3 1822 01337 2727 presented to the UNIVERSITY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO by Mrs. Griff ing Bancroft PR 5837 Ni 1881 3 1822 01337 2727 :GCT PR NOCTES AMBROSIAM BY CHRISTOPHER NORTH (PROF. JOHN WILSON) SELECTED, EDTTED, AND ARRANGED BT JOHN SKELTON, ADVOCATE NEW YORK JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 150 WORTH STREET, CORNER MISSION PLACE XPII A'EN STMHOSIQ KTAIKCN riEPINISSOMENAQN IIAEA KJ2TIAAONTA KA9HMENON OINOnOTAZEIN. PHOC. ap. Ath [This is a distich by wise old Phocy tides, An ancient who wrote crabbed Greek in no silly days ; Meaning, " 'TIS BIGHT FOR GOOD WINE-BIBBING PEOPLE, NOT TO LET THE .IUG PACE ROUND THE BOAKD LIKE A CRIPPLE J BUT GAILY TO CHAT WHILE DISCUSSING THEIR TIPPLE." An excellent rule of I he hearty old cock'tis A H.I a very fit motto to put to our AW/rs.l (J. N. ap. .tml* DRAMATIS PERSONS. CHRISTOPHER NORTH. THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. TIMOTHY TICKLER. THE ENGLISH OPIUM-EATEK. COLONEL CYRIL THORNTON. MULLION, A Gentleman from the West. DULLER, An Englishman. THE REGISTRAR. AMBROSE, Mine Host. NATHAN GDRNEY, the Reporter for the " Noclet? Mus. GENTLE, a Widow. Miss GENTLE. BRONTE, a veteran Newfoundlander. O'BRONTE, a young Newfoundlander. A Gat, a Parrot, a Starling, a Raven, fyc. The Jug. TAPPYTOORIE, PICARDY, SIR DAVID GAM, KINO PEPIK, and others, Servants to AaumosE. The Scenes are laid at Ambrose s Tavern in Edinburgh ; Buchanan Lodge, on the Firth of Forth ; St. Mary's Loch the Ettrick Forest, and elsewhere. THE CONTENTS. THE INTRODUCTION, . L /n tcAicfi Christopher North, Timothy Tickler, and the Ettrick Shepherd are introduced to the reader, ... 1 II. In which Tickler narrates his experiences at Dalnacardoch, . 15 III. In the Blue Parlor, ... .30 IV. In which the Shepherd usurps the Editorial chair, . . 41 V. In which the Shepherd routs Mullion, ... 67 VL In which the Shepherd assists at an Incremation, . * 69 VIL At the. Lodge in Summer, .... 80 vi Tlit Contents. vin. PACK In which the Shepherd is hanged and beheaded, . . 99 IX. In the Paper Parlor, ...... 110 X. In which the Shepherd relates how the Bagmen were lost, . 123 XI. The Execution of the Mutineer, .... 183 xn. I ' which the Shepherd paints his own portrait, . . 150 XIIL In which Tickler captures the calf, and the Shepherd secures the Bonassus, . . .... 164 XIV. / which the Shepherd and Tickler take to the water, . 184 XV. The Shepherd is attacked by Tic-Douloureux, A ngma Pectoris, and Jaundice, ..... 212 XVI. In which, after North is hanged and drowned in a dream, the Shepherd is tempted and falls, .... 232 xvn. The Haggis Deluge, 248 T)i* Content* vii xvm. iAGK. In which the Shepherd, having skated from Farrow, takes a plouter, ....... 261 XIX. In which, after settling Othello, North floors the Shepherd, . 282 XX. In which, during the great storm, the Snuggery window it blown in, and the Shepherd suffers, . . . 302 XXI. In which, the English Opium- Eater dining with the Three, the Shepherd mounts Bonassus, .... 323 XXII. The Bloody Battle of the Bees, . . 354 xxm. In which, a/ler the Shepherd has appeared successively as Pan, as Hercules, and the Apollo Belvidere, North exhibits his great picture the Defence of Socrates, . . 386 XXIV. n which, in the race from the Saloon to the Snuggery, Tickler and the Shepherd are distanced by North, . . 410 XXV. In which North erects his tent in the Fairy's Cleugh, and it crowned King of Scotland by the Forest Worthies, . 440 XXVI. A mght on the leads of the Lodge, .... 462 viii The Contents. XXVIL FA.OB A Dinner in the Forest, 485 xxvm. A Day at Tibbie 1 !, *98 XXIX. In which the Shepherd appears for the last time as the terrible Tawney of Timbuctoo, 527 APPENDIX, GLOSSARY, . . THE INTRODUCTION. JOHN WILSON had the eagle beak, the lion-like mane of the Napiers. Mrs. Barrett Browning has said of Homer : " Homer, with the broad suspense Of thund'rous brows, and lips intense Of garrulous god-innocence " and whenever I read the lines, the mighty presence of Christopher North rises before me. John Wilson was an immense man, physically and mentally, and yet his nature was essentially incomplete. He needed concentration. Had the tree been thoroughly pruned, the fruit would have been larger and richer. As it was, he seldom contrived to sustain the inspiration unimpaired for any time ; it ran away into shallows, and spread fruitlessly over the sand. In many re- spects one of the truest, soundest, honestest men who ever lived, he used to grow merely declamatory at times. Amazingly humorous as the Shepherd of the " Noctes " is (there are scenes, such as the open- ing of the haggis and the swimming match with x The Introduction. Tickler while the London packet comes up the Forth, which manifest the humor of conception as well as the humor of character, in a measure that has seldom been surpassed by the greatest masters), his fun is often awkward, and his enthusiasm is apt to tire. Yet had Shakespeare written about Falstaff once a month for twenty years, might we not possibly have said the same even of him ? And if the Shepherd at his best could be taken out of the " Noctes " and compressed into a compact duodecimo volume, we should have an original piece of imaginative humor, which might fitly stand for all time by the side of the portly knight. But the world is two crowded and too busy to preserve a creation which is not uniformly at its best, which, on the contrary, is diffused and diluted through forty volumes of a magazine ; and so it is possible that, not quite unwill- ingly, posterity will let the Shepherd die. The same in a way holds true of Christopher's own fame. The mor- alist has told us from of old that only the mortal part of genius returns to the dust. But then this mon$" part was so large a part of Wilson. He was such a mag- nificent man ! No liteiary man of our time has had such muscles and sinews, such an ample chest, such perfect lungs, such a stalwart frame, such an expan- sive and Jove-like brow. Had he lived in the classic ages they would have made a god of him, not be- cause he wrote good verses, or possessed the divine gift of eloquence, but because his presence was god- like. There was a ruddy glow of health about him, too, such as the people of no nation have possessed as The Introduction. xi a nation since the culture of the body, as an art of the national life, has been neglected. The critic, there- fore, who never saw Wilson, cannot rightly estimate the sources of his influence. We, on the contrary, who looked upon him, who heard him speak, know that we can never listen to his like again ; never can look upon one who, while so intellectually noble, so eloquent, so flushed with poetic life, did so nearly ap- proach, in strength and comeliness, the typo of bodily perfection. The picture of the old man eloquent in his college class-room the old man who had breasted the flooded Awe, and cast his fly across the bleakest tarns of Lochaber pacing restlessly to and fro like a lion in his confined cage, his grand face work- ing with emotion while he turns to the window, through which are obscurely visible the spires and smoky gables of the ancient city, his dilated nostril yet " full of youth," his small grey eye alight with visionary fire, as he discourses (somewhat discursive- ly, it must be owned) of truth, and beauty, and goodness, is one not to be forgotten. Had he talked the merest twaddle, the effect would have been very nearly the same : he was a living poem where the austere grandeur of the old drama was united with the humor and tenderness of modern story-tellers ; and some such feeling it was that attracted and fas- cinated his hearers. It has been said by unfriendly critics that Wilson was an egotist. Montaigne and Charles Lamb were egotists ; but we do not complain of an egotism to which not the least charm of their writings is to be xii Ttie Introduction. attributed. The truth is that the charge against Wil- son rests on a misconception. Christopher North was egotistical, but Christopher North was a creation of the imagination. He represented to the world the invin- cible Tory champion, before whose crutch the wholo lireed of Radicals and Whiglings and Cocknej's fled as mists before the sun. It was impossible to ei.dow this gout} r Apollo with the frailties of mortal combat ants. Haughty scorn, immaculate wisdom, unassail- able virtue, were the characteristics of the potent tyrant. We have as little right to say that Wilson was an egotist because Christopher North was ego- tistical (though, no doubt, in his old age, he could have looked the part admirably), as to say that Milton was immoral because he drew the devil. Men (whiggish and priggish) may continue to resent, indeed, as indelicate and unbecoming, the license of his fancy and the airy extravagance of his rhetoric ; but a juster and more catholic criticism confesses that in the wide realms of literature there is room for the grotesque gambols of Puck, for Attiel's moonlight flit- tings, for the imaginative riot of Wilson and Heine and Jean Paul. These sentences written several years ago may serve to explain how the idea of the present work first presented itself to me. My design has been to compress into a single manageable volume whatever is permanent and whatever is universal in the Comedy of the " Noctes Ambrosianse." The " Noctes " are coi> The Introduction. x i ceived in the true spirit of Comedy, using the word in its widest sense, and their presentation of human life is as keen, as broad, and as mellow as that of an v of our dramatists. In this great play among various subordinate characters, three figures stand out with surprising force, Christopher North, Timothy Tick ler, and the Ettrick Shepherd. During these him dred-and-one ambrosial nights, what heights of .the poetical imagination are scaled, what depths of the human soul are sounded, by the immortal " Three ! " While the whole is bathed in an atmosphere of natural humor, of irrepressible fun, of laughter that is not the less genuine because it is at times closely akin to tears. But the true unity of the piece is obscured by the introduction of much foreign matter. It is overlaid and smothered by protracted discussions upon topics of transient, personal, and local interest only. In the " Noctes," political events and notabilities that are no of interest to no living creature romances which flourished for a season, poems which have been swept into oblivion are criticised at unreasonable, or at least unreadable, length. Many of the smaller sooial and politica* portraits are first-rate of their kind, such play of the imagination, such splendor, versatility, and, it must be added, ferocity of invective as " The Glasgow Gander," for instance, provoked by his assault on Walter Scott, are to be found nowhere else in our literature since the days of Dryden. But the " Gander " is dead ; and even the most patient reader tires of controversies which, though perfectly xiv The Introduction. suited to the pages of a critical journal or a party review, are entirely outof place in a permanent work of the artistic imagination. It was clear, therefore, that if these excrescences could be conveniently detached, the true dramatic unity of the Comedy would be made manifest and emphasized ; and the question then came to be, Was such separation possible without vital injury to the whole, without reducing the entire building to mere fragmentary ruin ? It appeared to me that it was possible; and this volume will enable the reader to judge whether my conviction was well founded. The operation was, I admit, a difficult and delicate one, and I cannot hope that it has been perfectly suc- cessful. Passages have been omitted which might have been retained, and passages have been retained which might have been omitted. But I have tried, as far as practicable, by preventing any dialogue from being broken into mere fragments, to preserve the current and continuity of the narrative. The lacunae, I suspect, are sometimes visible to the naked eye ; but on the whole I do not feel that they are likely to affect the reader's enjoyment, or that they mar the general effect the tout-an-sammal, as the Shepherd would say of an almost unique piece of dramatic humor. In what seemed to be a case of doubt, I have inclined to lean rather to the side of brevity than of prolixity. Many of the descriptive passages belong to what may be called the florid order of literary style ; and these do not suffer, but TJie Introduction. xv on the contrary are improved, by moderate retrench ment and compression. One of the most difficult duties devolving on a writer of books in these days is to find an appropriate and unappropriated title to know what to call his work and it has been suggested that an author in suoli straits should u request the prayers of the congrega tion." Even a mere editor has difficulties in his way. as the present editor has discovered. To have called this volume the " Noctes Ambrosianra " mighl have produced a false impression, seeing that it doe? not contain more than a third of the matter which the " Noctes " written by Professor Wilson contained. On the other hand, it is a selection made upon a definite principle; so that to have called it a volume of " Selections " would not have sufficiently indicated its scope and design. The word required was one which could be fitly applied to that portion of the work which deals with, or presents directly and dramatically to the reader, human life, and character, and passion, as distinguished from that portion of it which is critical, and devoted to the discussion of subjects of literary, artistic, or political interest only. The word " Comedy " (although liable from modern use or abuse to be mis- understood) ultimately appeared to me to be the most suitable ; for, even if misunderstood the misunderstand- ing could not be very serious. It may in fact be said with perfect truth that, although the substance of the Discussion or Debate in which the " Three " engage is often grave, and notunfrequently pathetic, the presen* tation is essentially humorous, the su-Toundings being xvi The Introduction. whimsical, and the situations mirth-piovoking. The u Noctes AmbrosiansB," as a characteristic product of the dramatic spirit, belongs to the Comic Muse. The papers from which the materials of the present volume are taken, appeared in "Blackwood's Maga- zine " during the ten years from 1825 to 1835. I should not be doing justice to my own feelings if I were to close this prefatory note without a brief tribute to the editor of the original edition of the " Noctes," James Frederick Ferrier.* Ferrier was a philosophical Quixote, a man who loved " divine philosophy " for its own sake. The student of pure metaphysics is now rarely met with ; the age of mechanical invention of the steam-engine and the telegraph being disposed to regard the pro- verbially barren fields of psychology with disrelish and disrespect. Against this materalizing tendency, Pro- fessor Ferrier's life was an uninterrupted and essen- tially noble protest. No truer, simpler, or more un- selfish student ever lived. Seated in his pleasant rustic library, amid its stores of curious and antiquated erudition, he differed as much from the ordinary men one meets in the law courts or on " 'Change," as the quaint academic city where he resided differs from Sal- ford or Birmingham. It was here in his library that Feirier spent the best of his days ; here that he * The present edition is based upon that edited by Professor Ferrier. The material passages of the Preface which he contributed are reprinted In the Appendix. The Notes also are mainly taken from that edition, which must always remain the standard, and, 80 to 8[>eak, classical edition of the " Noctes Ambrosianse." The Introduction. xvii commented on the Greek psychologists, or expl }red the intricacies of the Hegelian logic ; and for Hegel (be it said in passing) he entertained an immense, a ad, con- sidering the character of his own mind its clearness, directness, and love of terseness and epigram some- what inexplicable admiration. At the same time he was no mere bookworm. He did not succeed, and did not try to succeed, at the Scottish bar, to which he was called ; but he had many of the qualities subtlety of thought, lucidity of expression, power of arrangement which ought to have secured success. He took a keen interest in the letters and politics of the day. His own style was brilliant and trenchant, and it was probably the slovenliness and inelegance of Reid (which even the studied art and succinct power of Hamilton have been unable to conceal or repair) which drove him into the camp of the enemy. He was considered, in orthodox philosophical circles, some- what of a free lance. He had a sharp scorn for laborious dulness and pretentious futility, a scorn which he took no pains to disguise. When he de- scended into the controversial arena, he was sure to be in the thickest of the melee. He hit right arid left : quietly, deftly, for the most part, it is true, yet with a force and precision which it was unpleasant to provoke and difficult to resist. If his life should be written hereafter, let his biographer take for its motto the five words of the " Faery Queen," which the biographer of the Napiers has so happily chosen " JFierce warres and faithful loves." For though combative over his books and his theories, his nature was singularly pure, affeo xviii The Introduction. tiouate, and tolerant. He loved his friends even bet ter than he hated his foes. His prejudices were in vincible ; but apart from his prejudices, his mind was open and receptive, prepared to welcome truth from whatever quarter it came. Ferrier, other than a high Tory, is an impossible conception te his friends ; yet had he been the most pronounced of Radicals, he could not have returned more constantly to first prin- ciples, nor showed more speculative-fearlessness. He was, in fact, an intrepid and daring reasoner, who al- lowed few formulas, political, ecclesiastical, or ethi- cal, to cramp his mind, or restrain the free play of his intellectual faculties. This contrast, no doubt, pre- sents an air of paradox; but Ferrier's character, as well as his logic, was sometimes paradoxical. He was a man of infinite subtlety, and he liked to play with his fancies, to place them under strong lights, and in unusual attitudes ; but he possessed a fund of humor and common-sense which made him on the whole a sound and discerning student of human na* ture. He was content to spend his days in contem- plative retirement ; but every one who has seen him must have remarked a certain eager look an eager- ness of gesture and of speech which indicated quite other than a sluggish repose. He united with a pe- culiar sensitiveness of constitution and fineness of critical faculty, a sturdy and indomitable soul. His frame, in his latter years at least, was slim and atten- uated ; but to the end he was one of the manliest of men. He was capable of becoming on occasion, as J have indicated, hotly, and it may be unreasonably The Introduction. xix indignant. Perhaps to this original fire and fineness of nature his early decline is to be attributed. The fiery soul ' fretted the pigmy body to decay." Taken from us in the prime of life and in the vigor of his powers, the death of such a man is a loss to our philosophical schools not quickly to be repaired ; to his relatives, to his disciples, to his students to all who knew him in the easy intercourse of social life the loss is irreparable. Apart altogether from those qualities of heart and intellect, of which the world knows, or may yet know, his friends will not soon forget his refined simplicity of manner, a manner perfectly unaffected, peculiar to him- self, and indicating a remarkable delicacy of or- ganization, yet smacking somehow of the high breed- ing and chivalrous courtesy of that old-fashioned school of Scottish gentlemen whom he had known in his youth, and of which he remained the represen tative. J. S. THE HEKMITAGE OF llth May, 187&, NOCTES AMBROSIAL. IN WHICH CHRISTOPHER NORTH, TIMOTHY TICK- LER, AND THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD ARE INTRO- DUCED TO THE READER, Blue Parlor. Midnight. Watchman heard crying " One o'clock." NORTH. TICKLER. THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. The middle Term asleep. Shepherd. Sir, I wish there was ony waukening o' Mr Tickler. It's no' like him to fa' asleep. "Whisht ! whisht ! Hear till him ! hear till him ! North. Somnium Scipionis ! Tickler (asleep). It was creditable to a British public. Poor dear little soul, she has beeu cruelly treated altogether. My sweet Miss Lsetitia Foote,* although I am now rather Shepherd. Isna the wicked auld deevil dreamin' o* that play actress ! Tickler (dormiens). Three times three. Hurra ! hurra 1 hurra ! Shepherd. That's fearsome. Only think how his miud corresponds wi' his friends, even in a dwam o' drink, for I Afterwards the Countess of Harrington. 2 TJie Pastoral Drama. never saw Lim sae foil since the king's visit! I'll just pu the nose o' him, or kittle it wi' the ueb o' my keelivine pen.* (Sicfacit.) Tickler (awaking). The cases are totally different. But, Hogg, what are you staring at ? Why, you have been sleep- ing since twelve o'clock. Shepherd. I hae some thocht o' writing a play, a Pastoral Drama. North. What, James ? After Allan Ramsay after the Gentle Shepherd ? Shepherd. What for no ? That's a stupid apothegm, though you said it. I wad hae inair variety o' characters, and incee- dents, and passions o' the human mind in my drama mair fun, and frolic and daffinf in short, mair o' what you, and the like o' you, ca' coorseness ; no sae muckle see-sawing between ony twa individual hizzies, as in Allan ; and, aboon a' things, a mair natural and wiselike $ catastrophe. My peasant or shepherd lads should be sae in richt earnest, and no turn out Sirs and Lords upon you at the hinder end o' the drama. No but that I wad aiblins introduce the upper ranks intil the wark ; but they should stand abeigh frae the lave o' the characters, by way o' " similitude in dissimilitude," as that haverer || Wordsworth is sae fond o' talking and writing about. Aboon a' things, I wuss to draw the pictur o' a perfect and polished Scotch gentleman o' the auld schule. North Videlicet, Tickler ! Shepherd. Him, the larig-legged sinner ! Na, na ; I'll im- mortalize baith him and yoursel in my " Ain Life," in my yawtobeeograffy. I'll pay aff a' auld scores there, 1'se war- rant you. Deevil tak me gin IT I haena a great mind (a Keelivine chalk pencil. t Daffln humoreome nonsense. t Wiselike judicious. Abeighfraealoot from | Haverer proser. T Gin If . Tickler's Legacy. 3 pause, jug} to hawn * you down to the latest posterity as * couple o' North. James ! James ! Jaines ! Shepherd. Confound thae grey glittering een o' yours, you warlock that you are ! I maun like you, and respeck you. and admire you too, Mr. North ; but och, sirs ! do you ken that whiles I just girn, out-by yonner, wi' perfect wudness * when I think o' you, and your chiels about you, lauchin' at and rinnin' down me, and ither men o' genius North. James ! James ! James ! Tickler. Dig it well into him he is a confounded churl. Shepherd. No half sae bad as yoursel, Mr. Tickler. He's serious sometimes, and ane kens when he is serious. But as for you, there's no a grain o' sincerity in a' your composition. You wadna shed a tear gin your Shepherd, as you ca' him, were dead, and in the moulds. Tickler (evidently much affected). Have I not left you my fiddle in my will ? When I am gone, Jamie, use her carefully keep her in good strings and whenever you screw her up, think of Timothy Tickler and (His utterance is choked.) North. James ! James ! James ! Timothy ! Timothy ! Timothy ! Something too much of this. Reach me over that pamphlet ; I wish to light my cigar. The last speech and dying words of the Rev. William Lisle Bowles ! Shepherd. What ! a new poem ? I houp it is. Lisle Bolls is a poet o' real genius. I never could thole a sonnet till I read his. Is the pamphlet a poem ? North. No Shepherd. It is prose ; being a further portion of Botheration about Pope, f /Awn-hand. f Wudness distraction. t The '' botheration about Pope " refers to a protracted controversy orig- nating in a dispute between Bowles and Campbell, as to whether nature 01 art supplied the better materials for poetry. Most of the leading literary men of the day had been drawn into the discussion. 4 Pope. Shepherd. I care little about Pop except his Louisa and Abelard. That's a grand elegy ; but for coorseness it beats me hollow. . . . Puir wee bit hunched-backed, windle-strae- legged, gleg-eed, * clever, acute, ingenious, sateerical, weel- informed, warm-hearted, real philosphical, and maist poetical creature, wi' his sounding translation o' a' Homer's worka, that reads just like an original War Yepic, his Yessay on Man, that, in spite o' what a set o' ignoramuses o' theological critics say about Bolingbroke and Crousass, and heterodoxy and atheism, and like havers, is just ane o' the best moral discourses that ever I heard in or out o' the pulpit, his Ye- pistles about the Passions, and sic like, in the whilk he goes baith deep and high, far deeper and higher baith than mony a modern poet, who must needs be either in a diving-bell or a balloon,-r-his Rape o' the Lock o' Hair, wi' a' these sylphs floating about in the machinery o' the Rosicrucian Philoso- phism, just perfectly yelegant and gracefu', and as gude, in their way, as onything o' my ain about fairies, either in the Queen's Wake or Queen flynde, his Louisa to Abelard is, as I said before, coorse in the subject-matter, but, O sirs ! powerfu' and pathetic in execution and sic a perfect spate f o' versification ! His unfortunate lady, wha sticked hersel' for love wi' a drawn sword, and was afterwards seen as a ghost, dim-beckoning through the shade a verra poetical thoct surely, and full both of terror and pity North. Stop, James you will run yourself out of breath. Why, you said, a few minutes ago, that you did not care much about Pope, and were not at all fanr'Jiar with his workg you have them at your finger ends. Shepherd. I never ken what's in my mind till it begins to work. Sometimes I fin' mysel just perfectly stupid my mind, as Locke says in his Treatise on Government, quite a Glea-evd sharp-eyed. t Spate stream in flood " Lisle Soils " 5 carte blanche I just ken that I'm alive by my breathing, when, a' at ance, my sowl begins to hum like a hive about to cast off a swarm out rush a thousand springing thochts, for 9. while circling round and round like verra bees and then, like them too, winging their free and rejoicing way into the mountain wilderness and a' its blooming heather returning, in du3 time, with store o' wax on their thees, and a wamefu' o' hinney, redolent of blissful dreams gathered up in the sacred solitudes of nature. Tickler. Bowles also depreciates his genius. North. No, no, no ! Tickler. Yes, yes, yes ! Shepherd. Gude save us, Mr. Tickler, you're no sober yet, or you wad never contradic Mr. North. Tickler. Bowles also depreciates his genius. What infernal stuff all that, about nature and art! Why, Pope himself set- tles the question agaiust our friend Bowles in one line : " Nature must give way to Art." North. Pope's poetry is full of nature, at least of what I uave been in the constant habit of accounting nature for the last threescore and ten years. But (thank you, James, that MI nil' is really delicious !) leaving nature and art, and all that sort of thing, I wish to ask a single question What poet of this age, with the exception perhaps of Byron, can be justly said, when put into close comparison with Pope, to haw written the English language at all ? Shepherd. Tut, tut, Mr. North ; you ueedua gang far to get an answer to that question. I can write the English lan- guage I'll no say as well as Pop, for he was an Englishman, but North. Well, I shall except you, James ; but, with the single exception of Hogg, from what living poet is it possible to select any passage that will bear to be spouted (say by 6 Superiority of Pope. James Ballantyne * himself, the best decluimer extant) aftei any one of fifty casually taken passages from Pope ? Not one. Tickler. What would become of Bowles himself, with all his elegance, pathos, and true feeling ? Oh, dear me, James ! what a dull, dozing, disjointed, dawdling dowdy of a drawl would be his Muse, in her very best voice and tune, when called upon to get up and sing a solo after the sweet and strong singer of Twickenham ! North. Or Wordsworth with his eternal Here we go up, up, and up, and here we go down, down, and here we go roundabout, roundabout ! Look at the nerveless laxity of his Excursion ! What interminable prosing ! The language is out of condition, fat and fozy, thick-winded, purfled and plethoric. Can he be compared with Pope ? Fie oii't ! no, no, no ! Pugh, pugh ! Tickler. Southey Coleridge Moore ? North. No ; not one of them. They are all eloquent, dif- fusive rich, lavish, generous, prodigal of their words. But so are they all deficient in sense, muscle, sinew, thews, ribs, spine. Pope, as an artist, beats them hollow. Catch him twaddling. Shepherd. I care far less about Pop, and the character and genius of Pop, than I do about our own Byron. Many a cruel thing has been uttered against him, and I wish, Mr. North, yon would vindicate him, now that his hand is cauld. North. I have written a few pages for my next number, which I think will please you, James. Pray, what do you consider the most wicked act of Byron's whole wicked life ? Shepherd. I declare to God, that I do not know of any one wicked act in his life at all. Tickler, there, used to cut him op long ago, what says he now ? * The friend of Sir Walter Scott. The Death of Byron. 