
 The toun clock was as child's play to it, 
 
 Sae rent an crackit,
 
 110 LAYS A N I) L K T T K R S. 
 
 O woario fa' tliat waefu' day, 
 
 Tho' Sunday 'twas, it gaed in tvvae ; 
 
 Oh be its memory cursed for aye 
 
 And chaos whack it 
 Into oblivion, sans delay — 
 
 Oor kirk bell's crackit ! 
 
 Sin' seventeen hunder it has rung, 
 An' loudly as a corbie sung 
 Weekly to kirk the auld and young, 
 
 Wi' jangling rackit ; 
 Noo, like an' auld wife's pan, its dung, 
 
 An staved an' ci*ackit. 
 
 Had it but been an' ord'nar bell. 
 Some jingling city article, 
 That tingled in a belfry cell 
 
 Whaur doos are cleckit, 
 Sma' need 'twei'e Sam to yelp or yell, 
 
 Tho' ten times crackit. 
 
 But save us a', our ain kirk bell, 
 Oor cherub tongued, oor nichtingale j 
 Mair rich, sonorous, musical, 
 
 Than gong or backit ; 
 A driedfu' loss oor lugs befel 
 
 When oor bell crackit. 
 
 Oh, elder ! an thou lo'est peace. 
 Nor wad thy days in discord cease. 
 Be up an' doing in thy place — 
 Bang up an' talk o't ; 
 Tell a' the session to their face 
 
 Oor kirk bell's crackit. 
 
 To ring oor great folk from a-fiel' 
 Into the fauld, when kirk days steal 
 Owre this Tyne vale they loe sae weel- 
 
 Tho' snobs detrack it — • 
 A new bell maun be coft wi' skeel — 
 The auld ane's crackit. 
 
 The heritors, likewise confront. 
 
 Fear not their high decisive " drunt ;"
 
 ON MR SHARP LEAVING LINTON. 141 
 
 Stand up ! be nat'ral, brief, an' blunt, 
 
 Howe'er they tak' it ; 
 Declare a new bell they must mount — ■ 
 
 The auld ane's crackit. 
 
 Oor just demands thus fearless tell. 
 Let a' opponent's mind themsel' ; 
 Leave such aside, strike for the bell, 
 
 Thy life's goal mak' it — 
 Win us a chime shall far excel 
 
 The atie that's crackit. 
 
 Sae, elder, shall thy fame descend. 
 Like a brave bark, till time's far end 
 Shall with the " etern " hereafter blend, 
 Unmai'k'd, untrackit, 
 Thy figurehead an' legend — kenn'd — 
 A kirk bell crackit. 
 
 ON MR ROBERT SHARP, HOTEL PROPRIETOR, 
 LEAVING LINTON. 
 
 (Read un the occasion of the Complimcutarn iSuppcr, 7th December ISSS) 
 
 What driedfu' news is this I hear ? 
 Is Robin that we lo'e sae dear — 
 Is Robin Sharp, wha has nae peer 
 
 For quenching drouth, 
 Gaun off to leave us, clean and sheer, 
 
 In waefu' truth 1 
 
 For thirty years to oor wee toun 
 He's been, I trow, nae little boon ; 
 A' oor sad cares did Robin droon. 
 Day after day, —
 
 142 LAYS AND L K T T K U S. 
 
 Wi' "nips," or caups of foaming' ijruon, 
 Rare barley brou ! 
 
 Of a' your nappies, clieap or dear, 
 Frae champagne dcjwn t(j tip'ny beer, 
 Nae saps ava like his could cheer, 
 
 And wai'in oor heart ! — 
 Oor every mortal care and fear 
 
 They i^art depart ! 
 
 On market nichts wIhmi we drew ni.2:h 
 The railway brig, forfouht an' dry, 
 We'd say, " in Robin's by-and-bye. 
 
 We'll ease oorsel's," 
 Syne hoo oor mouths wad watter — my ! 
 
 Like muiiland wells ! 
 
 On cattle market days, his hoose 
 
 Was like some great lord duke's lat louse, 
 
 The southern dealers, yamp an' crouse, 
 
 Wad stech an' denner, 
 As in the days o' auld king Rruce — 
 
 To Scotland's scunner ! 
 
 The serving lasses raced an' ran. 
 Upstairs an' doun, to baud them gaun ; 
 They daur'dna for a moment stan' 
 
 Their breath to draw ; 
 If ane pat afF — faith, Robin than 
 
 Shored her the law ! 
 
 On Hansel Monday afternoons, 
 Lord — lord, to see the country loons ; 
 They swarmed like bees owre a' his bouns, 
 
 And at his board, 
 His yill an' wheich — they swallowed tuns, 
 
 An' sang an' roar'd ! 
 
 'O 
 
 But noo waes me ! he shies awa, 
 Nae mair for us oor nips he'll draw ; 
 The auld hotel, sae trig and braw. 
 
 He'll tend nae mair ; 
 Below Auld Reekie's castle wa' 
 
 He seeks his lair.
 
 SONG. 143 
 
 Weel, weel ! he was a sonsy lad, 
 Gash, fair an' fat — -ne'er sour nor sad, 
 But smiling aye — richt fain an' glad 
 
 A freend to greet, 
 And shake his hand, and joke like mad. 
 
 And stand a "treat." 
 
 jSToo he has won his meet reward, 
 May he for mony a year be spared 
 To weet his mou' and wag his beard. 
 
 An' tune life's harp ; 
 Weel on thee is this supper wair'd 
 
 Douce Robin Sharp ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 (Siiii^ (it the. Inaugikvation Meethig of tlie Linton Jubilee Toini Clod; 
 
 March 3 Id, 1SS8.) 
 
 " Now's the day and now's the hour," 
 See our Town Clock in her tower, 
 Hear her toll the time wi' power. 
 And melodiouslie ! 
 
 Here's to Linton lads, sae fleet. 
 Here's to Linton lassies sweet, 
 Here's to those wha ne'er were beat — 
 And ne'er mean to be ! 
 
 Bang upon the block they blow. 
 When the hot aim's a' a'glow. 
 Soon they mak the world to know 
 What would Linton hae. 
 
 Be it Schules, or Water Warks, 
 Spires, or Organs for her kirks,
 
 LAYS AND L K T T K 11 S. 
 
 A Brass Band — that never shirks — - 
 A' thae tilings gets she. 
 
 Now she ca's this Clock her ain, 
 She her trysting times will ken ; 
 She'll be 'hauclen unto nane — 
 Whether freend or fae. 
 
 Lang may Linton cock her e'e, 
 Lang her Town Clock clang on hie, 
 Lang her children — you an' me — 
 Lo'e her as we dae ! 
 
 TO THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
 
 All hail ! high ancient patriarch — 
 
 Antediluvian man, 
 Wha needed nane auld Noah's Ark 
 
 Whan the dreidfu' flude began ; 
 Wha viewed the waxing storm o' rain. 
 
 Nor cared ae pinch o' snuff; 
 " Call ! lat it rain, droon hill an' plain," 
 
 Quoth thou, " I'm safe enough," 
 
 Whan elfins lea' the brakes an' sliaws, 
 
 To trip their faery round ; 
 With howlets in auld castle wa's, 
 
 Thou hold'st converse profound. 
 And whan, amang the stars sae bricht, 
 
 The braid moon tak's the field 
 There, plain, thou look'st, by ghaistly slight. 
 
 The device on her shield. 
 
 And, sicht o' yearth ! 'tis aft to see 
 
 Thy grand career on high ; 
 A roving Scotch wind Ijlawin' free.
 
 J U L I E - A N NM K. 145 
 
 A Scotcli November sky. 
 The star o' morn blinks i' th' west, 
 
 Bricht in its patch o' blue, 
 Till, dim owreheid, thou slip'st to rest 
 
 Whan oor Rab yokes the ploo. 
 
 Ride on ! bauld Lunar artiste, ride. 
 
 Thy car 's baith gild and brent. 
 This warld is thy grand circus wide, 
 
 Thae heavens themsel' thy tent. 
 Mankind, thy audience fit below, 
 
 Cheers on with tit guftaw ; 
 Thou art their monarch fit, I trow, 
 
 They — thy fit subjects a'. 
 
 J U L I E - A N N I E. 
 
 Nature, robed in snowy white, 
 As she is this cold March night, 
 Draws again my thoughts to bright 
 Julie-annie ! 
 
 Fair, before my mental eye, 
 Lo ! the maiden passes by. 
 First of maidens, I descry 
 
 tJulie-annie ! 
 
 In my sad heart's inmost core. 
 She is enshrined as of yore, 
 Where she i-eigneth evermore — • 
 Julie-annie ! 
 
 From her queen-like, amplt; brow, 
 Jetty locks the breezes IjIow, 
 Screening Grecian V)ust of snow — 
 Julie-annie !
 
 1 |() L A V S A \ 1) I, i; '1' '1' H U S. 
 
 Bri<,'ht, heneatli carli friiiirt'*! lid, 
 
 Dewy orbs swim in tlunr jiiidc, 
 Flasliiiii^ love on every side, 
 
 Julie-annie ! 
 
 Cheeks, whose lustre mocks the morn, 
 They thy youth and heart adorn. 
 For thereon thy lu^art is worn, 
 Julie-annie I 
 
 Soft rose lips, wlu^re sweetness })iles 
 Sweetest l)liss in sweetest smiles, 
 And young love triumphs in his wiles, 
 Julie-annie ! 
 
 Thus, and thus before me now 
 In this night of moonlit snow, 
 Fleets thy virgin vision so, 
 
 Julie-annie I 
 
 Sages say all worlds have spun 
 Ever round a centre sun, 
 So my fate round thee does run, 
 Julie-annie ! 
 
 But thy bright orb's sphere is o'er 
 In this dark world evermore. 
 Long, long time it sunk before, 
 Julie-annie !
 
 THE BRAND OF DUNBAR.* 
 
 Tune — " LociiNAOAij.'. 
 
 Avaunt ! ye poor pigmies, ye fellows like lassies, 
 
 With you let the creatures of barbers' shops join ; 
 Give us o'er our toddy a hero whose mass is 
 
 Colossal and gallant, as Wallace langsyne. 
 Dear Lothiana, how great are thy warriors. 
 
 Lambkins in peace, but wild lions in war ; 
 Against all our foes they are ever true barriers. 
 
 For their chief is the dreadful — The Brand of Dunbar 
 
 In council, in battle, or in the sale-ring here. 
 
 He towers, head and shoulders, the general o'er all ; 
 IJis deeds are a pleasure to write of, or sing, here, 
 
 For it seems as Fate spoke when his hammer doth fall. 
 And, Caledonia, how droll is his nonsense ; 
 
 Would that Dean Ramsay had with him a " bar ;" 
 Then might the Dean have been death-proof in one sense, 
 
 If wing'd with the wit of The Brand of Dunbar ! 
 
 •o 
 
 Ye Provosts of burghs, ye Magistrates Scottish, 
 
 Drink your till from the punch-bowls of office and power 
 You ne'er can seem vain, nor conceited, nor sottish. 
 
 When of virtue and modesty Brand's such a tower. 
 When o'er his high top the snow of ago gathers. 
 
 Oh may the ills of life flee him afar, 
 As he sinks, full of years, to the rest of his fathers- — 
 
 Immortal in fame as The Brand of Dunbar. 
 
 * Provost of this old, historically-famous royal burgh, and likewise one of 
 the most ct-kltratcil and successful of live stuck auctioni'crs in tlie United 
 Kingdom.
 
 SPRING. 
 
 FlUST. 
 
 Lo, from the south she comes, the faery Spring ; 
 
 Trips o'er the snowdrops with a lovesome foot, 
 For Winter passes 'yond our welkin rin<)[, 
 
 And bahiiy zephyrs round our mountains mute 
 
 Whisper her welcome— from the shepherd's lute. 
 Tuning the wilderness, to the jenny wren 
 
 That pipes its small note from this alder's root 
 (Scarce heard above the wimpling burnie's din). 
 All nature — man, bird, beast, and insect thing — 
 Hail, sing, and cry her welcome — peerless faery. Spring ! 
 
 Second. 
 
 From the rugged shores of the wayless sea, 
 
 To the storm-torn tops of our inland hills. 
 Kindle our land with the light of thee ; 
 
 Glens, plains, woods — and streams and rills, 
 
 Busk with thy best — as a poet wills. 
 Warm back to life, flowers, grass, and trees, 
 
 Breathe tliy sweet breath in the westland breeeze. 
 Lull Boreas asleep in his Northern berth 
 And wean from Winter's grasp new joys and spoils for earth.
 
 MARRIAGE LINES! 
 
 (Written at the Celebration of the Hapinj Nuptials o' Mr Sand y Sellar 
 and Miss Aillie Loivrie,)* 
 
 Now bauld March shrilly blaws his horn 
 
 To trumpet in the spring's return, 
 
 An' gi'es the ti-ain o' winter, passed 
 
 Out owre the north, a parting blast. 
 
 The farmer hears his warning ca'. 
 
 And casts the seed in faith awa'. 
 
 The wild flowers feel his subtle breath, 
 
 And wake, and smile at winter's wrath ; 
 
 The daisy, and meek vi'let even. 
 
 Dare the chill blast, and spread to heaven 
 
 Their shiv'ring banners, whilk foretell 
 
 Sweet spring's approach to down and dell ! 
 
 And nature animate as weel 
 
 His rousing influence doth feel : 
 
 The lambkins owre the greening braes 
 
 In Hprolic mood begin their plays. 
 
 The laverock mounts to heaven's gate 
 
 To lilt his love for his new mate ; 
 
 The coupled paitricks " scriech at e'en," 
 
 The sparrows chirp the showers atween, 
 
 Or flit an' flee, lang straes in mou', 
 
 Wi' love an' nests richt thrang, I trew ! 
 
 The mated mawkins owre the fiel' 
 Whid after ither, rear, an' wheel. 
 The lee-lang day ; the rabbits even 
 
 * "Sandy Sellar " is a master mechanic on the shady side of life — considerably. 
 His excellent bride — not so young cither — is the dau;;hter of a well-known Linton 
 farmer. The story goes in the neighbourhood that "' Sandy " courted for upwards 
 of twenty years before he summoned pluck to "pop the ((uestion."
 
 l.")0 I, A Y S AND I, K r T K U S. 
 
 All extra sliarc d" spunk ni'o ifiNcii — 
 Alang the plaiitiu' sides they bicker, 
 An' funk up their wliit(! fuddios quicker, 
 Or muncli an' map, an' stamp their paws 
 Wi' greater gusto and applause ; 
 While mavis clear, and l)lackie-bird, 
 Doun Tyne's sweet valley blythe iive heard. 
 
 8uch being the micht o' M.arch's power 
 O'er bird an' Ijeast, an' tree an' flower, 
 AVhat wonder, then, if nature's lord. 
 Even man himsel', should feel restored, 
 And something of the general heat 
 In his thaw'd breast Ix'gin to friet ! 
 In sooth this nat'ral feeling, vast 
 An' strange, owre heart o' 8andy passed, 
 Ae nicht as sighing he drew near 
 The weel-kenn'd dwelling o' his dear. 
 
 'r> 
 
 Quo he, " I've been a wanter lang — 
 This nicht maun change or time my sang. 
 For I shall strecht the ' question ' pop. 
 And, from her lips, despair or hope 
 Shall seal my fate an' stap my fear ; 
 This nicht — this vera nicht — I swear ! 
 
 Sae strechtway, then, he order'd Johnnie 
 To gang direck an' yoke the pownie, 
 Whilk, buckled to, awa' they drive 
 Wi' cauld wind an' het \o\e to strive, 
 Freezing an' burning, oot an' in. 
 The lang five miles they had to rin ; 
 But Sandy, pondering the while 
 His manly errand, and the style 
 That he'd adopt wi' his dear jo, 
 AVas stone dead to all else below. 
 
 " Bed-fast auld mither lies," thocht he, 
 " Whate'er her ailing it may be, 
 Sae I'll fetch yont my sweet to see her, 
 Syne what I will I may do wi' her ; 
 And, once for a', as I'm a man — 
 Ask her to be my wife aff-haiiii I" 
 
 The plot, thus deeply schemed, an' laid
 
 M A H l; I A f; K L I N K S. l-jl 
 
 In rich fulfilment soon Avas mnde 
 A grand success ! That Friday week 
 His now " gude-faither " he did seek, 
 And tauld him hoo an' what he meant, 
 And, " Oh ! wad he gie his consent ?" 
 
 The auld man fidged, syne blunt his mind 
 
 He spak' richt howe, yet plain an' kind — 
 
 "This montli," says he, " 's the month o' Mairch — 
 
 An unco month for wives to sairch. 
 
 But, shure as Mairch love's wind does blaw. 
 
 My full consent — ye hae it a' ! 
 
 Tak' her, my lad, an' mak' her thine — 
 
 Ye'll ne'er reproach the day ye twine 
 
 Wi' Ailie in the mairrage knot. 
 
 But ca't the pearl o' life's lot ; 
 
 For, tho' she's dootless younger been, 
 
 As you, yoursel', my ancient frien', 
 
 (Nae saicret it is I betray, 
 
 Altho' I say't wha't shouldna say). 
 
 She is a lass weel worth the honour, 
 
 By splicing wi' her ye'd put on her ; 
 
 Hhe's been reared weel up to the mark, 
 
 She kens the nobleness of wark. 
 
 'Twas wark that made me what I am. 
 
 And she her wark will never shame — 
 
 To mak' a sark, or wash ane either, 
 
 My faigs, she winna hang or swither. 
 
 In culinary maitters, too. 
 
 She's great at kail and tatty-broo ; 
 
 Or genty things, like pancakes good. 
 
 Or stews, or crowdy — wale o' food ; 
 
 Or even bried trashtrie for a bairn, 
 
 Or Ijileing eggs, or frying herrin' — 
 
 Tak' tent o' me, my word rely on, 
 
 Her skeel in a' there's nae doun-cryin'. 
 
 She's sich a mistress o' the ."lirt, 
 
 She kens the cookery book by hairt. 
 
 Yes, yes, my son-in-law to be, 
 
 As she ane precious bairn to me 
 
 Has ever. been, as shure your hame 
 
 An' your board end she winna shame. 
 
 She's nane o' your Miss Modern schule,
 
 Lays a n' d i, i^. t t i", n s. 
 
 I'nlit for speuce as kitchen rule — 
 Nae simpering, feckless, pretty dolly, 
 Compound o' weakness, whim, an folly ; 
 To toy a' nicht in drawing room, 
 Syne a' neist day to pout an' gloom ; 
 But ae douce, mensefu, weel-faur'd queen, 
 Can grace the hame hersel' keeps clean ; 
 Witli heid an' hairt sac stock'd to be 
 Her lord's fit fallow, fair an free ; 
 An' can o' niclits, out-owre her seam, 
 Mainteen her side, whate'er the theme, 
 Be't war, the kirk, or politics. 
 Or scand'lous breach o' promise tricks, 
 Or craps, or markets, shares, or books — 
 The latest novel, or the looks 
 O' the last mode, brent new frae Paris, 
 Contrived by Worth to deck the dearies ; 
 Thaii'fore, my son, and tae conclude," 
 The auld man spake in solemn mood, 
 " Tak' her at once, and my consent 
 Have wi' her, withoot grudge or stint. 
 For tho' I'm laith to lose her noo, 
 My loss, dear friend, is gain to you !" 
 
 Awa' ran Sandy, and fell soon 
 The news was trockit thro' the town ; 
 Rumour, as usual, loused his packs, 
 And barter'd guesses in a' cracks ; 
 Tho' naething but this truth was there. 
 The golden fact — they'd niak' a pair ; 
 Whilk, tho' some loons were lees imputin', 
 A story stood beyond disputin'. 
 
 Sae tailors, cab'net, and mantua makers, 
 Pigmen, an' grocer folk, an' Vmkers, 
 Were on the rump o' business ridin', 
 Wi' orders for the grand " Providin' ;" 
 Wow, what a hubbub then was seen, 
 The hoose was turn't frae morn to e'en, 
 Intil a show, bazaar, and fair, 
 Wi' bedding, chairs, an' crockery ware. 
 An' bundles, bales, bend boxes, barrels, 
 Eneuch to mak' ane think this warl's 
 Owre sair misjudged, owre sair maligned
 
 M A R H I A (i E LINE S. 153 
 
 For sure, when siccan walth's designed, 
 For only twa, it scarce can be, 
 The rest's sae steeped in misery ? 
 
 Howe'er, 'mang turmoil, route, an' roarin'. 
 The great auspicious day wore on ; 
 As day by day the bride grew leaner. 
 And day by day the bridgegroom keener. 
 
 His circulation running mild. 
 
 He grew as restless as a child : 
 
 Nor sleep nor rest for nichts had he, 
 
 And, oh, but he sighed piteously. 
 
 His haill heart being wi' her he loved, 
 
 He thocht the eicht-day clock ne'er moved ; 
 
 And roond and roond, an' up an' doun, 
 
 He scour'd a' coi-ners o' the toun ; 
 
 Discarding even his urbane manners. 
 
 An' blawing like oor auld mill fanners. 
 
 A raving wi-etch at lairge ran he, 
 
 Ane fearsome " spectacle " to see. 
 
 Wham neither sneesh nor dram could ease, 
 
 But only made him bock an' sneeze. 
 
 At length — the fates be praised an' thankit — 
 
 Auld time doun to this nicht has shankit ; 
 
 An' lang an' last, bridegroom an' bride, 
 
 Are leash'd by Hymen side by side. 
 
 As new life opens to the twain. 
 
 May it bring peace to either ane ; 
 
 Syne, scrievin', doun to auld age gang. 
 
 As rowth an happy as it's lang. 
 
 May cheerfu' plenty boil their pat. 
 
 An' greedy health say grace to that ; 
 
 While truthfu' love's ain pledges dear. 
 
 The gii-ning bairnies fast appear ; 
 
 And till thae bairnies' bairns flock, 
 
 In half scores, roond the parent stock, 
 
 Mak' their hame thine — thou matchless three — 
 
 Peace, pleasure, and i)ros{)erity.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BENJAMIN SOLOMON, 
 YEOMAN, TN SEARCH OF A SPOUSE. 
 
 In a lii^ht grey suit of West of England tweed, 
 
 Bedight and garnish'd witli kid inits and flower, 
 Behold our Solomon, rigg'd out on his steed. 
 
 Ambling at twilight to his lady's bower. 
 Behold our -'Ben," our annalist of threescore, 
 
 The lover of three maids — two of whom "deid," 
 He'd replace, like King Hal, with just one more, 
 
 To cheer his gouty eld with love's sweet meed, 
 And wai'm his wintry nights, now wintry cold indeed. 
 
 Miss Park of Spott was in his eye — tho' she. 
 
 Eighteen and pretty, had ne'er with him spoke — 
 If even, in fact, she knew such knight did be 
 
 I would not swear by ev'n our Jubilee Clock. 
 
 But what was that to Solomon, douce folk 1 
 " Step out, old Floe ! what, weak wench daunts me V 
 
 With that, and riding wild, the girth he broke, 
 And instant from his throne on Floe did flee, 
 Into a stagnant ditch — a noisome brock to see. 
 
 •o' 
 
 Old Floe, not in her prime — barring in wit — 
 
 Grazed by the hedge (as oft she'd done before), 
 Until her master, Benjie, bit by bit, 
 
 His slimy plight did full at length explore. 
 Then sprawl'd to bank — a ghoul of ooze and grit — 
 
 Where long he rubb'd and scrubb'd, himself to fit 
 For love again : for, being so far, once more 
 
 Old Floe he'd mount, and, thereon doing it, 
 Set out again, like Crusader of yore — 
 By Sar'cen knock'd on head, much lower for his lore. 
 
 Gently he trotted, musing deep a tale 
 
 He'd tell Miss Kate " How that his steed, being young,
 
 ADVKNTUKKS OF IJKN.IAMIN .SOLOMON. 155 
 
 Had bolted, bit in teeth, leaped fence and rail, 
 
 Torn through forests, crags, and rocks had sprung, 
 Like poor Mazeppa's, as by Byron sung, 
 
 Till on a tattie bing she last did fail 
 
 To make one inch more — when he quickly flung 
 
 Him from the saddle, as't had been the " whale," 
 
 And ran for his dear life, to tell his love the tale." 
 
 Miss Kate was in the old lane — doing what 1 
 
 What other Kates have done since beaus would wot». 
 When Solomon burst up, broke the lovers' chat. 
 
 And love's sweet spell that held the lovers true ; 
 
 Told his gross lies with hand on heart, and blew 
 More monstrous sighs than ever man begat. 
 
 Kate laugh'd, like waterfalls when May is new. 
 And thinking " such a lark," putted Ben .so that 
 She led him to tlie house like ijander sjone distrauirht ! 
 
 His sad lorn love tale there he told, and, oh ! 
 
 Ere one brief hour, his troth was given and ta'en ; 
 Then leaving him, to fetch before he'd go 
 
 A " nip " and biscuit for her weary swain, 
 
 The merry Kate, revolving in her brain 
 A merry trick to farce her fa'gu'ed vow. 
 
 Tripped to her lover, waiting in the lane, 
 And told him, as her laughter would allow. 
 The errand of old Sol, and all his lies and show. 
 
 Then quickly in the chamber reappear 'd 
 
 The maiden with decanter, cake, and all, 
 And pouring out a bumper round she veer'd 
 
 And said, " SAveet ; for my love, drink this you shall. 
 
 With one quick gulp place it beyond recall ! 
 No excuse, darling, can this night be heard !" 
 
 Sol, in the tliird heaven, and fearing not a fall, 
 Pluck'd up the glass as 'twere a queen's reward, 
 
 Stood on his feet, bow'd, drained the tonic gall — - 
 For it was vinegar — -but if he cared 
 The tears that streamed his cheeks told rather how he fared. 
 
 Then on Llic doorstep, too, Sol's ardent flame 
 
 Got fui'ther ([uench'd, for, bidding him good night, 
 
 Kate slapp'd his face, that tierier grew for shame. 
 Then slannn'd and lock'd the door upon liin\ tight.
 
 loG LAYS AND L K T T K H S. 
 
 He (lid not choose, but mount old Floe, poor kiii_i,'lit, 
 As down the avenue her steps procluini ; 
 
 But that night's cup he had not drunk yet quite, 
 For from among the l)Ushos there now came 
 Kate's beau and others mask'd, to wreak on him their game. 
 
 They dragg'd liim from the saddle — dress'd him out 
 
 A tish-wife from Dunbaj-, or Fisherrow ; 
 Remounted him, hand-bound, and legs about 
 And underneath they warp'd to ancient Floe, 
 Then cheer'd him fortli to find his hr)me or no. 
 
 Next morn, at dawn, in Jilack's field, where both " nowte " 
 
 And sheep did graze, ah ! such a woeful " show ;" 
 Solomon, "in all his glory," midst the brute rout, 
 Bound high on Floe, a tish-wife, bearded, fresh from love's 
 redoubt ! 
 
 P 
 
 AT THE MAUTHOUSE— A RANT.* 
 
 Tune—'' Sherra Muir." 
 
 In the Mauthoose — not the " Mad-house," 
 
 Life's sorry browst we pree, man ; 
 Resolved the cup to sirp it up, 
 
 Uncaring what we dree, man. 
 For what's the matter — wha can tell ? 
 Or whare we moop or what we mell, 
 Seeing life, a' round, is but a spell 
 O' nichts an' days — a weary maze 
 O anxious troubles, " means " and " ways," 
 Which nocht but death can free, man. 
 
 * The " Mauthoose " of the rant is the present large malting establishment at 
 the 01(1 Distillery at Haddington ; at which, a few years ago, the author, when 
 in low water, wrought as a " laftman " for many months.
 
 AT THE M A U T II O U S E. 157 
 
 The Mauthoose stands upo' the Tyne 
 
 (A pleasant spot an' braw, man), 
 It's " barns " an' " lafts " nae freend o' mine 
 
 Could e'er yet coont ava, man. 
 There's " flures " an' " kihis " to mak' the maut, 
 An' " lafts " like Louvres, flat on flat. 
 An' ane to den " The Bair,"* I wat, 
 That never sleeps when Sam her keeps 
 But raves an' roars, an' thrates an' threeps, 
 
 As she'd devour us a', man. 
 
 The " Mauthouse people " strive an' rin, 
 
 A rampin' rattlin' squad man ; 
 But och ! they're men folk a' but ane — 
 
 A sing'hir fact an' sad, man. 
 The Bailie he o'erlooks us a', 
 An' trocks the maut, an' gies us law, 
 A business man without a flaw ; 
 And, after him, riuht smart o' limb, 
 The " Gafler " bauds us a' in trim — 
 
 A throo-gaun, blythesome lad, man. 
 
 An' barnmen, laftmen — a liaill herd — 
 
 Clerks, carters, boys an' men, man, 
 X Flock ilka morning to the yaird, 
 
 Wi' swtd'n an' drowsy een, man ; 
 There's stalwart Faichin wi' his team, 
 A modern Wallace he duth seem ; 
 An' young, quill-driving Croal, supreme 
 In every heart, withooten art ; 
 An' mony mair that name or part 
 
 In this my " Rant " hae nane, man. 
 
 Sir Bob the Bold the engine tends, 
 
 A tyke to fume an' flyte, man ; 
 He lets ane ken, when ane oflends, 
 
 His bark, if not liis bite, man ; 
 The " Miller " taps the "stores" o' maut. 
 Just wecht he gies — audit mair than that 
 Auld Nick himsel' the merest claut 
 Could never coax intae the pocks — 
 
 * Thr "B.\ir." -A wicked little, hi°;h-spee(l mill for grinding cnmmings, so 
 called because its enchantitig sound when in motion is supposed closely to resemble 
 a loud and prolonged howl of the aforementioned savage animal.
 
 1 .'iS h A Y S AND L !•; T T !•: US. 
 
 Na ! tho' lu' l)iilK'(l him \vi' a bctx 
 
 O' " Kilu-scoups " new au' white, man. 
 
 Gif that stoure chiel wha tires the kihis 
 
 Should e'er wi' Hornie draw, man, 
 Ye hmg-faced shams hiok to yoursels' — 
 
 Ye yet will curl an' thraw, man. 
 Auld smirkin' nu<,'hie Hume, whase post 
 It is to soop the l)r(K'k an' dust, 
 An' confal) wi' the kirkyalrd "ghost," 
 Lauglis lown an' low, and cries " Oli ! ho ! 
 If Wilson gets to fire below 
 
 He'll sune ghosts niak' us a' man !" 
 
 Wild Neill an' Mossman j»loy an' pair 
 Like Judy and her Punch, man, 
 
 An' aft some trick concoct to scai'e 
 The 'prentice gatier. Hunch, man. 
 
 Their barrow-hurling — rare to see't ; 
 
 How they rin ither aff their feet ; 
 
 The " Flying Scotchman's " nae sae fleet ; 
 
 But, weel I wate, " Wee Honsey ' yet 
 
 Can whup before the haill mad set, 
 Tho' his bouk's but a crinch, man. 
 
 These are a sample o' oor stock. 
 
 An' troth, baith rank an' file, man, 
 We're muckle jist like ither folk 
 
 In nature, deeds, and style, man. 
 Here Sense an' Folly shouthers rub. 
 Here Pluck an' Fear doth soar an' grub, 
 Here wily Craft doth Virtue drub. 
 An' modest Worth, ignored, slips forth 
 'Lang here, the same as owre a' earth. 
 An' patient waits the while, man. 
 
 Sae here's to maut, an' muckle o't ; 
 
 Lang may our " steeps " be fou', man ; 
 To barley bings my fancy clings 
 
 Just less than to the broo, man. 
 An' here's a bumper to the " liair "; 
 Lang may she nobly rage an' rair. 
 An' cry for cummin's mair and mair ; 
 An' lang may " Sam," her keeper, cram 
 Her mou' wi' grist, while mony a sang 
 
 They sing ilk ither to, man !
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPE R." 
 FIRST LETTER. 
 First Mp^etings with tiik Piper. 
 
 I am a rampin', rovin' loon, 
 
 Wi' richt licht pouch an' heart ; 
 Frae Berwick to Brig o' Doon 
 
 I ply the piper's art. 
 At ilka weel-kenned ha' or toun 
 
 They never grrdge a hame, 
 To screen from storm when nichts set doun — 
 Wi' froen's to kett the lyart croon 
 
 O' " Rare Auld Athie Graeme " 
 
 S. M. 
 
 In a former work I stated that in my early youth, whilst 
 rusticatinjif, rect)vering — yet reading ravenously — at home, after 
 a long and unfortunate sea voyage, T one day secretly resolved, 
 as I stood listening to a street ballad singer at a Gitibrd Fair, to 
 get up instanter a budget of my own heroic ditties, and set forth 
 and sing them at a bawbee a-piece through the lengtli and 
 breadth of Scotland. This eventually I did do — and succeeded! 
 Many and strange indeed were my adventures, and the characters 
 I encountered, during those miraculous juvenile wanderings. 
 Hugh Miller, De Quincey, and a host of scarcely less famous 
 men, I familiarly conversed with and sang to ; but these are not 
 the suljject of the present letter, and I simply mention them to 
 ntake my readers auj'ait in the position. 
 
 One fine summer afternoon, about three months after the
 
 100 L A Y S A \ D I. K T T K K S. 
 
 musical tour li.ul bo^un, 1 was sittini,' on the ri^ht hjiiik of tlie 
 Clyde, imiuediately under the Castle llock of Dumbarton, watch- 
 ing the arrival of a river steamer. From the mouth of the 
 Leven, a small boat, rowed hy foui- men, shot out to take ashore 
 those passengers wlio wished to land at that point. Only some 
 half dozen people left the steamer — one of them being a man 
 who was dressed in a red and green Macgregor tartan kilt. In 
 a jirt'ey, the huge mother-looking steamer snorted, fluttered her 
 side-wings, and paddled oil'; and the little boat, which had run 
 out like a child and kissed her, came slowly back, and took 
 ashore like playthings its tiny half-dozen about a couple of 
 hundred yards from where I was sitting. These human toys 
 all set out towards Dumbarton — all but one, the man in the red 
 kilt. I was astonished when I observed him making swiftly and 
 directly for tlie secluded nook whereon T sat. As he approached, 
 I jumped, startled, to my feet — frightened and dumfoundered — 
 for I never before had seen or been in such a mortal presence as 
 this. He was a stout, brawny, yet wiry and active man, of 
 about five and fifty, clad in tlie ordinary Highland garb, and he 
 carried the bagpipes. But his beard ! How 
 
 " WilJly tossed from cheeks and cliin 
 The tumbling cataract of that beard." 
 
 It descended from his neck from behind each ear, it waved down 
 from his cheek bones, it swept in luxuriant masses downward 
 from the region where his moutli and chin would be ; from the 
 whole lower face, saving the eyes and nose, it hung, it descended 
 in one gi'and inverted forest down as far as his waist, and nearly 
 as broad across as himself, and the colour of that majestic beard was 
 a fiehald ! Yes, piebald, snowy white and auburn, each individual 
 spot being as clearly outlined and as thoroughly unblended with 
 its neighViour as are the stripes of a leopai-d or the marks of a 
 tortoise shell cat. Never before had I heard, or seen, or dreamed 
 of such a wondrous beard, although I had long observed all 
 manner and sorts of Vjeards, from tlie prickly gray stubble upon 
 the wrinkled visage of an old witch, or the downy shade of beauty,
 
 PIPER." 161 
 
 on the upper lip of a fair maiden, up to the shaggy, grizzly, 
 manly loeards of the sea kings, and the magicians of old, and the 
 venerable and reverend-looking hirsute facial adornments of the 
 ancient Jewish patriarchs, prophets, high priests, and kings ; 
 and I foolishly thought I was master of them all. But how vain 
 is the knowledge of fallible man ? Here was a beard flowing and 
 waving in broad noon-day before me in massy volumes about the 
 breast and around the shoulders of one of our own living country- 
 men — one single hair of which I had never so much as dimly 
 conceived. He told me to be still and sit down, and he would 
 explain all. 
 
 At first he talked in the west country dialect, and I 
 answered him in the idiom of the east — which, when he observed, 
 he instantly changed his accent to correspond exactly with the 
 sound of mine. In one of my raptures I burst out into a 
 rhapsody of the highest theatrical English of that period. So 
 immediately did the Piper, and he told me that he was the 
 master of (and could speak fluently) five several living languages. 
 He said that he noticed me from the deck of the steamer, and 
 that something unusual about my appearance had tickled his 
 curiosity, and so he had landed and joined me. When I told 
 him that I was singing my way through Scotland for the purpose 
 of visiting all the ancient battlefields and historical places, he 
 suddenly swung himself round, looked long and earnestly in my 
 face, felt convinced, then hoisted me in his strong arms, pressed 
 me to his broad breast, and hugged, and kissed, and wept, and 
 crooned over me like a mother. Thereafter we talked long and 
 fervently about Dumbarton Rock and Wallace. He showed me 
 the place where a few of Wallace's men made the ascent one 
 dark winter night, more than five hundred years ago, to storm 
 and take the Castle from the English. He was chokeful of 
 anecdote and legendary lore. I told liim that I intended that 
 night after dark, to scale the rock at the same point as the Wallace 
 patriots had done it. He eagerly tried to dissuade me from this 
 foolish attempt, but found it impossible. "Then," he says, "I'll 
 
 M
 
 162 L A Y S A X D L K T T K H S. 
 
 jijao wi' ye, little Sam, I'll gae wi' ye." After dusk we hired a small 
 cobble boat, passed over to the base of the pyramid in secrecy 
 and safety, and with difficulty made the ascent, surveyed the 
 remains of the old buildings on the summit, and were back at 
 Leven mouth within three hours — counting from the moment 
 we embarked upon our perilous and Quixotic adventure. 
 