1 Tickler. The base multitude, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, got up brutal falsehoods concerning his private life, and these they mixed up and blended with their narrow and confused conceptions of his poetical productions, till they imagined the real, living, flesh-and-blood Byron to be a monster, familiarly known to them in all his hideous propensities and practices. He was, with all his faults, a noble being, and I shall love Hobhouse* as long as I live. What it is to be a gentleman ! North. The character of one of the greatest poets the world ever saw, in a very few years, will be discerned in the clear light of truth. How quickly all misrepresentations die away ! One hates calumny, because it is ugly and odious in its own insignificant and impotent stinking self. But it is al- most always extremely harmless. I believe at this moment that Byron is thought of as a man, with an almost universal feel- ing of pity, forgiveness, admiration and love. I do not think it would be safe in the most popular preacher to abuse Byron now, and that not merely because he is now dead, but be- cause England knows the loss she has sustained in the ex- tinction of her most glorious luminary. Shepherd. I hae nae heart to speak ony mair about him puir fallow. I'll try the pickled this time the scalloped are beginning to lie rather heavy on my stomach. Oysters is the only thing maist we canna get at Altrive. But we have capital cod and haddock now in St. Mary's Loch. Tickler. James ! James ! James ! Shepherd. Nane o' your jeering, Mr. Tickler. The nat- uralization of sea-fishes into fresh-water lochs was recom- mended some years ago in the Edinburgh Review, and twa- three 'o us, out by yonner, have carried the thing into effect. John Cam Hobhouse, afterwards Lord Broughton the friend of Byron when living, and his defender when dead. 8 Haddocks in St Mary's Loch. We tried the oysters too, but we could mak nathing ava o them they dwindled into a kind o' wulks, and were quit* lushionless,* a' beards and nae bodies. Tickler. I thought the scheme plausible at the time. I read it in the Edinburgh, which I like, by the way, much better as a zoological than a political journal. Have you Bent a creel of codlings to the editor ? Shepherd. Why, I have felt some delicacy about it just at present. I was afraid that he might think it a bribe for a favorable opinion of Queen Hynde.^ North. No, no. Jeffrey has a soul above bribery or corruption. All the cod in Christendom would not shake his integrity. You had, however, better send half-a-dozen riz- zered haddocks to Tom Campbell. Shepherd. My boy Tammy wull never choke himself wi' my fish-banes, Mr. North. North. Tom is fickle and capricious and ever was so but he has a fine, a noble genius. Shepherd. I'm no dispooting that, Mr. North. No doubt, his Theodric is a grand, multifarious, sublime poem ; although, confound me, gin the worst fifty lines in a' Queen Hynde are nae worth the haill vollumm. . . . Wha's conceit t was the boiler ? Tickler. Your humble servant's. Ambrose goes to bed regularly at twelve, and Richard half an hour after. Occa- sionally, as at present, old friends are loath to go so, not to disturb the slumbers of as worthy a family as is in all Scot- land, I ordered the boiler you now see at Begby and Dick- son's, St. Andrew Square. It holds exactly six common kettlefuls. Strike it with the poker. Ay, James, you hear by the clearness of the tinkle that it is nearly low water. leM without sap. f A poem by Hogg, published In 1825. J Conceit notion. The Shepherds Wealth. 9 Shepherd. Deel ma care. I ken where the pump is in the back green and if the wall's fanged,* I'll bring up a gush wi' a single drive. If no, let us finish the spirits by ftsel'. I never saw the match o' this tall square fallow o' a green bottle for hauding spirits. The verra neck o' him bauds spirits for a jug, before you get down to his shouthers ; and wo'se a' three be blin' fou or we see the crystal knob inside o' the doup o' him peering up amang the subsiding waters of Glenlivet. North. I have bequeathed you Magog in my settlement, James. With it, and Tickler's Cremona, many a cheerful night will you spend, when we two old codgers have laid off life's pack At our feet a green grass turf, And at our head a stone. Shepherd. You and Mr. Tickler are very gude in leaving me things in your wull ; but I would prefer something in hauu North. Then, my dear friend, there is a receipt for your last article the Shepherd's Calendar. Shepherd. Twa tens ! Come uoo,sirs, let me pay the reck- oning. . . . Are ye gaun to raise the price of a sheet this Lady-day, Mr. North ? North. My dear Hogg, what would you have ? You are rolling in wealth are you not ? Hogg. Ay ; but I wad like fine to be ower the head a'the- gither, man. That's my apothegm. North. Let me see Well, I think I may promise you a twenty-gallon tree this next Whitsunday, by way of a dou- ceur a small perquisite. Hogg. Twenty gallons, man, that does not serve our house for sax weeks in the summer part of the year, whjjp When the piston of a pump-well ceases to work from having become too dry, water is poured down upor it to restore the action. This operation ii called fcirqlng the well. 10 Buchanan Lodyc. a' the leeterary warld is tramping about. But ne'er heed mony thanks to you for your kind offer, sir. North. You must come down to my " happy rural seat of various view," James, on your spring visit to Edinburgh Buchanan Lodge. Shepherd. Wi' a' my heart, Mr. North. I hear you've been biggin a bonny lodge near Larkfield yonder, within the murmur of the sea. A walk on the beach is a gran' thing for an appetite. Let's hear about your house. North. The whole tenement is on the ground flat. I abhor stairs ; and there can be no peace in any mansion where heavy footsteps may be heard overhead. Suppose James, three sides of a square. You approach the front by a fine serpentine avenue, and enter, slap-bang, through a wide glass door, into a greenhouse, a conservatory of every, thing rich and rare in the world of flowers. Folding doors are drawn noiselessly into the walls, as if by magic, and lo ! drawing-room and dining-room, stretching east and west in dim and distant perspective, commanding the Firth, the sea, the kingdom of Fife, and the Highland mountains ! Shepherd. Mercy on us, what a panorama ! North. Another side of the square contains kitchen, ser- vants' room, etc. ; and the third side my study and bedrooms, all still, silent, composed, standing obscure, unseen, unap- proachable, holy. The fourth side of the square is not, shrubs, and trees, and a productive garden shut me from be- hind ; while a ring-fence, enclosing about five acres, just sufficient for my nag and cow, form a magical circle, into which nothing vile or profane can intrude. O'Doherty alone has overleaped my wall, but the Adjutant was in training for his great match (ten miles an hour), and when he ran bolt against me in Addison's Walk,* declared upon * So named after the celebrated walk in the Grounds of Magdalen Co 1 !^*, Oxford, where Professor Wilson waa educated. TJie Mysteries of In filiation. 1 1 honor that he was merely taking a step across the country, and that he had no idea of being within a mile of any human abode. However, he stayed dinner and over the Sunday. Shepherd. Do you breed poultry, sir ? You dinna ? Do't then. You hae plenty o' bounds within five yacro. But mind you, big* nae regular hen-house, You'll hae bits o' sheds, nae doubt, ahint the house, aruang, the olfishes, and through amang the grounds ; and the belts o' plantations aro no very wide, nor the sherubberies stravagin awa into wild mountainous regions o' heather, whins, and breckans. North. Your imagination, James, is magnificent, even in negatives. But is all this poetry about hen-roosts ? Shepherd. Ay. Let the creturs mak their ain nests where'er they like pheasants, or patricks, or muirfowl. Their flesh will be the sappier, and inair highly flavored on the board, and their shape and plummage beauti fuller far, strutting about at liberty among your suburbs. Aboon a' tilings, for the love o' heevin, nae cavies! f I can never help greeting, half in anger half in pity, when I see the necks o' some half-a-score forlorn chuckies jouking out and in the narrow bars o' their prison-house, dabbing at daigh and drummock.$ I wonder if Mrs Fry ever saw sic a pitiful spectacle. North. I must leave the feathers to my females, James. Shepherd. Canna you be an overseer ? Let the hens aye set theirsels ; and never offer to tak ony notice o' the dockers. They canna thole being looked at when they corne screech- ing out frae their het eggs, a' in a ever, with their feathers tapsetowry, and howking holes in the yearth, till the gravel gangs down-through and aff among the plummage like dew draps, and now scouring aff to some weel-kend corner for drink and victual. nig build. t Cavlts -hen-coops, t fiuigh and drutnmock dough and cold pori-idge- 12 Ho n How-towdies. North. You amaze me, James. You are opening up quite a new world to me. The mysteries of incubation . . . Hogg. Ilae a regular succession o' Clacking frae about the mid o' March till the end o' August, and never de- vour aff a hnill clackin at ance. Aye keep some three or four pullets for eerocks, or for devouring through the winter and never set aboon fourteen eggs to ae hen, nor indeed mair than a dizzen, unless she be a weel -feathered mawsie,* and broad across the shoulders. North. Why, the place will be absolutely overrun with barn-door fowl. Shepherd. Barn-door fowl ! Hoot awa ! You maun hae agreed o' gem-birds. Nane better than thelady-legg'd reds. I ken the verra gem-eggs at the first pree frae your dunghill a different as a pine-apple and fozy turnip. North. The conversation has taken an unexpected turn, ray dear Shepherd. I had intended keeping a few deer. Shepherd. A few deevils ! Na na. You maun gang to the Thane's ; f or if that princely chiel be in Embro' or Lunnon, to James Laidlaw's and Watty Bryden's, in Strath- glass, if you want deer. Keep you to the how-towdies. North. I hope, Mr. Hogg, you will bring the mistress and the weans to the house-warming ? S/iepherd.l'll do that, and mony mair besides them. Whare -!ie deevil's Mr. Tickler ? North. Off. He pretended to go to the pump for an aquatic supply, but he long ere now has reached South- An easy-tempered, somewhat slovenly female is called in Scotland a mawsie. T The Thane was the Karl of Fife, whose estates in Braemar abound in red deer. Jaines Laidlaw .ind Walter Bryden were sheep farmers in Strathglass. The former was the brother of William Laidlaw, Sir Walter Scott's friend and factor. t Mr. Kobert Sym, of whom Timothy Tickler was in some respects th eidolon, resided in No. 'JO George Square, on the south side of Kdinburgh. A Sony by the Shepherd. 13 Shepherd. That's m;iist extraordinar. I could hue ta'euiny Bible oath that I kept seeing him a' this time sitting right foreanent me, with his lang legs and nose, and ecu like daggers ; but it must hae been ane o' Hibbert's phantasms an idea has become more vivid than a present sensation. Is that philosophical language ? What took him aff ? I could sit for ever. Catch me breaking up the conviviality of the company. I'm just in grand spirits the nicht come, here's an extempore lilt. AIR, " Whistle, and Pll come to ye, my lad." If e'er .j-ou would be a brave fellow, young man, Beware of the Blue and the Mellow, * young man ; If ye wud be strang, And wish to write lang, Come, join wi' the lads that get Mellow, young man. Like the crack o' a squib that has fa'en on, young man, Compared wi' the roar o' a cannon, young man, So is the Whig's blow To the pith that's below The beard o' auld Geordie Buchanan, t youug man. Re-enter TICKLER. Shepherd. There's Harry Longleggs. Tickler. I felt somewhat hungry so long after supper, and having detected a round of beef in a cupboard, I cut off a segment of a circle, and have been making myself comfortable at the solitary kitchen fire. North (rising}. Come away, my young friend. Give me your arm, James. That will do, Shepherd softl^ ^wly, my dearest Hogg no better supporter than the a ' of the Queen's Wake. Shepherd. What a gran' ticker is Mr. Ambrose's clock ! Tt The " Blue and the Yellow " is the Edinburyh J'evieio. t The effigies of Georgo Buchanan is the frontispiece to Ulackwood's Alnga- tine. 14 Three o<;lwk a. in. beats like the strong, regular pulse of a healthy horse. Whirr! whirr! whirr! Hear till her gi'eing the warning. I'll just finish these twa half tumblers o' porter, ami the wee drappie in the bit blue noseless juggy. As sure's death, it has chapped three. The lass that sits up at the Harrow *'ll hae gane to the garret, and how'll I get in ? (Sus canit.) O lot me in this ae night, This ae ae ae night, etc. With a' our daffin, we are as sober as three judges with double gowns. Tickler. As sober ! Mr. AMBROSE looks out in his nightcap, wishing good- night with his usual suavity. Exeunt TICKLER in advance and NORTH leaning on the SHEI;HERD. * The sign of the hoatelrie near the Qrasemarket where Hogg resided when in Edinburgh. n. IN WHICH TICKLER NARRATES HIS EXPERIENCES AT DALNACARDOCH. North. Let us have, some sensible conversation, Timothy At our time of life such colloquy is becoming. Tickler. Why the devil would you not come to Dalnacar- doch ? * Glorious guffawing all night, and immeasurable murder all day. Twenty-seven brace of birds, nine hares, three roes, and a red deer stained the heather on the Twelfth, beneath my single-barrelled Joe not to mention a pair of patriarchal ravens, and the Loch-Ericht eagle, whose leg was broken by the Prince when hiding in the moor of Rannoch. North. Why kill the royal bird ? Tickler. In self-defence. It bore down upon Sancho like a sunbeam from its eyrie on the cliff of Snows, and it would have broken his back with one stroke of its wing, had I not sent a ball right through its heart. It went up, with a yell, a hundred fathom into the clear blue air ; and then, striking a green knoll in the midst of the heather, bounded down the rocky hill-side, and went shivering and whizzing along the black surface of a tarn, till it lay motionless in a huge heap among the water lilies. . North. Lost? Tickler. I stripped instanter six feet four and three-quar- * A shooting-quarter in the highlands of Perthshire, occupied in the sum- ier of 1825 by some friends of Professor Wilson. 15 16 Tickler " in purls naturali&tw." ters in puns naturcdibus and out-Byroning Byron, shot in twenty seconds, a furlong across the Fresh. Grasping the bird of Jove in my right, with my left I rowed my airy state towards the spot where I had left my breeches and other habiliments. Espying a trimmer, I seized it in my mouth, and on relanding at a small natural pier, as I hope to be shaved, lo ! a pike of twenty-pound standing, with a jaw like an alligator, and reaching from my hip to my in&tep, smote the heather, like a flail, into a shower of blossoms. North. Was there a cloud of witnesses ? Tickler. To be sure there was. A hundred stills beheld me from the mountain-sides. Shepherd and smuggler cheered me like voices in the sky ; and the old genius of the solitary place rustled applause through the reeds and rushes, and birch-trees among the rocks paced up and down the shore in triumph . . . North. What a subject for the painter! Oh that Sir Thomas Lawrence * or our own John Watson, f had been there to put you on canvas ! Or shall I rather say, would that Chantrey had been by to study you for immortal mar- ble! Tickler. Braced by the liquid plunge, I circled the tarn at ten miles an hour. Unconsciously I had taken my Manton into my hand and unconsciously reloaded when, just as I was clearing the feeder-stream, not less than five yards across up springs a red deer, who, at the death of the eagle, had cowered down in the brake, and wafted away his antlers in the direction of Benvoirlich. We were both going at the top of our speed when I fired, and the ball piercing his spine the magnificent creature sunk down, and died almost without a convulsion. * Sir Thomas Lawrence died in 1830. t Afterwards Sir John Watson Gordon, President of the Royal Scottish Academy. Apollo and Daphne. 17 North. Red deer, eagle, aud pike, all dead as mutton ! Tickler. I sat down upon the forehead, resting an arm on each antler Sancho sitting with victorious eyes on the carcase. I sent him t ff to the tarn-side for my pocket-pistol, charged with Glenlivet No. 5. In a few minutes he returned, and crouched down with an air of mortification at my feet. North. IIo ! ho ! the fairies have spirited away your nethoi integuments ! Tickler. Not an article to be seen ! save and except my shoes ! .Jacket, waistcoat, flannel shirt, breeches, all melted away with the mountain dew ! There was I like Adam in Paradise, or " Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance." North. Did not the dragon-flies attack you the winged ants and the wasp of the desert ? Tickler. A figure moved along the horizon a female figure a Light and Shadow of Celtic Life and, as I am a Christian, I beheld my buckskin breeches dangling over her shoulders. I neared upon the chase, but saw that Malvina was making for a morass. Whiz went a ball within a stride of her petticoats, and she deflected her course towards a wood on the right. She dropped our breeches. I literally leaped into them ; and, like Apollo in pursuit of Daphne, pursued my impetuous career. North. To Diana ! to Diana ascends the virgin's prayer ! Tickler. Down went, one after the other, jacket, waistcoat, flannel shirt, would you believe it, her own blue linsey- woolsey petticoat ! Thus lightened, she bounded over the little knolls like a barque over Sicilian seas ; in ten minutes she had fairly run away from me hull-down, and her long yellow hair, streaming like a pendant, disappeared in the forest. 18 Spoiling the Egyptians. North. What have you done with the puir lassie's petti- coat? Tickler. I sent it to my friend Dr. M'Cnlloch, to lie among his other relics ... of Highland greed. North. If idle folks will wander over the Highlands, and get the natives to show them how to follow their noses through the wildernesses, ought they not to pay handsomely for being saved from perdition, in bogs, quagmires, mosses, shelving lake-shores, fords and chasms ? Tickler. Undoubtedly ; and if the orphan son of some old Celt, who perhaps fought under Abercromby, and lost his eyes in ophthalmia, leave his ordinary work beside his shieling, be it what it may, or give up a day's sport on the hill or river to accompany a Sassenach* some thirty miles over the moors, with his big nag, too, loaded with mineralogy and botany, and all other matter of trash, are five shillings, or twice five, a sufficient remuneration ? Not they, indeed. Pay him like a post-chaise, fifteenpence a mile, and send him to his hut rejoicing through a whole winter. North. Spoken like a gentleman. So, with boats, a couple of poor fellows live, and that is all, by rowing waif and stray Sassenachs over lochs or arms of the sea. No regular ferry, mind you. Perhaps days and weeks pass by without their boat being called for and yet grumble and growl is the go as soon as they hold out a hand for silver or gold. Recollect, old or young hunks, that you are on a tour of pleasure that you are as fat as a barn-door fowl ; and these two boatmen there they are grinding Gaelic as lean as laths ; what the worse will you be of being cheated a little ? But if you grudge a guinea, why, go round by the head of the loch, ami twenty to one you are never seen again in this world. Tickler. The Highlanders are far from being extortioners. * Sassenach a Lovvlander or Englishman. Grrowse-Soup, 19 An extraordinary price must be paid for an extraordinary service. But, oh ! my dear North, what grouse-soup at Dal- nacardoch ! You smell it on the homeward hill, as if it were exhaling from the heather : deeper and deeper still, as you approach the beautiful chimney vomiting forth its intermit- ting columns of cloud-like peat-smoke, that melts afar over the wilderness! North. Yes, Tickler it was Burke that vindicated the claims of smells to the character of the sublime and beautiful. Tickler. Yes, yes ! Burke it was. As you enter the inn, the divine afflatus penetrates your soul. When up-stairs perhaps in the garret, adorning for dinner, it rises like a cloud of rich distilled perfumes through every chink on the floor, every cranny of the wall. The little mouse issues from his hole, close to the foot of the bed-post, and raising him- self, squirrel-like, on his hinder-legs, whets his tusks with his merry-paws and smooths his whiskers. North. Shakespearean ! Tickler. There we are, a band of brothers round the glorious tureen ! Down goes the ladle into " a profoundis clamavi," and up floats from that blessed Erebus a dozen cunningly resuscitated spirits. Old cocks, bitter to the back-bone, lov- ingly alternating with young pouts, whose swelling bosoms might seduce an anchorite ! North (rising}. I must ring for supper, Ambrose Ambrose Ambrose ! Tickler. No respect of persons at Dalnacardoch ' I plump them into the plates around sans selection. No matter al- though the soup play JAWP* from preses to croupier. There too sit a few choice spirits of pointers round the board Don Jupiter Sancho " and the rest" with steadfast eyes arid dewy chops, patient alike of heat, cold, thirst, and hun ./aw B pal Bla. 20 Tickler's Polggamy. ger dogs of the desert indeed, and nose-led by unerring instinct right up to the cowering covey in the heather groves on the mountain-side. North. Is eagle good eating, Timothy ? Pococke the tra- veller used to eat lion : lion pasty is excellent, it is said but is not eagle tough ? Tickler. Thigh good, devilled. The delight of the High, lands is in the Highland feeling. That feeling is entirely destroyed by stages and regular progression. The waterfalls do not tell upon sober parties it is tedious in the extreme to be drenched to the skin along high-roads the rattle of wheels blends meanly with thunder and lightning is con- temptible, seen from the window of a glass coach. To enjoy mist, you must be in the heart of it, as a solitary hunter, shooter, or angler. Lightning is nothing unless a thousand feet below you,* and the live thunder must be heard leap- ing, as Byron says, from mountain to mountain, otherwise you might as well listen to a mock peal from the pit of a theatre. North. Pray, Tickler, have you read Milton's Treatise on Christianity ?f Tickler. I have ; and feel disposed to agree with him in his doctrine of polygamy. For many years I lived very com- fortably without a wife ; and since the year 1820 1 have been a monogamist. But I confess that there is a sameness in that system. I should like much to try polygamy for a few years. I wish Milton had explained the duties of a polygamist ; foi it is possible that they may be of a very intricate, compli In bis " Address to a Wild Deer," Professor WIJBOII says of the hunter . " 'Tig his, by the mouth of some cavern his seat, The lightning of heaven to hold athia foot, While the thunder below him that growls Irorn the cloud, To him comea on echo more awfully loud." * At that time recently discovered. Milton. 21 (rated, and unbounded nature, and that such an accumulation of private business might be thrown on one's hands that it could not be in the power of an elderly gentleman to over- take it ; occupied, too as he might be, as in my own case, in contributing to the Periodical Literature of the age. North. Sir, the system would not be found to work well in this climate. Milton was a great poet, but a bad divine, and a miserable politician. Tickler. How can that be ? Wordsworth says that a great poet must be great in all things. North. Wordsworth often writes like an idiot ; and never more so than when he said of Milton, " His s<,ul was like a star, and dwelt apart ! " For it dwelt ia tumult, and mis- chief, and rebellion. Wordsworth is, in all things, the re- verse of Milton a good man and a bad poet. Tickler. What ! That Wordsworth whom Maga cries up as the Prince of Poets ? North. Be it so ; I must humor the fancies of some of my friends. But had that man been a great poet, he would have produced a deep and lasting impression on the mind of Eng- land ; whereas his verses are becoming less and less known every day, and he is, in good truth, already one of the illus- trious obscure. Tickler. I never thought him more than a very ordinary man with some imagination, certainly, but with no grasp of understanding, and apparently little acquainted with the his- tory of his kind. My God ! to compare such a writer with Scott and Byron ! North. And yet, with his creed, what might not a great poet have done ? That -ed pendant at their noses, and frightening away the fan und lovely swans as they glide down the waters of immortality ? Scott's Martial Spirit. 23 North. Scott's poetry puzzles me it is often very bad. Tickler. Very. North. Except when his martial soul is up, he is but a tame and feeble writer. His versification in general flows on easily smoothly almost sonorously ; but seldom or nev- er with impetuosity or grandeur. There if no strength, no felicity in his diction and the substance of his poetry is neither rich nor rare. Tickler. But then, when his martial soul is up and up it is at sight of a spear-point or a pennon then indeed you hear the true poet of chivalry. What care T, Kit. for all his previous drivelling if drivelling it be and God forbid I should deny drivelling to any poet, ancient or modern for now ho makes my very soul burn within me ; and, coward and civilian though I be, yes, a most intense and insuperable coward, prizing lii'c and limb beyond all other earthly pos- sessions, and loath to shed one single drop of blood either for my king or country, yet such is the trumpet power of the song of that son of genius, that I stint from my old elbow-chair, up with the poker, tongs, or shovel, no matter which, and flourishing it round my head, cry. " Charge, Cheater, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! " and then, dropping iny voice, and returning to my padded bottom, whisper, " Were the last words of Marmion 1 " North. I>r;ivo bravo bravo ! Tickler. I care not one single curse for all the criticism that ever was canted, or decanted, or recanted. Neither does the world. The world taken a poet as it finds him, and seats him above or below the salt. The world is as obstinate as a million mules, and will not turn its head on one .side or 24 Portrait of Wordsworth. another, for all the shouting of the critical population thai ever was shouted. It is very possible that the world is a bad judge. Well, then, appeal to posterity, and be hanged to yon, and posterity will affirm the judgment with costs. North. How you can jabber away so in such a temperature as this confounds me. You are indeed a singular old man. Tickler. Therefore T say that Scott is a Homer of a poet, and so let him doze when lie has a mind to it; for no man T know is better entitled to an occasional half canto of slumber. North. Did you ever meet any of the Lake poets in private society ? Tickler. Five or six times. Wordsworth has a grave solemn, pedantic, awkward, out-of-the-worldish look about him, that rather puzzles you as to his probable profession, till he begins to speak and then, to be sure, yon set him down at once for a Methodist preacher. North. I have seen Chanlrey's bust. Tickler. The bust flatters his head, which is not intellectual. The forehead is narrow, and the skull altogether too scanty. Yet the baldness, the gravity, and the composure are impres- sive, and, on the whole, net unpoetical. The eyes are dim and thoughtful, and a certain sweetness of smile occasionally lightens up the strong lines of his countenance with an ex- pression of courteousness and philanthropy. North. Is he not extremely eloquent ? Tickler, ^ar from it. He labors like a whale spouting his voice is wearisomely monotonous he does not know when to have done with a subject oracularly announces per- petual truisms never hits the nail on the head and leaves you amazed with all that needless pother, which the simple, bard opines to be eloquence, and which passes for such with his Cockney idolaters, and his catechumens at Ambleside and Keswick. Modern Conversation. 26 North. Not during dinner, surely ? Tickler. Yes, during breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, and supper, every intermediate moment, nor have I any doubt that he proses all night long in his sleep. North. Shocking indeed. In conversation, the exchange should be at par. That is the grand secret. Nor should any Christian ever exceed the maximum of three consecutive sentences except in an anecdote. Tickler. O merciful heavens ! my dear North. What eternal talkers most men are now-a-days all at it in a party at once each farthing candle anxious to shine forth with its own vile wavering wick tremulously apprehensive of snuffers and stinking away after expiration in the socket ! * North. Bad enough in town, but worse, far worse, in country places. Tickler. The Surgeon ! The dominie ! The old minister's assistant and successor ! The president of the Speculative Society ! Two landscape painters ! The rejected contribu- tor to JJIackivood ! The agricultural reporter of the county ! The surveyor ! Captain Campbell ! The Laird, his son ! The stranger gentleman on a tour ! The lecturer on an or- * Scott's conversation is thus elsewhere described : " Shepherd. I never in a' my born days, and I'm noo just the age o' Sir Walter, and, had he bee (ha 1 , is a'thegitherencha nao sic thing in exist cue his everlastiu anecdotes ilsfil as auhl as the Kildo a' ither Iccviiimcit exccj leevin, o' Bonnypratt, met a perfeckly pleasant itiu man in a party and I have lang thocht there's as poo'rs o' conversation. There's Sir Walter wi' nine out o' ten meaniii naething, and the tenth i Hills. Vetl lov and venerate Sir Walter aboou yoursel. sir, and for that reason try to thold his dis- cc urse. As to his everliearill richt ae single syllable o' what ye may be sayin to him, wi' the maist freendly intent o' enlichteiiiii his weak mind, you maun never indulge ony liowp o' that kind for o' a' the absent men when anither's st>akin, that ever glowered in a body's face, without seemin token even wha he'slookin at, Sir Walter is the foremost ; and gin he behaves in that gate to a man o' original genius like me, you may conceive his treatment o' the Bumphs and sumphesses that compose fashionable society". 2C Oblivion. rery ! The poet about to publish by subscription ! The person from Pitkeathly ! The man of the house himself my God ! his wife and daughters ! and the widow, the wi- dow ! I can no more the widow, the widow, the vvido ;v ! (Sinks back in his chair.} North. I have heard Coleridge. That man is entitled U> speak onHill Doomsday or rather the genius within him for he is in-spired. Wind him up, and away he goes, dis- coursing most excellent music without a discord full, am- ple, inexhaustible, serious, and divine ! Tickler. Add him to my list, and the band of instrument- al music is complete. North. It is pleasant to know how immediately every- thing said or done in this world is forgotten. Murder a novel,or a man, or a poem,or a child forge powers of attorney without cessation during the prime of life,till old maids beyond all computation have been sold unsuspectingly out of the stocks in every country village in England for a lustre furnish Balaam to a London magazine at thirty shillings per bray, in short, let any man commit any enormity, and it is forgotten before the first of the mouth! Who remembers anything but the bare names and these indistinctly of Thurtell, and Hunt, and Fauntleroy, and Hazlitt, and Tims, and Soames, and Sotheran ? Soap-bubbles all blown, burst, vanished, and forgotten. Tickler. Why, you almost venture to republish Maga her- self in numbers, under the smirk of a New Series. I know a worthy and able minister of our church, who has been preaching (and long may he preach it) the self-same sermon for upwards of forty years. About the year 1802 I began to suspect him ; but having then sat below him only for some dozen years or so, I could not, of course, in a matter of so much delicacy, dare trust to my very imperfect memory A Veteran Sermon. 