 "We afterwards walked up the river to Dumbarton, got the 
 night coach there, and drove across the narrow strip of country to 
 Loch Lomond, and afterwards supped and slept together at the 
 inn of Rowendennan. Next morning we parted, the piper tak- 
 ing his way to the Western Isles, and "Little Sam " setting out 
 for Culloden and IMoidart. Before parting, this wonderful and 
 mysterious man took me by the hand and said^ — " Sam, I can 
 give you no explanation of the present compound and diversified 
 colour of my diminutive beard. It began to assume the tartan 
 check some four t)r live years ago, and I am already known over 
 all the north as the Piebald piper. If it don't become unanimous 
 soon, I have half a mind to lie in for a week, hire a couple of 
 expert barbers (or lawyers) and have myself fleeced outright. I 
 guess, little Sam, it would bring me something in the market — 
 wouldn't it f " Ay. An gin it only could be petrified into wud, 
 an' syne sawn up into thin dails, ye micht mak' a quaigh o' Athol 
 brose aft^'t for dambrods." 
 
 Some fifteen months after this, our first meeting, I was rest- 
 ing one day on a rising ground, or mall knoll, on the southern 
 slope of Fifeshire, about a mile from the northern shore of the 
 Firth of Forth, just after visiting the famous house of Balcarres, 
 where the Lady Ann Lindsay composed the immortal Scottish 
 ballad of " Auld Robin Gray." For many, many long and event- 
 ful months I had never once beheld n>y beloved native East 
 Lothian — to me always the type of the Elysian fields — and I sat 
 longing for the day when I would at last re-enter her almost 
 sacred bounds — when whisht ! I perceived a man intruding upon 
 my seclusion, and that man, of all men, none other than the man
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPE R." 163 
 
 with the piebald beard. Strange, strange it was indeed, thus to 
 encounter him a second time so unexpectedly, and at such a 
 moment, and in such a spot. Excitedly rising, I ran to him and 
 cried fondly, " Piebald piper ! Is this really you. How are 
 are you ?" "All right, little Sam," says he, "how are you your- 
 self?" I thought he'd shake my wrist out of joint, and I had to 
 declare that I believed Loz'd Raglan to he a greater General than 
 Sir William Wallace before he would let go. Himself and his 
 wondrously unique beard were just the same as when I beheld 
 them last — only he appeared to beam with joy aud enthusiasm 
 over our sudden and unforeseen re-union. 
 
 After we had related to each other our several narratives, 
 "Sam," he said, "do you see East Lothian over the water? 
 Well, I took my wife out of yonder. Her name was Swag, from 
 Whittinghame she hailed. Such a woman, such a she-devil. Oh 
 Little Sam, let us talk of something else — about your farmers — 
 about anything but Swag. Yes, I am a gentleman — I'll tell you 
 my secret some day — I dare not divulge it at the present time. 
 I am, if not a poet, at least a rhymer ; but above all things, Sam, 
 I am a seer, an indicator — a prophet, a prophet not of the 
 future, but a prophet of the past. For instance, long years be- 
 fore Charlie Darwin, by vast scientific study and research, had 
 pierced as far as the Evolution Theory, I, the reputed " Athie 
 Graeme," had prophesied it articulately and audibly at hundreds 
 and hundreds of Scottish firesides. I am prophesying just now 
 the true and exact age and the origin of Earth's first life.
 
 SECOND LETTER. 
 
 Factors and Fakmers. 
 
 Thro' the greenland, with sway supreme, 
 
 We sang and played our progress gaily ; 
 And roamed at will by wood and stream, 
 
 And strode like Kings thro' strath and valley ! 
 And when at last the day was passed, 
 
 We sheltered in some bowrie shady ; 
 Then deep converse we'd lang rehearse. 
 
 On Nature's " uncos " — Lord an' Lady. 
 
 S. M. 
 
 The singular beirg with whom I sat chatting on the Southern 
 Border of Fife said that he had just been about the same 
 act as I had — viz., visiting and playing at Balcarres House. 
 Colonel Lindsay (a scion of a younger branch of the ancient 
 Balcarres family) was at home, and from him and the other 
 members of his household I drew, for my musical efforts, a total 
 of 13s 6d sterling. The Piper also, had been pecuniary success- 
 ful ; but he significantly hinted to me, confidentially, that he 
 was " independent," and needed not the offerings of the people, 
 although, for other reasons, he usually accepted them. At the 
 termination of his rather lengthy rhyming effusion on the " vain 
 young farmer," we immediately arose and walked to Balcarres 
 Craig and Den — two spots of fine picturesque and romantic 
 beauty — and then returned and lay down again in the old nook. 
 Directly from his philabeg the Piper drew a large parcel of bread
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPER." 165 
 
 and cold meat, wrapped in semi-tanned deerskin, and a big horn 
 or quaigh of Athole brose, with which, as the weather was warm 
 and sultry, we decided to camp for the night in a little larch 
 wood which flourished closely behind us. I found this weird and 
 fantastic-looking personage to be a more and more wonderful 
 man the longer I knew him. A genuine Highlander, of mild 
 and fatherly aspect, (despite his extraordinary beard) dignified 
 and benign, he was senerous and amiable to a fault when unex- 
 cited. When agitated during conversation — as he generally was 
 — it was astonishing how his face, two thirds of which were 
 covered with a thick fell of hair some inches deep, could express 
 his various mental moods, rapidly and vividly, and these moods 
 the beard itself also denoted. If a satirical or a humorous idea 
 flashed for a moment athwart his mental ken, his dark eyes 
 would instantly sparkle with glee, while simultaneously the 
 whole outspread field of his superlative beard would glitter and 
 shimmer with his rich, broad smile. My first impression of him 
 — conceived, I conjecture, by the way he spoke about, rated, and 
 lauded himself — was, that he was a clever man a little affected by 
 insanity. But I early perceived that this first impression was 
 an erroneous one, and therefore discharged myself of it forth- 
 with. Uncommon, or eccentric, he was certainly — very eccentrie, 
 sometimes, in his ways of thinking and speaking — but, notwith- 
 standing, his was the keenest, clearest, and profoundest intellect 
 that up to that time I had ever come across. He had the detect- 
 ing eye of an eagle, and the intuitive certainty of a swallow. 
 And, further, his stores of reminiscences, stories, tales, illustra- 
 tions, and anecdotes of and about all sorts of persons and subjects, 
 appeared to me infinite and inexhaustible. His fancy and 
 imagination, also, seemed ever ready at his need with a perfect 
 profusion of figures and images. And yet, with all this, his con- 
 viction was deep and sincere, firm and sure, he was somehow 
 or other an inspired " Prophet of the Past f From his point of 
 view, this was not an hallucination of an over studious or morbid 
 enthusiast, but the deliberate and assured belief of a philosophic 
 mind in its awn transcendent power. Some of his geological and
 
 1 (5f) L A Y S AN I) I, K T T K K S. 
 
 other scientific backcasts or speculations have since been demon- 
 strated to have heen wonderfully near the mark. 
 
 Who or what he was, what was his social status, where he 
 belonged, or where he came from, I did not then know. He had 
 told me, indeed, that he was a Highlander, and I saw that he 
 wore the plaid and kilt of the Macgregor tartan — and that was 
 all — excepting that he unconsciously disclosed to me once the 
 fact that he had been, long years before then, both a soldier and 
 a gentleman farmer. He seemed exceedingly fond of talking 
 about farming and farm people, and as we reclined together that 
 beautiful summer evening on the secluded Fifeshire hill, which 
 in tlie clear and hazeless atmosphere of that day commanded a 
 splendid view of Lothian from Edinburgh to Tynninghame Point, 
 his remarks naturally referred to the agricultural matters peculi- 
 arly pertaining to that district. Accordingly, and quite rele- 
 vantly, I was treated to a long harangue concerning farming in 
 harmony with science ; then to a treatise on the comparitive 
 merits of surface and subsoil drainage ; and, lastly, to a bitter 
 and severe tirade on " land factors," of which the following is 
 the substance, and also the terms, as nearly as I can remember 
 them : — - 
 
 " There ai^e three varieties of the factor species, Sam," began 
 the "Piebald Piper," after a long greedy pull at the Athole brose 
 horn — " first, there is the right man in the right place — a 
 sagacious, considerate, lenient, intelligent, upright, honest man — 
 one who possesses a thorough practical knowledge of farming, and 
 Avho is desirous above all things to do the /ai7' thinr/ alike to his 
 employer and his tenants. May God multiply and increase men 
 such as this, for a surety Scotland needs them sairly. Second, 
 there is the deep, calculating, legal, slow, sure villain — he who 
 would grind without a svnther a poor industrious suffering family 
 to powder, " for the laird," as he would say ; that is, Sam, so that 
 he, (the factor) might exalt and benefit himself thereby. I know 
 the heartless, undermining sneak ; bew^are, Oh, beware of him.
 
 T HE "PIEBALD PIPE R." 167 
 
 little Sam. He is all butter till the evil clay comes, then crash ; 
 he breaks you over the wheel as if you were so much firewood, 
 tardily sent him by a dilatory Providence to illumine and show 
 forth his supreme magnificence and worth. This kind of rural 
 Judas is perpetually using the laird's name, and says always, ' My 
 histructioiis are ' — so and so. Thus does he seek to cover his 
 cruel and infernal oppression under a cloak of seeming compulsion, 
 while most likely all the time the landlord has never heard even 
 one true word of the meLancholy story. I know these rascals, 
 Sam ! and say, airse them. Well, the third factor . class com- 
 prises the lawyer type — sometimes good and sometimes bad ; it 
 depends on the kind of man. But this class of bailifi's, 
 generally, do immense harm to agriculture, be they had or be 
 they good. They ai-e all unfitted for the exercise of a factor's 
 duties and authority by reason of their special profession, train- 
 ing and proclivities, and their lack of the absolutely requisite 
 agricultural knowledge. As well might you ask the Provost 
 aud Magistrates of Haddington to perform the duties and evince 
 the peculiar skill of hoivdies, or mid-wives, Sam." " What, Piper, 
 isna a howdie maist aye an auld wife 1 an' arena there some auld 
 wives in oor Town Council 1 Ye dinna ken oor county toun sae 
 weel's the county itsel', I see. Piper." " Quite right, Punch 
 but you know my meaning," genially resumed the spotted oracle, 
 " As things are at present, no mere lawyer should be allowed to 
 dictate to or control farmers affairs. I will tell you a story about 
 this Little Sam, shall I ?" " Ay — if its a short ane, dinna spin 
 it as huge as yer baird," " N'o more, an' thou lovest me, Hal !" 
 
 '* Do you obsei've yon dark forest to the west of Traprain 
 Law?" "Ay, tine, piper," I returned, "what aboot it?" "Im- 
 agine a line drawn through tlie middle of it," he rejoined, "from 
 west to east, and continued easterly a mile or two beyond the 
 forest. Touching upon that imaginary line a little eastward 
 from the forest, do you notice a large white house, conspicuously 
 built upon a rising ground 1 Well, that is the farm liouse of 
 Green Knowes, and was long the ;ibode of John Howe, one of
 
 IGy LAYS AND L K T T K R S. 
 
 Nature's own noblemen. Ah, yes, Sam, poor John Howe was 
 altogether an uncommon man — like myself — at once an intel- 
 lectual giant, and simple and sincere as a little child. Although 
 only indebted to the schools for the most meagre educational rudi- 
 ments, he read and thought himself deeply into the various 
 knowledge of his day. Industrious and persevering too, to a 
 fault — like me in my young days — it may justly be said that the 
 lamentable misfortunes which darkened and embittered his latter 
 days in Scotland were, indeed, misfortunes in the truest sense, 
 and not mishaps brought upon himself either by his negligence 
 or folly, or his lack of experience as a farmer. Universally by 
 those of his friends and acquaintances who could appreciate 
 unobtrusive, sterling worth and true genius, was John Howe 
 admired and beloved. Moreover, his handiness and mechanica\ 
 aptitude were as remarkable as was his amazing fund of infor. 
 mation, or the cleverness of his countless plans and inventions. 
 Albeit, never trained to any of the skilled crafts, John was a 
 master and a proficient in all the arts and trades of the country, 
 from the clouting of an old shoe, or the mending of a cart, up to 
 the construction of a faultless thrashing mill and steam engine, 
 or a perfect eight-day clock. And all his manifold "jobs" bore 
 and wore the impress of the man himself — thorough genuineness, 
 efficiency, and stability, was their stamp, and they needed no 
 other "trade mark." Yet this Scottish benefactor — this Man 
 of men, Sam, did little better than fail in his farming, and was 
 compelled to evacuate the strongholds of his existence, and turn 
 his back upon the dear scenes of his laborious and triumphant 
 youth, at the heartless bidding of an upstart lawyer factor — a 
 man who was as comparable to John Howe as an impudent, 
 pilfering jackdaw is to a valuable and a daily-producing dorking 
 hen. How such a deplorable result was effected by such despic- 
 able means, it is the object of my story, Sam, to explain. Hark 
 ye ! The seed season and summer of the year he broke down in 
 had been backwaz-d and very wet, and the vile harvest weather 
 put the head-sheaf on the agricultural load of troubles, and at 
 once over - balanced and over - turned many an already over-
 
 T II E 
 
 PIEBALD PIPE R." 169 
 
 burdened and extortionately-rented man into the slough of 
 despond and bankruptcy. 
 
 In such a year the clay-land farmers, of course, suffered 
 most. Howe's farm was two-thirds of it stiff clay, and the 
 remainder heavy loam — the whole of it overlying strata of gravel 
 and red sandstone. Despite the unfortunate character of the 
 weather, however, and in consequence of the state of fertility 
 and cleanness of John's land, his entire crop was an excellent 
 one — the hay crop in particular being one of the heaviest ever 
 grown in East Lothian, and which, by working with the weather, 
 and reaping and cocking only a small portion at a time, was all 
 eventually secured in good condition. 
 
 As he had done some dozen years prior to the period I speak 
 of, John sold his hay that season again to his landlord — the new 
 factor personally being the purchaser. I should also mention, 
 Sam, that the four or five previous years had been very dry and 
 sterile — shockingly bad turnip years — and consequently unsuit- 
 able for the making or saving of money by the farming community. 
 Hill farmers, no doubt, suffered little by this cycle of "brown 
 summers," for the prices of wool and mutton ranged unpre- 
 cedentedly high, and the drouth invariably set in just when dry, 
 warm weather is most desired by stockmasters, viz., at lambing 
 time. But for all arable farmers in the Lothians, those years 
 were trying and testing in the extreme, for although on some 
 well-farmed, heavy descriptions of soil capital grain crops were 
 reaped, yet the low prices current for produce were discouraging 
 and unremunerative, and the turnip crop was a complete failure. 
 During those emphatically " bad years," John Howe, without 
 capital as he was, struggled on in his exorbitantly high-rented 
 farm most bravely and cleverly. I say cleverly and bravely 
 advisedly, Sam, for, looking calmly back at his terrible circum.- 
 stances, I question if a more heroic or a more ingenious battle to 
 make honourably " both ends meet " was ever waged or main- 
 tained for so long in East Lothian. A bare ungarnished recital
 
 1 70 L A Y S A \ I) L E T T R U S. 
 
 of the extraordinary plans, and subtle and ingenious shifts which 
 he conceived, and to which in a manner he was driv en to resort 
 to keep himself financially above the Hood through those long 
 disheartening years, would atibrd rare instruction and profitable 
 entertainment to many a Lothian fireside circle during the long, 
 dark forenights of winter. And, mind you, little Sam, my dear, 
 all those truly great schemes of his were planned and carried out 
 with the perfect understanding and assured belief that they 
 would never, and could never, better or enrich himself ultimately 
 one single penny. He knew, no one better did, that, to him, 
 without money, his farm from the first was a mistake (a mistake, 
 not of his making, he having only succeeded to tlie lease, in 
 accordance with Scots Law, after the death of an uncle), a false 
 speculation, a losing bargain. Yet still he schemed on, and 
 wrought and slaved, and wore himself away, both body and 
 brain, night and day, and neglected nought that mortal man 
 could do, or could think of, to keep his position. The " wife and 
 bairns " were to John Howe — their welfare and happiness — ^just 
 what victory was to the soldiers of Robert Bruce at Bannock- 
 burn. 
 
 In all this he was greatly aided by a liberal, far-seeing, and 
 obliging factor, a brusque and gruff sort of fellow in his manners, 
 but a man with a brain and a heart. Tliis factor was John's 
 first one, who, despite his gigantic and rough outward semblance, 
 was yet one of the ablest and shrewdest men of business in 
 Lotliian. Woeful, woeful indeed, and sad, sad was the day to 
 many a half heart-broken, struggling farmer, ay, and to many a 
 poor labouring man, and to many an infirm and aged pensioner, 
 and desolate widow woman, when " Auld Burton " died. He 
 had an abscess in the nape of the neck, little Sam, and it 
 extended to the cai'otid artery, and so Burton, the noble-hearted, 
 went under. With him went the last hopes of many, many a 
 long-suffering Scotch family. He was a "swearer," a "rough 
 speaker," a man of no refinement of taste or manner at all ; but 
 all the same, little Sam, he was a man of real sense and power.
 
 T II E "piebald pip e r." 171 
 
 a genuine, understanding and humane sympathiser with honest 
 poverty. Burton's equal as a factor stands not in the " three 
 Lothians " this day. 
 
 Well, Sam, his successor, I may describe, without injustice, 
 as Burton's opposite — physically, mentally, and morally. Burton 
 was of a distinguished — though gigantic and rough — appearance, 
 large, portly, and manly ; but Mr Successor was a puny, pale- 
 faced, fragile, contemptuous pigmy, an out-and-out abortion of 
 the genus Jiomo. He neitlier possessed body, brains, nor heart — 
 a mere " pea-hool " he was. Burton was a keen, decisive, clear- 
 headed, few-worded, sure man of business of the guid auld Scotch 
 schule. Mr Successor was a modern haggling, quirky, strainer- 
 at-a-gnat, a wavering, gabbling lawyer. Old Burton ! Old, 
 Burton was a rough-and-ready, true blue, plain, down right friend 
 or foe. Successor was a sneaking reptile, an undermining, 
 relentless oppressor. When old Burton gave up the ghost (alack 
 tlie day !), John Howe was in the very midst of his difficulties ; 
 but stop, see ye no', my boy Sammy, hoo the god o' day is 
 snQovin' round by Kelly Law ? We maun to camp, we maun to 
 camp, little Sam. I'll finish John Howe's story as we march to 
 Maggie's Burgh i' the mornin'. Gie me a soupe o' the Athole 
 brose, my callant." 
 