27 During the Whig ministry of 1806, tny attention was strong- ly riveted to the " practical illustrations," and I could have sworn to the last twenty minutes of his discourse, as to the voice of a friend familiar in early youth. About the time your Magazine first dawned on the world, my belief of its identity extended to the whole discourse ; and the good old man himself, in the delight of his heart, confessed to me the truth a few Sabbaths after the Chaldee. North. Come, now, tell me truth have you ever palmed off any part of it upon me in the shape of an article ? Tickler. Never, 'pon honor ; but you shall get the whole of it some day, as a Number One ; for, now that he has got an assistant and successor, the sermon is seldom employed, and he has bequeathed it me in a codicil to his will. North. I cannot imagine, for the life of me, what Ambrose is about. Hush ! there he comes. (Enter AMBROSE.) What is the meaning of this, sir ? Ambrose. Unfold. (Folding-doors thrown open, and supper-table is shown. Tickler. What an epergue ! Art art. What would our friend Bowles say to that, North ? " Tadmore thus, and Syrian Balbec rose." -(Traiiseunt omnes.) SCENE II. The Pitt Saloon. North. Hogg, with his hair powdered, as I endure t God bless you, James how are you all at Altrive? Shepherd. All's well wool up nowte* on the rise harvest stacked without a shower -potatoes like stones in the Meggat turnips like cabbages, and cabbages like bal- loons bairns brawly, and Mistress bonnier than ever. It is quite an annus mirabilis. Tickler. James, my heart warms to hear your voice. Nawte cattle. A stream near HOK'B farm. 28 Hogg on his High-horse. That suit of black becomes you extremely you would make an excellent Moderator of the General Assembly.* Shepherd. You mistake the matter entirely, Tickler ; your eyesight fails you ; my coat is a dark blue waistcoat and breeches the same but old people discern objects indistinct- ly by candle-light, or I shall rather say, by gas-light. The radiance is beautiful. Tickler. The radiance is beautiful ! Shepherd. Why, you are like old Polonius in the play ! I hate an echo be original or silent. Tickler. James ! Shepherd. Mr. Hogg, if you please, sir. Why, you think because I am good-natured, that you and North, and " the rest," are to quiz the Shepherd ? Be it so no objections but hearken to me, Mr. Tickler, my name will be remem- bered when the dust of oblivion is yard-deep on the grave- stone of the whole generation of Ticklers. Who are you what are you whence are you whither are you going, and what have you got to say for yourself ? A tall fellow, un- doubtedly but Measure for Measure is the comedy in which I choose to act to-night so. gentlemen, be civil or I will join the party at Spinks'f and set up an opposition Maga- zine, that . . . North. This is most extraordinary behavior, Mr. Hogg ; and any apology . . . Shepherd. I forgive you, Mr. North but . . . North. Come come, you see Tickler is much affected. Shepherd. So am J, sir but is it to be endured . . . Tickler. Pardon me, James ; say that you pardon me at my time of life a man cannot afford to lose a friend. No. he cannot indeed. * Of the Church of Scotland. t Spinks* Hotel, the resort (real or supposed) of opposition literary COM- vivialisU. He descends. 2 ( J Shepherd. Your hand, Mr. Tickler. But I will not be the Imtt of any company. North. I fear some insidious enemy has been poisoning your ear, James. Never has any one of us ceased, for a moment, to respect you, or to hear you with respect, from the time that you wrote the Chaldee Manuscript . . . Shepherd. Not anothr word not another word if yon love me. North. Have the Cockneys been bribing you to desert us, James ? Shepherd. The Cockneys ! Puir misbegotten deevils ! (I maun to speak Scotch again now that I'm in good humor.) I would rather crack nuts for a haill winter's niclit wi' a mon- key, than drink the best peck o' mawt that ever was brewed wi' the King himsel' o' that kintra. North. I understood you were going to visit London this winter. Shepherd. I am. But I shall choose my ain society there, as I do in Embro' and Yarrow. . . . (Here follows the Supper?) Tickler. James, you are the worst smoker of a cigar in Christendom. No occasion to blow like a hippopotamus. Look at me or North you would not know we breathed. Shepherd. It's to keep myseP frae falliii' asleep. Hear till that auld watchman, crawing the hour like a bit bantam. What's the cretur screeching ? Twa o'clock ! ! Mercy me ! we maun be aft. (Exeunt vmnes.} m. IN THE BLUE PARLOR. NORTH. SHEPHEUD. TICKLER. North. Thank heaven for winter ! Would that it lasted all year long ! Spring is pretty well in its way, with budding branches and carolling birds, and wimplingburnies, and fleecy skies, and dew-like showers softening and brightening the bosom of old mother earth. Summer is not much amiss, with umbrageous woods, glittering atmosphere, and awakening thunderstorms. Nor let me libel Autumn, in her gorgeous bounty, and her beautiful decays. But Winter, dear, cold- handed and warm-hearted Winter, welcome thou to my fur-clad bosom ! Thine are the sharp, short, bracing, invigorating days, that screw up muscle, fibre, and nerve, like the strings of an old Cremona discoursing excellent music thine the long snow-silent or hail-rattling nights, with earthly firesides and heavenly luminaries, for home comforts, or travelling imaginations, for undisturbed imprisonment, or unbounded freedom, for the affections of the heart and the flights of the sou' 1 Thine, too Shepherd. Thine, too, skatin, and curlin, and grewin,* and a' sorts o' deevilry amang lads and lasses atrockins and kirns. Beef and greens ! Beef and greens ! Oh, Mr. North, beef and greens ! ftrcinin oourflliifj. 30 A Plea for Winter. 31 North. Yes, James, I sympathize with your enthusiasm. Now, and now only, do carrots and turnips deserve the name. The season this of rumps and rounds. Now the whole nation sets in for serious eating serious and substantial eating, James, half leisure, half labor the table loaded with a lease of life, and each dish a year. In the presence of that Haggia I feel myself immortal. Shepherd. Butcher-meat, though, and coals are likely, let me tell you, to sell at a perfec' ransom frae Martinmas to Michaelmas. North. Paltry thought. Let beeves and muttons look up, even to the stars, and fuel be precious as at the Pole. Another slice of the stot, James, another slice of the stot and, Mr. Ambrose, smash that half-ton lump of black diamond till the chimney roar and radiate like Mount Vesuvius. Why so glum, Tickler ? why so glum ? Tickler. This outrageous merriment grates my spirits. I am not in the mood. 'TwilLbe a severe winter, and I think of the poor. North. Why the devil think of the poor at this time of day ? Are not wages good, and work plenty, and is not charity a British virtue ? Shepherd. I never heard sic even-doun nonsense in a' my born days. . . . Mr. Tickler, there's nae occasion, man, to look sae doun-in-the-mouth everybody kens ye're a man o* genius, without your pretending to be melancholy. Tickler. I have no appetite, James. Shepherd. Nae appeteet ! how suld ye hae an appeteet ? A bowl o' Mollygo-tawny soup, wi' bread in proportion twa codlins (wi' maist part o' a labster in that sass) the first gash .o' the jiget stakes then I'm rnaist sure, pallets, and finally guse no to count jeelies and coosturd, and bluemange, and many million mites in that Campsio Stilton better than ony 32 Tickler's Appetite. English a pot o' draught twa long shankers o' ale, noos and thans a sip o' the auld port, and just afore grace a caulker o' Glenlivet, that made your eeu glower and water in your head as if you had been looking at Mrs. Siddons in the sleep- walking scene, in Shakespeare's tragedy of Macbeth gin yo had an appeteet after a' that destruction o' animal and vege- table matter, your maw would be like that o' Death himsel, and your stamach insatiable as the grave Tickler. Mr. Ambrose, no laughter, if you please, sir. North. Come, come, Tickler had Hogg and Heraclitus been contemporaries, it would have saved the shedding of a world of tears. Shepherd. Just laugh your fill, Mr. Ambrose. A smile is aye becoming that honest face o' yours. But I'll no be sae wutty again, gin I can help it. (Exit Mr. AMBROSE with the epergne. Tickler. Mr. Ambrose understands me. It does my heart good to know when his arm is carefully extended over my shoulder, to put down or to remove. None of that hurry-and- no-speed waiter-like hastiness about our Ambrose ! With an ever observant eye he watches the goings-on of the board, like an astronomer watching the planetary system. He knows when a plate is emptied to be filled no more, and lo ! it is withdrawn as by an invisible hand. During some " syncope and solemn pause " you may lay down your knife and fork and wipe your brow, nor dread the evanishing of a half- devoured howtowdy ; the moment your eye has decided on a dish, there he stands plate in hand in a twinkling beside tongue or turkey ! No playing at cross purposes the sheep's head of Mullion usurping the place of the kidneys of O'Doherty. The most perfect confidence reigns round the board. The possibility of mistake is felt to be beyond the fear of the hungriest imagination ; and sooner shall one of " Hear the Grlenlivet ! " 33 Jupiter's satellites forsake his orbit, jostling the stars, and wheeling away into some remoter system, than our Ambrose run against any of the subordinates, or leave the room while North is in his chair. Noith. Hear the Glenlivet ! Hear the Glenlivet ! Shepherd. No, Mr. North, nane o' your envious attributions o' ae spirit for anither. It's the soul within him that breaks out, like lightning in the collied * night, or in the dwawm- like f silence o' a glen the sudden soun' o' a trumpet. Tickler. Give me your hand, James. Shepherd. There, noo there, noo ! It's aye me that's said to be sae fond o' flattery ; and yet only see how by a single word o' my mouth I can add sax inches to your stature, Mr. Tickler, and make ye girn like the spirit that saluted De Gama at the Cape o' Storms. North. Hear the Glenlivet ! Hear the Glenlivet ! Shepherd. Hush, ye haveril. J Give up a speech yoursel, Mr. North, and then see who'll cry, " Hear the Gleiilivet ! hear the Glenlivet ! " then. But haud your tongues, baith o' you dinna stir a fit. And as for you, Mr. Tickler, howk the tow out o' your lug, and hear till a sang. {The SHEPHEHD sings "The brakens vvi' me.") Tickler {passing his hand across his eyes). " I'm never merry when I hear sweet music." North. Your voice, James, absolutely gets mellower through years. Next York Festival you must sing a solo " Angels ever bright and fair," or " Farewell, ye lim- pid streams and Hoods." Shepherd. I was at the last York Festival, and oue day I was in the chorus, next to Grundy of Kirk-by-Lous *"Liko Lightning in the collied uight." Midsummer Nights Dream Collied blackened as with coal, t Dwawm-like swoon-like, t Haveril a chattering half-witted person. 34 The York Musical Festival. dale. I kent ray mouth was wide open, but I never heard my ain voice in the magnificent roar. North. Describe James describe. Shepherd. As weel describe a glorious dream of the seventh heaven. Thousands upon thousands o' the most beautiful angels sat mute and still in the Cathedral. Weel may I call them angels, although a' the time I knew them to be frail, evanescent creatures o' this ever-changing earth. A sort o' paleness was on their faces, ay, even on the faces where the blush-roses o' innocence were blooming like the flowers o' Paradise for a shadow came ower them frae the awe o' their religious hearts that beat not, but were chained as in the pres- ence of their Great Maker. All eyne were fixed in a sol- emn raised gaze, something mournful-like I thocht, but it was only in a happiness great and deep as the calm sea. I saw I did not see the old massy pillars now I seemed to behold the roof o' the Cathedral, and now the sky o' heaven, and a licht I had maist said a murmuring licht, for there surely was a faint spirit-like soun' in the streams o' splen- dor that came through the high Gothic window, left shadows here and there throughout the temple, till a' at ance the or- gan sounded, and I could have fallen down on my knees. North. Thank you, kindly, James. Shepherd. I understand the hint, sir. Catch me harpin ower lang on ae string. Yet music's a subject I could get geyan * tiresome upon. North. What think you, James, of the projected Fish Company. Shepherd. Just everything that's gude. I never look at the sea without lamenting the backward state of its agricul- ture. Were every eatable land animal extinc', the human race could dine and soup out o' the ocean till a' eternity. * Gey an- rather. The Peril of Luncheon. 35 Tickler. No fish-sauco equal to the following : Ketchup mustard cayenne pepper butter amalgamated on your plate prop-no manu, each man according to his own propor- tions. Yetholm ketchup made by the gipsies. Mushroom, for ever damn walnuts. North. I care little about what I eat or drink. Shepherd. Lord have mercy on us what a lee ! There does not, at this blessed moment, breathe on the earth's surface ae human being that doesna prefer eating and drink- ing to all ither pleasures o' body and sowl.* This is the rule : Never think about either the ane or the ither but when you are at the board. Then, eat and drink wi' a' your pow- ers moral, intellectual, and physical. Say little, but look freendly tak care chiefly o' yoursel', but no, if you can help it, to the utter oblivion o' a' ithers. This may soun ' queer but it's gude manners, and worth a Chesterfield. Them at the twa ends o' the table maun just reverse that rule till ilka body has been twice served and then aff at 'a haun gallop. North. What think ye of luncheons ? Shepherd. That they are the disturbers o' a' earthly hap- piness. I daurna trust mysel' wi' a luncheon. In my haun-s it becomes an untimeous denner for after a hantle o' cauld meat, muirfowl pies, or even butter and bread, what reason- able cretur can be ready afore gloamin for a het denner ? So when'er I'm betrayed into a luncheon, I mak it a luncheon wi' a vengeance ; and then order in the kettle, and finish aff wi' a jug or twa, just the same as gin it had been a regular dinner wi' a table-cloth. Bewaur the tray. North. A few anchovies, such as I used to enjoy with my * " Some people," says Dr. Samuel Johnson, " Lave a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my part, I mind my belly very studiously, and very carefully. For I look upou it, that he who does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything else." BOSWKLL'S IAf$ ehap. xvii. 3o The Mid-day Sour. dour Davy at the corner, act as a whet, I confess, and noth- ing more. Shepherd. I never can eat a few o' ony thing, even ingans. Ance I begin, I inaun proceed ; and I devoor them ilka ane being the last till my een are sae watery that I think it i? raining. Break not upon the integrity o' time atween break fast and the blessed hour o' denner. North. The mid-day hour is always, to my imagination- the most delightful hour of the whole Alphabet. Shepherd. I understaun. During that hour and there is nae occasion to allow difference for clocks, for in nature every object is a dial how many thousand groups are col- lected a' ower Scotland, and a' ower the face o' the earth for in every clime wondrously the same are the great lead- ing laws o' man's necessities under bits o'bonny buddin or leaffu' hedgeraws, some bit fragrant and fluttering birk-tree, aneath some owerhanging rock in the desert, or by some diamond well in its mossy cave breakin their bread wi' thanksgiving, and eatin with the clear blood o' health mean- dering in the heaven-blue veins o' the sweet lassies, while the cool airs are playing amang their haflins-covered* bosoms wi' many a jeist and sang atween, and aiblins kisses too, at ance dew and sunshine to the peasant's or shepherd's soul then tip again wi' lauchter to their wark amang the tedded grass, or the corn-rigs sae boiny, scenes that Robbie Burns lo'ed sae wee! and sang sae gloriously and the whilk, need 1 fear to say't, your ain Ettrick Shepherd, my dear fellows, has sung on his auld border harp, a sang or twa that may be remembered when the bard that wauk'd them is i' the mools, and " at his fee 1 , the green-grass turf and at his head a stane." Tickler. Come, come, James, none of your pathos none * Haflins-covered half-covered. What is pleasant Conversation f 37 of your pathos, my dear James. ( Looking red about the eyes.) North. We were talking of codlins.* Shepherd. True, Mr. North, but folk canna be aye talkin o' codliris, ony mair than aye eatin them; and the great charm o' conversation is being aff on ony wind that blaws. Pleasant conversation between friends is just like walking through a mountainous kintra at every glen-mouth the wun' blaws frae a different airtf the bit bairnies come tripping alang in opposite directions noo a harebell scents the air noo sweet briar noo heather bank here is a grue- some quagmire, there a plat o' sheep-nibbled grass, smooth as silk and green as emeralds here a stony region of cinders and lava, there groves o' the lady-fern embowering the sleeping roe here the hillside in its own various dyes resplendent as the rainbow, and there woods that the Druids would have worshipped hark, sound sounding in the awfu' sweetness o' evening wi' the cushat's sang, and the deadened roar o' some great waterfa' far aff in the very centre o' the untrodden forest. A' the warks o' ootward nattir are sym- bolical o' our ain immortal souls. Mr. Tickler, is't not just even sae ? Tickler. Sheridan Sheridan ; what was Sheridan's talk to our own Shepherd's, North ? North. A few quirks and cranks studied at a looking-glass | puns painfully elaborated with pen and ink for extempo- raneous reply bon-mots generated in malice prepense witti- cisms jotted down in short-hand to be extended when he had put on the spur of the occasion the drudgeries of memory Godwins small cod ; not apples, as the American editor supposes. t Airt point of the compasB. t How carefully Sheridan's impromptus were prepared beforehand may b learned from Moore's Life of that celebrated wit, just published at the dat of this number of the Noctes. 38 The Shepherd's Monkey. to be palmed off for the ebullitions of imagination the coinage of the counter passed for currency hot from the mint of fancy squibs and crackers ignited and exploded by a Merry-Andrew, instead of the lightnings of the soul, darting out forked or sheeted from the electrical atmosphere of an inspired genius. Shepherd. I wish that you but saw my monkey, Mr. North, He would make you hop the twig in a guffaw. I hae got a pole erected for him o' about some 150 feet high, on a knowe ahint Mount Benger ; and the way the cretur rins up to the knob, lookin ower the shouther o' him, and twisting his tail roun' the pole for fear o' playin thud on the grun', is comical pasta' endurance. North. Think you, James, that he is a link ? Shepherd. A link in creation ? Not he, indeed. He is merely a monkey. Only to see him on his observatory, beholding the sunrise ! or weeping, like a Laker, at the beauty o' the moon and stars ! North. Is he a bit of a poet ? Shepherd. Gin he could but speak and write, there can bo uae manner o' doubt that he would be a gran' poet. Safe us ! what eeu in the head o' him ! Wee, clear, red, fiery, watery, malignant-lookin een, fu' o' inspiration. Tickler. You should have him stuffed. Shepherd. Stuffed, man ? say, rather, embalmed. But he's no likely to dee for years to come indeed, the cretur's engaged to be married, although he's no in the secret himsel', yet. The bawns* are published. Tickler. Why, really, James ; marriage, I tbuik, ought to be simply a civil contract. Shepherd. A civil contract ! I wuss it was. But oh ! Mr. Tickler, to see the cretur sittin wi' a pen in's hand, and pipe * Bawns banns. Ilia Accomplishments. 39 ill's mouth, jotting down a sonnet, or odd, or lyrical ballad ! Sometimes I put that black velvet cap ye gied me on his head, and ane o' the bairn's auld big-coats on his back ; and then sure enough, when he takes his stroll iu the avenue, ho is a heathenish Christian. North. Why James, by this time he must be quite like one off the family ? Shepherd. He's a capital flee fisher. I never saw a monkey throw alighter line in my life. But he's greedy o' the gude linns, and canna thole to see onybody else gruppin great anea but himsel'. He accompanied me for twa-three days in tho season to the Trows, up aboon Kelso yonner ; and Kersse* allowed that he worked a salmon to a miracle. Then, foi rowing a boat ! Tickler. Why don't you bring him to Ambrose's ? Shepherd. He's sae bashfu'. He never shines in company , and the least thing in the world will mak him blush. Tickler. Have you seen the Sheffield Iris, containing an account of the feast given to Montgomery! the poet, his long- winded speech, and his valedictory address to the world as abdicating editor of a provincial newspaper? Shepherd. I have the Iris that means Rainbow in my pocket, and it made me proud to see sic honors conferred on genius. Lang-wunded speech, Mr. Tickler ! What ! would you have had Montgomery mumble fwa-three sentences, and sit down again, before an assemblage o' a hundred o' the most respectable o' his fellow-townsmen, with Lord Milton at their head, a' gathered thegither to honor with heart and hand One of the Sons of Song ? North. Right, James, right. On such an occasion, Mont- Kersse, a celebrated Kelso salmon-fisher. t James Montgomery, author of The World before the Flood, and othei poems, was born in 1771, and died in 1864. 40 The Niyht of Trafalgar. goinery was not only entitled, but bound to speak of himself and by so doing ho " has graced his cause." Mcanwhilo let us drink his health in a bumper. Shepherd. Stop, stop, my jug's done. But never mind, I'll drink't in pure specrit. (Bibunt omncs.) Tickler. Did we include his politics? Shepherd. Faith, I believe no. Let's tak anither bumper to his politics. North. James, do you know what you're saying ? the man is a Whig. If we do drink his politics, let it be in empty glasses. Shepherd. Na, na. I'll drink no man's health, nor yet ony ither thing, out o' an empty glass. My political principles are so well known, that my consistency would not suffer were I to drink the health o' the great Whig leader, Satan himself ; besides, James Montgomery is, I verily believe, a true patriot. Giu he thinks himself a Whig, he has nae understanding whatever o' his ain character. I'll undertak to bring out the Toryism that's in him in the course o' a single Nodes. Tory- ism is an innate principle o' human nature Whiggism but an evil habit. O sirs, this is a gran' jug ! Tickler. I am beginning to feel rather hungry. Shepherd. I liae been rather sharp-set even sin' Mr. Ambrose took awa the cheese. N-^rth. 'Tis the night of the 21st of October the battle of Tiafalgar Nelson's death the greatest of all England's heroes 1 His march was o'er tho mountain wave, His home was on the deep." Nelson not only destroyed the naval power of all the enemies of England, hut he made our naval power immortal. Thank God, he died at sea. Tickler. A noble creature ; his very failings were ocean- born. The Spirit of the Iliad. 41 Shepherd. Yes a cairn to his memory would not be out of place even at the head of the most inland, glen. Not a sea-mew floats up into our green solitudes that tells not of Nelson. North. His name makes me proud that I am an islander. No continent lias such a glory. Shepherd. Look out o' the window what a fleet o'stars in Heaven ! Yon is the Victory a hundred-gun ship I see the standard of England flying at the main. The bricht- est luminary o' nicht says in that halo, " England expects every man to do his duty." . . . What think you of the Iliad, Mr. North? North. The great occupation of the power of man, James, in early society, is to make war. Of course, his great poet- ry will be that which celebrates war. The mighty races of men, and their mightiest deeds, are represented in such poet- ry. It contains " the glory of the world " in some of its noblest ages. Such is Homer. The whole poem of Homer (the Iliad) is war, yet not much of the whole Iliad is fight- ing and that, with some exceptions, not the most interesting. If we consider warlike poetry purely as breathing the spirit of fighting, the fierce ardor of combat, we fall to a much lower measure of human conception. Homer's poem is in- tellectual, and full of affections ; it would go as near to make a philosopher as a soldier. I should say that war appears UN the business of Homer's heroes, not often a matter of pure enjoyment. One would conceive, that if there could be found anywhere in language the real breathing spirit of lut for fight which is in some nations, there would be concep- tions, and passion of blood-thirst, which are not in Homer. There are flashes of it in ^Eschylus. Shep/ierd. I wish to heaven I could read Greek. I'D begin to-morrow. 42 The Glory of War. Tickler. The songs of T) rtajus goading into battle are of tliat kind, and their class is evidently not a high one. Far above them must have been those poems of the ancient (it'rman nations, which were chanted in the front of battle, recil ing the acts of old heroes to exalt their courage. These, being breathed out of the heart of passion of a people, must have been good. The spirit of fighting was there involved with all their most ennobling conceptions, and yet was mere- ly pugnacious. Xorth. The Iliad is remarkable among military poems in this, that, being all about war, it instils no passion for war. None of the high inspiring motives to war are made to kindle the heart. In fact, the cause of war is false on both sides. But there is a glory of war, like the splendor of sun- shine, resting upon and enveloping all. Shepherd. I'm beginning to get a little clearer in the up- per storey. That last jug was a poser. How feel you gentlemen do you think you're baith quite sober ? Our conversation is rather beginning to get a little heavy. Tak a mouthfu'. (NORTH quaffs.) Tickler. North, you look as if you were taking an observa- tion. Have you discovered any new comet ? North (standing up). Friends countrymen and Romans lend me your ears. You say, James, that that's a gran' jug; well then, out with the ladle, and push about the jorum. No speech no speech for my heart is big. This may be our last meeting in the Blue Parlor. Our next meeting in AMBROSE'S HOTEL, PICARDY PLACE I * * At this time Ambrose was about to sliif t his sign from Gabriel's Road, at the back of Princes Streot, to a largo tenement in Picardy Place, facing the head of Txsith Walk* H will bo seen, in the next Nodes, that tlie party again met in tho olii, " Blue Parlor" in Gabriel's Road. Fareivell to the Blue Parlor. 43 ( NORTH suddenly sits down; TICKLER and the SHEPHERD in a moment are at his side.) Ticlaer. My beloved Christopher, here is my smelling-bottle (Puts the vinaigrette to his aquiline nose.) Shepherd. My beloved Christopher, here is my smelling- bottle. (Pnts the stately oblong Glenlivet crystal to his lips.) North (opening his eyes). What flowers are those ? Roses- mignonette, bathed in aromatic dew ! Shepherd. Yes ; in romantic dew mountain dew, my re- spected sir^ that could give scent to a sybo.* Tickler. James, let us support him into the open air North. Somewhat too much of this. It is beautiful moon light. Let us take an arm-in-arm stroll round the ramparts of the Calton Hill. ( JSnter Mr. AMBROSE, much affected, with NORTH'S dreadnought ; NORTH whispers in his ear, Subridens olli ; Mr. AMBROSE looks cheerful, et exeunt omnes. * 8ybo ftleek. IV, IN WHICH TB1S Jtfffd&tiD LfoUlfris *'h EDITORIAL CHAIR. J3iue Parlor SHEPHERD and TICKLER. Shepherd. I bad nae heart for't, Mr. Tickler, I had nae heart for't. Ton's a grand hotel in Picardy and there can be nae manner o' doubt that Mr. Ambrose '11 succeed in it. Yon big letters facing doun Leith Walk will be sure to catch the een o' a' the passengers by London smacks and steam- boats, to say naething o'the mair stationary laud population. Besides, the character o' the man himself, sae douce, civil, and judicious. But skill part from my right hand when I forget Gabriel's Road. Draw in your chair, sir. Tickler. I wish the world, James, would stand still for some dozen years till I am at rest. It seems as if the very earth itself were undergoing a vital change. Nothing is unalterable except the heaven above my head and even it, James, is hardly, methinks at times, the same as in former days or nights. There is not much difference in the clouds, James, but the blue sky, I must confess, is not quite so very, very blue as it was sixty years since ; and the sun, although still a glorious luminary, has lost a leetle iust a leetle of liis lustre. But it is the streets, squares, courts, closes, 44 The Shepherd is confidential. 45 lands, houses, shops, that are all changed gone swept off razed buried. " And that is sure a reason fair, To fill my glass again." Shepherd. Ony reason's fair enough for that. Here's to you, sir the Hollands in this house is aye maist excellent. ... Is the oysters verra gude this season ? I shanna stir frae this chair till I hae devoored five score o' them. That's just my allowance on coming in frae the kintra. Tickler. James, that is a most superb cloak. Is the clasp pure gold ? You are like an officer of hussars like one of the Prince's Own. Spurs too, I protest ! Shepherd. Sit closer, Mr. Tickler, sit closer, man ; light your cigar, and puff away like a steam-engine though ye ken I just detest smokin ; for I hae a secret to communi- cate a secret o' some pith and moment, Mr. Tickler ; and I want to see your face in a' the strength o' its maist natural expression when I am lettin you intil't. Fill your glass, sir. Tickler. Don't tell it to me, James don't tell it to me; for the greatest enjoyment I have in this life is to let out a secret especially if it has been confided to me as a mutter of life and death. Shepherd. I'll riu a' hazards. I maun out wi't to you ; for 1 hae aye had the most profoun' respect for your abeelities, and I hae a pleasure in gieiu you the start o' the world for four-aiid-twenty hours. I amnoo the Yeditor o' Blackwood's Magazine. Tickler. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! Shepherd. Why, you see, sir, they couldna do without me. North's getting verra auld and, between you and me, rather doited crabbed to the contributors, and come hither wi' your lug no verra ceevil to Ebony hiinsel ; so out comes setter upon letter to me, in Yarrow yonder, fu' o' the maist 46 TJie Shepherd in the Chair. magnificent offers indeed, telling me to fix my am terms and, faith, just to get*rid o' the endless fash o' letters by the carrier, I druve into toun here, in the Whusky, through Peebles, on the Saturday o' the hard frost, and th:it same night was installed into the Yeditorship in the Sanctum Sanctorum. Tickler. Well, James, all that Russian affair * is a joke to this. Nicholas, Constautine, and the old Mother-Empress may go to the devil and shake themselves, now that you, my dear, dear Shepherd, are raised to the Scottish throne. Shepherd. Wha wad hae thocht it, Mr. Tickler wha wad hae thocht it that day when I first entered the Grassmarket wi' a' my flock afore me, and Hector youf-youfia round the Gallow-Stane where, in days of yore, the saints Tickler. Sire ! Shepherd. Nane o' your mocking I'm the Editor ; and, to prove't, T'll order in the Balaam-box. Tickler. James, as you love me, open not that box. Pan- dora's was a joke to it. Shepherd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Mr. Tickler, you're feared that I'll lay my haun on yane o' your articles. O man, but you're a vain auld chiel ; just a bigot to your ain abeelities. But hear me, sir; you maun compose in a mair classical style gin you think o' continuing a contributor. I must not let down the character of the work to flatter a few feckless fumblers. Mr. Ambrose Mr. Ambrose the Balaam-box I tell you I hae been ringing this half-hour for the Balaam- box. Mr. Ambrose. Here is the safe, sir. I observe the spider is gtill in the key-hole ; but as Mr. North, God bless him, told The " Russian affair" was t.be -<'liitit(tri.c.s. Dinna girn that way iii my face, Mr. Beelzebub. Faith, it gars us a' fowre stoiter.* (SHEPHERD, TICKLER, BEELZEBUB, and AMBROSE succeed in placing the Balaam-box on the table.) North. Thank ye, gentlemen. Here is a glass of Madeira to each of you. Shepherd. North, rax me ower the Stork. There that's a hantle heartsomer than ony o' your wines, either white or black. It's just rnaist excellent whisky, Glenlivet or no Glenlivet. But hech, sir, that's a sad box, that Balaam, and I'll weigh't against its ain bouk,f lead only excepted o' ony ither material noo extant, and gi'e a stane. North. Let the Incremators take their stations. {They do so, one at each side of the chimney. The Incrcmalors are firemen belonging to the Sun Fire Office.) Devil ! Devil. Here ! North. Clerk of the B. B. C. B. B. Here ! North. Open Balaam. C. B. B. Please, sir, to remember the catastrophe of last year. We must take the necessary precautions. North. Certainly. Mr. Hogg, on opening Balaam last year, we had neglected to put weight on the lid, and the mo- ment the clerk had turned the key, it flew up with prodig- ious violence, and the jammed-down articles, as if discharged from a culverin, wafted destruction around breaking that beautiful fifty-guinea mirror, in whose calm and lucid depths wo had so often seen ourselves reflected to the very life all but speech. Shepherd. I could greet to think on't. A' dung J to shivers scarcely ae bit big eneuch to shave by. But the same * Slolter staggor. 1 Bmik bulk. t Dung knocked. Lucifer and Beelzebub- 71 sbinna* befa' the year for I'se sit doun upon the lid like a guardian angel, and the lid'll hae a powerfu' spring indeed gir it whamles me ower after sic a denner. (The SHEPHERD mounts the table with youthful alacrity, and sits down on the Balaam-box.) North. Use both your hands, sir. C. B. B. Beg your pardon Mr. North there the key turns. Sit fast, Mr. Hogg. Shepherd. Never mind me, I'm sittin as fast's a rock. (The lid, like a catapulta, dislodges the SHEPHERD, who alights on his feet a few yards from the table.) Tickler. My dear Shepherd, why, you are a rejected con- tributor ! North. Mr. Ambrose, send in the scavenger. Sorters, col- lect and arrange. (C. B. B., SORTERS, and DEVIL in full employment.) Shepherd. Tliae Incremawtors hae a gran' effec! They canna be less than sax feet four, and then what whuskers ! I scarcely ken whether black whuskers or red whuskers be the maist fearsome ! What tangs in their hauns ! and what pokers ! Lucifer and Beelzebub ! North. At home, James, and at their own firesides, they are the most peaceable of men. Shepherd. I canna believe't, Mr. North, I canna believe't! *hey can hae nae human feeling neither sighs nor tears. North. They aro men, James, and do their duty. He with the red whiskers was married this forenoon to a pretty del- icite little girl of eighteen, quite a fairy of a thing seem- ingly made of animated wax so soft ^hat, like the winged butterfly, you would fear to touch her, lest you might spoil the burnished beauty. Shpphcrd. Married on him wi' the red whuskei s ! * Shinna shall not. 72 " All Poetry to fieelzebub." North. Come, now, James, no affected simplicity, no Arca- dian innocence ! Shepherd. You micht hae gi'en him the play the day, 1 think, sir ; you micht hae gi'en him the play. The Incre- mawtor ! Devil The sorters have made up a skuttlefu' o' poetry. Sir, shall I deliver up to Lucifer or Beelzebub ? North. All poetry to Beelzebub. Shepherd. A' poetry to Beelzebub ! ! wae's me, wae's me. Well-a-day, well-a-day ! Has it indeed come to this ? A' poetry to Beelzebub ! I can scarce believe my lugs North. Stop, Beelzebub read aloud that bit of paper yon have in your fist. Beelzebub. Yes, sir. Shepherd. Lord safe us, what a voice ! They're my ain verses, too. Whist whist. (BKELZEBUB recites " The great muckle village of Bal- maquh apple.") North (to Tickler, aside"). Bad Hogg's. Shepherd. What's that you two are speaking about? Speak up. North. These fine lines must be preserved, James. Pray, are they allegorical ? Shepherd. What a dracht in that lum ! * It's a verra fiery furnace ! hear till't hoo it roars, like wund in a cavern ! Sonnets, charauds, elegies, pastorals, lyrics, farces, tragedies, and yepics in they a' gang into the general bleeze ; then there is naething but sparkling ashes, and noo the thin, black, wavering coom o' annihilation and oblivion ! It's a sad sicht, and but for the bairnliness o't, I could weel gre<:t. Puir chiels and lasses, they had ither howps when they sat down to compose, and invoked Apollo and the Muses ! * Lum chimney. A Midnight Burniny of Heather. 73 North. James, the poor creatures have been all happy in their inspiration. Why weep ? Probably, too, they kept copies, and other Balaam-boxes may be groaning with dupli- cates. 'Tis a strange world we live in ! Shepherd. Was you ever at the burning o' heather or whins, Mr. North? North. I have, and have enjoyed the illuminated heavens. Tickler. Describe. North. In half-an-hour from the first spark, the hill glow- ed with fire unextinguishable by waterspout. The crackle became a growl, as acre after acre joined the flames. Here and there a rock stood in the way, and the burning waves broke against it, till the crowning birch-tree took fire, and its tresses, like a shower of flaming diamonds, were in a minute consumed. Whirr, whirr, played the frequent gorcock gobbling in his fear ; and, swift as shadows, the old hawks Hew screaming from their young, all smothered in a iiest of ashes. Tickler. Good excellent ! Go it again. North. The great pine-forest on the mountain side, two miles off, frowned in ghastly light, as in a stormy sunset and you could see the herd of red deer, a whirlwind of ant- lers, descending, in their terror, into the black glen, whose entrance gleamed once twice thrice, as if there had been lightning ; and then, as the wind changed the direction of the flames, all the distance sank in dark repose. Tickler. Vivid coloring, indeed, sir. Paint away. North. That was an eagle that shot between and the moon. Tickler. What an image ! North. Millions of millions of sparks of fire in heaven, but only some six or seven stars. How calm the large lustre of Hesperus ! Tickler. James, what do you think of that, eh ? 74 77*6 Heat become* Intolerable. S/iep/ierd. Didna ye pity the taids and puddocks, and aski and beetles, and slaters and snails and spiders, and worms and ants, and caterpillars and bumbees, and a' the rest o' the insect-world, perishin in the flamin nicht o* their last judgment ? North. In another season, James, what life, beauty, and bliss over the verdant wilderness ! There you see and hear the bees busy on the white clover while the lark comes wavering down from heaven, to sit beside his mate on her nest ! Here and there are still seen the traces of fire, but they are nearly hidden by flowers and Shepherd. For a town-chiel, Mr. North, you describe the kintra wi' surprisin truth and spirit ; but there's aye some- thing rather wantin about your happiest pictures, as if you had glowered on everything in a dream or trance. North. Like your own Kilmeny, James, I am fain to steal away from this everyday world into the Land of Glamoury. Shepherd. O sirs ! the room's gettin desperate warm. I pity the poor Incremawtors they maun be unco dry. Beel- zebub, open the window, man, ye ugly deevil, and let in a current o' cool air. Mr. North, I canna thole the heat ; and [ ask it as a particular favor, no to burn the prose till after supper. At a' events, let the married Incremawtor gang hame to his bride and there's five shillings to him to drink uiy health at his ain ingle. (INCREMATOR, DEVIL, CLERK OF THE BALAAM-BOX, PORTERS, and MR. AMBROSE retire.) North. Who are the wittiest men of our day, Tickler ? Tickler. Christopher North, Timothy Tickler, and Jaine* Hogg- North. Poo, poo we all know that but out of doors ? Tickler. Canning, Sydney Smith, and Jeffrey. North. I fear it is so. Canning's wit is infallible. It is Canning and Brougham. 1f> never out of time or place, and is finely proportioned to itfc object. Has he a good-natured, gentlemanly, well-educated blockhead say of the landed interest to make ridiculous, he does it so pleasantly, that the Esquire joins in the general smile. Is it a coarse, calculating dunce of the mercantile school he suddenly hits him such a heavy blow on the organ of number, that the stunned economist is unable to sum up the total of the whole. Would some pert prig of the profes- sion be facetious overmuch, Canning ventures to the very borders of vulgarity, and discomfits him with an old Joe. Doth some mouthing member of mediocrity sport orator, and make use of a dead tongue, then the classical Secretary * runs him through and through with apt quotations, and before the member feels himself wounded, the whole House sees that he is a dead man. Tickler. His wit is shown in greatest power in the battles of the giants. When Brougham bellows against him, a Bull of Bashan, the Secretary waits till his horns are lowered for the death-blow, and then, stepping aside, he plants with graceful dexterity the fine-tempered weapon in the spine of the mighty Brute. Shepherd. Whish ! Nae personality the nicht. Michty Brute. Do you ca' Hairy Brumm a michty Brute ? He's just a rnaist agreeable enterteenin fallow, and I recollect eittin up wi' him a' iiicht, for three nichts rinnin, about thretty years syne, at Miss Ritchie's hottel, Peebles. O man, but he was wutty wutty and bricht thochts o' a maist ex- traordinary kind met thegether frae the opposite poles o' the human understanding. I prophesied at every new half- mutchkin that Mr. Brumm would be a distinguished charac- ter ; and there he is, you see, Leader o' the Opposition ! Tickler. His Majesty's Opposition ! At this timowney and be aff to Selkirk. He grew red red in the face ; but for the rest o' the evening, and we didna gang to bed till the sma' hours, he was not only rational, but clever and wcel-in formed, and I gi'ed him an order for twenty gallons. Tickler. Yes Sydney Smith has a rare genius for the grotesque. He is, with his quips and cranks, a formidable enomy to pomposity, and pretension. No man can wear a big wig comfortably in his presence : the absurdity of such enormous frizzle is felt ; and the dignitary would fain ex- cliange all that horse-hair for a few scattered locks of another mimal. North. He would make a lively interlocutor at a Noctes. Indeed. I intend to ask him, and Mr. Jeffrey, and Cobbett, and Joseph Hume, and a few more choice spirits, to join our festive board Shepherd. man, that will be capital sports ! Sic con- versation ! T^-avse a passage within a house, the lobby. A Thunderstorm in Yarrow. 77 Tickler. O my dear James, conversation is at a very low ebb in this world ! Shepherd. I've often thought and felt that, at parties where ane micht hue expeckit better things. First o' a' comes the wather no a bad toppic, but ane that town's folks kens naething about. Wather ! My faith, had ye been but in Yarrow last Thursday ! Tickler. What was the matter, James, the last Thursday in Yarrow ? Shepherd. I'se tell you, and judge for yoursel. At four in the morniii, it was that hard frost that the dubs * were bearin, and the midden f was as hard as a rickle o' stanes. We couldna plant the potawtoes. But the lift was clear. Between eight and nine, a snaw-storm came down frae the mountains about Loch Skene noo a whirl, and noo a blash, till the grun' was whitey-blue, wi' a sliddery sort o' sleet, and the Yarrow began to roar wi' the melted broo alang its frost-bound borders, and aneath its banks, a' hanging wi' icicles, nane o' them thinner than my twa arms. Weel, then, about eleven it began to rain, for the wund had shifted and afore dinnertime it was an even-doun pour. It fell lown about sax, and the air grew close and sultry to a degree that was fearsome. Wha wud hae expeckit a thunderstorm on the eve o' sic a day ? But the heavens, in the thundery airt, were like a dungeon and 1 saw the lightning playing like meteors athwart the blackness, lang before ony growl was in the gloom. Then, a' at ance, like a waken'd lion, the thunder rose up in his den, and shakin his mane o' brindled clouds, broke out into sic a roar, that the very sun shud- dered in eclipse and the grews and collies that happened to b "ittin beside me on a bit kuowe, gaed whinin into thn house wi' their tails atween their legs, just venturin a hafflin * Dubs puddles. t Midden dunghill. 78 A Calm in Yarrow. glance to the howling heavens, noo a' in low, for tho fira was strong and fierce in electrical matter, and at intervals the illuminated mountains seemed to vomit out conflagration like verm volcanoes. Tickler. '- -rzfxizv-iL ! Shepherd. Afore sunset, heaven and earth, like lovers after a quarrel, lay embraced in each other's smile ! North. Beautiful ! Beautiful ! Beautiful ! Tickler. Oh ! James James James ! Shepherd. The lambs began their races on the lea, and the thrush o' Eltrive (there is but a single pair in the vale aboon the kirk) awoke his hymn in the hill-silence. It was mair like a mornin than an evenin twilight, and a' the day's hurly- burly had passed awa into the uncertainty o' a last week's dream ! North. Proof positive that, from the lips of a man of genius, even the weather Shepherd. I could speak for hours, days, months, and years about the wather, without e'er becoming tiresome. O man, a cawm ! North. On shore, or at sea ? Shepherd. Either. I'm wrapped up in my plaid, and lyin a' my length on a bit green platform, fit for the faries' feet, wi' a craig hangin ower me a thousand feet high, yet bright and balmy a' the way up wi' flowers and briars, and broom and birks, and mosses maist beautifu' to behold wi' half-shut ee, and through aneath ane's arm, guardin the face frao the cloudless sunshine ! North. A rivulet leaping from the rock Shepherd. No, Mr. North, no loupin ; for it seems as if it were nature's ain Sabbath, and the verra waters were at rest. Look down upon the vale profound, and the stream is with- out motion ! No doubt, if you were walking along the bank. A Calm in Yarrow. 79 it would be murmuring with your feet. But here here up among the hills, we can imagine it asleep, even like the well within reach of my staff ! North. Tickler, pray make less noise, if you can, in drum- ing, and also in putting down your tumbler. You break in npon the repose of James' picture. Shepherd. Perhaps a bit bonny butterfly is resting wi' faulded wings on a gowan, no a yard frae your cheek ; and noo, waukening out o' a simmer dream, floats awa in its wavering beauty, but, as if unwilling to leave its place of mid-day sleep, comin back and back, and roun' and roun', on this side and that side, and ettlin * in its capricious happi- ness to fasten again on some brighter floweret, till the same breath o' wund that lifts up your hair sae refreshingly catches the airy voyager, and wafts her away into some other nook, of her ephemeral paradise. Tickler. I did not know that butterflies inhabited the re- gion of snow. Shepherd. Ay, and mony million moths ; some o' as lovely green as of the leaf of the moss-rose, and itliers bright as the blush with which she salutes the dewy dawn ; some yellow as the long steady streaks that lie below the sun at set, and ithers blue as the sky before his orb has westered. Spotted, too, are all the glorious creatures' wings say, rather, starred wi' constellations ! Yet, O sirs, they are but crea- tures o' a day ! North. Go on with the calm, James the calm ! Shepherd. Gin a pile o' grass straughtens itself iu silence, you hear it distinctly. I'm thinkin that was the noise o' a beetle gaun to pay a visit to a freen on the ither side o' that mossy stane. The melting dew quakes ! Ay, sing awa, my bonny bee, maist industrious o' God's creatures ! Dear me, * Ettlin intending, attempting. 80 A Temple in the Clouds. the heat is ower muckle for him, and lie burrows hiuisel ill amaug a tuft o' grass, like a beetle panting ! and noo invisi- ble a' but the yellow doup o' him. I too feel drowsy, and will go to sleep amaug the mountain solitude. North. Not with such a show of clouds Shepherd. No ! not with such a show of clouds. A congre- gation of a million might worship in that Cathedral ! "What a dome ! And is not that flight of steps magnificent ? My imagination sees a crowd of white-robed spirits ascending to the inner shrine of the temple. Hark a bell tolls ! Yon- der it is, swinging to and fro, half-minute time, in its tower of clouds. The great air-organ 'gins to blow its pealing anthem and the overcharged spirit, falling from its vision, sees nothing but the pageantry of earth's common vapors that ere long will melt in showers, or be wafted away in darker masses over the distance of the sea. Of what better stuff, Mr. North, are made all our waking dreams ? Call not thy Shepherd's strain fantastic ; but look abroad over the work-day world, and tell him where thou seest aught more steadfast or substantial than that cloud-cathedral, with its flight of vapor-steps, and its mist towers, and its air-organ, now all gone for ever, like the idle words that imaged the transitory and delusive glories. Tickler. Bravo, Shepherd, bravo ! You have nobly vindi- cated the weather as a topic of conversation. What think you of the Theatre Preaching Politics Magazines and Reviews, and the threatened Millenium ? Shepherd. Na, let me tak my breath. What think ye Mr. Tickler, yoursel, o' preachin ? Tickler. No man goes to church more regularly than I do ; but the people of Scotland are cruelly used by their ministers. No sermon should exceed half an hour at the utmost. That \i a full allowance. . . . (The long-winded are rated by the three.} Tickler in the Pulpit. 81 North. What the deuce is the meaning of all this vilupera- r,ion ? Shepherd. Deil tak me gin I ken. But I fin' mysel gettin desperate angry at something or ither, and could abuse maist onybody. Wha was't that introduced the toppic o' kirks? I'm sure it wasna me. It was you, Mr. Tickler. Tickler. Me introduce the top of kirks? Shepherd. Yes ; you said, " What think you of the theatre preaching politics magazines and reviews, and the threatened millennium ? " I'll swear to the verra words, as if I had taen them clown wi' the keelivine. North. James, don't you think Tickler would have been an admirable preacher ? Shepherd. I canna say ; but I could answer for his being a good precentor.* Tickler. Why not a preacher ? Shepherd. You wadna hae been to be depended on. Your discourses, like your ain figure, wad hae wanted proportion ; and as for doctrine, I doubt you wad hae been heterodox. Then, you wad hae been sic a queer-lookin chiel in the poupit ! Tickler. Don't you think I would have been an admirable Moderator ? f Shepherd. You're just best as you are a gentleman at large. You're scarcely wecl adapted for ony profession except maybe a fizician. You wad hae fan'J a pulse wi' a true Fl^culawpian solemnity ; and that face o' yours, when you looked glum or gruesome, wad hae frichtened families into fees, and held patients down to sick-beds, season after season. man ! but you wad hae had gran' practice. * The " precentor " in the Presbyterian service corresponds to the " clerk " in the Episcopalian. t Moderator, or president, of the General Assembly of the Ohurch of Scotland. t Fan' folt. 82 Quackery in ill Professions. Tickler. I could not have endured the quackery of the thing, Hogg. Shepherd. Ilaud your tongue. There's equal quackery in a' things alike. Look at a sodger that is, an o (fisher a' wavin wi' white plumes, glitterin wi' gowd, and ringin wi' iron gallopin on a grey horse, that caves * the foam frae its fiery nostrils, wi' a mane o' clouds, and a tail that Hows like a cataract mustachies about the mouth like a devourin can- nibal, and proud, fierce een, that seem glowerin for an enemy into the distant horrisou his long swurd swinging in the scabbard wi' a fearsome clatter aneath Bellerophon's belly and his doup dunshin f down among the spats o' a teeg ger's skin, or that o' a leopard till the sound o' the trumpet gangs up to the sky, answered by the rampaugin Arab's " ha, ha," and a' the stopped street stares on the aide-de-camp o' the stawf, writers' clerks, bakers, butchers, and printers' deevils, a' wushin they were sodgers, and leddies frae bal conies, where they sit shooin silk purses in the sunshine, start up, and, wi' palpitatin hearts, send looks o' love an} languishment after the Flyin Dragon. North. Mercy on us, James, you are a perfect TyrtfEus. Shepherd. ! wad you believe't but it's true that at school that symbol o' extermination was ca'd Fozie \ Tarn ? North. Spare us, James spare us. The pain in our side returns. Shepherd. Every callant in the class could gie him his licks ; and I recollec ance a lassie geein him a bloody nose. He durstna gang into the dookin aboon his doup, for fear o' drownin, and even then wi' seggs ; IT and as for speelin trees, * Cave* tosses. t Dunshin. There seems to be no English word for this except " Ing ; " yet how feeble. t Fozie soft as a frost-bitten tnrnlp. 7)oo/a7i~bathiiig If Segys sedges, answering the purpose of a cork jacket. "Fozie Tarn" 83 he never ventured aboon the rotten branches o' a Scotch fir. He was feared for ghosts, and wadna sleep in a room by him- sel ; and ance on a Halloween, he swarfed at the apparition o' a lowin turnip. * But noo he's a warrior, and fought at Waterloo. Yes Fozie Tarn wears a medal, for he overthrew Napoleon. Ca' ye na that quackery, wi' a vengeance ? North. Why, James, you do not mean surely thus to char- acterize the British soldier ? Shepherd. No. The British army, drawn up in order o' battle, seems to me an earthly image of the power of the right hand of God. But still what I said was true, and nae ither name had he at school but Fozie Tarn. O sirs ! when I see what creturs like him can do, I could greet that I'm no a sodger. Tickler. What the deuce can they do, that you or I, James, cannot do as well, or better ? Shepherd. I wonder to hear you askin. Let you or me gang into a public room at ae door, amang a hunder bonny lassies, and Fozie Tarn in full uniform at anither, and every star in the firmament will shine on him alone no a glint for ane o' us twa no a smile or a syllable we can only see the back o' their necks. Tickler. And bare enough they probably are, James. Shepherd. Nae great harm in that, Mr. Tickler, for a bonny bare neck can do naebody ill, and to me has aye rather the look o' innocence but maun a poet or orator Tickler. Be neglected on account of Fozie Tarn ? Shepherd. And by mony o' the verra same creturs that at a great leeterary sooper the nicht afore were sae affable and sae flatterin, askin me to receet my ain verses, and sing my ain sail gs drinkin the health o' the Author o' the Queen's Wake in toddy out o' his aiu tumbler shakin hauns at partin, and * A turnip lauthom. 84 The Fife Hens. in the confusion at the foot o' the stairs, puttin their facet sae near mine, that their sweet, warm breath was maist like a faint, doubtfu' kiss, dirlin * to ane's very heart and after a' this, and mair than this, only think o' being clean forgotten, overlooked, or despised for the sake o' Fozie Tarn ! Tickler. We may have our revenge. Wait till you find him in plain clothes on half-pay, James, or sold out and then, like Romeo, when the play is over, and the satin breeches off, he walks behind the scenes, no better than a tavern-waiter, or a man-milliner's apprentice. Shepherd. There's some comfort in that, undoubtedly. Are the Fife hens layin ? North. Yes, James, and Tapitoury is sitting. Shepherd. That's richt. Weel, o' a' the how-towdies I ever ate, yon species is the maist truly gigantic. I could hae taen my Bible-oath that they were turkeys. Then I thocht, " Surely they maun be capons ; " but when I howked into the inside o' ane o' them, and brought out a spoonfu' o' yel- low eggs, frae the size o' a peppercorn to that o' a boy's bools, t and up to the bulk o' a ba' o' thread, thinks I to my- sel, " Sure aneuch they are hens," and close upon the layin. Maist a pity to kill them ! North. James, you shall have a dozen eggs to set, and future ages will wonder at the poultry of the Forest. Did you ever see a capercailzie ? Shepherd. Never. They have been extinct in Scotland for fifty years. But the truth is, Mr. North, that all domesticated fowl would live bra wly if turned out into the wilds and woods. They might lose in size, but they would gaiu in sweetness a wild sweetness caught frae leaves and heather-berries, and the products o' desert places, that are blooming like the rose. A tame turkey wad be a wild ane in sax months ; and oh. Dirlin thrilling. IBools marbles. Tickler *s Melancholy. 85 sir ! it wad be gran' sport to see and hear a great big bub- Uly-jock* gettin on the wing in a wood, wi' a loud gobble, gobble, gobble, redder than ordinar in the face, and the ugly feet o' him dangliu aoeath his heavy hinder-end, till the hail brought him down with a thud and a squelch amang the as- tonished pointers ! North. You seem melancholy, Tickler a penny for your thoughts. Tickler. I am depressed under the weight of an unwritten article. That everlasting Magazine of yours embitters my existence. Oh that there were but one month in the year without a Blackwood ! Shepherd. Or rather a year in anc's life without it, that a body micht hae leisure to prepare for anither warld. IToo the Numbers accumulate on the shelve o' ane's leebrary ! I begin to think they breed. Then a dizzen or twa are maist- ly lyin on the drawers-head twice as inony mair in the neuks o' rooms, up and down stairs the servants get haud o' them in the kitchen and ye canna open the press to tak a dram, but there's the face o' Geordy Buchanan. Tickler. My dear Shepherd, you are a happy man in the Forest, beyond the clutches and the clack of an Editor. But here am I worried to death by devils, from the tenth to the twentieth' of every month. I wish I was dead. Shepherd. You dinna wash ony sic thing, Mr. Tickler. That appeteet o' yours is worth five thousan' a year. man ! it wad be a sair pity to dee wi' sic an appeteet ! [ Clock strikes ten -folding -doors fly open, and the Tria Lumina Scotorum sit down to supper. * Bubbly-jock turkey-cock. VII. AT THE LODGE IN SUMMER. Scene, Buchanan Lodge Porch. Time, Afternoon. NORTH. TICKLER. SHEPHERD. Shepherd. What a changed warld, sirs, since that April i'orenoon we druv doun to the Lodge in a cotch ! I couldna but pity the puir Spring. Tickler. Not a primrose to salute his feet that shivered in the snow-wreath. North. Not a lark to hymn his advent in the uncertain sunshine. Shepherd. No a bit butterflee on its silent waver, meeting the murmur of the straightforward bee. Tickler. In vain Spring sought his Flora, in haunts be- loved of old, on the banks of the shaded rivulet 4 North. Or in nooks among the rocky mountains Shepherd. Or oases among the heather Tickler. Or parterres of grove-guarded gardens North. Or within the shadow of veranda Shepherd. Or forest glade, where move the antlers of the unhunted red deer. In siccan bonny spats hae I often seen the Spring, like a doubtfu' glimmer o' sunshine, appearing and disappearing frse amanff the birk-trees, twenty times The Hackney Coach. 87 in the course o' au April day. But, oh ! sirs, you was just a maist detestable forenoon, and as for the hackney- cotch Tickler. The meanest of miseries ! Shepherd. It's waur than sleepin in damp sheets. You haena sat twa hunder yards till your breeks are glued to the clammy seat, that fin's* saft and hard aneath you at ane and the same time, in a maist unaccountable manner. The auld, cracked, stained, faded, tarnished, red leather lining stinks like a tan-yard. Gin you want to let down tho window, or pu't up, it's a' alike ; you keep rugging at the lang slobbery worsted till it comes aff wi' a tear in your haun, and leaves you at the mercy o' wind and weather, then what a sharp and continual rattle o' wheels ! far waur than a cart ; in- tolerable aneuch ower tho macadam, but Lord hae mercy on us when you're on the causeway ! you could swear the wheels are o' different sizes ; up wi' the tae side, doun wi' the tither, sae that nae man can be sufficiently sober to keep his balance. Puch ! puch ! what dung-like straw aneath your soles ; and as for the roof, sae laigh that you canua keep on your hat, or it'll be dunshed down atower your ee-brees ; then, if there's sax or eight o' you in ae fare t Tickler. Why don't you keep your own carriage, James ? Shepherd. So I do a gig ; but when I happen to for gather wi' sic scrubs as you, that grudge the expense o' a yeckipage o' their ain, I maun submit to a glass-cotch and a' its abominations. North. How do you like that punch, James ? Shepherd. It's rather ower sair iced, I jalouse, and will be Pin's feels. t This ia a faithful description of tho old hackney-coach a very different fahlcle from the smart broughams which now ply upon our streets. 