 Piper, afore I dee, I'll be at the bottom o' ye. I couldna 
 dee afore I kenn'd what ye were. Oh, Piper, tell me the noo, 
 aff-hand ! Ease me ! I'll tell naebody, if ye dinna want me to 
 tell. Come on, dear Piper !" " No, little Sam, not now. Get 
 to bed at once. You will know some day, but I cannot say any 
 more at present. My little laddie, if there was one on earth to 
 whom I would reveal my secret, that one would be my ' ain 
 callant, the boy after my own heart, the little Samuel Muckle- 
 backit.' Couch in, then, and say no more. I am the Piper, and 
 that is enough for thee just now."
 
 THIRD LETTER. 
 
 Highland Superstitions, and Lowland Farmers and Factors. 
 
 See us roam 'tween toun an clachan, 
 
 Wandering free — nor care, nor bother, 
 Crackin', singin, jokin', laughin' 
 
 Bosom cronies to each other. 
 Clear the pales of " creeds " and " orders ;" 
 
 Heart to heart with love cemented, 
 Mever yet in Scotland's borders 
 
 Truer friendship hath life stented. 
 
 S. M. 
 
 The Piper, who oft-times spoke, not indeed offensively, but as it 
 were simply as a matter of course, in very inflated and grandilo- 
 quent terms of his own unequalled mental, moral, and spiritual 
 attributes and capacities, to me — a boy — a mere child, was all 
 the time in reality one of the most modest, and most ingenious 
 minded of men living. With the gravity, and perhaps with 
 infinitely more of the sincerity of a Moderator, he would look at 
 me and say, when in a serious mood, something like this ; — " I 
 am an inscrutable and profound philosopher, little Sam. But, 
 and notwithstanding this beard, one of the most loving — ay, and 
 loveable, and unassuming of the sons of men," I believed every 
 word he said. Had he said he was Jove himself, I would have 
 in spirit knelt and answered — " Yes, Great Jupiter." 
 
 I sometimes thought that all his grand self-praise was 
 merely a jocular ebullition of his warm and humorous spirit which, 
 no doubt, in one sense it was, although I saw good reason sub-
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPER." 173 
 
 sequently to modify somewhat this idea, and to believe that all 
 his self-laudatory harangues were really and truly the expression 
 of his deep-rooted opinion of himself. And that deep-grounded 
 and most sincere opinion of himself which he always held, I to 
 this day, and will evermore, hold of the " Piebald Piper " like- 
 wise. He was a Man of men — an " out-and-outer," as he 
 expressed it. 
 
 In all my musical ramblings I was accompanied from the 
 first start from Scaur Den by a little, shaggy, ugly-looking terrier 
 dog — a " perfect original " — which was uncommonly devoted to 
 me, and which I had whimsically baptised by the weird but ap- 
 propriate name of " Second Sight." This rakish, but faithful 
 creature — devoted to me in all respects absolutely ■ — was ex- 
 tremely jealous of strangers who became friendly with me, and, 
 if not watched, he would embrace every opportunity of taking 
 a snap at the heels of those who dared to become too intimate 
 with me. If I said, " poor Second Sight " in the presence of a 
 friend, he would wag his indescribable tail, and prick up his lugs ; 
 but if I ettled so much as to touch my friend's knee with my 
 hand, the jealous dog would go all but mad with vexation and 
 rage. Strange to say, however, he not only made the Piper an 
 exception to this general rule ; but from the beginning of our 
 acquaintance on the Clyde, down to the sad and memorable day 
 when we bade each other adieu and eternal farewell, that 
 miserable, red-nosed, blear-eyed, bastard canine — an embodied 
 nightmare almost in appearance, but a "Wallace Wight" in 
 heart — actually appeared to respect and trust the Piper, and 
 would even, without a single growl, allow him to wrap me in his 
 plaid. The Piper was pleased, and even proud of this canine 
 recognition, and it made him esteem and love little " Second 
 Sight " in return. The Piper also, I think, regarded " Second 
 Sight " a good deal for his name, which smacked, and was 
 peculiarly suggestive of, the Highlands, and which, in fact, 
 stirred me to ask him, as we lay down that night in th 
 little larch wood, to the west of Balcarres, in Fife, if he really
 
 171 L A Y S A X D L E T T E K S. 
 
 believed in such a faculty — or whatever else he nii,f,'ht call it — 
 as second sight, or tlie gift of foreseeing any dreadful event about 
 to happen ? In my journeyings to and fro among the wild lochs 
 and interminable mountains of the North, I had met with 
 many so-called instances of its existence and trutli, but whether 
 they were actually true, or only pretended, or mistaken as true, 
 I could not say. The Piper at once avowed his belief in it — to 
 my horrible astonishment and disgust — ^ adding tliat he had 
 scouted and scorned for years the idea of its reality, as the most 
 preposterous l:)0sh imaginable, l)orn of stupidity, ignorance, and 
 infantile superstition combined, until some years previously, at 
 a Highland wedding, his belief, or unbelief, was driven out of 
 him perforce by tlie certain evidence of his senses. One of the 
 guests at this marriage, he said, was a tall, slim young man, 
 with large, rolling, white-hazel eyes, whom he had hitherto 
 thought to be scarcely compos mentis, but to whom was 
 ascribed a high degree of " Second Sight," by the poorer High- 
 landers. This young man, during the evening, abruptly stepped 
 up to the Piper, and piteously implored him to pull down his 
 eyelids, as he had just had a " fearfu' vision." The Piper laugh- 
 ingly complied, and jestingly asked the young man, who was 
 deadly pale and in a lather of sweat, what it was in all the world 
 he had seen 1 When I queried him in this light way " said the 
 Piper, throwing himself doun by my side, and cuddling up under 
 his out spread beard for the night, " he trembled from head to 
 heel, and excitedly pointed to a middle-aged Highlander of the 
 name of Angus M'Lean, who sat talking at the fireside with the 
 bridegroom. "What of him," I said, " Hush !" he answered in 
 a whisper, "come into the trance — it is there that I will tell 
 you. Piper !" I stepped into the trance, or passage with the lad 
 immediately, where he told me, seriously and sensibly, that he 
 had just seen in a " vision," the chair that Angus sat on empty, 
 and that this implied his (Angus's) early death, either that night 
 or the following day. Of coui-se, I scoffed at the apparently 
 absurd prognostication, for Angus was a strong, healthy, sober, 
 gallant fellow, and one who seemed about the farthest removed
 
 THE 
 
 PIEBALD PIPE R." 175 
 
 from death of any in the house. He stayed at the house of the 
 newly married couple over night, and left for his home, which 
 was only some three miles distant, about ten the next morning. 
 The road, " track," sheep path — call it what you will, little Sam, 
 along, or across the hill, Ben Venue, was only three miles in 
 length. It ran along the back or northern side of the mountain. 
 There had been over night some hoar frost, and of course when 
 Angus left the marriage scene, now the dwelling of his happy 
 host, the sun, far low down in the south, had not yet had the 
 opportunity of softening the dews crustily lying on that side of 
 the hill. About half way across the path skirts the top of a 
 deep " scaur " or precipitous bank of red sand and basaltic rock, 
 which necessitates the exercise of a little caution by a stranger 
 to get over it safely. But Angus knew this path like the way to 
 his mouth, and had securely passed and repassed over it thou- 
 sands of times prior to that of the fatal morning. On this fatal 
 day, he slipped on the hoar frost it was supposed, and slid 
 'helplessly over the dreadful " sacur," four hundred feet in depth. 
 When his body was recovered, it was obvious that death must 
 have been instantaneous. The corpse was headless, and one of 
 feet also waa awanting. 
 
 Now, little Sam, what think ye of this? I defy you to 
 show how the young seer could possibly foresee and foretell this 
 young man's fatality, by mere, what is called, natural ability. 
 And, little Sam, I could adduce still stranger evidence in support 
 of the belief in this most wonderful power. But, what say you 
 — eh ?" " It's wonderfu^," I replied, not a little staggered, " but 
 Piper, I am only a little callant yet, and I dinna ken what to 
 think. Micht it no hae been only a' remarkable coincidence? 
 A thousand reasons occurred to me against even its probability ; 
 and, I think, tae. Piper, that siccan a power as ' second sicht ' 
 shouldna been gi'en to sich a silly man as your freend. I think- 
 tae. Piper, that the young man's vision (or convulsion fit) coin, 
 ciding so pat wi' the accident, is already explainable in well- 
 known and natural grounds. But surely, Piper, you are heretical
 
 170 L A Y S A N n L E T T E R S. 
 
 wi' regard to the itlier Hielant soopersteetions — ' kelpies ' (water 
 witches), ' wrisks ' (brownies), the ' daoine matha ' or ' daoine 
 shith ' (the fairies of the north country) ?" " Yes, little Sam,'' 
 replied the imperturbable Piper, smoking his large meerschaum in 
 bed, " Yes, I am sceptical of the She'ichs, while, at the same time 
 I trow, with Hamlet, sincerely, there are, or is, a deal more both 
 in heaven and eartli than we wot of. And, little Sam, much of 
 the popular rtiythology of the north is very dear to me ; and, it 
 seems, besides, exceedingly beautiful and poetical ; so, therefore, 
 I listen to all the tales about the ' supernatural ' beings, and let 
 them pass undisputed. They do no liarm now-a-days, indeed, 
 they cast over the mist-mantled mountains of the north a kind of 
 enthralling glamoury of poetry and romance, to me. But I'll 
 talk to you at large upon the whole of this theme some other day 
 soon. Even — noo, say a wee prayer, steek ye're blinkers, an' gae 
 to sleep. We hae a lang tramp to yerk till in the morning !" 
 
 "We turned our steps westwards towards Pittenween, where- 
 at, and in other of the coast towns of Fife, I disposed of an 
 enormous number of copies of the following, bumptious, and 
 exceedingly juvenile parody, which I had got printed at the town 
 of Forfar : — 
 
 WHAT CAN A YOUNG FELLOW DO WI' AN 
 AULD WIFE? 
 
 A Lay by a Laddie. 
 
 PRICE ONE HALFPENNY. 
 
 AVhat can a young fellow do wi' an auld wife 1 
 What can a young fellow do wi' an auld wife ? 
 
 Sure, curst was the siller that tempted me till her. 
 To barter my freedom for bondage an' strife ! 
 
 Sure, curst was the siller that tempted me till her. 
 To barter my freedom for bondage an' strife !
 
 THE " P I K n A L D PIPE H." 177 
 
 Baith evenin' and niornin' she's scoldin' an' scornin', 
 Her tongue, ever waggin', leads me a dog's life ; 
 
 Her commands, lier caprice, my sad torments increase. 
 Oh, dried fu's the nicht wi' a fly tin' auld wife ! 
 
 Her commands and caprice my sad torments increase, 
 Oh, dreadfu's the nicht wi' a flytin' auld wife ! 
 
 She moonges, she mummies, she grumphs, and she grummles, 
 An' orders me roond wi' a tongue like a knife ; 
 
 'Tis "sense " and not "beauty," she says, I maun boo tae, 
 Oh, wae on the day I wed wi' an auld wife ; 
 
 'Tis sense, and not beauty, she says, I maun boo tae, 
 Ohj wae on the day I wed wi' an auld wife. 
 
 My auld chums, sae witty, on me hae less pity 
 Than had wi' Meg Lauder, the Piper o' Fife ; 
 
 Ev'n them wha lauch least on me crack their jest, 
 An' speer hoo I like my walthy auld wife ; 
 
 Ev'n them wha lauch least on me crack their jest, 
 An' speer hoo I like my walthy auld wife. 
 
 But hark ye, my jokers, ye'll maybe prove croakers. 
 
 And change ye your sang when my bank notes are rife ; 
 
 Ayhen the auld creature's deid, an' a stane at her heid, 
 And I am espoused to a charming young wife ; 
 
 When the auld carlin's deid wi' a stane at her heid. 
 
 And your auld chum's espoused to a charming young wife ! 
 
 In the course of our perambulations the prophetic piper 
 resumed and finished his narrative regarding his old farming 
 friend " poor John Howe," as herein set down : — " Whaur was I 
 at, Sam — mind ye?" " Whare were ye at piper?" I answered, 
 " here, man ! but, afore I tell ye, mind I want nane o' yer lang, 
 interminable, wearisome yarns. Brek the shell o' yer tale 
 afFhand, and hand me the kernel, precise an' concise as the yowk 
 o' a hen's egg, forthwith. Go-ahead, dear piper, I'm only jokin'. 
 Ye were at — John was in the midst of his driiiculties when old 
 Burton died." " Ou ay, Sam. Yes, as I was saying yesternight, 
 little Sam, John Howe was indeed hard pressed when rough, 
 good old Burton succumbed ; and at the first Lammas tei'm on 
 
 N
 
 17S L A Y S A N' 1) 1. K '1' T E H S. 
 
 wliich he paid his rent to the new factor he was constrained to 
 ask liini to become his debtor to the extent of £100 sterlini( for a 
 week or two." " How is this?" said Mr Successor, after Jolin 
 liad related to him the story of his lieroic struggles and terrible 
 hardships, " You ask me to oblige* you to the extent of a whole 
 Iiuudred, for two or three weeks. Mr Howe, my instructions are 
 to collect the rents, not to listen to plausible or pathetic 
 narratives about fly-eaten turnip brairtls, and unworkable clays, 
 and dry .seasons. His lordship himself, itc." Here ensued about 
 a half hour's lecture about what his lordship's instructions were, 
 interspersed with rueful exclamations and liead shakings, relative 
 to his predecessor's unparallelled and deplorable carelessness ; and 
 winding up with a detailed statement of what was to be his 
 method of managing the estate, and to ensure tlie full payment 
 of all the rents on the very day and hour stipulated in the 
 leases. 
 
 John, after hearing him patiently to an end, suddenly sprang 
 to his feet, grasped his hat, and, after telling Mr Successor 
 that he " wud be back in a crack," left the room. In a short 
 time he returned, paid down in cash the disputed £100, and de- 
 parted for good, with an unea.sy presentiment in his mind that 
 the man he had just left was henceforth to be his secret and in- 
 veterate enemy. All that night he lay awake thinking of the 
 " devilish look " with which the new factor had surveyed him 
 when he returned with the lacking £100, which he had borrowed 
 from a friend for the purpose. He knew — he felt sure in his 
 heart, that Mr Successor hated liim for having paid that £100, 
 and having thereby so dt^ftly eluded the coveted power which it, 
 unpaid, would have enabled him to exert over his affairs. And 
 as he reviewed all his circumstances, one by one, in the ominous 
 gloom of that look, he groaned, and almost despaired, from that 
 night, of his ability to fight out the lease. For the next two 
 years he just managed to keep his head above the water and steer 
 clear of the i*emorseless factor, who appeared to John's distracted 
 fancy as a fury, ever hovering over his head, ready to swoop
 
 T n E "pi i: n a l I) p i p k n.'' 179 
 
 down and destroy him did he but sink an inch deeper. The next 
 season and harvest, his last ones in Scotland, were the worst 
 which John had yet encountered — not too dry, like the others, 
 but the extreme opposite — cold, backward, and everlastingly wet 
 and muggy, and consequently unfavourable and disastrous to all 
 crops — ^saving, perhaps, sheltered and well-drained pastures on 
 liirht land. His ijrain would lose about Iialf its value in the 
 harvesting ; his twenty acres of potatoes were all rotted and con- 
 verted, by the disease, into an Irisli stew long before tlie proper 
 time ; and his turnips, they being that year on the heavy part of his 
 holding, all perished by drowning, like kittens in their juvenility. 
 His hay, as I told you, Sam, and of which he would have about 
 forty tons, he sold to the new factor for tlie laird at £6 per ton. 
 But after being sold, it could not be carted to the laird's stables 
 before the grain harvest, owing to the ceaseless wet ; and there- 
 fore the new factor ordered it to be stacked at (xreenknowes, 
 until a fitter opportunity occurred for its removal. But, mark 
 ye, little Sam, the hay was not to be paid for till after delivery, 
 the Lammas rent was about due, John had only some £150 at his 
 banker's — his half year's rent amounted that year to fully double 
 this sum — and so, what was the poor devil to do 1 His wife 
 and children urged him to go to the factor and tell him all. 
 The factor said he " expected this," that he was " looking for 
 nothing else," &c., &c., but ultimately agreed to lie off until the 
 hay was carted home and accounted for. The harvest came 
 laf'tjin?, trailins: on — dismal and drenched as a shipwrecked 
 mariner. The grain was half lost, the potatoes entirely so ; and, 
 as if at once to put the (-ope-stone on John's tower of troubles, 
 the factor appeared at his place one day, with a copy of the 
 lease in liis hand. Pointing to a clause near the end of it, he 
 imperiously demanded of John "How he dared sell his hay when 
 he was therein so specially and expressly intei'dicted from doing 
 so during the last five years of his lease V " Surely sir," humbly 
 replied John, " surely if the laird has prohibited me from selling 
 the hay, it was a puir practical joke for him, through you, to come 
 here and buy it frae me himsel'. Besides, sir, the laird brak'
 
 180 LAYS AND LET T K U S. 
 
 the bargain, as written doun i' the tack, first ; and by daein' sae 
 left me nae choice. Turn ye to chiuse fifth, sir, an' you will 
 observe that he undertook to divide the big field to the south — 
 the Hill — 90 odd acres, into fowre fields ; and that ane doon the 
 road — the North March — 40 acres, intil twa, wi' wire fences, an' 
 a' at his ain cost, saving, of coorse, the carriage o' the material. 
 A' this has never been dune, as ye wat weel, sir ; and why 1 
 Simply because I am politically and educationally antagonistic 
 to his Lordship, and more so to his Lordship's factor. But I 
 tell you what, Mr Successor, I am a man, and I will not put 
 up with you." 
 
 This uncommon speech of John Howe's was rather a 
 quencher to Mr Successor, but he instantly recovered him- 
 self in his own impertinent way. " Mr Howe," said he, 
 " Mr Howe, I only come to administer the lease. In that lease 
 you are forbidden to sell hay, straw, and turnips ofi" the farm. 
 Aren't you ?" "Ye impident little devil," answered John, "the 
 hay was sauld to yersel'. If I had nae richt to sell it, ye had 
 nae richt to buy it frae me ; had ye 1 Ye have come across me 
 several times, but, as sure as the sun shines in the lift, I will 
 gi'e't to ye some day. Look oot ! look oot. Successor." " Mr 
 Howe," he replied, " my instructions are that your hay must be 
 consumed upon the faram ; and, further, that all arrears of rent 
 must be paid to me within two months from this date." " Or, 
 what then?" asked John desperately. "In that case," rejoined 
 the factor, " you must know perfectly well, Mr Howe, what 
 can only happen." " I see," said John, at last thoroughly 
 aroused, " sequestrate me the morn if ye like ; tak' everything ; 
 I owe nae man a plack other than the current year's accounts, 
 and but for you, they sid a' be paid to the last stiver. Seques- 
 trate — brek me ; you have ensnared, an' trapped, and chased, 
 an' run me to ruin. But tak' everything. I wadna withhold a 
 flea's bite, not if I were to be knichted or ennobled for't. I am 
 a puir man, sir, otherwise I should lay my case afore the Sherra, 
 an' even, if need were, the Coort o' Session, an' I'd lick ye to
 
 181 
 
 spunk-wood tae, for I wad hae baith law and equity for my 
 advocates. But I am tired and weary o' this sair over-rented 
 place, and still raair sae o' yersel', sir. Ye hae been my relent- 
 less persecutor ever since ye got on. I watna what's your real 
 reason for't 1 But do your warst. I despise you. Good day." 
 