88 The Inebriety of the Sober. :ipt to gie ane the toothache ; but it has a gran' taste, and a maist seducin smell. Oh ! man, that's a bonny ladle ! and you hae a nice way o' stee.in! Only half-fu', it' you please, sir, for thae wineglasses are perfect tummlers, and though the drink seems to be, when you arc precin't, as innocent as the dew o' lauchin lassie's Lip, yet it's just as dangerous, and leads insensibly on, by littles and wees, to a state o' uncon- scious intoxication. Tickler. I never saw you the worse o' liquor in my life, James. Shepherd. Nor me you. North. None but your sober men ever get drunk. Shepherd. I've observed that many a thousan' times ; just as nane but your excessively healthy men ever die. When- e'er I hear in the kintra o' ony man's being killed aff his horse, I ken at once that he's asjaber coof, that's been gettin hlmsel drunk at Selkirk or Ha wick, and sweein aff at a sharp turn ower the bank, he has played wallop into the water, or is aiblins been fun' lyin in the middle o' the road, wi' his neck dislocate, the doctors canna tell hoo ; or ayont the wa' wi' his harns * sticking on the coupin-stane. North. Or, foot in stirrup, and face trailing the pebbly mire, swept homewards by a spanking half-bred, and disen- tangled at the door by shriek and candle-light. Shepherd. Had he been in the habit o' takin his glass like A Christian, he wad hae ridden like a Centaur ; and instead o' havin been brought hame a corp, he wuld hae been staggering geyan steady into the parlor, wi' a' the weans ruggin at his pouches for fairins,f and his wife, half angry, half pleased, helpin him tidily and tenderly aff wi' his big boots ; and then by and by mixing him the bowster cup- and then * ffarn brain* t Fairins presents. The, Inebriety of the Sober. 89 Tickler. Your sober man, on every public occasion of festivity, is uniformly seen, soon after " the Duke of York and the Army," led off between two waiters, with his face as white as the table-cloth, eyes upwards, and a ghastly smile about his gaping mouth, that seems to threaten unutterable things before he reach the lobby. North. He turns round his head at the " three times three," with a loyal hiccup, and is borne off a speechless martyr to the cause of Hanoverian Succession. Shepherd. I wad rather get fou five hunder times in an ordinary way like, than ance to expose mysel sae afore my fellow-citizens. Yet, meet my gentleman next forenoon in the Parliament House, or in a bookseller's shop, or in Princes Street, arm-in-arm wi' a minister, and he hauds up his face as if naething had happened, speaks o' the pleasant party, expresses his regret at having been obliged to leave it so soon, at the call of a client, and, ten to ane, denounces you to his cronies for a drunkard, who exposes himself in com- pany, and is getting constantly into scrapes that promise a fatal termination. North. Hush ! The minstrels ! Shepherd. Maist delightfu' music! sir, hoo it sweetens, and strengthens, and merrifies as it conies up the avenue ! Are they Foreigners ? North. An itinerant family of Savoyards. Shepherd. Look at them look at them ! What an out- landish, toosy-headed, wee sunbrunt deevil o' a lassie that, playing her antics, heel and head, wi' the tambourine. You's a darlin wi' her thooin coqtiet-coquettin on the guitaur, and makin music without kennin't a' the while she is curtshyiri and singiu wi' lauchin rosy mouth, and then blushin be- cause we're glowering on her, and lettin fa' her big black ecu on the grun', as if a body were asking for a kiss ! That m MID 90 The Savoyard Minstrels. be her younger sister, as dark as a gypscy, that baffling lassie wi' the buddin breast, her that's tinklin on the triangle that surely maun be o' silver, sae dewy sweet the soun' ! Safe us, only look at the auld man and his wife! There's mony a comical auld woman in Scotland, especially in the Heelans, but I never saw the match o' that ane. She maim be mony hunder year auld, and yet her petticoats as short as a play -actress dancin on the stage. Gude legs too thin ankles, and a thick calve girl, wife, and witch a' in ane ; and only think o't, playin on a base drum ! Savyaurds ! It'll be a mountainous kintra theirs, for sic a lang-backed, short-thee'd, sinewy and muscular, hap-and-stap-jump o' a bouncin body as that man o' hers, wi' the swarthy face and head harlequinaddin on the Pan's-pipes, could never hae been bred and born on a flat But whish whish they're be- ginning to play something pathetic ! Tickler. Music is the universal language. Shepherd. It's a lament that the pair wandering creturs are singin and playin about their native land. I wush I may hae ony change in my pocket Tickler. They are as happy in their own way as we are in ours, my dear James. May they find their mountain cottage unharmed by wind or weather on their return, and let us join our little subscription Shepherd. There's a five-shillin crown-piece for mine. North. And mine. Tickler. And mine. Sfiepherd. I'll gie't to them. (SHEPHERD leaps out.} There, my bonny bloomin brunette wi' the raven hair, that are just perfectly beutifu', wanderin wi' your melody hamc< less but happy ; and may nae hand untie its snood till your bridal night in the hut on the hill, when the evening marriage dance and song are hushed and silent, and love The Scotch Puppy. 91 and innocence in their lawfu' delight lie in each other's arms. If your sweetheart's a shepherd, so am I Tickler. Hallo, Hogg no whispering. Here, give each of them a tumbler of punch, and God be with the joyous Savoyards. Shepherd. Did you see, sirs, hoo desperate thirsty they a' were nae wonner, singin frae morn to night a' up and douu the dusty streets and squares. Yet they askt for naething, contented creturs ! Hear till them singin awa doun tha avenue "God save the King," in compliment to us and our country. A weel-timed interlude this, Mr. North, and it has putten me in a gran' mood for a sang. North and TicJder. A song a song a song ! (SHEPHERD sings " My bonnie Mary.") Tickler. Scotch and English puppies make a striking con- trast. The Scotch puppy sports philosophical, and sets to rights Locke, Smith, Stewart, and Reid. In his minority he is as solemn as a major of two-score sits at table, even during dinner, with an argumentative face, and in a logical position and gives out his sentences deliberately, as if he were making a payment in sovereigns. Shepherd. Oh, man, how I do hate sic formal young chiels reason, reason, reasoning on things that you maun see whether you will or no, even gin you were to shut your een wi' a' your force, and then cover them wi' a bandage, chiels that are employed frae morning to nicht colleckin facks out o' books, in that dark, dirty dungeon, the Advocates' Leebrary, and that'll no hesitate, wi' a breach o' a' gude manners, to correct your verra chronology when you're in the middle o' a story that may hae happened equally weel ony day frae the flood to the last judgment chiels that quote Mr. Jeffrey and Hairy Cobrun, and even on their flrst introduction to Englishers, keep up a clatter about the 92 TJie Castle of Indolence. Ooter House chiels that think it a great maitter to spoot aff by heart an oraution on the corn laws, in that puir puckit Gogotha, the Speculative Society, and treat you, ower the nits and prunes, wi' skreeds o' College Essays on Syllogism, and what's ca'd the Association o' Ideas chiels that would rather be a Judge o' the Court o' Session than the Great Khan o' Tartary himsel and look prouder when taking their forenoon's airing alang Princes Street, on a bit shachlin* ewe-necked powney, coft frae a sportin flesher, than Saladin, at the head of ten thousand chosen chivalry, shaking the desert chiels North. Stop, James just look at Tickler catching flies. Shepherd. Sound asleep, as I'm' a Contributor. Oh! man I wush we had a saut herrin to put intil the mooth o' him, or a burned cork to gie him mistashies, or a string o' ingans to fasten to the nape o' his neck by way o' a pigtail, or North. Shamming Abraham. Shepherd. Na he's in a sort o' dwam and nae wonner, for the Lodge is just a very Castle o' Indolence. Thae broad vine leaves hingin in the veranda in the breathless heat, or stirrin when the breeze sughs by, like water-lilies tremblin in the swell o' the blue loch-water, inspire a dreamin somno- lency that the maist waukrifef canna a'thegither resist ; and the bonny twhight, chequering the stane floor a' round and round the shady Lodge, keeps the thochts confined within its glimmerin boundaries, till every cause o' disturbance is afar off, and the life o' man gets tranquil as a wean's rest in its cradle, or amang the gowans on a sunny knowe ; sae let us speak lown and no wauken him, for he's buried in the umbrage o' imagination, and weel ken I what a heavenly thing it is to soom doun the silent stream o' that haunted world. Shachlin shuffling. t Waukrife watchful. A Portrait of Tickler. 93 North. What say you to that smile ou his face, James ? Shepherd. It's a gey wicked ane I'm thinkin he's after some mischief. I'll put this raisin-stalk up his nose. Mercy on us. what a sneeze ! Tickler. ( starting and looking round ). Ha ! Hogg, my dear fellow, how are you ? Soft soft I have it why, that hotchpotch, and that afternoon sun Nrth. James, now that you have seen us in summer, how do you like the Lodge ? Shepherd. There's no sic anither house, Mr. North, baith for elegance and comfort, in a' Scotland. North. In my old age, James, I think myself not altogether unentitled to the luxuries of learned leisure. Do you find that sofa easy and commodious ? Shepherd. Easy and commodious ! what ! it has a' the saf t- ness o' a bed, and a' the coolness o' a bank ; yielding rest without drowsiness, and without snoring repose. Tickler. No sofa like a chair ! See, James, how I am ly- ing and sitting at the same time ! carelessly diffused, yet Shepherd. You're a maist extraordinary feegur, Mr. Tick- ler, I humbly confess that, wi' your head imbedded in a cush- ion, and your een fixed on the roof like an astronomer ; and your endless legs stretched out to the extremities o' the yearth ; and your lang arms hanging down to the verra floor, atower the bend o' the chair-settee, and only lift up, wi' a magnificent wave, to bring the bottom o' the glass o' cauld punch to rest upon your chin ; and wi' that tamboured waist coat o' the fashion o' aughty-aught, like a meadow yellow wi' dandylions ; and breeks - Tickler. Check your hand, and change your measure, my dear Shepherd. Oh ! for a portrait of North ! Shepherd. I daurna try't, for his ee masters me ; and 1 fear to tak the same leebertics wi' Mr. North that I sometimes 94 The Shores of the Firth. veiiture upon wi' you, Mr. Tickler. Yet, oh, man ! I lilu him weel in that black neckerchief ; it brings out his face grandly and the green coat o' the Royal Archers gies him a Robin-Hoodish character, that makes ane's imagination think o' the umbrage o' auld oaks, and the glimmering silence o' forests. Tickler. He blushes. Shepherd. That he does and I like to see the ingenuous blush o' bashfu' modesty on a wrinkled cheek. It proves that the heart's-blood is warm and free, and the circulation vigorous. Deil tak me, Mr. North, if I dinna think you're something like his Majesty the King. North. I am proud that you love the Lodge. There ! a bold breeze from the sea! Is not that a pleasant rustle, James ? and lo ! every sail on the Firth is dancing on the blue bosom of the waters, and brightening like sea-mews in the sunshine ! Shepherd. Aiter a', in hot wather, there's naething like a marine villa. What for dinna ye big* aYott? North. My sailing days are over, James ; but mine is now the ship of Fancy, who can go at ten knots in a dead calm, and carry her sky-scrapers in a storm. Shepherd. Nae wonder, after sic a life o' travel by sea and land, you should hae found a harne at last, and sic a hame ! A' the towers, and spires, and pillars, and pinnacles, and bewilderments o' blue house-roofs, seen frae the tae front through amang the leafy light o' interceptin trees and frae the tither, where we are noo sitting, only here and there a bit sprinklin o' villas, and then atower the grove-heads, seem- ing sae thick and saft that you think you might lie down or. them and tak a sleep, the murmuring motion o' the never weary sea! Oh, Mr. North, that you would explain to me the nature o' the tides ! Tickler s Experience of Grhosts. 95 North. When the moon Shepherd. Stap, stap; I couldna command my attention wi' yon bonny brig huggin the shores o' Inchkeith* sae lov- ingly at first I thocht she was but a breakin wave. North. Wave, cloud, bird, sunbeam, shadow or ship often know I not one from the other, James, when half-sleeping, half-waking, in the debateable and border land between re- alities and dreams, " My weary length at noontide would I stretch, And in use upon the world that wavers by." Tickler. I never had any professed feeling of the super or prcter-natnr&l in a printed book. Very early in life I dis- covered that a ghost, who had kept me in a cold sweat during a whole winter's midnight, was a tailor who haunted the house, partly through love, and partly through hunger, being enamored of my nurse, and of the fat of ham which she gave him with mustard, between two thick shavesf of a quar- tern loaf, and afterwards a bottle of small beer to wash it down, before she yielded him the parting kiss. After that I slept soundly, and had a contempt for ghosts, which I retain to this day. Shepherd. Weel, it's very different wi' me. I should be feared yet even for the ninth pairt o' a ghost, and I fancy a tailor has nae mair ; but I'm no muckle affeckit by reading about them an oral tradition out o' the mouth o' an auld grey-headed man or woman is far best, for then you canna dout the truth o' the tale, unless ye dout a' history thegither, and then, to be sure, you'll end in universal skepticism. North. Don't you admire the romances of the Enchantress of Udolpho ? Shepherd. I hae nae doubt, sir, that had I read Udolpho and her ither romances in my boyish days, that my hair would * An Island In the Firth of Forth, near Edinburgh. \ Shaves allow 96 The SkepKerd on G- hosts. hae stood on end like that o' ither folk, for, by nature and education baith, ye ken, I'm just excessive superstitious. But afore her volumes fell into my liauns, my soul had been frightened by a' kinds of traditionary terrors, and inony h under times hae I maist swarfed * wi' fear in lonesome spats in inuirs and woods, at midnicht, when no a leevin thing was movin but rnysel and the great moon. Indeed, I canna say that I ever fan' mysel alaue in the hush o' darkened nature, without a beatin at my heart ; for a sort o' spiritual presence aye hovered about me a presence o' something like and unlike my ain being at times felt to be solemn and nae mair at times sae awfu' that I wushed mysel nearer ingle- licht and ance or twice in my lifetime, sae terrible that I could hae prayed to sink down into the moss, sae that I micht be saved frae the quaking o' that ghostly wilderness o' a world that wasna for flesh aud bluid ! North. Look James look what a sky ! Shepherd. There'll be thunder the morn. These are the palaces o' the thunder, and before daybreak every window will pour forth lichtnin. Mrs. Radcliffe has weel described mony sic, but I have seen some that can be remembered, but never, never painted by mortal pen ; for after a', what is ony description by us puir creturs o' the works o' the Great God? North. Perhaps it is a pity that Mrs. Radcliffe never in- troduced into her stories any real ghosts. Shepherd. I canna just a'thegither think sae. Gin you introduce a real ghost at a', it maun appear but seldom seldom, and never but on some great or dread account aa the ghost o' Hamlet's father. Then, what difficulty in makin it speak with a tomb voice ! At the close o' the tale, the mind would be shocked unless the dead had burst its cere- * Swarfed swooned. The Shepherd on Ghosts. 97 merits for some end which the dead aJane could have accom- plished unless the catastrophe were worthy an Apparition. How few events and how few actors would, as the story shut itself up. be felt to have been of such surpassing moment as to have deserved the very laws o' nature to have been in a manner changed for their sakes, and shadows brought frae ainang the darkness o' burial-places, that seem to our imaginations locked up frae a' communion wi' the breathin world ! North. In highest tragedy; a Spirit may be among the dramatis persona for the events come all on processionally, and under a feeling of fate. Shepherd. There, too, you see the ghost ; and indifferently personated though it may be, the general hush proves that religion is the deepest principle o' our nature, and that even the vain shows o' a theatre can be sublimed by an awe-struck sadness, when, revisiting the glimpses o' the moon, and makin night hideous, comes glidin in and awa in cauld unringin armor, or unsubstantial vapor, a being whose eyes ance saw the cheerfu' sunlight, and whose footsteps ance brought out echoes frae the flowery earth. Tickler. James, be done with your palavering about ghosts, and " gie us anither sang." North. Come, I will sing you one of Allan's. Shepherd. Huts, ye never sung a sang i' your life at least never that I heard tell o' ; but, to be sure, you're a maist extraordinary cretur, and can do ouything you hae a mind to try. North. My voice is rather cracked and tremulous but I have sung Scotch airs, James, of old, with Urbaiii. (Sings " My ain countree.' ) Shepherd. Weel. I never heard the like o' that in a' my days. Deevil tak me gin there be sic a perfectly beautiful iJ8 Good Niyht. singer in a' Scotland. I prefer you to baith Peter Hill and David Wylie, * and twa bonnier singers you'll no easier hear in. " house or ha', by coal or candle licht." But do you ken, I'm desperate sleepy. TicMer. Let's off to roost. North. Stop till I ring for candles. Shepherd. Cawnels ! and sic a moon ! It wad be perfect blasphemy dounricht atheism. But hech, sirs, it's het, an' I'se sleep without the sark the nicht. North. Without a sark, JamQS ! " a mother-naked man ! " Shepherd. I'm a bachelor, ye ken, the noo, sae can tak my aiu way o't Gude nicht, sir gude nicht. We've really been verra pleasant, and our meetin has been maist as agree- able as ane o' the NOCTES AMBROSIAN^E. Peter Hill is spoken of in the " Chaldee MS." as "a sweet singer." David Wylie was one of the circuit clerks of the Court of Justiciary. vm. tN WHICH THE SHEPHERD IS HANGED AND BE HEADED. MR. TICKLER'S smaller Dining-room Southside. SHEPHERD. MR. NORTH. MR. TICKLER. Shepherd. We've just had a perfec denner, Mr. Tickler neither ae dish ower mony, nor ae dish ower few. Twa coorses is aneuch for ony Christian and as for frute after fude, it's a dounricht abomination, and coagulates on the stamach like sour cruds. I aye like best to devoor frute in the forenoons, in gardens by mysel, daunering* at my leisure frae bush to bush, and frae tree to tree, pu'in awa at straw- berries, or rasps, or grozets, or cherries, or aipples, or peers, or plooms, or aiblins at young green peas, shawps f an' a', or wee juicy neeps, that melt in the mouth o' their ain accord without chewin, like kisses of vegetable maitter. Tickler. Do you ever catch a tartar, James, in the shape o' a wasp, that Shephwd. Counfound thae deevils incarnate, for they're the curse o' a het simmer. 0' a' God's creturs, the wasp is the only ane that's eternally out o' temper. There's nae sic thing as pleasin him. In the gracious sunshine, when a' the bit bonny burdies are singing sae cantily, and stopping for half a minute at a time, noo and than, to set richt wi' theii Daunering &&M uteri t Sltawps husks. 09 100 A Shower of Wasps. bills a feather that's got rumpled by sport or spray when the bees are at wark, murmuring in their gauzy flight, al though no gauze, indeed, be comparable, to the filaments o' their woven wings, or clinging silently to the flowers, sook, sookin outthehinny-dew, till their verra doups dirl wi' delight when a' the flees that are ephemeral, and weel contented wi' the licht and the heat o' ae single sun, keep dancin in their burnished beauty, up and down, and to and fro, and backwards and forwards, and sideways, in millions upon millions, and yet ane never joistling anither, but a' har- moniously blended together in amity, like imagination's thochts, why, amid this " general dance and minstrelsy," in comes a shower o' infuriated wasps, red het, as if let out o' a fiery furnace, pickin quarrels wi' their ain shadows then roun' and roun' the hair o' your head, bizzin against the drum o' your ear, till you think they are in at the ae hole and out at the ither back again, after makin a circuit, as if they had repentit o' lettin you be unharmed, dashing against the face o' you who are wishin ill to nae leevin thing, and, although you are engaged out to dinner, stickin a lang poishoned stang in just below your ee, that, afore you can rin hame frae the garden, swalls up to a fearsome hicht, making you on that side look like a Blackamoor, and on the opposite white as death, sae intolerable is the agony frae the tail of the yellow imp, that, according to his bulk, is stronger far than the Dragon o' the Desert. Tickler. I detest the devils most, James, when I get them in my mouth. Before you can spit them out the evil is done your tongue the size of that of a rein-deer or your gullet, once wide as the Gut of Gibraltar, clogged up like a canal in the neighborhood of a railroad. Shepherd. As for speaking in sic a condition, everybody but yoursel kens it's impossible, and wunner to hear ye The Shepherd Hanged. 101 tryin't. But you'll no be perswauded, and attempt talking every motion o' the muscles bein' as bad as a convulsion o 1 hydrophobia, and the best soun' ye can utter waur than oiiy bark, something atween a grunt, a growl, and a guller, like the skraich o' a man lyin on his back, and dreamin that he's gaun to be hanged. Tickler. My dear James, I hope you have had that dream ? What a luxury ! Shepherd. There's nae medium in my dreams, sir heaven or hell's the word. But oh ! that hanging ! It's the warst job o' a', and gars my very sowl sicken wi' horror for sake o' the puir deevils that's really hanged out and out, bondjlde, wi' a tangible tow, and a hangman that's mair than a mere apparitiou a pardoned felon wi' creeshy second-hand cordu- roy breeks, and coat short at the cuffs, sae that his thick hairy wrists are visible when he's adjustin the halter, hair red, red, yet no sae red as his bleared een, glarin wi' an unaccountable fairceuess for, Lord bae mercy upon us, can man o' woman born, think ye, be fairce on a brither when handlin his wizen * as executioner, and hearin, although he was deaf, the knock- in o' his distracted heart, that wadna break for a' its meesery, but, like a watch stoppin when it gets a fa' on the stanes, in ae minute lies quate when down wi' a rummle gangs the plat- form o' the scaffold, and the soul o' the son o' sin and sorrow is instantly in presence of its eternal Judge ! North. Pleasant subject-matter for conversation after dinner, gentlemen. In my opinion, hanging Shepherd. Haud your tongue about hangin ; it's discussed. Gin you've got onything to say about beheadin, let's hear you for I've dreamt o' that, too, but it was a mere flee-bite to the other mode o' execution. Last time I was beheaded, it was for a great National Conspiracy, found out just when * Wizen the throat. 102 TJie Shepherd Beheaded. the mine was gaun to explode, ami blaw up tho King oil his throne, the constitution, as it was ca'd, and the Kirk. Do ye want to hear about it ? North. Proceed, you rebel. Shepherd. A' the city sent out its population into ae michty square, and in the midst thereof was a scaffold forty feet high, a' hung wi' black cloth, and open to a' the airts.* A block like a great anvil, only made o' wood instead o' aim, was in the centre o' the platform, and there stood the headsman wi' a mask on, for he was frichtened I wad see his face, sax feet high aiid some inches, wi' an axe ower his shouther, and his twa naked arms o' a fearsome thickness, a' crawlin wi' sinews, like a yard o' cable to the sheet-anchor o' a man-o'-war. A hairy fur cap towered aboon his broos, and there were neither shoes nor stockings on his braid splay feet, juist as if he were gaun to dance on the boards. But he never mudged only I saw his een rollin through the vizor, and they were baith bloodshot. He gied a gruesome cough, or something not unlike a lauch, that made ice o' my bluid ; and at that verra minute, hands were laid on me, I kentna by whom or whither, and shears began clipping my hair, and fingers like leeches creeped about my neck, and then, without ony further vio- lence, but rather as in the freedom o' my ain wull, my head was lying on the block, and I heard a voice praying, till a drum drowned it and the groans o' the multitude together and then a hissin, that, like the sudden east wind, had moved the verra mournins o' the scaffold. Tickler. North, put about the bottle. Will you never be cured of that custom of detaining the crystals? North. I am rather squeamish a little faintish or so. James, your good health. Now proceed. Shepherd. Damn their drums, thocht I, they're needless * dirts points of tjie compass. His Speech on the Scaffold. for had I intended to make a speech, would I not have deliv ered it afore I laid down my head on the block ? As for the hissin, I kent weel aneuch they werena hissiu me, but the Man in the mask and the big hairy fur-cap, and the naked feet, wi' the axe in his hands raised up, and then let down again, ance, twice, thrice, measuring the spat on my craig * to a nicety, that wi' ae stroke my head might roll over into the bloody sawdust. Tickler. Mr. North, Mr. North my dear sir, are you ill ? My God, who could have thought it ! Hogg, Christopher has fainted ! Shepherd. Let him faint. The executioner was daunted, for the hiss gaed through his heart ; and thae horrid arms o' his, wi' a' their knots o' muscle, waxed weak as the willow- wands. The axe fell out o' his hauns, and being sharp, its aiu wecht drove it quivering into the block, and close to my ear the verra senseless wud gied a groan. I louped up on to my feet I cried wi' a loud voice, " Countrymen, I stand here for the sacred cause of Liberty all over the world! " North (reopening his eyes). " The cause of Liberty all over the world! " Who gave that toast? Hush hush where am I ? What is this ? Is that you, James ? What, music ? Bagpipes ? No no no a ringing in my poor old ears. I have been ill I feel very, very ill. Hark you, Tickler hark you no heeltaps, I suppose " The cause of Liberty all over the world ! " Shepherd. The shouting was sublime. Then was the time for a speech not a drum dared to murmur. With the ban- iage still ower my een, and the handkerchief in my hand, which I had forgotten to drap, I burst out into such a torrent of indignant eloquence that the Slaves and Tyrants were all tongue-tied, lock-jawed, before me ; and I knew that my voice Oraip uecfc. 104 The Scene at t the Execution. would echo to the farthermost regions of the earth, with fear of change perplexing monarchs, and breaking the chains of the shameful bondage by king and priestcraft wound round the Body PoKtic, that had so long been lying like a heart- stricken lunatic under the eyes of his keepers, but that would now issue forth from the dungeon gloom into the light of day, and in its sacred frenzy immolate its grey oppressors on the very altar of superstition. North. What the devil is the meaning of all this, James ? Are you spouting a gill of one of Brougham's frothy phials of wrath poured out against the Holy Alliance ? Beware of the dregs. Shepherd. I might have escaped but I was resolved to cement the cause with my martyred blood. I was not a man to disappoint the people. They had come there to .ee me die not James Hogg the Ettriek Shepherd but Hogg the Liberator ; and from my blood, I felt assured, would arise millions of armed men, under whose tread would sink the thrones of ancient dynasties, and whose hands would unfurl to all the winds the standard of Freedom, never again to en circle the staff till its dreadful rustling had quailed the kings, even as the mountain sough sends down upon their knees whole herds of cattle, ere rattles from summit to summit the exulting music of the thunderstorm. Tickler. Isn't he a wonderful creature, North ? He beats Brougham all to besoms. Shepherd. So once more my head was on the block the axe came down and I remember nothing more, except that after bouncing several times about the scaffold, it was taken up by that miserable slave of slaves, who muttered, " Behold the head of a traitor ! " Not a voice said Amen and I had my revenge and my triumph ! North. Strange, so true a Tory should be so revolutionary in his dreams ! " The Chise-diibfs o' U-lciKyvw" 10 Tickler. In France, James would have been Robespierre. Shepherd. Huts ! tuts ! Dreams gang by the rule o' con- 1 mries. Yet I dinna say what I might hae been during the French Revolution. At times and seasons the nature o' the very brute animals is no to be depended on ; and how muckle mair changeable is that o' man, wi' his boasted reason look- ing before and after his imagination building up, and his passions pu'in down ; ae day a loving angel frae heaven the next a demon o' destruction let loose frae hell ! But wasna ye there yoursel, Mr. North ? What for no speak ? There's naebody here but freens ! Tickler. Remember, James, that our beloved Christopher fainted a few minutes ago Shepherd. Sae he did sae he did. . . . But was ye ever in the Guse-dubs o' Glasgow ? Safe us a ' ! what clarty closses, narrowin awa' and darkenin doun some stracht, and some serpentine into green middens o' baith liquid and solid matter, soomin' wi' dead cats arid auld shoon, and rags o' petticoats that had been worn till they fell aff and wad wear nae langer. Tickler. Hear ! hear ! hear ! Shepherd. Dive down anither close, and you hear a man murderin his wife up-stairs in a garret. A' at ance flees open the door at the stair-head, and the mutchless mawsey, a' drecpin wi' bluid, flings herself frae the tap step o' the flicht to the causeway, and into the nearest change-house, roaring in rage and terror twa emotions that are no canny when they chance to forgather and ca'in for a constable to tak hand o' her gudeman, who has threatened to ding out hei brains wi' a hammer, or cut her throat wi' a razor. North. "What painting, Tickler ! What a Salvator is ow Shepherd ! Shepherd. Down anither close, and a battle o' dowgs ! A 106 A Battle of " Dowgs" bull-dowg and a mastiff! The great big brown mnstift nic m thin the bull-dowg by the verra hainches, as if to crunch his back, and the \vee white bull-dowg never seernin to fash his thoomb, but stickin by the regular-set teeth o' his under- liunjr jaw to the throat o' the mastiff, close to the jugular, and no to bo drawn aff the grip by twa strong baker-boys pu'in at the tail o' the tane, and twa strong butcher-boys pu'in at the tail o' the tither for the mastiff's maister be- gins to fear that the veeper at his throat will kill him out- right, and offers to pay a' betts and confess his dowg has lost the battle. But the crood wush to see the fecht out and harl the dowgs, that are noo worryin ither without ony growlin baith silent, except a sort o' snortin through the nostrils, and a kind o' guller in their gullets I say, the crood harl them out o' the midden, ontil the stanes again and " Weel dune, Cajsar." " Better dune, Veeper." " A mutch- kin to a gill on whitey." " The muckle ane canna fecht." " See how the wee bick is worryin him now by a new spat on the thrapple." " He wad rin awa gin she wad let him loose." " She's just like her mither, that belanged to the caravan o' wild beasts." " Oh man, Davie, but I wud like to get a breed out o' her, by the watch-dowg at Bell-meadow Bleachfield, that killed, ye ken, the Kilmarnock carrier's Help in twunty minutes, at Kingswell " North. Stop, James, your mine is inexhaustible. But here goes for a chant. (Sings " The Humors of Donnybrook Fair.") Shepherd. The like o' that was never heard in this warld afore. The brogue as perfec as if you had been born and bred in the bog o' Allen ! How muckle better this kind o' weel-timed daffin, that aye gangs on here at Southside, than literary and philosophical conversation, and criticism on the fine arts, and polemical discussion wi' red faces and fiery een on international policy, and the corn laws and surplus popu The Shepherd in a Shower-Bath. 107 lation, and havers about Free Tread ! Was ye in the shower- bath the day, Mr. Tickler ? Tickler. Yes, James do you take it ? Shepherd. I hae never yet had courage to pu' the string. In I gang and shut the door on mysel and tak haud o* the string very gently, for the least rug 'ill bring down the squash like the Falls of the Clyde ; and I look up to the machine, a' pierced wi' so many water-holes, and then I shut my een and my mouth like grim death, and then I let gae the string, and, gruin a' the time, try to whistle ; and then I agree to allow myself a respite till I count fifty ; and neist begin to argue wi' my ain conscience, that the promise I had made to mysel to whuinle the splash-cask was only be- tween it and me, and that the warld will ken naething about the matter if I come out again re infectd ; and, feenally, 1 step out as cautiously as a thief frae a closet, and set myself down in the arm-chair, beside the towel warming at the fire, and tak up the Magazine, and peruse, perhaps, ane oJ the ' Noctes Ambrosianas," till I'm like to split wi' lauchin at my ain wut, forgetting a' the time that the door's no locked, and what a figure I wud present to ony o' the servant lasses that micht happen to come in lookin for naething, or to some collegian or contributor, come out frae Embro' during the vacance to see the Ettrick Shepherd. But I camia help thinkin, Mr. Tickler, for a' your lauchin, that in a like predic- ament you would be a mair ridiculous mortal than mysel. B.it what are ye thinking on, Mr. North? I dinna believe ye hae heard a word o' what I've been saying but it's your ain loss. North. Here's a copy of fine verses, James, but every line ftcems written twice over how Is that? Shepherd. I never could tell how that happens but mis* overy ither line, and a' will be right. 108 An Optical Delusion. Tickler. I have observed that at night, after supper, will hips at sea. Two ships of the line! not one ship and one frigate hut two eighty-fours. Shut one eye, and there nt anchor lies, let us say, the Bellerophon for I am speaking of the olden time. Open the other, and behold two Bel- lorophons riding at anchor. Optics, as a science, are all very well, but they can't explain that mystery not they, and be hanged to them ask Whewell or Airy. But, North, the verses ! Shepherd. There's nae mair certainty in mathematical ucience than in sheep-shearing. The verses ! TicUer. The stan/as seem to me to be sixteen lines each, but I will divide them by two, which gives eight verses ! North. Well, well, James, if you think the Magazine's not falling off Shepherd. Mr. Tickler, man, I canna stay ony langer ye see Mr. North's gotten unco fou, and I maun accompany him in the cotch down to Buchanan Lodge shall I ? North. Hogg, as to that, if you don't care about the calcu- lation ; for as to the Apocrypha, and so on, if the Bible Society pay four hundred a year, really the Christian Instructor hip hip hip ! Why, Hogg, ye see the fools are "uirnv hurra hurra ! Shepherd. Oh, Mr. Tickler, North's gotten a mouthful' o' fresh air when you opened the window, and is as fou's the Baltic. But I'll see him hame. The cotch, the cotch, the cotch dinna dint the pint o' your crutch into my instep, Mr. North there, there steady, steady the cotch, the eotch. Gude mornin, Tickler what a moon and stars ! North. Surely Ambrose has made some alteration iu his house lately. I cannot make out this room at all. It is not the Blue Parlor ? One Coach or Two? 100 Shepherd. We're at Suutliside, sir we're at Southside, sir perfectly sober aue and a' ; but dhma be alarmed, sir, if you see twa cotelies at the door, for we're no gaun to sepa- rate there's only aue, believe me and I'll tak a hurl wi' ye as far's the Harrow. IX. IN THE PAPER PARLOR. Scene Ambrose's Hotel, Picardy Place Paper Parlor. SHEPHERD. NORTH. TICKLER. Shepherd. Do you ken, Mr. North, that I'm beginning to like this snug wee roomy in Mr. Awmrose's New Hotel maist as weel's the Bine Parlor in the dear anld tenement ? North. Ah, no, my dear James, none of us will ever be able to bring our hearts to do that ; to us, Gabriel's Road will aye be holy and haunted ground. George Cooper * is a line fighter and a civil landlord, but I cannot look on his name on that door without a pensive sigh ! Mr. Ambrose's worthy brother has moved, you know, upstairs, and I hobble in upon him once a fortnight for anld laugsyne. Shepherd. I aften wauken greetin f frae a dream about that dear, dear tenement. " But what's the use o' sighing, since life is on the wing ? " and but for the sacredness o' a' thae recollections, this house this hotel is in itsel preferable, perhaps, to our ancient howf. North. Picardy is a pleasant place, and our host is pros- perous. No house can be quieter and more noiseless. George Cooper, a respectable man, although a prgilist succeuded Ambrose in Gabriel's Hoad. t Gnvtin weeping 110 Voices of the Niyht. Ill Shepherd. That's a great maitter. You'll recollect me ance lodging in Anne Street,* noo nae langer in existence, a steep street, ye ken, rinnin down alang the North Brig toward where the New Markets are, but noo biggit up wi' a' thae new buildings North. That I do, James. 'Twas there, up a spiral stone staircase, in a room looking towards the Castle, that first I saw my Shepherd's honest face, and first I ate along with him cod's head and shoulders. Shepherd. We made a nicht o't wi' twa dear freens ; f ane o' them at this hour in Ettrick, and the ither ower the saut seas in India, an Episcopalian chaplain. North. But let's be merry, James. Our remembrances are getting too tender. Shepherd. What I was gaun to say was this, that yon room, quate $ as it seemed, was aften the maist infernally noisy chawmer on the face o' this noisy earth. It wasna far, ye ken, frae the playhouse. Ae wunter there was an after- piece ca'd the Burnin o' Moscow, that was performed maist every nicht. A while afore twal the Kremlin used to be blawn up ; and the souii', like thunder, wauken'd a' the sleepiu dowgs in that part o' the town. A' at ance there was set up siccan a barkin, and yellin, and youlin, and growlin, and nyaffin, and suaffin, and clankin o' chains frae them in kennels, that it was waur than the din o' aerial jowlers pur- suing the wild huntsman through the sky. Then cam the rattlin o' wheels, after Moscow was reduced to ashes, that * The North British Railway terminus is close to the site where Anne Street formerly stood. t Mr. Grieve of Cacra Bank, Ettrick, an Edinburgh merchant, and Mr. James Gray, one of the masters of the High School. The latter was an accomplished linguist. After leaving the High School, he held an appoint, ment in Belfast College, and died in India, in the service of the Church of England, while engaged in translating the Scriptures into one of the native dialects. t Quate quiet. 112 Voices of the Night. inude the dowgs, especially the watch anes, mair outrageous than ever, and they keepit rampaugin in their chains on till past tvva iu the mornin. About that hour, or sometimes suner, they had wauken'd a' the cocks in the neeborhood baith them in preevate families and in poulterers' cavies ; and the creturs keepit crawin defiance to ane anither quite on to dawn o' licht. Some butchers had ggem-cocks in pens uo far f rae my lodgings ; and oh ! but the deevils incarnate had hoarse, fierce, cruel craws ! Neist began the dust and dung carts ; and whare the mail-coaches were gaun or comin frae, I never kent, but ilka half-hour there was a toutir. o' horns lang tin anes, I'm sure, frae the scutter o' broken- winded soun'. After that a' was din and distraction, for day- life begude * to roar again ; and aften hae I risen without ever having bowed an ee, and a' owing to the burnin o' Moscow and blawin up o' the Kremlin. North. Nothing of the sort can happen here. This must be a sleeping-house fit for a Sardanapalus. Shepherd. I'll try it this verra nicht. But what for tauk o' bedtime sae sune after denner ? It's really a bit bonny parlor. North. What think you, James, of that pattern of a paper on the wall ? Shepherd. I was sae busily employed eatin durin denner, and sae muckle mair busier drinkin after denner, that, wull ye believe me when I say't, that gran' huntin-piece paperin the wa's never ance caught my een till this blessed moment ? O sirs, but it's an inspeeritin picture, and I wush I was but on horseback, following the hounds ! Tickler. The poor stag ! how his agonies accumulate and intensify in each successive stage of his doom, flying in dis traction, like Orestes before the Furies ! * Begude began. A German Romance. 113 Shepherd The stag . conform' me gin I see ony stag ! But yon's a lovely leddy a Duchess a Princess or a Queen vlia keeps aye crownin the career, look whaur you wull there soomin* a ford like a Naiad there plungin a Bird o' Paradise into the forest's gloom and there, lo ! reappearing star-bright on the mountain brow ! North. Few ladies look lovable on horseback. Th bumping on their seat is not elegant ; nor do they mend the matter much when, by means of the crutch, they rise on tho saddle like a postilion, buckskin breeches excepted. Tickler. The habit is masculine, and, if made by a country tailor, to ordinary apprehension converts a plain woman into a pretty man. North. No modest female should ever sport beaver. It gives her the bold air of a kept-mistress. Tickler. But what think you of her elbows, hard at work as those of little Tommy Lye, the Yorkshire Jockey, begin- ning to make play on a north-country horse in the Doncaster St. Leger when opposite the grand stand ! North. How engagingly delicate the virgin splattering along, whip in mouth, draggle-tailed, and with left leg bared to the knee-pan ! Shepherd. Tauk awa tauk awa ye twa auld revilers ; but let me hae anither glower o' my galloping goddess, gleaming gracefully through a green glade, in a' the glorious grioiness of a grove of gigantic forest-trees ! Tickler. What a gl utter o' gutturals ! Shepherd. Oh that some moss-hidden stump, like a snake in the grass, wud but gar her steed stumble, that she might saftly glide outower the neck before the, solitary shepherd in a flichter o' rainbow light, sae that I were by to corae jookin out frae ahint an aik, like a Satyr, or rather the god I 'an, and * Soomin swimming. J14 The Wood- Witch. ere her lovely limbs could in their disarray be veiled among the dim wood violets, receive into my arms and bosom blessed burthen ! the peerless Forest Queen ! North. O gentle Shepherd ! thou fond idolater ! how canst thou thus in fancy burn with fruitless fires before the image of that beautiful cruelty, all athirst and a-wing for blood ? Shepherd. The love that starts up at the touch o' imagina- tion, sir, is o' mony million moods. A beautiful Cruelty ! Thank you, Mr. North, for the poetic epithet. North. Such SHAPES, in the gloom of forests, hunt for the souls of men ! Shepherd. Wood-witch, or Dell-deevil, my soul would follow such a shape into the shades o' death. Let the Beautiful Cruelty wear murder on her face, so that something in her fierce eyeballs lure me to a boundless love. I see that her name is Sin ; and those figures in the rear, with black veils, are Remorse and Repentance. They beckon me back into the obscure wi' lean uplifted hands, and a bony shudder, as if each cadaver were a clanking skeleton ; but the closer I come to Sin, the farther awa and less distinct do they become ; and as I touch the hem o' her garment, where are they gone ? North. James, you must have been studying the German Romances. But I see your aim there is a fine moral Tickler. Curse all German Romances. (Rings the bell violently.) Shepherd. Ay, Mr. Tickler, just sae. You've brak the bell rope, ye see, wi' that outrageous jerk. What are yewantin? Tickler. A spitting-box. Shepherd. Hoots ! You're no serious in sayin your gaun to smoke already ? Wait till after sooper. Tickler. No, no, James. T rang for our dear Christopher's Toothache. 115 cushion. I saw, by the sudden twist that screwed tip his chin, that his toe twinged. Is the pain any Milder now, sir ? Shepherd. Oh, sir ! oh, sir ! say that the pain's milder noo, sir ! Oh dear me ! only to think o' your listenin to my stu- pid havers, and never betrayin the least uneasiness, or wish to interrupt me, and gaur me haud my tongue ! Oh, sir 1 oh, ir ! say that the pain's milder noo, sir ! North. Wipe my brow, James, and let me have a glass of cold water. Shepherd. I'll wipe your broo. Pity me pity me a' drappin wi' cauld sweat ! But ye maunna tak a single mouth- fu' o' cauld water. My dearest sir its poishin for the gout try a soup o' my toddy. There ! grasp the tummler wi' baith your hauns. Aff wi't it's no strang. Arena ye better noo, sir? Isna the pain milder noo ? North. Such filial tenderness, my dear boy, is not lost on oh ! gemini that was the devil's own twinge ! Shepherd. What's to be dune ? What's to be dune ? Pity me, what's to be dune ? North. A single small glass, James, of the unchristened creature, my dear James. Shepherd. Ay, ay that's like your usual sense. Here it's open your mouth, and I'll administer the draught wi' my ain hauns. Tickler. See how it runs down his gizzern, his gizzern, his gizzern, see how it runs down his gizzern ye ho ! ye ho ! ye ho ! * North. Bless you, James it is very reviving continue to converse you and Tickler and let me wrestle a little in silence with the tormentor. Shepherd. Wha wrote yon article in the Magaiine on Captain Cleeas and Jymnastics ? * This is the fag-eml of some old Bacchanalian ditty. 116 Tickler in his Back- Green. Tickler. Jymnastice ! James if you love me G 1 ard The other is the Cockney pronunciation. Shepherd. Weel, then, GGGhhymnastics ! Wull that do? Tickler. I wrote the article. Shepherd. That's a damned lee. It was naebody else but Mr. North himsel. But what for didna he describe some o' the fates * o' the laddies at the Edinburgh Military Academy on the Saturday afore their vacanse ! I never saw the match o' yon. Tickler. What tricks did the imps perform ? Shepherd. They werena tricks they were fates. First, ane after anither took haud o' a transverse bar o' wud abooii their heads, and raised their chins ower't by the power o' their arms wi' a' the ease and elegance in the warld, and leanin ower't on their breasts, and then catching haud, by some un- accountable cantrip, o' the waistband o' their breeks, awa they set heels ower head, whirligig, whirligig, whirligig, wi' a smoke-jack velocity, that was perfectly confoundin, the laddie doin't being nae mair distinguishable in lith and limb, than gin he had been a bunch o' claes hung up to frichten craws in the fields within what's ca'd a wund-mill. Tickler. I know the exercise and have often done it in my own back-green. Shepherd. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! What maun the neebors hae thought the first time they saw't, lookin out o' their wundows or the second aither ? Ha, ha, ha, ha ! What a subject for a picture by Geordie Cruickshanks ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Tickler. Your laugh, Hogg, is coarse it is offensive. Shepherd. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! My lauch may be coorse, Tickler, for there's uaetbiug superfine about me ; but to na man o' common sense can it, on sic on occasion, be offensive. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Oh dear me ! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, Fates feats. NewJivoen Fishwives. 117 ha ! Lang Timothy whurlin round a cross-bar, up in the air .'iniang the rowan-tree* taps, in his ain back-green at South- side ! ! ! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! I wush I rnayna choke mysel. Tickler. Sir, you are now a fit object of pity not of anger or indignation. Shepherd. I'm glad o' that, for I hate to see ye angry, sir. It gars ye look sae unco ugly perfectly fearsome. North. It must indeed have been a pretty sight, James. Shepherd. Oh, Mr. North, is that your vice ? I am glad to pee you've come roun'. North. What think ye, James, of this plan of supplying Edinburgh with living fish ? Shepherd. Gude or bad, it shall never hae my countenance. I couldna thole Embro without the fishwives, and gin it succeeded, it would be the ruin o' that ancient race. Tic/der. Yes, James, there are handsome women among these Nereids. Shepherd. Weel-faured hizzies, Mr. Tickler. But nane o' your winks for wi' a' their fearsome tauk, they're dacent bodies. I like to see their well-shaped shanks aneath their short yellow petticoats. There's something heartsome in the creak o' their crceshy creels on their braid backs, as they gang swinging up the steyf streets without sweetin, with the leather belt atower their mutched heads, a' bent laigh doun against five-stane load o' haddocks, skates, cods, and flounders, like horses that never reestj and oh, man, but monyo'them hae musical voices, and their cries afar aff make my heart- strings dirl. North. Hard-working, contented, cheerful creatures indeed, James, but unconscionable extortioners, and This rowau-tree, or mountain ash, still flourishes in the back-green o No. 20 George Square, formerly occupied by Mr. Robert Sym. t Stcy steep. J Keest grow restive. 118 On the Road to Leith. Shepherd, Saw ye them ever marchin hamewards at nicht, in a baun o' some fifty or threescore, down Leith Walk, wi ! the grand gas-lamps illuminating their scaly creels, a_ shining like silver ? And heard ye them ever singing their strange sea-sangs first half-a-dizzen o' the bit young anes, wi' as saf t vices and sweet as you could hear in St George's Kirk on Sabbath, half singin and half shoutin a leadin verse, and then a' the mithers and granmithers, and aiblins great granmithers, some o' them wi' vices like verra men, gran' tenors and awfu' basses, joinin in the chorus, that gaed echoing roun' Arthur's Seat, and awa ower the tap o' the Martello Tower, out at sea ayont the end o' Leith Pier ? Wad ye believe me that the music micht be ca'd a hymn at times sae wild and sae mournfu' and then takin a sudden turn into a sort o' queer and outlandish glee ? It gars me think o' the saut sea-faem and white mew-wings wavering in the blast and boaties dancin up and down the billow vales, wi' oar or sail and waes me waes me o' the puir fishing-smack, gaun down head foremost into the deep, and the sighin and the sabbin o' widows, and the wailin o' fatherless weans ! . . . North. You alluded, a little while ago, to the Quarterly Review, James. I have carefully preserved, among other relics of departed worth, the beautiful manuscript of the first article the new Editor * ever sent me. Tickler. In the Balaam-box ? Shepherd. Na, faith, Mr. Tickler, you may set up your gab ooo ; but do you recollec how ye used to try to fleech and flatter him, when he begood sharpening his keelivine pen, and tearing aff the back o' a letter to sketch a bit caricature o' Southside ? Na I've sometimes thocht, Mr. North, that ye were a wee feared for him yoursel, and used, rather without * John GibBon Lockhart, Esq., the late editor of the Quarter lj Review Born in 1793 ; died in 1854. Troubles of an .Editor. 11.9 kennm't, to draw in your horns. The Balaam-box, indeed ! Ma faith, had ye ventured on sic a step, ye micht just as weel af anee hae gien up the Magazine. North. James, that man never breathed, nor ever will breathe, for whose contributions to the Magazine I cared one single curse. Shepherd. Oh, man, Mr. North, dinna lose your temper, sir. What for do you get sac red in the face at a bit pair, harmless, silly joke especially you that's sae wutty and sae severe yoursel, sae sarcastic an fu' o' satire, and at times (the love o' truth chirts* it out o' me) sae like a sleuth-hound, sae keen on the scent o' human bluid ! Dear me! mony a luck Jess deevil, \vi' but sma' provocation, or nane, Mr. North, hae ye worried. North. The Magazine, James, is the Magazine. Shepherd. Ts't really ? I've nae mair to say, sir ; that oracular response removes a' diffeeculties, and settles the hash o' the maitter, as Pierce Eganf would say, at ance. North. Nothing but the purest philanthropy could ever have induced me, my dearest Shepherd, to suffer any contributors Jo the Magazine ; and T sometimes bitterly repent having ever leparted from my original determination (long religiously adhered to) to write, proprio Marte, the entire miscellany. Shepherd. A' the world kens that but whaur's the harm o' a few gude, sober, steady, judicious, regular, weel-informed, ?ersateele, and biddable contributors ? North. None such are to be found on earth you must look for them in heaven. Oh, James ! you know not what it is to labor under a load of contributors ! A prosy parson, who, unknown to me, had, it seems, long worn a wig, and published an assize sermon, surprising me off my guard on a dull rainy day, when the most vigilant of editors has fallen Cltirt.-i Kpiirls. l The author of Roxiana. 120 The Shepherd's Wrongs. asleep, effects a footing iu the Magazine. Oh, what toil ai cl tiouble in dislodging the Doctor! The struggle may continue for years and there have been instances of clerical contribu- tors finally removed only by death. Shepherd. Dog on't, ye wicket auld Lucifer, hoo your een sparkle as you touzlo the clergy ! You just mind me o' a lion purlin wi' inward satisfaction in his throat, and waggin his tufted tail ower a Hottentot lying atween his paws aye preferring the flesh o' a blackamoor to that o' a white man. North. I respect and love the clergy, James. You know that well enough, and the feeling is mutual. Or suppose a young lawyer Shepherd. Or suppose that some shepherd, more silly than his sheep, that roams in yon glen where Yarrow frae still St. Mary's Loch rows wimplin to join the Kttrick, should lay down his cruick, and aneath the shadow o' a rock, or a ruin, indite a bit tale, in verse or prose, or in something between the twa, wi' here and there aiblins a touch o' nature what is ower ower aften the fate o' his unpretending contribution, Mr. North ? A cauld glint o' the ee a curl o' the lip a humph o' the voice a shake o' the head and then but the warld, wicked as it is, could never believe it a wave o' your haun, and instantly and for evermore is it swallowed up by the jaws of the Balaam-box, greedy as the grave and hungry as Hades. Ca' ye that friendship ca' ye that respec ca' ye that sae muckle as the common humanity due to ane anither, frae a' men o' woman born, but which you, sir, na, dinna frown and gr.pw your lip, hae ower aften forgotten to show even to me, the Ettrick Shepherd, and the author o' the Queen's Wake? North (much affected). What is the meaning of this, my dear, dear Shepherd ? May the Magazine sink to the bottom of the Red Sea ! " Precious Powldowdies.'" 121 Shepherd. Dinna greet, sir oh ! dinna, dinna, greet ! For* gie me for hurtin your feelins ; and be assured, that frae my heart I forgie you if ever you hae hurted mine. As for wushin the Magazine to sink to the bottom o' the Red Sea, that's no possible ; for it's lichter far than water, and sink it never wull till the laws o' Nature hersel undergo change and revolution. My only fear is, under the present constitution o' the elements, that ae month or Sther Maga will flee ower the moon, and, thenceforth a comet, will be eccentric on her course, and come careering in sight o' the inhabitants o' the yearth, perhaps, only ance or twice before Neddy Irving's * Day o' Judgment. (Mr. AMBROSE enters.) Shepherd. As sure's death, there's the oysters ! man, Awmrose, but you've the pleasantest face o' ony man o' a* my acquaintance. Here's ane as braid's a mushroom. This is Saturday nicht, and they've a' gotten their bairds shaved. There's a wee ane awa down my wrang throat ; but deil a fears, it'll find its way into the stamach. A waught f o' that porter gars the drums o' ane's lugs crack and play dirl. Tickler. They are in truth precious powldowdies. More boards, Ambrose, more boards. Shepherd. Yonner are half-a-dizzen fresh boards on the side-tables. But more porter, Awmrose more porter. Cauna ye manage inair than twa pots at a time, man, in ilka liaun ? For twunty years, Mr. North, I used aye to blaw aff the froth, or cut it smack-smooth across wi' the edge o' iny loof ; but for the last ten or thereabouts, indeed ever since the Magazine, I hae sooked in froth and a', nor cared about diving my nose iu't. Faith, I'mthinkin that maun be what they ca' BROON STOOT ; for Mr. Pitt and M \ Fox are * The Itev. Edward Irving, a popular preacher of tlio day. He died iu 1834. t Watujhlii large draught. 122 A Psychological Curiosity. nearing ane anither on the wa' there, as gin they were gaun to fecht ; and either the roof's rising, or the floor fa'in, or I'm hafliins fou ! Tickler, Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox ! why, James, you are dreaming. This is not the Blue Parlor ! North. A Psychological Curiosity 1 Shepherd. Faith, it is curious aneuch, and shows the power o' habit in producing a sort o' delusion on the ocular spect rum. I wad hae sworn I saw the lang, thin, lank feegur and cocked-up nose o' Pitt, wi' his hand pressed down wi' an authoritative nieve on a heap o' Parliamentary papers ; and the big, clumsy carcase, arched een, and jolly chops o* Fox, mair like a master coal-merchant than an orator or a states- man ; but they've vanished away, far aff, and wee, wee like atomies, and this is not the Blue Parlor sure aneuch. North. To think of one of the Noctes Ambrosianae passing away without ever a single song ! Shepherd. It hasna past awa yet. Mr. North. It's no eleven, man ; and to hinner twal frae strikin untimeously and on a Saturday iiicht I hate the sound o't Mr. Awm- rose, do you put back, ae round, the lang hand o' the knock.* Ye'se hae a sang or twa afore we part, Mr. North ; but, even without music, hasna this been a pleasant nicht ? I sail begin noo wi ? pepper, vinegar, and mustard, for the oysters by theirsels are getting a wee saut. By the tramping on the stairs I jalouse the playhouse is scalin. Whisht, Mr. North ! keep a calm sugh, or O'Doherty will be in on us, and gar us break the Sabbath morning. Noo, let's draw in our chairs to the fireside, and when a's settled in the tither parlors, I'U sing you a sang. [ Curtain fall*. * Knock clock. IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD RELATES HO W THE BAG- MEN WERE LOST. Scene Ambrose's Hotel, Picardy Place Paper Parlor. NORTH. SHEPHERD. Shepherd. Oh, sir ! but I'm real happy to see you out again ; and to think that we're to hae a twa-handed crack, without Tickler or ony o' the rest kennin that we're at Awm- rose's. Gie's your haun again, my dear sir. Noo, what shall we hae ? North. A single jug, James, of Glenlivet not very strong, if you please ; for Shepherd. A single jug o' Glenleevit no very strang ! My dear sir, hae you lost your judgment ? You ken my re9ate for toddy, and ye never saw't fail yet. In wi' a' the sugar and a' the whusky, whatever they chance to be, intil the jug about half fu' o' water just say three minutes to get aff the boil and then the King's health in a bumper. North. You can twist the old man, like a silk thread round your finger, James. But remember, I'm on a regimen. Shepherd. Sae am 1, five shaves o' toasted butter and bread twa eggs a pound o' kipper sea-trout or saumon, be it mair or less and three o' the big cups o' tea to breakfast; ne platefu' o' corned beef, and potatoes and greens the leg 123 124 The Bin of Snoring. and tho wing o' a how-towdy wi' some tongue or ham a cut o' ploom-puddin, and cheese and bread, to denner and ony woo trifle afore bedtime. That's the regimen, sir, that I'm on the noo, as far as regards the victualling department ; and I canna but say that, moderate as it is, I thrive on't decently aneuch, and haena fun' mysel stouter or stranger either in mind or body, sin' the King's visit to Scotland. 