 " And so, little Sam, in due time the sequestration was 
 effected, and another victim — another helpless family — was 
 sacrificed to appease the hate, and gratify the malignant pride of 
 an oppressive, tyrannic mortal — a " fellow worm " — dressed in a 
 little brief authority. Oh, how sad, sad it is to remember ! How 
 melancholy to think that the fine, manly, and high-talented 
 fellow was utterly broken and irretrievably ruined (at least in 
 Scotland — as an agriculturist), all to gratify the pride and 
 animosity of such a miserably, paltiy, scamp. I said melancholy, 
 Sam. It is hellish, maddening, heart-burning. ( )h that the 
 curse of the Piper could wither him ! 
 
 " Many other stories could I tell you that would fitly illustrate 
 the divisions of our classification, but not to day, little Sam — not 
 to day," concluded the Piper, solemnly, drawing a sleeve of his 
 coat awkwardly across his reheumy eyes. " The recalling to mind 
 of noble John Howe's terrible wrongs has overset me. But his 
 story, Sam, needs no comment — its record of naked, gross 
 injustice being such that he who runs may read."
 
 FOURTH LETTER. 
 
 Dkkams — The Modkkn Scoto-Iuisii, kc. 
 
 BoNV low ! Tia good for thet, 
 
 Affliction maketh strong ; 
 Would'st thou be truly great and free, 
 
 Be chastened first with wrong. 
 Decry one look behind, 
 
 Mourn not what miglit have been ; 
 Be heroes — take the world you find, 
 
 Blake " blunders " blessings mean ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 " My dear boy, Sam," quoth the prophetic and patriarchal 
 looking Pipei', as we arose in the morning in the wood of Tully- 
 body, seriously, yet sententiously, " my dear Sam, I dreamed a 
 very uncommon, and a most vivid and impressive dream last 
 night, without, of course, at the time thinking it was uncommon • 
 for nothing that we dream ever seems wonderful to us when we 
 dream. So I dreamt that I had been summoned by a direct and 
 special messenger to a grand council of all the angels in the 
 great celestial hall of ghosts. For what do you think, Sam ? 
 For no other than the simple purpose of being pul)licly chosen, 
 and receiving the holy commission, to blow the trumpet at the 
 last day ! Don't start, Sam ! the Piper is utterly incapable of 
 approacliing within even puritanical view of the vulgar and 
 blasphemous sins of irreverence or levity towards sacred or holy 
 things. True religion and good strong Athole bi'ose are his two 
 grand and never-failing spiritual and corporal sustainers ; and 
 doubly accursed is tliQ fool assuredly who dares refuse or ridicule
 
 THE "piebald pipk r." 183 
 
 either the one or the other I AVell, I dreamed that I stood up 
 before the whole council, and made my bow, and then respectfully 
 asked the angels — " Why, of all the countless millions of spirits 
 and men in heaven and on earth, they had nominated, and, as I 
 had heard, had already as good as elected Me to till such -a, 
 momentous post ?" " Are you not," said a very thin, gaunt, 
 skeleton-looking, hollow-cheeked angel, of a most sombre and 
 dread aspect — Azrael, the angel of death, I think he must have 
 been — " Are you not the Piper who blew the Laird of Skene's 
 coronach T' says he. " I am indeed, tSir ! what of that ? I said, 
 not the least abashed, Sam !" " Why !" he rejoined, " that tine 
 coronach was heard from Cairngorm to Ballachulish ; and, at the 
 proper time, might have recalled Fingal to life himself ! Take 
 your credentials, no refusals are accepted here — the time is short 
 — lift your documents — they are under my short ribs — use your 
 brief time well, practise trumpeting dilligently !" 
 
 " At once — in a moment, Sam — I thought the last day had 
 arrived, was dawning, and that I was standing erect on the 
 extreme summit of a mighty mountain, with a trumpet in my 
 hands like a morning sunbeam in June. I gave one wee pre- 
 liminary blast. Behold ! old earth seemed to shake and reel and 
 rattle to her centre, and as I looked around, amazed at the 
 miraculous etlect of my first blow, I thought that the Skeleton 
 Angel suddenly stood by my side." " Louder !" cried he, and I 
 gave another blast, this time with all my might. " Louder ! 
 louder yet !" he ui-ged again. " There is a man in a dead sleep 
 in the Valley of Gehena still. Blow !" " Some old suicide, or 
 unbelieving son of a Jew," I said, " Let me go down, Azrael, and 
 kick the heretic sluggard out of his wormy den — do, dearest 
 Azrael !" 
 
 "In one instant, at this interesting point, Sam, I doubled 
 back on myself, and dreamed that all this was only a dream. 
 And further, I again dreamed that the great hill, on which I 
 thought T had just been heralding the crack of doom, was only a
 
 IS 4 L A Y S AND I, I", T T K R S. 
 
 large table in the supper room of a well-known Glasgow tavern, 
 at which I have often put up and spent many a jolly night, and 
 thilt the supposed late Gehena sleeper was in reality a tipsy Irish 
 gentleman who had fallen on the floor, and was now sleeping off 
 the eftects of his recent potations. And now I dreamed that I 
 leaped from the table and gave the Irishman a tremendous whack 
 over the hurdles with the poker belonging to the apartment, and 
 which I dreamed that I had been using all the time as a trumpet. 
 I thought the Irishmen awoke, and instantly sprang to liis feet, 
 crying, " Holy Vargin ! what is the mather ? Is it killing and 
 murthering me intirely, you are?" At this stage the dual-dream 
 fortunately collapsed, Sam, and I awoke to find you staring 
 wildly around you. Isn't it strange Sam— eh ?" 
 
 " Strange, Piper ! It was baith strange and sair to me. 
 You auld, fantastic, animated allegory- — it was you that strak 
 me, and nae Irishman. Had I kent this at the time I got the 
 lounder, I sid hae garr'd ye pipe yer ain coronach belyve. But 
 ne'er mind, Piper. I like your dream — baith parts o't. It is 
 awfu', an' fearfu' suggestive. Ye're a queer carle. Piper. Nae 
 man in Scotland, I believe, by yoursel, could hae dreamed siccana 
 dream. I canna faddom ye yet. I had a queer dream, tae, last 
 nicht, but it wasna like yours. Piper. Efter we stoppit crackin', 
 I fell soond asleep, thinkin' aboot Montrose — the gallant, the 
 gifted, the heroic, the most noble-soul'd Montrose — fighter though 
 he was for a humbug Prince and a rotten cause — an' dreamed 
 that you an' me — sojers, somehow, in the ither camp — were 
 suddenly surprised and surrounded by a troop o' the enemy, 
 Irish Kernes and Sassenachs. I thocht ye laid aboot ye vigour- 
 ously wi' the drones o' the pipes, whilk in the hurry you had torn 
 madly asunder, crying " Such is Royal Charlie's will — twa at a 
 blow !" My ain deeds, tae, I thocht were douchty anes ; but as 
 I did sae, I thocht the Kernes an' the ithers had fled, and that 
 as we were examining the slain, who in great numbers strewed 
 the battle field, ye a' in a moment started back and exclaimed, 
 '• D — it, little Sam, I hae killed my faither-in-law^ — old Swag — 
 my wife's faither. Old Swag of Whittinghame."
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPE R." 185 
 
 " Pooh !" I dreamed that I answered you, " pooh ! a canting 
 butter-tongued hypocrite — a lie — a sham — let him perish. I 
 could mak' a better man oot o' a hollow-hearted boortree rung !" 
 And just as I said this, I received the tremendous whack, whilk 
 ye thocht in your dream ye had inflicted on the hurdies o' the 
 Irish gentleman ; and, of coorse, I waukened instanter !" " It 
 is amazingly strange," mused the Piper. " And we both had 
 Irishmen in our dreams — I hope it forebodes us no evil. God 
 forfend the right. Strike the camp, Sam. Come ! Ho, for 
 Stirling and Bannockburn !" 
 
 Becoming thirsty, and a little overcome by the great heat, 
 we on our way sought out and entered a little roadside house of 
 entertainment, and called for a bottle of Bass. A little old 
 woman — apparently the mistress of the establishment, clean, 
 clever, and tidy, and excessively lively and agile for her years — 
 ushered us into a little parlour, and immediately supplied us with 
 the suction. In this room the Piper was no sooner seated than 
 he emptied his sporran, and began counting his money, prior to 
 banking it at Stirling. While he was in the midst of this finan- 
 cial work, the door of the room was slowly pushed ajar, and a 
 gang of ten or twelve hungry looking but stalwart Irish shearers 
 iiled in, each of whom carried a new harvest sickle, having the 
 blade wound round with sti-aw rope. They said to me they had 
 purchased sixpence worth of oatmeal, and that the landlady had 
 kindly undertaken to cook it for them. The appearance of one 
 of those men surprised and perplexed me greatly. I thought 
 that I had seen him before, but could not at first remember where 
 and I was just on the point of telling him so, when all at once it 
 flashed upon me that he strangely and remarkably resembled one 
 of the slain men I had seen in my dream of the previous night — 
 the one whom I had thought the Piper had called his father-in- 
 law — " Old Swag of Whittingliame." This fellow had a hang- 
 dog, crafty, plotting, conspirator-looking appearance all over, and 
 assuredly from the flrst he was no favourite of " Second Sight " 
 — nor of his master either, for that matter.
 
 1 HG L A Y S A N n L K 1' T K H S. 
 
 The Piper continued counting his cash without heeding 
 them, and when he had done, he incautiously and unsuspiciously 
 cried aloud to me — " Twenty odd pounds, Sam. Twenty since 
 Aberdeen, six or seven weeks, not so bad — eh 1 Hallo, gentle- 
 men. Excuse me — didn't notice you was immersed head and heals 
 in distracting pecuniary affairs. I abhor arithmetic and grammar 
 above all things. You'i'i; for the shearing, T see. Oh, yes, all 
 right. Will you kindly oljligeme, an entire stranger, and, 1 fear, 
 a foreigner to you all, by graciously accepting a glass of grog all 
 round at my expense ? Tliank you gentlemen, touch that bell, 
 little Sam, please. Landlady, excuse nie for troubling you, but 
 will you kindly please bring in a full bottle of your very best 
 ' aqua vitae ' ?" 
 
 " The poor Irishmen's mouths, I saw, began to water — down 
 some of their chins the saliva was pouring like a thunder shower 
 down the mountain sides. They were all overjoyed, and all 
 loud in their expressions of thankfulness to the " purty, beauti- 
 ful-bearded gintleman " for this unexpected treat. But before 
 the grog was brought in, the hang-dog looking man had sneaked 
 out of the room unobserved by us all. I was drawn to notice 
 liis absence at first by the quiet demeanour of "Second Sight." 
 He was stretched full length under the table, and apparently in 
 profound slumber. He had been uneasy and troublesome ever 
 since the shearers joined us. What then was the cause of this 
 remarkable change ? I stared round the room anxious to dis- 
 cover the cause, and then, for the first time, observed that the 
 sinister-faced conspirator had left us. His companions seemingly 
 did not notice his absence until the dram was being distributed, 
 and one and all of them declared they knew not whither he had 
 gone. 
 
 The old landhuly was recalled and interrogated, but she, 
 like the others, said she knew nothing whatever about him. I 
 plucked the Piper secretly by the .sleeve, and drew him a step or 
 two aside, and informed him, jokingly, of the real or fancied
 
 TIIK " PI K BALD P I P B R." 187 
 
 resemblance of the absconded man to his father-in-law of my 
 dream — Old Swag of Whittinghame." " The devil — is he ?" in- 
 terjected the Piper under his breath. " Come, out of this ; I 
 surmise what he is after — the money ; and what I surmise is 
 always true. The twenty pounds here in the fab in the sporran, 
 he saw it, he heard us say we were for Stirling. I see it as 
 plain as Ben Nevis. There can be no doubt about it. What 
 else could make him slink so secretly away when both crowdy 
 and whisky were awaiting him 1 But the Piper will baulk him, 
 Sam, and not step a foot out of his way either." 
 
 " You are not afraid of him, Piper ?" I asked when we had 
 left the little public-house behind us some fifty yards. " Afraid ! 
 afraid of him ! Is it true that you do not know yet that a true 
 Highlander cannot feel fear for mortal flesh and blood ? He 
 venerates and reveres, and is dutiful and faithful — (Oh, how 
 faithful !) — and obedient to his chief, and to his parents, in all 
 reasonable tilings, and at all times, but he only fears the Prince 
 of Evil — Auld Clootie — and the kelpies and shi'ichs of his native 
 streams and mountains. The fairies, the ghosts, the wraiths, 
 the evil eye, and so forth, are more terrible by a thousand times 
 to John Highlandman than whole armies of armed Russians. 
 Sam, I could stand up against any Irishman on ecjual terms and 
 flinch not ; but we must be wary (true valour, Sam, is prudent, 
 not reckless), for poor armed Irishmen, alas, can attack defence- 
 less men and women, and even children, from behind stone walls, 
 woods, or anything that will cover and preserve intact their own 
 scalps. The public papers prove this every day. Step into this 
 plantation and let us cut two stifl' cudgels for ourselves — young 
 ash trees, not branches, mind Sam. I have a brace of prime 
 steel pistols in my wallet. See, here is one for you, but we must 
 not use them, mind that — that is, Sam, unless we have to do it. 
 In any case d(m't hurt anyl)ody until you have heard me cry 
 " tire." After that, Sam, down with tlie dogs, and no quarter. 
 But the cudgel, if po.ssible, is best Sam. Keep close to me if we 
 are attacked, and ply well the cudgel. They can only have their
 
 188 LAYS A X I) L i: T T K U S. 
 
 reaping hooks and stones. There, now keep a sharp look out 
 a-head. 
 
 Oh, ah ! what, what was that ? Far away in front, Sam, a 
 man has just peeped over the hedge on the right. The field is a 
 corn one, the corn is not yet ripe, there is no gate at the place, 
 no honest-minded person would secrete himself in such a place, 
 — then, they are there in all likelihood ! Come on !" 
 
 It was now late in the evening, for our way since setting 
 out, in order that we might together visit and behold, though 
 only for once in our lifetimes, many spots and places famous in 
 Scottish history, had been long and digressive. The road which 
 we now traversed was a partially wooded, sequestered, and 
 apparently an unfrequented one ; and lay stretched out straight 
 before us as white, and lonely, and deserted, as a desolate, or 
 " preserved," reach of my native Tyne water. Not a single 
 human being, back or fore, was to be seen. I grew nervous and 
 excited, but I felt no fear, properly so-called, for my confidence 
 in the resource, and wisdom, and prowess of the puissant Piper, 
 was then absolutely unbounded, and I knew by a hundred tokens 
 that he loved me dearly, and he was a Scottish Highlander ! 
 
 As we approached the spot where the Piper had seen the 
 head pop up above the hedge, he raised himself on tip-toe and 
 looked over, and after a moment, drew back, saying that they 
 had shifted, for he could not see them. These words were just 
 whispered to me when I was felled to the earth by a blow with 
 a paling stake swayed by an unseen arm. Not being, however, 
 much hurt, I immediately sprang up, and found that we were 
 surrounded by a large gang of wild, big, ragged-looking Irishmen, 
 of the navvy species, who soon, both by word and action, made 
 their intention fully known to us. It was, without ambiguity, 
 the purpose so laconically expressed in these two time-honoured 
 commandments — " Stand and deliver !" and " Your money, or 
 your life !" The Piper and our assailants, when I arose after my
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPER." 189 
 
 knock clown, were distant from me some fifteen yards, and after 
 calling back " Second Sight," who was making an infernal 
 pother, alternately barking, yelping, and tasting the heels and 
 brawns of the enemy, I heard the Piper suddenly yell like a 
 red Indian, and saw within a moment thereafter two of the foe 
 hurriedly taking their full length measure horizontally on the 
 road. I thought their object such a laudable one that I instantly 
 ran forward and persuaded another of the compatriots to follow 
 their example, by an effectual hint which I gave him with my 
 ash sapling on the back of the head. Hooks, stones, sods, and 
 sticks, were flashing, and flying, and whizzing all round us, and 
 we were severely pressed, and almost borne down by sheer force. 
 
 How in the world we escaped from the outrage as we did, 
 has ever appeared little short of the miraculous to me. We 
 struggled earnestly and severely for some time to keep the Irish- 
 men at bay without hurting them much, but at length a red- 
 headed man on the outskirts of the party savagely flung his 
 naked hook at my head. The point of it pierced my neck above 
 the left shoulder, making a wound fully an inch long and two 
 inches in depth ; and when I withdrew the hook from it the blood 
 oused out freely. The Piper saw this, and he very naturally 
 supposed in the excitement that I was more seriously wounded 
 than I really was. The sight of the gore streaming down my 
 shoulder and arm inflamed him into ungovernable madness. He 
 fumed and raged like an insane lion, and leaped from one foeman 
 to another brandishing his weapon, not like anything human, but 
 like a veritable devil, and crying continually " back, back, ye 
 Irish scum ; a Macgregor ; I'll dissect the harns of every one of 
 ye. Back, back, ye bog trotters," etc., ttc. Nothing merely 
 mortal could individually withstand his onset, nor the superhuman 
 energy and might of his arm ; and so, in a minute or two, the 
 whole band (saving two or three who had pi-udently skedadled 
 early in the melee, including the captain, or " head-centre," as 
 the Piper called him, he who so much re.sembled the Piper's 
 "father-in-law" of jny dream, "Old Swag of Whittinghame ") 
 were prostrate and liors de combat.
 
 190 I- A Y 8 AND L K T T K li S. 
 
 When this happy point was attained, the Piper, to make 
 our victory a sure and lasting one, hound them all fast — hands 
 and feet — with our napkins, scarfs, and i^arters, and then carried 
 them one by one to a little l)urn which ran near by, in a deep 
 pool of which he charitably soused and washed them all like 
 sheep. We then stretched them out on the sloping banks of the 
 streamlet to dreep and dry, bound as they were, and aftei- wish- 
 ing them all a veiy good evening, left them to their playful and 
 cheerful Irish cogitations. The Piper had (^scaped wonderfully — 
 without, indeed, a single knock or scratch. At a poor man's 
 dwelling further on I had my trifling wounds — a bruise on the 
 cranium, a deepish cut in the neck, and another slight one on 
 the left hand — bathed and dressed with lard and lint. The 
 Piper then handed the poor man a " recompense " to go at once 
 and unbind the poor deluded Irishmen, and bring them to his 
 house, and supper them fully with porridge and milk. 
 