1 hae made nae change on my licker sin' the Queen's Wake. and the time you first dined wi' me in Anne Street only I hae gien up porter, which is swallin drink, and lays on nae- thing but fat and foziness. North. I forget if you are a great dreamer, James ? Shepherd. Sleepin or waukin ? North. Sleeping and on a heavy supper. Shepherd. Oh ! sir, I not only pity but despise the coot, lhat aff wi' his claes, on wi' his nichtcap, into the sheets, doun wi' his head on the bowster, and then, afore amther man could hue weel taken aff his breeks, snorin awa' wi' a' grout open mouth, without a single dream ever travellin through his fancy ! What wad be the harm o' pittin him to death ? North. What ! murder a man for not dreaming, James ? Shepherd. Na but for no dreaming and for snorin at the same time. What for blaw a trumpet through the hail house at the dead o' nicht, just to tell that you've lost youi soul and your senses, and become a breathin clod ? What a blow it maun be to a man to marry a snorin woman ! Think o' her during the haill hinnymoon, resting her head, with a long, gurgling, snorting snore, on her husband's bosom ! North. Snoring runs in families ; and, like other hereditary complaints, occasionally leaps over one generation, and de- scends on the next. But my son, I have no doubt, will snore like a trooper. A Storm at Tomintoul. 126 Shepherd. JYo\\r son ?! Try the toddy, sir. Your son?! North. The jug is i most excellent one, James. Edin Iturgh is supplied with very fine water. Shepherd. Gie me the real Glerileevit such as Awmrose aye has in the hoose and I weel believe that I could mak drinkable toddy out o' sea-water. The human mind never tires o' Glenleevit, ony mair than o' cauler*air. If a body could just find out the exac proper proportion o' quantity that ought to be drank every day, and keep to that, I verily trow that he micht leeve for ever, without dying at a,' and that doctors and kirkyards would go out of fashion. North. Have you had any snow yet, James, in the Forest? Shepherd. Only some skirrin f sleets no anench to track a hare. But, safe us' a' ! what a storm was yon, thus early in the season, too, in the Highlands ! I wash I had been in Tamantowl \ that nicht. No a wilder region for a snow- storm on a' the yearth. Let the wun' come frae what airt it likes, richt doun Glen Aven, or up frae Grautown. or across frae the woods o' Abernethy, or far aff frae the forests at the Head o' Dee, you wad think that it was the deevil himsel howlin wi' a' his legions. A black thunderstorm's no half sae fearsome to me as a white snaw ane. There is an ocular grandeur in it, wi' the opening heavens sending forth the flashes o' lichtnin, that brings out the burnished woods frae the distance close upon you where you staun, a' the time the hills rattling like stanes on the roof o' a hoose, and the rain cither descending in a universal deluge, or here and there pouiing down in straths, till the thunder can scarcely quell the roar o' a thousand cataracts. North. Poussin Poussin Poussin ! Shepherd. The heart quakes, but the imagination even in Ue awe is elevated. You still have a hold on the external * L'ttulfr fresu. tiKirrm nying. v A vKiape jn I '2(5 Lost in the Drift. world, and a lurid beauty mixes with the magnificence, til there is an austere joy in terror. Ni-rth. Burke Burke Burke Edmund Burke ! Shepherd. But in a nicht snaw-storm the ragin world o' elements is at war with life. Within twenty yards o' a human dwelling, you may be remote from succor as at the Pole. The drift is the drift of death. Your eyes are extin- guished in your head your ears frozen your tongue dumb Mountains and glens are all alike so is the middle air eddy- ing with flakes and the glimmerin heavens. An army would be stopt on its march and what then is the tread o' ae puir solitary wretch, man or woman, struggling on by theirsel, or pittin (loan, ower despairing even to pray, and fastcongealin, in t\ sort o' dwam* o' delirious stupefaction, into a lump o' icy and rustling snaw ! "Wae's me, wae's me ! for that auld woman and her wee granddauchter, the bonniest lamb, folk said, in a' the Highlands, that left Tamantowl that nicht, after the merry strathspeys were over, and were never seen again till after the snaw, lying no five bunder yards out o' the town, the bairn wrapt round and round in the crone's plaid as weel as in her ain, but for a' that, dead as a flower- stalk that has been forgotten to be taken into the house at nicht, and in the mornin brittle as glass in its beauty, although, till you come to touch it, it would seem to be alive ! North. With what very different feelings one would read an account of the death of a brace of Bagmen f in the snow ! TTow is that to be explained, James ? Shepherd. You see, the imagination pictures the twa Bag- men as Cockneys. As the snaw was getting dour at them, and giein them sair flaffs and dads on their faces, spittin in tleir verra een, ruggin their noses, and blawin upon their woon. t Oommorclal travel lore. The Bagmen in the Drift. 127 blubberj lips till they blistered, the Cockneys wad be wax- ing half feared and half angry, and damnin the " Heelans," as the cursedest kintra that ever was kittled. But wait awee, my gentlemen, and you'll keep a lowner sugh or you get half-way from Dalnacardoch to Dalwhinnie.* North. A wild district, for ever whirring, even in mist snow, with the gorcoek's wing. Shepherd. Whist hand your tongue, till I finish the account o' the death of the twa Bagmen in the snaw. Ane o' their horses for the creturs are no ill mounted slidders awa doun a bank, and gets jammed into a snaw -stall, where there's no room for turnin. The other horse grows obstinate wi' the sharp stour in his face, and proposes retreating to Dalnacardoch, tail foremost ; but no being sae weel up to the walkin or the trottin backwards as that English chiel Townsend, the pedestrian, hecloitsf doun first on his hurdies, and then on his tae side, the girths burst, and the saddle hangs only by a tack to the crupper. North. Do you know, James, that though you are mani- festly drawing a picture intended to be ludicrous, it is to me extremely pathetic ? Shepherd. The twa Cockneys are now forced to act as dis- mounted cavalry through the rest of the campaign, and sit doun and cry pretty babes o' the wood in each ither's arms ! John Frost decks their noses and their ears with icicles -and each vulgar physiognomy partakes of the pathetic character of a turnip making an appeal to the feelings on Halloween. Dinna sneeze that way when ane's speakin, sir ! North. You ought rather to have cried, " God bless you." Shepherd. A' this while neither the snaw nor thewundhaa been idle and baith Cockneys are sitting up to the middle, poor creturs no that verra caul 1, for driftin snaw sune begins * In the HighlnTxls of Perthshire. t Cloits falls heavily. 128 Death in the Drift. to fiu' warm and comfortable, but wae's me ! unco, uncc sleepy and not a word do they speak ! and now the snaw is up to their verra chins, and the bit bonny, braw, stiff, fause shirt-collars, that they were sae proud o' etickin at their chafts, are as hard as aim, for they've gotten a sair Scotch starchin and the fierce Norlh cares naeth ing for their towsy hair a' srnellin wi' Kalydor and Macassar, no it indeed, but twurls it a' into ravelled hanks, till the frozen mops bear nae earthly resemblance to the ordinary heads o' Cockneys ; and hoo indeed should they, lying in sic an unnatural and out-o'-the-way place for them, as the moors atween Dalnacar- doch and Dalwhinnie? North. Oh, James say not they perished ! Shepherd. Yes, sir, they perished; under such circum- stances, it would have been too much to expect of the vital spark that it should not have fled. It did so and a pair of more interesting Bagmen never slept the sleep of dea-th. Gie me the lend o' your hankercher, sir, for I agree wi' you that the picture's verra pathetic. North. Did you read, James, in one of Maga's Leading Articles, called " Glance over Selby's Ornithology," an ac- count of the Red Tarn Raven Club devouring the corpse of a Quaker on the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn ?* Shepherd. Ay, what about -it? I could hae dune't as weel mysel. North. Do you know, James, that it gave great offence ? Shepherd. I hae nae doubt that the birds o' prey that keep gorging themsels for weeks after a great battle, gie great offence to thousands o' the wounded, picking out their een, and itherwise hurting their feelings. Here a bluidy straight beak tweakin a general officer by the nose, and there a no less bluidy crooked ane tearing aff the ee-broos o' a drummf ?, * See the Recreations of Christopher North, vol. iii. p. 81. Pigeon-Murder. 12J and happin aff to eat them on the hollow .ound o' his ain drum, on which never will tattoo be beaten ony mair, for a musket-ball has gone through the parchment, and the " stormy music," as Cammel ca's it, is hushed for ever. What need a description o' the dreadfu' field, when it has been crappit and fallowed year after year, gie offence to ony rational reader ? Surely no ; and, therefore, why shudder at a joke about the death o' ae Quaker? Tuts, tuts, it's a, nonsense. North. James, you are a good shot ? Shepherd. I seldom miss a haystack, or a barn-door, stand- ing, at twenty yards ; but war they to tak wings to them- selves and flee away, I should be shy o' takin on ony big bet that I should bring them down especially wi' a single barrel. . . . Nane o' your pigeon-killers for me, waitin in cool blood till the bonny burdies, that should ne'er be shot at a' excep when they're on the corn-stooks, flee out o' a trap wi' a flutter and a whirr ; and then prouder men are they nor the Duke o' Wellington, when they knock down, wi' pinions ower purple, the bright birds o' Venus, tumbling, as if hawk- struck, within boun's, or carrying aneuth the down o' their bonny bosoms some cruel draps, that ere nightfall will gar them inoan out their lives amang the cover o' suburban groves. North. So you have no pity, James, for any other birds but the birds of Venus ? Shepherd. I canna say that I hae muckle pity for mony o' the ithers mair especially wild-dyucks and whaups. It's a trial that Job would never hae come through, without swearin after wading half the day through marsh and fen, some- times up to the houghs, and sometimes to the oxters, to see a dizzen or a score o' wild-/ North. She'll uo surveeve you ae single day. Buried thall you be i ae grave, and curst be he that disturbs your buues ! Afore you and her cam out, this wasna the same warld it has been sin' syne. Wut and wisdom never used to be seen liukiu alang thegither, han'-in-han', as they are noo, frae ae cud o' the month to the ither ; there wasna prented a byuck that garred ye break out at ae page into grief, and at anither into a guffaw ; where could ye foregather \vi' * sic a canty f crew o' chiels as O'Doherty and the rest, passin themselves aff sometimes for real, and sometimes for fictions characters, till the puzzled public glowered as if they had flung the glamour ower her? and oh, sir, afore you brak out, beautiful as had been many thousan' thousan' million, billion, trillion, and quadrillion nights by firesides in huts or ha's, or out-by in the open air, wi' the starry heavens resting on the saft hill- taps, yet a' the time that the heavenly bodies were perform- ing their stated revolutions there were nae, nae NOCTKS AMBROSIAN^E ! North. I have not, I would fain hope, my dear James, been altogether useless in my generation but your partiality exaggerates my merits Shepherd. A man would require an oss magna sonaturum to do that. Suffice it to say, sir, that you are the wisest and wittiest of men. Dinna turn awa your face, or you'll get a crick in your neck. There's no sic a popular man in a' Britain the noo as Christopher North. Oh, sir, you'll dee as rich as Croesus for every day there's wulls makin by auld leddies and young leddies, leaving you their residiatory legatee, sometimes, I fear, past the heirs, male or female, o' their bodies, lawfully begotten. North. No, James ; I trust that none of my admirers, since admirers you say the old man hath, will ever prove so unprin- * Foregatlter wi' fall in with. t Canty lively. The Shepherd's Bad Luck. 137 cipled as to leave their money away from the! . own kin. Nothing can justify that but hopeless and incurable vice in the natural heirs. Shepherd. I wush I was worth just twenty thousan' pounds. I could leeve on that but no on a farden less. In the lirst place, I would buy three or four pair o' tap-boots and I would try to introduce into the Forest buckskin breeks. I would neist, sin' naebody's gien me ane in a present, buy a gold musical snuff-box, that would play tunes on the table. North. Heavens ! James at that rate you would be a ruined man before the coming of Christmas. You would see your name honorably mentioned in the Gazette. Shepherd. Then a gold twisted watch-chain, sax gold seals o' various sizes, frae the bigness o' my neive amaist, doun to that o' a kitty-wren's egg. North. Which O'Doherty would chouse you out of at brag some night at his own lodgings, after the play. Shepherd. Catch me at the cairds, unless it be a game at Birky ; * for I'm sick o' Whust itsel, I've sic desperate bad hauns dealt to me noo no an ace ance in a month, and no that unseldom a haun without a face-caird, made up o' deuces, and trays, and fours, and fives, and be damned to them ; so that to tak the verra weakest trick is entirely out o' my power, except it be by main force, harling the cairds to me whether the opposite side wull or no ; and then at the close o' the round, threepin t that I had twa honors the knave and anither ane. Sic bad luck hae I in a' chance games, Mr. North, as you ken, that were I to fling dice for my life alang wi' a haill army o' fifty thousand men, I wad be sure to be shot ; for I would fling aces after some puir trumlin drummer had flung deuces, and be led out into the middle o' a hollow square for execution. Aiifflicf>. Beggar-my-neighbor. t Threepin asserting pertinaciously 138 The- Approach of the. Troops. North. James, yon arc veiy excursive this evening in yotn conversation nobody is thinking of shooting yon, James. Shepherd. And I'm sure that I hae nae thochts o' shootin mysel. But ance it's a lang time syne I saw a sodger shot dead, sir, as a door-nail, or a coffin-nail, or ony ither kind o' nail. North. Was it in battle, James ? Shepherd. In battle ? Na, na ; neither you nor me was ever fond o' being in battle at ony time o' our lives. North. I was Private Secretary to Rodney when he beat Langara,* James. Shepherd. Haud your tongue ! What a crowd on the Links f that day ! But a' wi' fixed, whitish faces nae speakin no sae muckle as a whisper a frozen dumbness that nae wecht J could break ! North. You mean the spectators, James. Shepherd. Then the airmy appeared in the distance ; for there were three haill regiments, a' wi' fixed beggonets ; but nae music nae music for a while at least, till a' at ance, mercy on us ! we heard, like laigh sullen thunder, the souiv o' the great muffled drum, aye played on, ye ken, by a black man ; in this case an African neegger, sax feet four ; and what bangs he gied the bass the whites o' his een rowin about as if he was glad, atween every stroke. North. I remember him the best pugilist then going, for it was long before the days of Richmond and Molineaux - ani nearer forty than thirty years ago, James. Shepherd. The tread of the troops was like the step o' ae giant sae perfate was their discippleen and afore I weel kent that they were a' in the Links, three sides o' a square were formed and the soun' o' the great drum ceased, as at * Off Cape St. Vincent, 011 the 16th of January 1780. * Links -downs. t Wecht w'jfht. The Mutineer. 139 an inaudible word of command, or wavin o' a haun, or the loweriu o* a banner. It was but ae man that "was about to die but for that ae man, had their awe no hindeie/vl them, twenty thousan' folk wad at that moment hae broken out into lamentations and rueful cries but as yet not a tear was shed not a sigh was heaved for had a' that vast crowd been sae mony images, corpses raised up by cantrip in their death-claes, they couldna hae been mair motionless than at that minute, nor mair speechless than that multitude o' leevin souls ! North. I was myself one of the multitude, James. Shepherd. There, a' at ance, hoo or whare he came frae nane could tell there, I say, a' at ance stood the Mutineer. Some tell't me afterwards that they had seen him marchin alang, twa-three yards ahint his coffin, wi' his head just a wee thocht inclined downwards, not in fear o' man or death, but in awe o' God and judgment, keepin time wi' a military step that was natural to him, and no unbecoming a brave man on the way to the grave, and his een fixed on the green that was fadin awa for ever and ever frae aneath his feet ; but that was a sicht I saw not for the first time I beheld him he was standin, a' unlike the ither men, in the middle o' that three-sided square, and there was a shudder through the haill multitude, just as if we had been a' standin haun in haun, and a natural philosopher had gien us a shock o' his electrical machine. " That's him that's him puir, puir fallow ! Oh ! but he* a pretty man ! " Such were the ejaculations frae thousan's o' women, maist o' them young anes, but some o' them auld, and grey-headed aneath their mutches, and no a few wi' babies sookin or caterwailin at their breasts. North. A pretty girl fainted within half-a-dozen yards of where I stood. 140 At the Death Scene. Shepherd. His name was Lewis Mackenzie aid as fine u young man lie was as ever stepped on heather. The moment before he knelt down on his coffin, he seemed as fu' o' life as if he had stripped aft' his jacket for a game at foot-ba,' or to fling the hammer. Ay, weel micht the women-folk gaze on him wi' red, weepin een, for he had lo'ed them but ower weel ; and mony a time, it is said, had he let himsel down the Castle-rock at night, God knows hoo, to meet his lemans hut a' that, a' his sins, and a' his crimes, acted and only meditated, were at an end noo puir fallow and the platoon, wi' fixed beggonets, were drawn up within ten yards, or less, o' where he stood, and he himsel havin tied a handkerchief ower his een, dropped down on his knees on his coffin, wi' faulded hands, and lips moving fast, fast, and white as ashes, in prayer ! North. Cursed be the inexorable justice of military law ! he might have been pardoned. Shepherd. Pardoned ! Hadna he disarmed his ain captain o' his sword, and ran him through the shouther in a mutiny of which he was himsel the ringleader ? King George on the throne durstna hae pardoned him it wad hae been as much as his crown was worth for hoo could King, Kintra, and Constitution thole a standing army in which mutiny was not punished wi' death ? North. Six balls pierced him through head and heart and what a shriek, James, then arose ! Shepherd. Ay, to hae heard that shriek, you wad hae thought that the women that raised it wad never hae lauched again ; but in a few hours, as sune as nightfall darkened the city, some o' them were gossipin about the shootin o' the sodger to their neighbors, some dancin at hflps that shall lie nameless, some sittin on their sweethearts' knees, wi' their arms roun' their necks, some swearin like troopers, some The Mutineer s Father. 141 doubtless sittin thochtfu' by the fireside, or awa to bed in Badness an hour sooner than usual, and then fast asleep. North. I saw his old father, James, with my own eyes, step out from the crowd, and way being made for him, he walked up to his son's dead body, and embracing it, kissed his bloody head, and then with clasped hands looked up to heaven. Shepherd. A strang and stately auld man, and ane, too, that had been a soldier in his youth. Sorrow, not shame, somewhat bowed his head, and ance he reeled as if he were faint on a sudden. But what the deevil's the use o' me haverin awa this way about the shootin o' a sodger, thretty years sin' syne, and mair too for didna I see that auld, silvery-headed father o' the mutineer staggering alang the Grassmarket, the verra next day after the execution, as fou as the Baltic, wi' a heap o' mischievous weans hallooin after him, and him a' the while in a dwam o' drink and despair, maunderin about his son Lewis, then lyin a' barken'd wi' blood in his coffin, six feet deep in a fine rich loam. North. That very same afternoon I heard the drums and fifes of a recruiting party, belonging to the same regiment, winding away down towards Holyrood ; and the place of Lewis Mackenzie in the line of bold sergeants with their claymores, was supplied by a corporal, promoted to a triple bar on his sleeve in consequence of the death of the mutineer. Shepherd. It was an awfu' scene, yon, sir ; but there was naething humiliating to human nature in it as in a hangin ; and it struck a wholesome fear into the souls o' many thousan' sodgers. North. The silence and order of the troops, all the while, was sublime. Shepherd. It was sae, indeed. 142 Toasted Cheese. North. What do you think, James, of that, by way of a toasting cheese? Ambrose calls it the Welshman's delight, or Davies' darling. Shepherd. It's rather teuch luk, Ink, hoo it pu's out, out, out, and better out, into a very thread o' the unbeaten gold, a' the way frae the ashet to my mouth. Saw ye ever ouy- thing sae tenawcious ? I verily believe that I could walk, without breakin't, in til the tither room. Noon that I've gotten't intil my mouth I wush it ever may be gotten out again ! The tae * end o' the line is fastened, like a hard gedd f (see Dr. Jamieson) in the ashet and the ither end's in my stammach and the thin thread o' attenuated cheese gets atween my teeth, sae that I canna chow't through and throuo-h. Thank ye, sir, for cuttin't. Rax me ower the jug. Is't yill ? Here's to you, sir. North. Peebles ale, James. It has a twang of the Tweed. Shepherd. Tweed ! Do you ken, Mr. North, that last simmer f the Tweed ran dry, and never flowed sin' syne. They're speakin o' takin doun a' the brigs frae Erickstane to Berwick, and changing the channel intil the turnpike road. A' the materials are at haun, and it's a' to be macadameezed. North. The Steam-Engine Mail-Coach is to run that road in spring. Shepherd. Is't ? She'll be a dangerous vehicle but I'll tak my place in the safety-valve. But jeestin apairt, do you ken, sir, that mony and rnony a wee well among the hills and mountains was really dried up by the drought o' three dry simmers and for them my heart was wae, as if they had been ance leevin things ! For werena they like leevin things, aye sae calm, and clear, and bright, and sae contented, ilka ane by itsel, in far-awa spats, whare the grass runkled onl ? * Toe one. t Gedd a. pike-staff stuck into the ground. t The summer of 1826 was memorable for its drought. " Plenty without them!" 143 to the shepherd's foot twa-three times a year, and a' the rest 3' the sun's annual visit roun' the globe lay touched only by the wandering light and shadows ! North. Poo poo James there's plenty of water in the world without them. Shepherd. Plenty o' water in the world without them ? Ay, that there is, and mair than plenty but what's that to the purpose, ye auld haveral ? Gin five thousan' bonny bairns were to be mawn douri by the scythe o' Death during the time that I'm drinking this glass (oh, man, but this is a grand jug, aiblins rather ower sweet, and rather ower strong, but, that's twa gude fauts) there wad be plenty o' bairns left in the warld, legitimate and illegitimate and you nor me micht never miss them. But wadna there be just sae much extinguishment, or annihilation like, o' beauty and bliss, o' licht and lauchter, o' ray-like ringlets, and lips that war nae sweeter, for naething can be sweeter, than the half-opened buds o' moss-roses, when the morning is puttin on her claes, but lips that were just as sweet when openin and shuttin in their balmy breath, when ilka happy bairn was singing a ballant or a psalm, baith alike pious and baith alike pensive ; for a' the airs o' Scotland (excep a gey hantle, to be sure, o' wicket tunes) soun' aye to me mair melancholy than mirthfu', spirit-like, and as if of heavenly origin, like the bit lown musical soun's that go echoing by the ear, or rather the verra soul o' the shepherd leaning on his staff at nicht, when a' the earth is at rest, and lookin up, and ower, and through into the verra heart o' heaven, when the lift is a' ae glorious glitter o' cloudless stars ! You're no sleepy, sir ? North. Sleepy ! You may as well ask the leader in a tandem if he be sleepy, when performing the match of twei.ty- eight miles in two hours without a break. Shepherd. Ae spring there is in a noak known but to me 144 The Shepherd's Past. and auither, a bit nook greener than ony emerald or even the Queen Fairy's symar, as she disentangles it frae her feet iu the moonlight dance, enclosed wi' laigh broomy rocks, umaist like a sheep-fauld, but at the upper end made lown in a' weathers by ae single stane, like the last ruin o' a tower, smelling sweet, nae doubt, at this blessed moment, wi' thyme, that enlivens even the winter season, ae spring there is, I say North. Dear me ! James let me loosen your neckcloth you are getting black in the face. What sort of a knot is this ? It would puzzle the ghost of Gordius to untie it. Shepherd. Diuna mind the crauvat. I say, Mr. North, rather were my heart dried up to the last drop o' bluid, than that the pulses of that spring should cease to beat in the holy wilderness. North. Your emotion is contagious, James. I feel the rheum bedimming my aged eyes, albeit unused to the melt- ing mood. Shepherd. You've heard me tell the tale afore and it's no a tale I tell when I can help it but sometimes, as at pres- ent, when sittin wi' the friend I love, and respect and ven- erate, especially if, like you, he be maist like a father, or at least an elder brither, the past comes upon me wi' a' the power o' the present, and though my heart be sair, ay, sair maist to the verra breakin, yet I maun speak for though big and great griefs are dumb, griefs there are, rather piteous and profound, that will shape themselves into words, even when iiane are by to hear nane but the puir silly echoes, that can only blab the twa-three last syllables o' a secret. North. To look on you, James, an ordinary observer would think that you had never had any serious trials in this life- that Doric laugh of thine, my dear Shepherd Shepherd. I hate and despise ordinary observers, and thank " Ordinary Observers." God that they can ken naething o' ine or my character. The pitifu' creturs aye admire a man wi' a laug nose, hollow cheeks, black een, swarthy cheeks, and creeshy hair ; and tauk to ane anither about his interesting melancholy, and severe misfortunes ; and hoo he had his heart weel-nigh broken by the death o' twa wives, and the loss o' a third evangelical miss, wha eloped, after her wedding-claes had been taen aff at the haberdasher's, wi' a play-actor wha had ance been a gentleman that is, attached to the commissaw- riat department o' the army in the Peninsula, a dealer in adulterated flour and mule-flesh sausages. North. Interesting emigrants to Van Diemen's Laud. Shepherd. A man wi' buck-teeth and a cockit nose, like me, they'll no alloo to be a martyr to melancholy ; but be- cause they see and hear me lauchin as in Peter's Letters,* scoot the idea o' my ever geein way to grief, and afttimes thinkin the sweet light o' heaven's blessed sunshine darkened by a black veil that flings a correspondin shadow ower the seemingly disconsolate yearth. North. Most of the good poets of my acquaintance have light-colored hair. Shepherd. Mine in my youth was o' a bricht yellow. North. And a fine animal you were, James, I am told, as you walked up the transe o' the kirk, with your mane flying over your shoulders, confined within graceful liberty by a blue ribbon, the love-gift of some bonny May, that wonned amang the braes, and had yielded you the parting kiss, just as the cottage clock told that now another week was past, and you heard the innocent creature's heart beating in the hush o' the Sabbath morn. Shepherd. Whisht, whisht! * Peter's Letters to hit Kinsfolk, 1819. These lively sketches of Edinburgh cclety and its celebrities were from the pen and the pencil of Mr. Lockhart. 146 The Tale of the Haunted Well. North. But we have forgotten the Tale of the Haunted Well. Shepherd. It's nae Tale for there's naething that could be ca'd an incident in a' that I could say about that well ! Oh ! sir she was only twa months mair than fifteen and though she had haply reached her full stature, and was some- what taller than the maist o' our Forest lassies, yet you saw at ance that she was still but a bairn. I was a hantle aulder than her and as she had nae brither, I was a brither to her neither had she a father or mither, and ance on a day, when I said to her that she wad find baith in me, wha loved her for her goodness and her innocence, the puir britherless, sisterless, parentless orphan had her face a' in ae single in- stant as drenched in tears as a flower cast up on the sand at the turn o' a stream that has brought it down in a spate frae the far-aff hills. North. Her soul, James, is now in heaven ! Shepherd. The simmer afore she died, she didna use to come o' her ain accord, and, without being asked in aneath my plaid, when a skirring shower gaed by I had to wise * her in within its faulds and her head had to be held down by an affectionate pressure, almost like a faint force, on my breast and when I spak to her, half in earnest half in jest, o' love, she had nae heart to lauch, sae muckle as to greet ! North. One so happy and so innocent might well shed tears. Shepherd. There, beside that wee, still, solitary well, have we sat for hours that were swift as moments, and each o' Jhem filled fu' o' happiness that wad noo be aneuch for years ! North. For us, and men like us, James, there is on earth no such thing as happiness. Enough that we have known it. Shepherd. I should fear noo to face sic happiness as used * Wise entice. Disenchantment. 147 to be there, beside that well -sic happiness would noo turn my brain but nae fear, nae fear o' its ever returnin, for that voice went wavering awa up to heaven from this mute earth, and on the nicht when it was heard not, and never more was to be heard, in the psalm, in my father's house, I knew that a great change had been wrought within me, and that this earth, this world, this life was disenchanted for ever, and the place that held her grave a Paradise no more ! North. A fitter place of burial for such an one is not on the earth's surface, than that lone hill kirkyard, where she hath for years been sleeping.