 Without further ado we in good time reached the sacred 
 bridjje of Stirlins; — a successor and direct descendant of the 
 immortal Wallace one — which we reverently both passed over 
 with uncovered heads, and then straightway took up our quarters 
 for the night in a humble, but very respectable, hostelry in the 
 lower part of this most ancient, royal, romantic, and interesting 
 of Scottish towns. After we were snugly ensconced in our room 
 and had largely supped on beef steaks, Athole brose, and porter, 
 the Piper said that he grieved beyond measure for the men who 
 had so savagely attacked us — for their capability and willingness 
 to do such a thing at this time of day — to waylay and attack, in 
 such unequal numbers, and in such murderous fashion, one lone 
 defenceless man and a little boy, and grieved also for theii' hard 
 and cruel circumstances — which, no doubt, had been the main 
 factor in suggesting to their minds and constraining them to 
 such a cowardly and atrocious action, but which could only in 
 part condone it. " I love the Irish, little Ham," he continued, 
 " that is, I admire the typical, rollicking, merry, ready-witted, 
 clever-tongued, generous-hearted, happy, devil-may-care Irish
 
 T II E "PI IC H A L I) PIPE li." 191 
 
 character. I do, I do, indeed. But I abominate with a horror 
 and a scorn which words cannot indicate, many of their present 
 ways and customs and practices. Moreover, the character I have 
 alhuled to is the commonly accepted typical one, 8am ; but there 
 are other qualities and elements in the real nature of the Ii'ish — 
 qualities which are deficient or altogether absent in the popular 
 typical estimate of that character — which they would do well, 
 both nationally and personally, to eradicate, if that be possible, 
 as early as convenient. 
 
 The " Scotch-Irish," that is the Irish in Scotland, seem the 
 meanest specimens of the nation. Taken as a whole, they are a 
 ragged, filthy, drunken, quarrelsome, supremely-ignorant, and yet 
 a hard-working, long-suffering, chastity-loving, parent-honouring 
 set. T fear their moral influence on the Scottish peasantry is 
 not in the main for good, so far as it goes ; but, thank heaven, 
 that is not far. They are mostly all outside workers, and they 
 do not intermarry with us, although I believe they ultimately 
 must, and be absorbed in the Scotch. The girls are refused 
 domestic service, and the men do not rise in Scotland. I hear it is 
 somewhat different in America and the Colonies, and that many 
 Irishmen get on in tliese parts as well as any others ; but I 
 suspect that this is owing to the fact that it is chiefly, or only, 
 the most pushing and intelligent individuals of the Irish I'ace 
 who betake themselves to those distant regions. 
 
 But give us a song, Sam I We will go into this great Irish 
 theme systematically and scientifically some day, when we have 
 more lei.sure and vigour than at present. To-night we have 
 merely been skipping playfully over a small portion of the 
 surface of it. By the bye, I was overlooking your poetic budget 
 the other evening while you were absent from camp for a minute 
 or two, and I noticed, quite accidentally, an Irish piece, about 
 the reaping machines. Give me that, Sam, (k) ! It will sing 
 somewhat appropriately after our talk this evening." " I'll spout 
 it, but not sing it to you here, Piper. An' ye maun promise no'
 
 192 LAY S A N D L K T T K \i S. 
 
 to be owro hard on't. Mind ye aye, it's only a bit laddie's- 
 your ' Little Sam's,' Piper !" 
 
 SOME SORROWFUL HARVEST COGITATIONS. 
 By Piiarle O'Rafferty. 
 
 Thim days no more with huks at all 
 
 Our boys the corn he's switchin', 
 Such luck agin no more will fall, 
 
 Than ould St Pathrick's preachin'. 
 All bansthering we now must be — 
 
 We boys — both " rags " and " clever," 
 A stint to you, a stint to me, 
 
 Thin — farewell huk for ever. 
 
 Oh ; me own heart was bould an' big. 
 
 Whin off I tripped with dearie, 
 With hip an' elliow, lithe an' trig, 
 
 As e'er left Tipperary ; 
 Kathleen ! she knew'd me for a man, 
 
 And sure myself did hear her 
 Say, to the Loudon masther man, 
 
 I was his purtiest shearer. 
 
 Me arm it was linkt in the whate, 
 
 Loike darlint when I kissed her ; 
 Bad luck, she's dead ; she's gone complate ! 
 
 Dear Vargin — how I've missed her ! 
 No more Kathleen, nor huk, nor home ; 
 
 To these machanes a stranger ; 
 All heedless, loverless, I roam — 
 
 A fearful Oirish ranger. 
 
 'Tis childer's all they want, ye see, 
 To twist and lay the bands — so ; 
 With two-three boys loike you an' me,
 
 T 11 R " P I E R A L D P I P K R." 193 
 
 To make the stuks to stand — so. 
 The scub machane coonis on loike death, 
 
 Which no man can restrict it, 
 And shaves, loike min fall o'er its path 
 
 Most devilish unexpicted ! 
 
 Ould Sathan larn'd the Hciib that made 
 
 This noisy baste, I'm thinkin' ;' 
 Och ! how it's cursed the good ould trade, 
 
 The harvest foon an' drinkin' ! 
 A port ! It's me own sorry eyes 
 
 That's seen more thin the talk ow't ! 
 Thin, a pound a wake, sure, wor no prize 
 
 To brats that scarce could crack ow't. 
 
 A boy thin could rest his hand, 
 
 Nor grave nor masther bother. 
 And joke with lassies in the band 
 
 For swate half hours together. 
 Them wos the days ! O swate Kathleen, 
 
 Who's gone to Heaven before me ; 
 How tinder to this breast you'd lean. 
 
 An' smackin' kisses shower me. 
 
 Two horses to a barry chained ! 
 
 It licks me noight an' mornin' 
 How such a brut by Sathan fi'amed 
 
 Does slick the rushy corn in ! 
 Pat Dolan says, says he, " It is — 
 
 'Tis all the noise as does it," 
 And sure, when coomin' back it he's 
 
 The divil a whaysper has it. 
 
 It stud, wan day, at breakfast toime. 
 
 Whin we wor busy restin'. 
 The wicked thought coomes in my mind — 
 
 The brut' I'd go a-testin'. 
 The grave was fixin' up her things. 
 
 And n)a2iy a rap did bring her ; 
 I felt her teeth — whin, whirr, slie sings. 
 
 And halves my pui'ty finger. 
 
 Me blud ))e on her iron bones. 
 The nasty varmint creatur' ; 
 

 
 lltl I- A Y S AND I, K T T K It S. 
 
 I\I;iy .-ill her t(>oth 1k' hi-oke with stones, 
 And endless chokes awiiit her. 
 
 Oh, Kathleen, jewel, u]) Heaven there, 
 Look down on your dear Pharlint, 
 
 And hid the angels bless nie, dear. 
 For oulden times me darlint.
 
 FIFTH LETTER. 
 At Htirlixg and Baxxockburn. 
 
 Roll on the ages owre thee — 
 Wallace' war-times nae mair be ! 
 But thou, right, and liberty, 
 Mither CaleJon ! 
 
 Arise, and head the van -guard I 
 Girt with righteous purpose hard— 
 Thine auld shield and freedom's ward, 
 Mither Caledon ! 
 
 Forward ! Scan thou the march-way, 
 Wave the warM to light and day — 
 High on hill taps, and away. 
 Deathless Caledon ! 
 
 S. M. 
 
 " Oh, ay, yes ! My beard at length is gradually becoming 
 unanimous," soliloquised the Piper audibly, as he was standing 
 at his toilet, before a large mirror, on the morning following the 
 night of our arrival at 8tii-ling. "This unconscionable Mar's 
 forest of hair of mine — this Celt and Saxton enormity is 
 certainly compromising — no doubt of it I Both factions, the 
 Reds and Whites — England and Ireland, say, are each losing a 
 little of their former startling individuality, and agreeing to 
 harmonise in one superlative uniformity. T ween not, little 
 Sam, what is the cause of this? There is, without doubt, a 
 stupend(»us change going on 1" " T dinna ken either, Pipcn-," 1 
 answer(;d, "but may be you are like the Octopus, or the sea 
 Chamelion ? In the case o' the Ohamelion, I hae read that the 
 change is etlected ))y iiu^ans o' a coloured pigment enclosed in
 
 196 LAYS AND LKTTKUS. 
 
 wee minute bags in tho skin (rhromatnpheres), in tlio tissue o' 
 wliilk are teuch, wiry, muscular fibres, actuated by nerves, ye 
 ken. (What a growtli ye are !) Weel, Piper, ne'er mind, but 
 ye trow that the naturalists say that, gif the feebers be relaxed, 
 a milky coloured pigmsnt appears instantly ; but gin the feebers 
 cDiitrack ne'er sae little, a dark coloured hue directly shows itsel. 
 The nerve centre that dominates thae actions. Piper, you will at 
 once understand to be the sub(Bsphagean ganglion, and that tlie 
 phenomena in (juestion are analogous to the blushing face divine 
 of a-a-a-" Piebald Piper !" " Quite so, Sam, your scientific know- 
 ledge is (juite correct, so far as I am aware. And what do you 
 argue from this ? You surely do not insinuate that my beard is 
 coloured after the manner of either the Octopus or the marine 
 Chamelion 1 Five years ago, I do solemnly assure you, it was 
 all of one beautiful bronze hue, and it only turned speckled by 
 becoming partially gray — gray in spots !" " Say, like a cadger's 
 aiver, Piper ! But, cheer up man ; I canna bide to see ye dung 
 doun that way. The sun hinisel' is spotted, and luna ! why, 
 man, she is as blotched, an' inottled, an' eluded as a Shaitland 
 Coo ! Lat yer dappled, mongrel baird abee the noo, an' let us 
 instantly clank doun, an' fa' to brekfast — fine fried fresh herrin' 
 frae Loch Pyne, Piper — and, look here. Piper, the odour o' this 
 ashet itsel' wad gar the teeth o' a Queen water like the rock that 
 Moses strak'! Just you shed aside a hole through the baird, big 
 eneuch to let a horn spune in, and then go a-head — or, gin ye 
 like, I'll mak' ye a spoot wi' knockin' the doup afF this bottle, 
 and insertin' the sma' end through the baird, an' feed ye as a 
 meal mill is fed — happer wise. Oh, Piper, Piper ! what a baird 
 ye hae, efter a' !" &c. 
 
 As it was Saturday, we resolved to halt at Stirling over the 
 Sunday ; and immediately after breakfast we sallied forth to do 
 the " sights " — the Piper officiating as usual as friend, counseller, 
 and guide, and showing me all over the town, which, apparently, 
 was as well-known to him as his own goat-skin spleuchan. 
 
 In the course of our rambles I remarked — " D'ye think that
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPER." 197 
 
 Bruce was a greater sodjer and hero than Wallace ?" " Than 
 Wallace, Sam ?" shrieked the astounded pibroch blower, with 
 the voice and with the air and manner of a man suddenly, by a 
 terrible accident, tortured out of his senses. " Greater than 
 
 Wallace ! You little d d idiot — are ye a thing with a 
 
 brain at all ? Or is it only a sham '? Keep out of my reach ! 
 Such a thing or fact as a hero greater than William Wallace of 
 Scotland, I defy the four corners of (Jfod's earth to show. To do 
 so, you'd need produce me a god in his prime, or a physical and 
 psyschologial human miracle, somewhat after the shape and 
 dimensions of the Grecian Myths. Greater than Wallace ; an 
 inconceivable possibility. No, Sam, I'll not hurt you, come here. 
 As a great man, Sam, and as a matchless inspirer and leader of 
 men, and as a patriot unflinching to the death, in\incible in all 
 fortunes, and as an almost superhumanly strong and powerful 
 champion of his country's cause, from first to last, and through 
 foul and fair, Wallace stands forth, first, and almost alone, upon 
 earth. A collossal figure — without flaw or stain — for all the 
 world to venerate and emulate, but which no country dare ever 
 expect to equal. I defy you, little Sam, I defy the whole pro- 
 geny of Adam, to point me out his peer." 
 
 In this e.x:cited strain he went on until we had left the sub- 
 url}s of the town behind us. Every word he uttered I instinc- 
 tively knew that he believed it to be true, in his deepest soul. 
 And I could not give the " lie," nor can I yet, to a single syllable 
 that he said. All history bears him out. Nothing that has ever 
 Vjeen brouirht atjainst Wallace can stand a moment before reason 
 and historical research. He is an entirely unique figure — an un- 
 blemished patriot — a matchless champion of liis country's liberty 
 and independence, a fit progenitor and hero of the; world- 
 renowned race who have succeeded him. 
 
 We were now out in the open country. " Sam," says the 
 Piper, calmer, but still with his eyes flashing, and his whole 
 countenance having the semVjlance of that of an inspired seer,
 
 198 LAYS A X U L !•: T T K U S. 
 
 " Sam ! there is St Ninians, and we are approaching the field of 
 Bannockburn itself. '^ini; to me your very boyish verses on 
 "Wallace — quick. T think they will do mo good— -I think they 
 will bring me down." I saw his great need, and therefore said, 
 " 1 shall. Piper. Stand. Your estimate of Wallace is my own, 
 and your spirit sliall inspire me — 
 
 A\' T L L I A i\r W A T. T. A C E 
 
 (Snnij to AuUI ami Graij). 
 
 They slew tliee~did they 1 Let it ])e ! 
 No more : it cannot be undone, 
 But, truly, could thy fate back run, 
 
 I would not wish one breath for thee. 
 
 The tyrant and the hero sleep — 
 Lift up thy heavens, God, on high. 
 Let light abound, let darkness die. 
 
 Let truth thy utmost confines keep. 
 
 The tyrant and the hero, then, 
 In equal, perfect justice show — • 
 The hendish lust — against the glow 
 
 Of truest, noblest love for men. 
 
 He, high beyond all factions, grew, 
 And, despite them, his purpose held. 
 Through petty turmoil, still unquell'd. 
 
 The hero rose — we see him now. 
 
 All power, the worldling's power, and gold. 
 To stoop and take were at his feet ; 
 Or, early death, defamed, to greet. 
 
 And let sure time his worth unfold. 
 
 And, all undoubting, death was ta'en. 
 Through torture and the traitor's free ! 
 O Wallace : never liberty. 
 
 For this forsakes our land again.
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPER." 199 
 
 " Bravo, Sam ! for a fourteen-year-old chip of a duinhe-wassel 
 and juvenile Lowland bardie, ye do not make me despair of 
 mankind. Maybe tliere is something below that Tam o' Shanter 
 o' yours yet. Second Sight where are ye 1 Here, here !" 
 
 " This is the Old Bore Stone. Into this was inserted, on 
 the morning of June 24th, 1314, the great lerrick tree flagstaff, 
 which again bore aloft and unfurled in broad day the huge and 
 grand azure banner with the lion rampant of Scotland — the tit 
 symbol truly of a warlike and an uncoiKjuerablc people. Ay ! 
 that is the Gillies' Hill Ijehind, St Ninians on the left and 
 Bannock burn on the right and nearly all round the field. 
 Randolph led the left wing, Douglas and the young Stewart the 
 centre ; Edward Bruce, and Keith, the Mareschal, led the right 
 wing, while the reserve, consisting of the Carrick and Argyle 
 men, was taken in tow by the Bruce himself. But, in the name 
 of goodness itself, who be these gentlemen, Sam, down there on 
 the bank ? They liave surely fallen out i and anotlier battle is 
 on the cards. Let us interfere and prevent further bloodshed 
 upon this already English blood-manured ground. This glorious 
 and hallowed lield should be held, by English, Irish, and Scotch 
 — l)y every true man and lover of liberty — sacred to peace and 
 secured freedom evermore. Hallo there! Hands off, hands off! 
 Cease, or I'll make both of you dree the race which thousands of 
 our fellow creatures ran one very warm day from this held in the 
 olden time with holes in their jerkins. In the name of outraged 
 manhood what is the matter f 
 
 The gentlemen whom the Piper thus accosted were two 
 strong men in the prime of life — an English pedlar from Leeds 
 and an Irish Roman Catholic schoolmaster, or preacher, from 
 Falkirk, and the subject of their dispute was Eth O'Connor, 
 chief of the Connaught Irishmen, who fought on the English 
 side at Jiann()ckl)urn. These two woithies had both come upon 
 the "field" on the same errand as ourselves — i.e., to visit and 
 to view with their own eyes the scene of such a remarkable ami
 
 200 LAYS A N I) L E T T K R S. 
 
 decisive encounter — two to seven — as the rival nations were 
 then comparable — as here befel in June 1314. 
 
 They had incidentally foregathered t)n the road leading to the 
 Bore Stone, some time before we overheard them, and had fallen 
 out over a dispute aVjout Eth O'Connor. It appeared tliat the 
 English packman — a very intelligent l)ut withal a tiery and 
 impetuous man, had arrogantly asserted that the Irish auxili- 
 aries had been the reverse of serviceable to the English soldiers, 
 for they, he declared, at an early stage of the battle, had become 
 panic-stricken, and had encumbered and confused their Southron 
 friends with their wild and disorderly behaviour. Father Paddy, 
 on the other hand, had fiercely denied this, and declared in return 
 that the exact opposite was just the truth, for the English bowmen 
 were the first to take to their heels, and if it had not been for 
 the Irish, who had been placed in the forefront of the battle, and 
 were consequently in the extreme rear in the retreat, the " mad 
 Scotchmen would have bate every Southron of them into ' hog's 
 hash ' — indade they would !" At this stage they were wrathfully 
 and menacingly pitted against each other when we approached 
 them, and even a Highland " Taishtr " (a reputed second-sighted 
 person), might not have foretold what would have happened had 
 not the gallant Piper so opportunely intervened. 
 
 Both disputants agreed to refer the matter to him, so, when 
 the packman from the town of Leeds had succinctly related to 
 us the special points of the quarrel, as above, the Piper says to 
 him, with admirable gravity — " Chapman, I demand, as the 
 mutually-constituted arbiter in this question — a question, to wit, 
 of enthralling interest and everlasting importance to your parts 
 of the United Kingdom — I demand to know your several autho- 
 rities, if you have any such, for saying what you have said, and 
 from you, likewise. Father Paddy, I have a similar request to 
 prefer. 
 
 " My authorities," quoth the southern pedlar readily, " are
 
 THE "piebald pipe r." 201 
 
 the historians of the period ; ' Barbour,' ' Foi'doun,' ' Rhymer's 
 Fedcedera,' ' English Chronicles,' ' Henry the Minstrel,' and uni- 
 versal tradition ever since, south of the Tweed." 
 
 " Ball," cried Father Paddy, " shure your historians just 
 wrote what wid cover their naked shame for loosing the battle. 
 A cushla machree. O'Brien himself saw it all and told his 
 brother Phelin, the cripple, and the great writer, and bedad there 
 it is down, nate and swate, to this day, in black an' white, in his 
 own iligant foine hand writing, in his beautiful histhory of the 
 Irish Wars. Now." "A history of the Irish Wars by a cripple 
 Irishman !" retorted with ineffable contempt his opponent. " A 
 cripple authority, indeed. Besides, lad, don't you know that 
 this was not an ' Irish War ' at all, but a straight-down up- right 
 tussle for the supremacy in Scotland ? Had it been an ' Irish 
 War,' all the Irish would have, without doubt, broken the heads 
 of each other before ever the real ' war ' began !" 
 
 ■"»" 
 
 " Och, be jabbers, give me no more of your blarney ?" fran- 
 tically screamed the pi'iest, " you're an ignorant scub of a man 
 entoirely. No sucking spalpeen of a motherless child would say 
 that a battle in which thousands of thrue Irishmen wor ingaged 
 wos not at all connicted wid the rale wars of the Irisli. Ban- 
 nockboorn here, was both a Scatch, an English, and an Irish 
 fight all at wanst, and at the same time — bad luck to yeez, for a 
 dirthy, slaverin', ignorant pedlar !" 
 
 " Do any of the English or Scotch historians of the battle," 
 rejoined the persistent packman, " in their several enumerations 
 and accounts of the slain, even make mention of the dead body 
 of a single individual son of St Patrick ? Never, Paddy, never. 
 Before the Scots got down to where they stood trembling yonder, 
 they were not there — every broth of a boy of them was rapidly 
 pursuing his way to the Firth of Clyde, where the cobble-boats — 
 mere hen-coops — which were to recarry them to their native 
 styes and bogs, were rumoured to be lying. And, no doubt, they
 
 202 , L A Y S A X D L K T T K U S. 
 
 ran so well that pursuit was seen to be useless. I believe myself 
 th.it not over fifty of your countrymen fell at Bannockburn — and 
 doubtless a full half of that number dropped down thi'ough sheer 
 terror. Eth O'Connor, behanged I" 
 
 "Now thin, you poor, paltry spalpeen stocking pedlar you, 
 you ignorant ajdiot, I'll condemn yeez wid your own witnesses. 
 Both Barbour and Fordoun, as well as tlu; F(uln'dera, and 
 Anderson's Nuviistmdo, T belave, all repe.atedly spak(i to the 
 splendid Irish undhcr the Earl of Ulster ; and the raison why 
 no Irish corpses were found afther the battle is bekase they 
 wouldn't die alongst the blackguard, unshriven Englishmen — 
 haythens — and may St Patrick and all the holy saints comfort 
 thim for it." The pedlar again advanced a step to answer this 
 last diabolic taunt, when the Piper sudd(!nly interceded, and 
 waved the olive branch betwixt the belligerents, in the colour 
 and form of his Athole brose horn, the first blessed sight of which 
 acted on the foemen as oil poured out in barrels does on the 
 troubled waters. 
 
 Both combatants were hushed in a moment. "Look here, 
 gentlemen," cried the Piper, " look here, this capacious horn is 
 tilled to the bung with the best, ay, the most delicious, with 
 that most delicious national beverage commonly called Athole 
 brose, and it is of my own manufacturing, and therefore I can 
 assure you both of its reality. Retire with me and this little 
 lad to the Bore Stone, and one or two applications at this magic 
 horn by each of you will reconcile everything. What I propose 
 is, that we all instantly retire to the old flag stone and pree a 
 jorum of this exquisite brose all round, in the doing of which I 
 will deliver to you my humble judgment on the merits of your 
 late unfortunate disagreement. AVliat say you, my friends ?" 
 The Yorkshire chapman, the Irish dominie or priest, and the 
 Scottish ballad-singer, having severally assented to this invita- 
 tion, they marched with the Piper at their head to the stone- 
 like Free Masons in procession.
 
 T II K " P I K B A L D PIPE R." 203 
 
 " Father Paddy," solemnly began the Piper, after we had 
 taken up our appointed places, " Father Paddy, we are going to 
 drink this foaming quaigh to the prosperity and glory of Ould 
 Ireland — the beautiful, green Erin — may she ever be green and 
 beautiful, your beloved native land. And now when we have 
 done this, we will rehll and drink the self-same toast, with all 
 honours imaginable, to great and merry Old England, and kindly, 
 bold and brave, and true Auld Scotland — the land of common 
 sense, bagpipes, and Athole brose. What do you say ?" " And 
 the land of Free Kirks and sectional disturbances." " No more of 
 that, 8am. Now then, we shall till once more and drink, hand- 
 in-hand, to the eternal and indissoluble union of this matchless 
 tripartite — the Red, the White, and the Blue — England, Scot- 
 land, and Ireland With regard, gentlemen, to your late terrivee, 
 why, it was merely a wordy one, and there let the matter end^ — 
 make it not a " swordy " one. My own opinion is, that (keep 
 quiet, Sam,) you were both partly wrong and partly right. No 
 doubt. Father Paddy, many of your countrymen fell at ]3annock- 
 burn. No doubt of that. I have no doubt of that whatever, 
 myself ; but you needn't bewail them now, they are all dead, 
 and, besides, they had no business to be here that day. At the 
 same time, pedlar, you were correct in saying that many of them 
 ran away. If you had stretched your imagination wide enough to 
 have embraced your own countrymen also, you still would have 
 been rigidly and indubitably correct. In fact running away from 
 here, gentlemen, on the twenty-fourth of June in the year 
 1314 was an ordinary occurrence. Many people witnessed 
 the fact, and some of these people put an instant stop to the 
 stampede by cutting the runaways in two with scythes and what 
 not, and shearing the limbs and heads from others. In fact, 
 gentlemen, from this starting stone whereon I now stand took 
 place on the day I mcntioncid the greatest race that this world 
 has ever seen yet. The Welsh i-an, the Irish ran, tho, English 
 ran, and the sympathetic Scots followed their example and i-an 
 after them. The Scots, being fresh, though after long years of 
 tui moil and privation and unspeakable other calamities, naturally
 
 204 LAYS AND L K T T K li S. 
 
 overtook many of their sweating, fat Southron friends, and 
 saluted them in the then military fashion by feelingly touching 
 their vital parts with the handy claymore or battle axe of that 
 time. Such was the retreat of the Soutliroiis from, and such 
 was the great courtesy of the Scots at, Bannockburn on the 2-ith 
 of June 1314. Let us thank the Lord foi' all his mercies. The 
 Scotch gave that night free lodgings to many, many tliousands of 
 weaiy, world-tired men. To men, too, who came t(» ])lundei', and 
 murder, and ravish, and enslave them. No wonder that 
 from here the running away fever became epidemic even amongst 
 the quadrupeds present. Uut, alas ! it is a melancholy and well- 
 established fact that a horse — a noble charger — bolted from here 
 with a daring royal jockey astride him, and could not be reined 
 in until he dropped dead close to the sicU; of a herring boat at 
 Dunbar — sixty miles fi-om the field. The boat, howev(;r, proved 
 very convenient, as the young prince was going to rejoin his 
 relatives in England anyway, and for a golden fee the obliging 
 boatmen were induced to hasten southward with all speed. The 
 horse, gentlemen, as I said, died of this running off distemper. 
 It is a catastrophe to be lamented evermore ; but many many 
 more of the creatures of the earth partook that day of a similar 
 fate. Curious coincidence, gentlemen. The king, who so bravely 
 pulled up the runaway steed at Dunbar in order to get ofi' and 
 lighten its back, said, as it flung its legs astride in the last agony, 
 ' He was a clever beast, but it got its reward while it lived by 
 having the immeasurable honour conferred on it of having been 
 ridden to death by a king.' Don't frown, pedlar — tit for tat you 
 know." 
 
 " One word more, and especially in your ear, Paddy. It is 
 so manifestly favourable for all the various interests, both actual 
 and conceivable, of all these islands, British and Irish, that they 
 should be united politically and legislatively in one grand 
 brotherhood, and ruled by one Impei'ial Government, that I will 
 not detain you by urging it. It is right that a noble people 
 should love and cherish its history — when that history is worthy
 
 THE " P I K B A L D PIP E K." 205 
 
 of being cherished, — but I think that this should only be done 
 by civilised nations in the same way that a full-grown man may 
 look back upon the years, and deeds and ways of his early youth. 
 The time when it was excusable that we should, like healthy 
 boys, be pitched at loggerheads against each other, has long gone 
 past, and may now he described as the period of the thoughtless 
 boyhood of the United Kingdom. " Wee Scoty " did wonders 
 at Stirling Bridge, and here, and on many another blood-stained 
 field — ten thousand fields — " Little Jolinny Bull " did well every- 
 where, and especially in France, where he won his spurs, and at 
 Falkirk and Flodden. Wild, scrand)ling young Pat, did — ah — 
 well, through no fault entirely of liis own — his best, and often 
 got tripped up and cufl'ed ! But what about that 1 Young 
 Ireland, when engaged with his brothers, has everywhere, and at 
 all times, approved himself a lad of calibre. Besides, gentlemen, 
 and what is far more, the softest fellow, as a fighting boy, that I 
 knew at the High School in Edinburgh, has grown up and made 
 himself famous as a man of genius and an artist, and through his 
 own unaided exertions has acquired a large fortune, although he 
 is yet considerably less than sixty years of age. May Ireland 
 not do similarly 1 If she does, Paddy, (to change the gender), 
 depend upon it none will be prouder of it than her two sisters. 
 Do not preach estrangement or separation, I pray you, if you 
 really desire the welfare of your native Isle. Separation now is 
 an impossibility — sheer, in every direction ; but were it to 
 become a realised fact in the case of Ireland, that fact, gentle- 
 men, and the day on which that fact became one, would at once 
 both be the blackest of all the lilackest truths and days that 
 ever yet Ireland saw. 
 
 " Now, good bye, gentlemen, we must part. I have to take 
 home this laddie ; he might lose himself alone, and he wants a 
 sook ! We will call you up at Falkii-k, Fatlier Paddy, and, mind 
 you, I'm not done with you yet ! What, pedlar, ai'e you bound 
 for Stirling? Then hook on to us we'll tow you to a haven of 
 rest and plenty — eh, littUi Sain? Ta-ta, again, Paddy! Three
 
 wOC) I. A Y S A X I) I, l', T '1' 1", H S. 
 
 cheers for the Red, White, and l>lue — now and for eveiiuoic 
 inextrieal)ly amalgamated ajul coiijoiiK'd I" 
 
 All my own thoughts on tliis celebrated battle field, T have 
 purposely kept to myself in the meantime. On going down the 
 brae, the Pipei' was veiy (juict, and solemn at first, l)u( he sud- 
 denly stopped me and the Englishmen, and said, " Sam ? I am 
 no prophet of the future, 1 never pretendfnl to be that. lUit, 
 my little boy, look around you — what a country this is I A 
 country of great men, great doings, and mighty works ! 8ani, 
 see ye out yonder by Aberdour on the Fife side ?" " Yes," I 
 answered, "line, Piper, what aboot it?'' "Little Sam I a thing 
 will be done in yonder direction in a few years, that will astonish 
 all the earth. A bridge will be built from shore to shore, 
 over which railway trains will run 1 Yes, Sam — I have seen 
 it, as we were coming down the hill !" [These prophetic words 
 were spoken to me by the Piper, on Saturday the tifth day of 
 August, in the year 1854. — S.M.]
 
 SIXTH L E T T E R. 
 
 Last Day with the Piper, i^-c. 
 
 Does't "shock thy tender soul ta see 
 The gooO and true to ruin shied, 
 While up life's sunny heights descried 
 
 The false and vile mount fast and free ?" 
 Ah ! lad, this is but seeming ill, 
 The fatDest land's at foot o' hill. 
 
 " fSome whiles by thundeibolts to earth 
 Are struck ; by ruthless engines some 
 Are crushed, or torn limb from limb ; 
 
 Many are mained, or blind from birth. 
 And countless creatures their life long 
 Endure the pain of others' wrong. 
 
 "With purposed wrong and accident. 
 War, famine, massacre, disease. 
 And ignorance — chief cause of these— 
 
 This world's way is darkly pent !'" 
 But even, with these full in thine eye, 
 Can'st thou no god but chance descry ? 
 
 8. M. 
 
 On tlie Monday morning, after our Saturday's visit to Bannock- 
 burn, the Piper and 1 left Stirling and parted in the churchyard, 
 which lies at the southern outskirts of the town. Alas, this 
 parting was to be our final one. A\'e had arranged to join com- 
 pany again two months afterwards, to a day, at " Auld Alloway 
 Kirk," in Ayrshire. I liad tlicii doiic all the country north of 
 the Firths of Forth and Clyde, ;ind what still remained for me to 
 perambulate and minstrelise was the southern portion of Cale-
 
 208 LAYS A X I) L K '1' T K K S. 
 
 doni;i, comprising the counties of Lanark, Renfrew, Ayr, the West 
 and East (lalloways, Dumfries, Peebles, Selkirk, Roxburgh, Rer- 
 wick, and then, hai'king back, via the Tweed and the upper dis- 
 trict of Mid-Lothian, and Rathgate, into Linlithgow, and, finally, 
 straight as an arrow's flight through the heart of Mid-Lothian, 
 back, for " guid an' a'," to bonny and beloved Clover Riggs. The 
 Piper informed me, sorrowfully, that he had an unavoidable 
 engagement within three days in Edinburgh — that meet it he 
 must — and hinted that it was connected with a projected medical 
 examination of and consultation about some organic complaint he 
 had. 
 
 He stated also that he would embrace the opportunity of 
 being in Edinburgh and learn if nothing could be done for his 
 famous speckled beard, and added that he would not lose such a 
 chance for a dukedom. "How is that?" I asked, curious 
 beyond measure to know, and, after some hesitation, this astound- 
 ing reply came from him in return — " I don't mind telling you, 
 Sam, for you possess the feck of my secrets already. It is 
 because then (will you believe it 1) I cannot any longer endure 
 the impertinent and vulgar staring, and the heartless, brutal, 
 jibes, and would-be philosophical comments of the tamie-nories I 
 encounter daily in my musical peregrinations and public mode 
 of life." Had the earth opened at my feet, and Robinson Crusoe 
 and his man Friday issued in full rig from the hole, I could not 
 have been more perplexed and dumfoundered than I was on 
 hearing (from the Piper, of all men) this amazing and lamentable 
 reply. Before shaking hands and bidding adieu ftjr such a 
 lengthy spell of time, we lingered long and fondly by each other, 
 and eventually sat us down upon a grassy bank by the roadside, 
 when and where this unfathomable being abruptly, seriously, and 
 solemnly inquired of me — " Whether I had reflected much at 
 anytime on the subject of physique and personal appearance." 
 I answered readily enough that of course I had never yet done 
 so extensively, specifically, or deeply, although at the same time 
 in my own heart I knew too well I had mused for months
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPE R." 209 
 
 together upon the form and face of a certain shy little nameless 
 lassie in East Lothian. Her personal appearance I had without 
 doubt reflected on, and this I slyly hinted to the Piper. " Hold, 
 Sam, insinuate no nonsense. I was never more absolutely 
 serious in my life. Sit still, I wish to talk to you earnestly for 
 five minutes on this matter. You will guess my reasons after- 
 wards. 
 
 " Douglas Jerrold tells the tale of a young man who was 
 doomed to tramp this weary pilgrimage of life with a hump on 
 his back, and who, whenever his deformity was jeered at exult- 
 ingly, laughed back in the face of his tormentor — ' Thank God 
 for my back.' This was, logically, equivalent to the young man's 
 acceptance and preference of evil before good. But nobody can 
 believe that — if the youth was sane — he really and truly ex- 
 pressed his earnest thought in his cynical rejoinder. Were 
 mankind, little Sam, arrived at that paradisiacal millenium 
 which Shelley loved so much to dream of and idealise in his 
 divine poetry — were the whole race, answering the irrepressible 
 cravings of world-wide sympathy, the undying yearnings of 
 earth's noblest philanthropic souls, to recognise each unit of 
 humanity as a fellow unit, a neighbour link in the great cable of 
 universal brotherhood, then, and only then, might the poor 
 maimed aliens look for justice at the hands of their more 
 physically fortunate fellow mortals. At present, by the sad 
 accident, it may be, of a lame foot, an injured eye, a 
 faulty back, a twisted nose, or a parti-coloured beard even, 
 they are pitilessly condemned Ijy tlio vast majority 
 of all classes — despite what mental greatness or moral worth 
 they may possess — to expiate their unmerited and inevitable 
 misfortunes at the drag wheels of society, where scorn — often 
 scorn of the Ijitterest — is not infrequently the only award of 
 merit, and where, to them, jeers and jibes, and beastly unfeeling 
 laughter, are the attendants of publicity." " But, my dear 
 Piper, certes this is a muckle owre-drawn statement. I canna 
 believe that a man, because he may — througli accident, or even 
 
 P
 
 -10 L A V S A\U L !•; T T K U S. 
 
 'natural malformation,' have a lame or distorted feature, or a 'pic- 
 bald ' baird even — that he is open to, or is in reality ever the 
 recipient o' such barbarous cruelties at the hands of his fellows as 
 ye hae spoken o'. JJyron an' Scott, for insincc, were baith the 
 grand twa o' them ' lamitors,' yet they enjoy, and shall, for ten 
 thoosand years to come, a world-widj raipitaishin, and a huiuler 
 ither insinces cood be gi'en to pruve that yer praisint state- 
 ments ai'e far, \ery far, frae the lising acktiality, an' that they 
 are, in fack, only the bitter, fause, morl)id cogitations in 
 words o' a maybe owre-tine strung mind an' nature, induced 
 by aixcessive brooding on its ain peculiar bodily fauts an' 
 flaws. Is that na sae. Piper '( Man, Piper, believe me, youi' 
 tortoise-shelled baird is yer greatest physical glory ! Cheer up !" 
 " Sam, with my whole heart and soul, in union witli my mind, I 
 believe that there is something in you. If I did not, I would not 
 sit talking to you as I am doing now — to you, a suckling, a mere 
 boy. Well little Sam ! two or three years ago, your sentiments 
 were mine too ; but sad, sad, experience has blown them fi-om me 
 beyond the moon. I care nothing for myself — no common or 
 unconnuon man can hurt — or even toucli for that matter — the 
 imperturable Piper, when once he has his all-sufficing, all-protect- 
 ing philosophic mantle wound around him. He is more secure 
 then the rhinoceros in his hide, or the hedge-hog in his armour of 
 spears. But, some day, little Sam, you will be a scribbler — I 
 think you will, and I want you should take up the literary 
 cudgels in behalf of these poor outcasts, these hapless ostracised 
 wounded ones, and induce your brethren at least to mingle pity 
 with their judgment of them." " Piper, you surpi'ise me, mair 
 an' mair, Tell me wliat you want, and I'll ride the air on a 
 broomstick to attain it f " I want you to listen attentively in 
 the meantime, and to use your own eyes and thinking faculties 
 afterwards, and the thing is as good as done. 
 
 " Byron," said the Piper, " no doubt, wrote poetry, and lie 
 had a lame foot — yet the universal voice of the civilised world 
 lifted him to nearly the very summit of fame (how tame are the
 
 211 
 
 ojreatest bards of our day to him !), and there he still sits, and 
 will sit until the foot in question — which gave him so much care 
 and sorrow — is a grain of dust strewn by the idle wind. But, 
 mark you, and this is the whole question — what might not 
 Byron have been had his foot not been lame ? In the right 
 answer to this query, I opine, lies the true reply, and the indis- 
 putable evidence of the argument of this way-side crack of ours, 
 namely, that physical defect is commonly and inhumanly made a 
 barrier in the way to public pre-eminence and usefulness." 
 
 "Piper," I here interjected in spite of him, "you are 
 assailing an adamantine rock ! What is, must be, it is in 
 human nature, and canna be uprooted." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," he rejoined, quite calmly, and lighting 
 his pipe, after kissing fervently the Athole horn, " not a bit of it." 
 It is simply a remnant of the old savagery. Take Pope — he was 
 very little — small — but much deformed in person. No doubt he 
 also attained despite his fearful external hindrances, to great 
 reputation in the poetic tield ; but suppose for a moment that he 
 had been no poet at all, l>ut say still a Ijorn genius, with great 
 faculties and mental capabilities of an oratorical kind. What 
 then ? Do you imagine, you little fool, that with his terrible 
 physical failings, he would have been allowed to benefit mankind 
 one jot ? His God-given powers, in such a case, would only have 
 been as the embodied sublimity of farce. Although in verity a 
 second Demosthenes, he would inevitably have succumbed to 
 ignorant and heartless I'idicule, and died without even being able 
 to enter that rookery of British Magpies, the House of Commons. 
 No, Sana, no spoken orations, however eloquent and excellent in 
 themselves, would have gone down with the flippant, frivolous 
 masses of this country, had they been uttered by a Pope. He 
 might have been, perhaps, l)rilliant in the editorial sanctum, or 
 reigned in the reporter's crib, but on the public platform his 
 genius, by the mildew of a false ridicule, would inevitably have 
 been blighted in the early braird.
 
 212 LAYS AND LETTERS. 
 
 "I am very far from contending that all bodily deficiencies 
 are made drawbacks on the road to fame — and therefore inimical 
 to the good of the world. Often, indeed, they are the very 
 reverse. When they immediately excite our pity, or directly 
 appeal to our sympathies, they are so. It is only when the 
 imperfections awaken feelings of silly mockery and raillery that 
 they become an obstacle. A blind man on a public rostrum will 
 incite ' encores ' by saying something which his open-eyed fellow 
 would think himself well repaid by drawing closer the attention 
 of the audience with. A deaf mute is the fondling of his neigh- 
 bourhood ; every bar to his physical or intellectual enjoyment or 
 advancement is eagerly removed. No cloud, but the dark one 
 that shadows his destiny, and which cannot be dissolved, is 
 allowed to obstruct his pathway here below. And all this is as 
 it should be. But what is the lot of the poor devil whose want 
 or peculiarity, induces the spectator to loathe or laugh 1 Alas ! 
 Alas ! ! 
 
 " Though his grasp of mind be as gigantic as east to west, 
 though his heart be as pure as the fountain of heavenly charity 
 itself — welling ceaselessly forth all-sustaining pity over the 
 never-ending woes of humanity ; and though his battles and 
 life-long struggles against the evils and enemies of his kind, 
 border on the superhuman — no matter, Samson every public 
 street and turnpike he will be leered at like a donkey, mocked 
 and taunted by the ignorant (and often by the learned likewise), 
 in every resort of men and women, taken for a ' ninny ' — a pigmy 
 — or a rank stark barbarian at large. In company, however 
 select, he will be kept in the background, cowed by fools and 
 brainless fops, shunned by all, or nearly all, the 'women-kind,' 
 made the butt of many a ribald and thoughtless joke, and be 
 doomed to roam around as the living show, and animated wonder 
 on two legs, of the juveniles ; and be forced down as the asso- 
 ciate of old maids, decayed cousins, and the vulgar and the 
 illiterate. Yet you would ask me, little Sam, ' what is a mere 
 bodily defect?' They alone know what it is who have been 
 cursed with one."
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPER." 213 
 
 " Piper," I said, when he had halted a moment to draw 
 breath, " Piper, I ne'er thocht on't this way before. Oh, excuse 
 me ! To hear ye talk wi' sich a force and fluency, and apparent 
 sincerity, ane wad think ye had come through the 'curse' heid 
 an' feet yersel'. But this canna be, for arena ye a strappin', 
 handsome John Highlandman 1 an arena ye a little morbid on 
 yer momentous baird ? What a poet, what a dramatist, ye must 
 in fack and reality be. Piper." 
 
 " All I have told you," he resumed, " I leariaed through my 
 beard, but I have also ruminated much on this matter. If the 
 personal maim, or scar, or whatever it is, be an ugly one, to 
 some in certain paths of life it is fatal, and to all it is always 
 far more than what the thoughtless revilers conceive, or, I am 
 persuaded, contemptible nothings, as most of those revilers are, 
 they would cease in a great measure to vent their poor, poor 
 monkey squeaks and hiccuppings at the sad misfortunes of their 
 kind — their often immeasurable superiors, fifty times to one ! 
 But this is a truth, Sam, and a glorious though sad one — ■ 
 
 ' The poor, oppressed honest man 
 Had never sure been born, 
 Had'st there not been some recompense 
 To comfort those that mourn.' 
 
 "It is sad, little Sam, because the recompense the poet 
 alluded to is death ; and yet its application extends to every son 
 of Adam. It is something for the maimed to know that the 
 vast majority of their revilers, even though in other respects it 
 be a galling fact, are illiterate and heartless nonentities, and that, 
 in the language of Charity, ' they know not what they do.' 
 Were a man always what his outward semblance predicated or 
 indicated him to be, no reasoning could for one moment justify 
 or excuse scurrility ; and the ridiculed, supposing him to be a 
 blockhead, has really far more to jeer at in his assailer than the 
 other in him. But he can't sec it, and therefore I fear he must 
 just gape and giggle among tlio little children and his brother
 
 214 L A Y S A N 1) I, K T T F, H S. 
 
 idiots. Shoo ! contemptible friddlcs. They would really not 
 be worth wasting words on, but for the incalculable amount of 
 pain which their unfeeling conduct creates. 
 
 "T would It'll thousand times prefer a great or good soul, 
 acc()iiipani(>(l with all tli(> physical deformity and monstrosity 
 that ever distigured or made hideous mankind, than a fine hand- 
 some body, encasing an unfeeling heart or a silly, weak brain. 
 For what arc the jibes or jeers of even whole multitudes, to a 
 snug, impregnable philosopher ? Bosh, bosh ! 
 
 " Sam, meditate deeply on wliat I have said. We part 
 soon. Don't cry, my little lad — pass with ]ne into this many- 
 tombed churchyard, for it is there 1 wish to bid you good-bye 
 for the present. I brought you here on purpose. We have 
 vowed to meet each other again, tJiis day two inonths, by the far 
 renowned ruin of Alloway's ' Auld haunted Kirk.' From that 
 hallowed spot, if all goes well, we will resume in company our 
 beautiful Scottish wanderings. But, oh, dear, little Sam, ye wat 
 weel how the Piper lo'es ye, and Ivt that comfort ye, my dear 
 little laddie. I had purposed to unbosom myself to you ere we 
 parted at this time and place, but this I have discovered to be 
 unwise, in fact, out of the question at present. My reasons will 
 fully satisfy you when you learn them, be assured of that. In 
 one sentence I could divulge, or rather strip and abandon myself 
 of every shred and stitch of mystery, and stand forth before you, 
 divested of all secrecy, the actual and undeniable gentleman, the 
 ' Piper,' truly as he is, before your longing and astonished eyes, 
 but I really dare not do so yet, Sam — T dare not do so yet. 
 However, should we never meet again, for death and other things 
 come unlocked for sometimes, Sam." (Oh, how little did I dream, 
 when listening to those last words, that the truth of them was 
 to be so soon verified by the fate of the speaker himself.) " I 
 shall take care th<at you are, in due and proper time and season, 
 fully apprised of my secret ; but what, in the name of all the 
 gods, is that dog doing?
 
 T II K " P I F, B A LI) PIPE R.*' 21.^) 
 
 " There is surely something seriously deranged about him — 
 perhaps it's his stamack. But why is he whining and wailing 
 in that manner f " Oh, Piper," I sorrowfully answered, " it's 
 no his stamack — there naething wrang wi' his stamack — it's as 
 teucli an' strong as your Athole brose horn. It's his hairt. I 
 ken him tine. He jalooses, somehoo, that you are gaun awa' — 
 that we are gaun to pairt — because he kens weel that ye hae 
 been mair than a second faither to his maister, the brute's oot o' 
 his wits wi' grief." 
 
 " Hang it ! I never beheld such a dog before. He is as 
 trusty-scented and faithful as Bran, the dog of Fingal, himself. 
 I declare I love every hair in his tail — such a tail as it is. It 
 even beats my beard. But speak to him, and don't let him howl 
 so. It doesn't seem too seemly in a churchyard. That's it — hush 
 Second Sight. Now, Sam, pursue your noble, self-given task 
 honestly and fearlessly (I'll rejoin you in two months) and your 
 reward will assuredly follow. I depart also upon a self-appointed 
 work — a very painful one — a work in the doing or enduring of 
 which I must perforce expose myself to dangers grave — dangers 
 of life and liml). But do not be afraid, I account myself as 
 nothing." I was too ill to answer, and so I said nothing. 
 
 " This is the spot where we will shake hands. Under our 
 feet direct repose the ashes of a fine young gentleman — a great 
 friend of mine — one almost as dear to me as yourself, not so dear 
 little Sam, but very near it, and one who had, iu literal truth, 
 not a single enemy upon earth. He ' accidentally ' lost life at 
 the age of twenty-one, liy tlio I)urstiiig of the l)oiler of a little 
 steam engine — his own construction. Before we part allow me 
 to read to you a rough and rude ryhme, which I made for my 
 own satisfaction on my lirst visit to his tomb here, a few years 
 ago. Although rude, of course, little Sam, it indicates my best 
 and deepest thought upon the mattei's of which it treats : —
 
 216 LAYS AND L E T T E U S. 
 
 AT THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG FRIEND WHO 
 WAS ACCIDENTALLY KILLED. 
 
 He's dead, this is his grave ! Is then 
 This a' we ken ? Oh, T would ken, 
 In very fact, if thus my frien' 
 
 Shall pass away ? 
 And here life's wondrous process en' — 
 
 In kirkyard clay ? 
 
 In painful fancy, all intent, 
 
 From birth and upwards, stent by stent, 
 
 I trace thy strange " developement," 
 
 'To manhood's size ; 
 When — world of wonder — death is sent. 
 And here thou lies ! 
 
 Are then thy twenty years in vain ? 
 Thy tender parents' care and pain 1 
 Thy hard won lear 1 — all life inane. 
 
 Or as a feast, 
 At close o' Avhilk, death yawns " Amen," 
 
 And sleeps the rest ? 
 
 Conjointly with thy brains alway, 
 
 I trace thy soul's growth, day by day ; 
 
 Now, here that brain, compact of clay, 
 
 Death-struck, dissolves. 
 But \^iilere that soul itself 1 — away 
 
 'Yond our resolves. 
 
 Is aught in Nature a vain boast 1 
 
 Is aught in Nature ever lost? 
 
 Have not all things a purpose — most 
 
 Even seen by man 1 
 Where, then, is thine 1 not here death cross'd 
 
 Ere life's mid-span.
 
 THE "PIEBALD PIPER." 217 
 
 In a' the works an' ways of God, 
 
 Discern'd alang life's devious road, 
 
 I thought — poor worm — injustice showed 
 
 In much I saw ; 
 Deceived, by lack of power, to prod 
 
 His simplest law. 
 
 In a' we really understand — 
 
 Grains dropp'd from Nature's secret hand — 
 
 What wisdom, measureless, an' grand, 
 
 Astounds our view ; 
 Proclaiming love's supreme command, 
 
 A' Nature through. 
 
 *rt' 
 
 Then, can this tomb the finale be, 
 O' a pure being — such as thee 1 
 If't can — in thy sad death I see 
 
 The rule despotic. 
 Of chance, mishap, and destiny — • 
 
 Blind, mad, chaotic. 
 
 It may be — I care not if 'tis — 
 The fact that, whether woe or bliss, 
 The Ego finds in warlds than this 
 
 (As here, indeed,) 
 For her a form corporeal is 
 
 The first grand need. 
 
 What then, ye dull, material core 
 May not the Power that, from a spore, 
 Developed man, develope more — 
 
 Than ye discern 1 
 Can ye wi' thy peep-glass explore 
 
 The all eterne 1 
 
 Nae mair ! Here on thy grave, dear lad, 
 I'll wail thy fate, sae seeming sad. 
 While deepest thought, the deeper haud, 
 
 With faith in me, 
 Gives to my heai-t assurance glad 
 
 'Tis well with thee ! 
 
 Wail on, thou dear December win' 
 Fa' doun, mirk nicht, an' close within
 
 '216 LAYS A X 1) L K T T K li S. 
 
 Thy blackest pall this warld o' sin ! 
 
 Di^ath ])eds and j^'ravos ! 
 What reck we, gin we ken there's ane 
 
 Wha sees an' saves ? 
 
 Sam, on this spot, on this grave we part ! Mind you to meet 
 again. This day two months, on Auld Alloway's auld haunted 
 brig, T will meet you sure. Dear little Sam, don't cry so. 
 The Piper and you are not going to part. Far from it ! Far 
 from it ! Hold up your head ! Now, brave little Sam, let me 
 see what a gallant little lad you are. That's it ! Dry your eyes, 
 the Piper is only going to Edinburgh ; and will be back before 
 his little callant has sung Iiis way through Galloway. And when 
 we meet, little Sam, we will meet as they do in the Happy Land 
 — ' never to part no more !' " 
 
 And so we parted. I went west, and he went east to Edin- 
 burgh, where in due time he was operated upon by Professor 
 Syme for his ailment. That operation he soon recovered from, 
 and daily almost he sent me telegrams, relative to his health, 
 and other matters. By this time, I was well aware of his social 
 rank and importance. The reason for his assumption of the 
 lowly role of an itinerating Piper, was a very romantic one. 
 
 What I otherwise know of the " Piebald Piper," I dare not 
 yet divulge. But, long, long years afterwards, I came to learn 
 that he was a chieftain, who, having fallen in love with a 
 beauteous young lady, a year or so after the death of his tii-st 
 wife, (the Whittinghame Shrew), wagered or bargained witli 
 another young chief — who was also spooney upon her, that he 
 would have her, on condition that he (the Piper) for seven years 
 maintained himself as a wandering musician, and planted yearly 
 into the National Bank the sum of £500 sterling, as his 
 exclusive earnings from the manipulation (jf the Highland bag- 
 pipes. 
 
 Of course, I regret exceedingly that T cannot disclose more 
 fully the personality of this truly remarkable man, because he
 
 219 
 
 was closely connected with people of the " upper ten," whom 
 even to name or allude to, would assuredly be considered in me 
 an impertinence. 
 
 On the day following the one mutually appointed by us for 
 our re-union at Alloway Kirk, I received the following telegram 
 in Ayr, while sitting eating my supper : — 
 
 " Leith. Found dead on shore. Man with spotted beard. 
 Had in breast pocket letter addressed — ' To Samuel Muckle- 
 backit, at his lodgings. Burn's Tavern, Ayr. (Immediate.)' " 
 
 ^Yith the next post came the letter, which had^been found 
 in the pocket of the corpse. 
 
 I did not sleep that night. I did not sleep the next night. 
 After that I slept for two weeks without waking in the infirmary 
 of Glasgow. My chief trouble was " the want of something " — 
 I did not know what, in the wild sea of fever. Gradually I 
 came ashore aarain to life and consciousness — more horrible than 
 tongue can tell. Where was the Piper 1 " He was dead " — was 
 he 1 Then I would be " dead " too. Be beside him. I would go 
 and fall down before an advancing expi'ess train. 
 
 But would the Piper approve this 1 Would it not seem to 
 him the act of a coward thus to fly the grief of his death ? I 
 was torn in twenty ways with sorrow simultaneously, and did 
 not know scarcely what I was doing. But as the Piper, I knew 
 instinctively, would have me do, I said finally — " I will live, and 
 do his commands.'' He told me often and often about Wallace 
 and all the other grand Scottish charactei'S, and he always said 
 at the hinder end — "Little Sam, how .splendid do fliey look. 
 Go you, my lad, and do, or try to do, like them." 
 
 But the Piper was dead. Slowly, very slowly, 1 became 
 able in the Infirmary to stand on my feet, and shortly after that
 
 220 'LAYS A X n r, v. t t k n s. 
 
 to creep and totter back to East Lothian, where, after the 
 
 expiration of about another year, I was at k;ngth pronounced 
 
 strong enough to be permitted outside as far as the pump before 
 
 the back kitchen door. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The manner of the "taking off" of the heroic "Piebald Piper " 
 was very simple, but, like himself, abrupt, startling, and tragic. 
 He had been, as stated, under Professor Syme, as a patient, l)y 
 whom he was prescribed to take (after the operation performed) 
 as much sea air as he could possibly have. Then the Piper had 
 nothing to do before keeping his appointment with me at the 
 Brig o' Doon, other than follow his eminent surgeon's hints. So 
 every day he went down to Newhaven, thence walked to. Leith, 
 and drove home to Edinburgh. 
 
 On the last day of his life he was sauntering down Leith- 
 wards, opposite Trinity Road, when all at once his further pro- 
 gress was arrested by the cries of a boy in the water. The lad 
 was evidently fast drowning. The Piper saw this, and, despite 
 the weak condition of his health, without a moment's hesitation 
 dashed into the sea, and got hold of the child, but as he was 
 swimming back with it to land he was suddenly seized with 
 cramp, and both he and the little boy perished. Much fuss and 
 palaver at the time were made about it in the public prints, and 
 countless were the conjectures hazarded as to his identity, but 
 the great majority of the writers agreed that he was a gentleman 
 belonging to the great Highland family — and in this they were 
 rigidly correct. Further, in every respect he was to all those 
 who knew him well, and could fathom and appreciate him, a 
 natural born philosopher and poet ; and as such, and as a hero 
 who was accidentally cut off' before he had become famous, the 
 " Piebald Piper " will be remembered evermore. To them, at 
 least, his fame will be as eternal as that of either " Blind Harry " 
 or " Thomas the Rhymer." 
 
 Finis.
 
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