* The birch shrub in the south corner will now be quite a stately tree. Shepherd. I visit the place sae regularly every May-day in the morning, every Midsummer-day, the langest day in the year, that is, the twenty-second o' June, in the gloaming, that I see little or nae alteration on the spat, or onything that belangs to it. But nae doubt, we are baith grown aulder thegither; it in that solitary region, visited by few or none except when there is a burial and me sometimes at Mount Benger, and sometimes in here at Embro', enjoyin mysel at Ambrose's for, after a', the world's no a bad world, although Mary Morison be dead dead and buried thirty years ago, and that's a lang portion o' a man's life, which is, scripturally speakin, somewhere about threescore and ten. North. I have not seen any portrait of you, James, in any late Exhibition ? * This lonely churchyard, on the shore of St. Mary's Loch, is thus described bf Scott: " Nought living meets the eye or ear, But well I ween the dead are near ; For though, in feudal strife, a foe Hath laid Our Lady's chapel lew, Yet still, beneath the hallow'd soil, The peasnn : rests him from his toil, And, dying, bids his bones be laid Where erst his simple fathers prayed." Afarmfon, introd. to Canto H. 148 Frost and WltisTcy-toddy. Shepherd. Nor me o' you, sir. "What for doesiia Watson Gordon immortaleeze himsel by paintia a Portrait o' Christo- pher North ? * But oh, sir ! but you hae gotten a kittle face your ecu's sae changefu' in their gleg expression, and that mouth o' yours takes fifty shapes and hues every minute, while, as for your broos, they're noo as smooth as those o' a lassie, and noo as frownin as the broos o' a Saracen's head. North. There is not!) ing uncommon in my face, James ? Shepherd. Oh, sir, you hae indeed a kittle, kittle face, and to do it justice it should be painted in a Series. Ane micht ken something o' your physiognomy in the coorse o' a Gallery. . . . But nae mair about pictures for ae nicht, if you please, sir. North. Unless I am much mistaken indeed, James, you introduced the subject yourself. Shepherd. I'll bet you anither jug I did nae sic thing. North. Done. Shepherd. But wha'll decide ? Let's drink the jug, though, in the first place. It's quite a nicht this for whusky toddy. Dinna you observe that a strong frost brings out the flavor o' the speerit in a maist surprising manner, and gies't a mair precious smell o'er the haill room ? It's the chemical action, you understun, o' the cauld and heat, the frost and fire, working on a' the materials o' the jug, and the verra jug itsel, frae nose to donp, sae that sma'-still becomes perfect nectar, on which Jupiter, or Juno either, micht hae got drunk, and Apollo, after a haill uicht's screed, risen up in the morning wi' his gowden hair, and not the least o' a headache, nor The beat portrait extant of Professor Wilson was painted by Sir John Watson Gordon, in 1860, for Mr. John Blackwood, in whose possession it now is. The portrait of the Kttriek Shepherd by the same artist is also IB Mr. Blackwood's possession. Pride has a Fall. 149 crap-sick as he druve his chariot along the Great Turnpike Road o' Heaven. North. I wish, James, you would write a Tragedy. Shepherd. I hae ane in my pouch, man " Mirk Monday." * North. No poet of this age has shown sufficient concentra- tion of thought and style for tragedy. All the living poets are loose and lumbering writers and I will engage to point out half-a-dozen feeblenesses or faults of one kind or another in any passage of six lines that you, James, will recite from the best of them. Shepherd. He's gettin fuddled noo, I see, or he wadna be haverin about poetry. Mr. North, you're as sober as when we begood to the saxth jug afore the ane that was the imme- diate predecessor o' this jug's great-grandfather but as for me, I'm bliu' fou, and rather gizzy. I canna comprehend hoo we got into this room, and still less hoo we're to get out again for I'll stake my character that there's no ae single door in a' the four wa's. I shouldna care gin there was a shake-down or a suttee ; but I never could sleep wi' a straught back. Mercy on us ! the haill side o' the house is fa'en doon, as in the great earthquake at Lisbon. Steady -sir steady that's Mr. Awmrose you ken Mr.Awmrose. (Awmrose, he's far gane the nicht, and I'm feered the fresh air'll coup and capsize him a'thegither.) North, Mr. Ambrose, don't mind me give Mr. Hogg your arm. James, remember there are a couple of steps. There now I thought Pride would have a Fall at last, James ! N^w, coachy ! ! drive to the devil. [Exeunt. * The sun was totally eclipsed on Monday the 24tb March 1652 ; hence the repression Mirk Monday. xn. IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD PAINTS HIS WN POR TRAIT. Scene, Ambrose's Hotel, Picardy Place Paper Parlor. NORTH. TICKLER. SHEPHERD. North. Doctors are generally dull dogs ; and nobody iu tolerable health and spirits wishes to hear anything about them and their quackeries. Tickler. Their faces are indeed at all times most absurd ; but more especially so when they are listening to your account of yourself, and preparing to prescribe for your inside, of which the chance is that they know no more than of the interior of Africa. North. And yet, and yet, my dear Tickler, when old bucks like us are out of sorts, then, like sinners with saints, we trust to the sovereign efficacy of their aid, and feel as if they stood between us and death. There's our beloved Shepherd, whose wrist beats with a yet unfelt pulse Shepherd. I dinna despise the doctors. In ordinary com- plaints I help mysel out o' the box o' drogs ; and I'm never mair nor three days in gettin richt again ; the first day, for the beginning o' the complaint dull and dowie, sair gien to gauntin, and the streekin out o' ane's arms, rather touchy in the temper, and no easily satisfied wi' onything ane can get to eat ; the second day, in bed, wi' a nicht-cap on, or a 150 The Delight of Recovery. 151 worsted stockin about the chafts, shiverin ilka half-hour aneath the blankets, as if cauld water were pourin doun your back ; a stamach that scunners at the very thocht o' fude, and a sair sair head, araaist as if a wee deevil were sittin in't knappin stanes wi' an airn hammer ; the third day, about denner-time hungrier than a pack o' hounds, yokin to the haggis afore the grace, and in imagination inair than able to devour the haill jiget, as weel's the giblet-pie and the pancakes. North. And the fourth day, James ? Shepherd. Out wi' the grews gin it be afore the month o' March, is souple and thin in the flanks as themsels wi' as gleg an ee and lugs pricked up ready for the start o' pussie frae aruang the windle-straes. Halloo halloo halloo ! Oh, man, arena ye fond o' coorsiu ? Tickler. Of hare-soup I ani or even roasted hare but Shepherd. There are some things that a man never gets accustomed to, and the startin o' a hare's ane o' them ; so is the whurr o' a covey o' paitricks and aiblins so is the meetin o' a bonny lassie a' by hersel amang the bloomin heather, when she seems to rise up frae the earth, or to hae drapped doun frae heaven. Were I to leeve ten thousan' years, and gang out wi' the grews or pointers every ither day, I sud never get the better o' the dear delightfu' dirl o' a fricht, when pussie starts wi' her lang horns. North. Or the covey whirrs Tickler. Or the bonny lassie Shepherd. Oh, man, Tickler, but your face the noo is just like the face o' a satyr in a pictur-byuck, or that o' an auld stane-monk keekin frae a niche in the corner o' an abbey wa' the leer o' the holy and weel-fed scoonrel's een seemiu mair intense on the Sabbath, when the kirkyard is fu' o' innocent young maidens, trippin ower the tombs to the 152 Wordsworth drinks Water. House o' Prayer! Mr. North, sir, only look at the face o him ! North. Tickler, Tickler, give over that face it is absolutely getting like Hazlitt's. We will, if you please, James, take each a glass all round of Glenlivet to prevent infection. Shepherd. Wi' a' my heart. Sic a change in the expression o' your twa faces, sirs ! Mr. North, you look like a man that has just received a vote o' thanks for ha'in been the instru- ment o' some great national deliverance. Isna that wonderfu' whisky ? As for you, Mr. Tickler, your een's just like twa jaspers pree'd ye ever the like o't ? North. Never, so help me Heaven ! never, since I was born ! Shepherd. Wordsworth tells the world, in ane o' his pre- faces, that he is a water-drinker and it's weel seen on him. There was a sair want of speerit through the haill o' yon Jang " Excursion." If he had just made the paragraphs about ae half shorter, and at the end of every ane taen a caulker, like ony ither man engaged in geyan sair and heavy wark, think na ye that his " Excursion " would hae been far less fatiguesome ? Tickler. It could not at least well have been more so, James, and I devoutly hope that that cursed old Pedlar is defunct. Indeed, such a trio as the poet himself, the pack- man, and the half-witted annuitant North. My friend Wordsworth has genius, but he has no invention of character no constructiveness, as we phrenolo- gists say. Shepherd. He, and ither folk like him, wi' gude posts and pensions, may talk o' drinkin water as muckle's they choose and may abuse me and the like o' me for preferrin speerits but North. Nobody is abusing you, my dear Shepherd Hogg prefers " Speerits" 153 Shepherd. Haud your tongue, Mr. North for I'm geyati angry the noo and I canna thole being interrupted when I'm angry, sae hand your tongue, and hear me speak, and faith, gin some folk were here, they should be made to near on the deafest side o' their heads. North. Oyez ! Oyez ! Oyez ! Shepherd. Well, then, gentlemen, it cannot be unknown to you that the water-drinking part of the community have not scrupled to bestow on our meetings here, on the Noctes Am- brosianae, the scurrilous epithet of Orgies ; and that I, the Shepherd, have come in for the chief part of the abuse. I therefore call on you, Mr. North, to vindicate my character to the public to speak truth and shame the devil and to declare in Maga, whether or not you ever saw me once the worse of liquor during the course of your career ? North. Is it possible, my dearest friend, that you can trouble your head one moment about so pitiful a crew? That jug, James, with its nose fixed upon your's, is expressing its sur- prise that Tickler. Hogg, Hogg, this is a weakness which I could not have expected from you. Have you forgotten how the Spec- tator, and Sir Roger de Coverley, and others, were accused of wine-bibbing and other enormities by the dunces of those days ? Shepherd. Confound their backbiting malignity ! Is there a steadier hand than that in a' Scotland ? see how the liquid quivers to the brim, and not a drop overflowing. Is my nose red ? my broo blotched ? my een red and rheumy ? my shanks shrunk ? my knees, do they totter ? or does my voice come from my heart in a crinkly cough, as if the lungs were rotten ? Bring ony ane o' the base water-drinkers here, and set him doun afore me, and let us discuss ony subject he likes, and see whase head's the clearest, and whase tongue wags wi' maist unfalteriu freedom ? 1.) I The Shepherd's Life. North. The lirst thing, James, the water-drinker would do, would be to get drunk, and make a beast of himself. Shepherd. My life, Mr. North, as you ken, has been a tie of some vicissitudes, and even now I do not eat the bread of idleness. For ae third o' the twenty-four hours, tak ae day wP anither throughout the year, I'm i' the open air, wi' heaven's wind and rain, perhaps, or its hail and sleet, and they are blessed by the hand that sends them, Washing against me on the hill. For anither third, I am at my byucks no mony o' them, to be sure, in the house but the few that are, no the wark o' dunces, ye may believe that ; or aiblins doin my best to write a byuck o' my ain, or if no a byuck, siccan a harm- less composition as ane o' my bits o' " Shepherd's Calendars," or the like ; or, if study hae nae charms, playing wi' the bairns, or hearing them their lessons, or crackin wi' a neigh- bor, or sittin happy wi' the mistress by our ain twa sels, sayin little, but thinkin a hantle, and feelin mair. For the remaining third, frae ten at nicht to sax in the morning, enjoying that sweet sound sleep that is the lot o' agude con- science, an dout o' which I come as regular at the verra same minute as if an angel gently lifted my head frae the pillow, and touched my eyelids with awakening licht, no forge ttin, as yoursel kens, Mr.North, either evening or morning prayers, no verra lang anes to be sure, except on the Sabbath ; but as I hope for mercy, humble and sincere, as the prayers o' us siufu' beings should ever be sinfu', and at a' times, sleepin or waukin, aye on the brink o' death ! Can there be ony great harm, Mr. North, in a life that saving and excepting always the corrupt thochts o' a man's aiu heart, which has been wisely said to be desperately wicked even when it inicht think itsel, in its pride, the verra perfection o' virtue North. I never left Altrive or Mount Benger, James, with out feeling myself a better and a wiser man. The Shepherd's Temperance. Shepherd. Nae man shall ever stop a nicht in my house, without partakin o' the best that's iu't, be't meat or drink ; and if the coof *canna drink three or four tummlers or jugs o' toddy, he has nae business in the Forest. But if he do nae mair than follow the example I'se set him, he'll rise k. the morning without a headache, ind fa' to breakfast, no wi' that fause appeteet that your drunkards yoke on to the butter and bread wi', and the eggs, and the ham and buddies, as if they had been shipwrecked in their sleep, and scoured wi' the salt water, but wi' that calm, sane, and steady appeteet, that speaks an inside sound in a' its operations as clockwork, and gives assurance o' a lang and usefu' life, and a large family o' children. North. Replenish the dolphin, James. Shepherd. She's no toom f yet. Now, sir, I ca' that no an abstemious life for why should ony man be abstemious ? but I ca't a temperate life, and o' a' the virtues, there's nane mair friendly to man than Temperance. Tickler. That is an admirable distinction, James. Shepherd. I've seen you forget it, sir, howsomever, in prac- ticeespecially in eatin. Oh, but you're far frae a temperate eater, Mr. Tickler. You're ower fond o' a great heap o' different dishes at denner. I'm within boun's when I say I hae seen you devour a dizzen. For me, sufficient is the Rule of Three. I care little for soop unless kail, or cocky- leeky, or hare-soop, or mock-turtle, which is really, con- siderin it's only mock, a pleasant platefu' ; or hodge-podge, or potawto-broth, wi' plenty o' mutton-banes, and weel peppered ; but your white soops, and your broon soops, and your vermisilly, I think naething o', and they only serve to spoil without satisfyin a gude appeteet, of which nae man o' senses will ever tak aff the edge afore he attacks a dish * Coqf ninny. t Toom empty. lf)6 The Shepherd's Tolerance. that is in itself a denner. I like to bring the haill power o' my stamach to bear on vittles that's worthy o't, and no to fritter't awa on side-dishes, sic as pates, and trash o' that sort, only fit for board ill-school misses, wi' wee shrimpit mouths, no able to eat muckle, and ashamed to eat even that ; a' covered wi' blushes, puir things, if ye but offer to help onything ontil their plates, or to tell them no to mind folk starin, but to mak a gude denner, for that it will do them nae harm, but, on the contrary, mingle roses with the lilies of their delicate beauty. Tickler. Every man, James, is the best judge of what he ought to eat, nor is one man entitled to interfere Shepherd. Between another man and his own stomach ! Do you mean to say that? Why, sir, that is even more absurd than to say that no man has a right to interfere between another and his own conscience, or his Tickler. And is that absurd ? Shepherd. Yes, it is absurd although it has, somehow or other, become an apothegm. It is not the duty of all men, to the best o' their abilities to enlighten ane anither's under- standings ? And if I see my brethren o' mankind fa' into a' sorts o' sins and superstitions, is't nae business o' mine, think ye, to endeavor to set them right, and enable them to act according to the dictates o' reason and nature ? Hae ye read Boaden's Life o' Siddons, sir ? North. I have, James and I respect Mr. Boaden for his intelligent criticism. He is rather prosy, occasionally but why not ? God knows, he cannot be more prosy, than I am now at this blessed moment yet what good man, were he present now, would be severe upon old Christopher for havering away about this, that, or t'other thing, so long as there was heart in all he said, and nothing contra bonot Mrs. Siddons as Lady Macbeth. 157 mores ? Sarah was a glorious creature. Methinks I see her now in the sleep-walking scene ! Shepherd. As Leddy Macbeth ! Her gran', high, straicht- nosed face, whiter than ashes ! Fixed een, no like the een o' the dead, yet hardly mair like them o' the leevin ; dim and yet licht wi' an obscure lustre, through which the tormented sowl looked in the chains o' sleep and dreams wi' a' the distraction o' remorse and despair, and oh! sic an expanse o' forehead for a warld o' dreadfu' thochts, aneath the braided blackness o' her hair, that had never- theless been put up wi' a steady and nae uncarefu' haun before the troubled Leddy had lain doun, for it behooved ane so high-born as she, in the middle o' her ruefu' trouble, no to neglect what she owed to her stately beauty, and to the head that lay on the couch of ane o' Scotland's Thanes noo likewise about to be, during the short space o' the passing o' a thunder-cloud, her bluidy and usurping King. North. Whisht Tickler whisht no coughing. Shepherd. Onwards she used to come no Sarah Siddons but just Leddy Macbeth hersel though through that melan- choly masquerade o' passion, the spectator aye had a con- fused glinimerin apprehension o' the great actress glidin wi' the ghostlike motion o' nicht-wandering unrest, uncon- scious o' surroundin objects, for oh ! how could the glazed yet gleamin een see aught in this material world ? yet, by some mysterious power o' instinct, never touchin ane o' the impediments that the furniture o' the auld castle micht hae opposed to her haunted footsteps, on she came, wring^ wringin her hauns, as if washin them in the cleansin dewa frae the blouts o' blood, but wae's me for the murderess, out they wad no be, ony mair than the stains OD the spat o' the floor where some midnicht- slain Christian 158 Pastoral Poetry. has groaned out his soul aneath the dagger's stroke, when the sleepin hoose heard not the shriek o' departing life. Tickler. North, look at James's face. Confound me, under the inspiration of the moment, if it is not like John Kemble's ! Shepherd. Whether a' this, sirs, was natural or not, ye see I dinna ken, because I never beheld ony woman, either gentle or semple, walkin in her sleep after having committed murder. But, Lord safe us ! that hollow, broken-hearted voice, " Out, damned spot," was o' itsel aneuch to tell to a' that heard it, that crimes done in the flesh during time will needs be punished in the spirit during eternity. It was a dreadfu' homily yon, sirs ; and wha that saw't would ever ask whether tragedy or the stage was moral, purging the soul, as she did wi' pity and wi' terror ? North. James, I'll tell you a kind of composition that would tell. Shepherd. What is't, man ? Let's hear't. North. Pastoral Dramatic Poetry, partly prose and partly verse like the " Winter's Tale," or " As You Like It," or " The Tempest," or " The Midsummer-Night's Dream." Tickler. Dramas of which the scenes are laid in the country cannot be good, for the people have no character. Shepherd. Nae character's better than a bad aiie, Mr. Tickler ; but you see, sir, you're just perfectly ignorant o' what you're talkin about for it's only kintra-folk that has ony character ava, and town's-bodies seem to be a' in a slump. Hoo the street rins wi' leevin creatures, like a stream rinnin wi' foam-bells ! Whatmaitter if they a' break as they gang by ? For another shoal succeeds o' the same empty race ! North. The passions in the country, methinks, James, are Town and Country Passions- 159 stronger and bolder, and more listinguishable from each other, than in the towns ? Shepherd. Deevil a passion's in the town, but envy, and backbiting, and conceitedness. As for friendship, or love, or hate, or revenge ye never meet wi' them where men and women are a' jumbled throughither, in what is ca'd ceevi- leesed society. In solitary places, the sicht o' a human face aye brings wi't a corresponding feeling o' some kind or ither there can be nae sic thing as indifference in habitations stanuin here and there, in woods and glens, and on hill-sides and the shores o' lochs or the sea. Tickler. Are no robberies, murders, and adulteries perpe- trated in towns, James ? Shepherd. Plenty and because there are nae passions to guard frae guilt. What man wi' a sowl glowin wi' the free feelings o' nature, and made thereby happy and contented, wi his plaid across his breast, would condescend to be a highway robber, or by habit and repute a thief ? What man, whose heart loupt to his mouth whenever he forgathered wi' his ain lassie, and never preed her bonny mou' but wi' a whispered benediction in her ear, wad at ance damn and demean himsel by breaking the seventh commandment ? As for committing murder, leave that to the like o' Thurtell and Probert, and the like, wha seem to have had i\ae passions o' ony kind but a passion for pork-chops and porter, drivin in gigs, wearin rough big-coats wi' a dizzen necks, and cuffin ane anither's heads wi' boxin-gloves on their neives, but nae real South- kintra shepherd ever was known to commit murder, for they're ower fond o' fechtin at fair, and kirns, and the like, to tak the trouble o' puttiii ye to death in cool blood Tickler. James, would you seriously have North to write dramas about the loves of the lower orders men in corduroy breeches, and women in linsey- woollen petticoats 160 Tickler is chastised. Shepherd. Wha are ye, sir, to speak o' the lower orders ? Look up to the sky, sir, on a starry nicht, and puir, ignorant thochtless, upsettin cretur you'll be, gin you dinna feel, fur within and deep doun your ain sowl, that you are, in good truth, ane o' the lower orders no perhaps o' men, but o* intelligences ! and that it requires some dreadfu' mystery, far beyond your comprehension, to mak you worthy o' ever in after life becoming a dweller among those celestial mansions. Yet think ye, sir, that thousan's and tens o' thousan's o' millions, since the time when first God's wrath smote the earth's soil with the curse o' barrenness, and human creatures had to earn their bread wi' sweat and dust, haena lived and toiled, and laughed and sighed, and groaned and grat, o' the lower orders, that are noo in eternal bliss, and shall sit above you and Mr. North, and ithers o' the best o' the clan, in the realms o' heaven ! Tickler. 'Pon my soul, James, I said nothing to justify this tirade. Shepherd. You did, though. Hearken till me, sir. If there be no agonies that wring the hearts of men and women lowly born, why should they ever read the Bible ? If there be no heavy griefs makin aftentimes the burden o' life hard to bear, what means that sweet voice callin on them to " come unto me, for I will give them rest ? " If love, strong as death, adhere not to yon auld widow's heart, while sairly bowed down, till her dim een canna see the lift but only the grass aneath her feet, hoo else would she or could she totter every Sabbath to kirk, and wi' her broken, feeble and quiveriu voice, and withered hands clasped together on her breast, join, a happy and a hopef u' thing, in the holy Psalm ? If Tickler. James, you affect me, but less by the pictures you draw, than by the suspicion nay, more than the A Hero in Corduroys. 161 suspicion you intimate that I am insensible to these tilings Shepherd. I refer to you, Mr. North, if he didna mean, by what he said about corduroy breeks and linsey-woollen petticoats, to throw ridicule on all that wore them, arid to assert that nae men o' genius, like you or me, ought to regard them as worthy o' being charactereezed in prose or rhyme ? North. My dear James, you have put the argument on an immovable basis. Poor, lonely, humble people, who live in shielings, and huts, and cottages, and farmhouses, have souls worthy of being saved, and therefore not unworthy of being written about by such authors as have also souls to be saved; among whom you and I, and Tickler him- self Shepherd. Yes, yes Tickler himself, sure aneuch. Gie's your haun, Mr. Tickler, gie's your haun we're baith in the right ; for I agree wi' you, that nae hero o' tragedy or a Yepic should be brought forrit ostentatiously in corduroy breeks, and that, I suppose, is a' you intended to say ? Tickler. It is, indeed, James ; I meant to say no more. Shepherd. Surely, Mr. North, you'll no allow anither spring to gang by without comin out to the fishing? I dinna under- stann' your aye gaun up to the Cruick-Inn in Tweedsmuir. The Yarrow Trouts are far better eatin and they rnak far better sport, too loupin out the linns in somersets like tumblers frae a spring-brod , head-ower-heels, and gin your pirn doesna rin free, snappin aff your tackle, and doun wi' a plunge four fathom deep i' the pool, or awa like the shadow o' a hawk's wing alang the shallows. North. Would you believe it, my dear Shepherd, that my piscatory passions are almost dead within me ; and I like now to saunter along the banks and braes, eye ; ng the younkers 162 A Bloody-minded Angler. angling, or to lay me clown on some sunny spot, and with my face up to heaven, watch the slow-changing clouds ! Shepherd. I'll no believe that, sir,till I see't and scarcely then for a bluidier-miuded fisher nor Christopher North never threw a hackle. Your creel fu', your shootin-bag fu' your jacket-pouches fu', the pouches o' your verra breeks fu', half-a-dozen wee anes in your waistcoat, no to forget them in the croon o' your hat, and, last o' a,' when there's uae place to stow awa ony mair o' them, a willow- wand drawn through the gills of some great big anes, like them ither folk would grup wi' the worm or the mennon but a' gruppit wi' the flee Phin's * delight, as you ca't, a killin inseck, and on gut that's no easily broken, witness yon four-pounder aneath Elibank wood, where your line, sir, got entangled wi' the auld oak-root, and yet at last ye landed him on the bank, wi' a' his crosses and his stars glitterin like gold and silver amang the gravel ! I confess, sir, you're the king o' anglers. But dinna tell me that you have lost your passion for the art ; for we never lose our passion for ony pastime at which we continue to excel. Tickler. Now that you two have begun upon angling, I shall ring the bell for my nightcap. Shepherd. What ! do you sleep wi' a nichtcap ? Tickler. Yes, I do, James and also with a nightshirt extraordinary as such conduct may appear to some people. I am a singular character, James, and do many odd things, which, if known to the public, would make the old lady turn up the whites of her eyes in astonishment. Shepherd. Howsomever that be, sir, dinna ring for a nicht- cap, for we're no gauu to talk ony mair about angling ! We baith hae our weakness, Mr. North and me ; but there's * Phtn was an approved artificer of fishing tackle. The shop and sustains its ancient reputation. Ambrose and the Oysters. 163 Mr. Awmrose (Enter Mr. AMBROSE). Bring supper, Mr. Awmrose verra weel, sir, I thank ye hoo hae you been yoursel, and hoo's a' wi' the wife and weans ? Whenever you like, sir; the sooner the better. \_Exit Mr. AMBROSE. Tickler No yawning, James, a barn-door's a joke to such jaws. North. Give us a song, my dear Shepherd " Paddy o' Rafferty," or " Low doun i' the Broom," or " Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye," or " Love's like a dizziness," or '' Rule Britannia," or " Aiken Drum," or Ticlder. Beethoven, they say, is starving in his native country, and the Philharmonic Society of London, or some other association with music in their souls, have sent him a hundred pounds to keep him alive he is deaf, destitute, and a paralytic. Alas ! alas ! Shepherd. Whisht ! I hear Mr. Awmrose's tread in the transe ! " His verra feot has music in't As he comes up the stair." (Enter Mr. AMBROSE and Assistants.) Hoo mony hunder eisters are there on the brod, Mr. Awm- rose ? Oh ! ho ! Three brods ! One for each o' us ! A month without an R has nae richt being in the year. Noo, gentlemen, let naebody speak to me for the neist half-hour. Mr. Awmrose, we'll ring when we want the rizzers and the toasted cheese and the deevil'd turkey. Hae the kettle on the boil, and put back the lang haun o' the clock, for I fear this is Saturday nicht, and nane o' us are folk to break in on the Sabbath. Help Mr. North to butter and bread, and there, sir, there's the vinnekar cruet. Pepper awa, gents. xra. IN WHICH TICKLER SECURES THE CALF, AND THM SHEPHERD THE BONASSUS. SCENE I. Porch of Buchanan Lodge. Time, Evening. Mrs. GENTLE. Miss GENTLE. SHEPHERD. COLONEL CYRIL THORNTON.* TICKLER. Shepherd. 1 just ca' this perfec' Paradise. Oh ! Mem ! but that's the natest knitting ever blessed the een o' man. Is't for a veil to your dochter's bonny face ? I'm glad it's no ower deep, sae that it winna hide it a'thegither for sure amang sic a party o' freens as this, the young leddy'll forgie me for saying at ance, that there's no a mair beautifu' cretur in a' Scotland. Mrs. Gentle. See,Mr. Hogg, how you have made poor Mary hang down her head but you Poets Shepherd. Breathe and hae our beings in love, and delight in the fair and innocent things o' this creation. Forgie me, Miss Gentle, for bringing the blush to your broo like sun- light on snaw for I'm but a simple shepherd, and whiles Captain Thomas Hamilton, an early contributor to BlackwoocPs eine, and author of the admirable novel, The Youth and Manhood of Cyrii Thornton, was the younger brother of Sir William Hamilton, Bart., Pro. lessor of Logic and Metaphysics in the University of Edinburgh. His other works are, Men and Manners in America, and Annals of the Peninsular Campaigns. He died at Florence in 1842. 161 The Shepherd and the Wasp. 165 gays things I sudna say, out o' the very fulness of my heart. Mrs. Gentle. Mary, fetch my smaller shuttle from the par- lor it is lying, I believe, on one of the cushions of the yellow sofa. [Miss GENTLE retires. Shepherd. Oh ! Mem ! that my ain dochter may grow up, under the blessing o' God, sic a flower ! I've often heard tell o' you and her and o' Mr. North's freenship o' auld for her father North. Hallo, James there's a wasp running along your shoulder in the direction of your ear ! Shepherd. A wasp say ye ? Whilk shouther? Ding't aff, some o' ye. Wull nane o' ye either speak or stir ? Whilk shouther, I say ? Cont'oun' ye, Tickler ye great heigh ne'er doweel, wunna ye say whilk shouther ? Is't aff ? Tickler. Off ! No, James, that it isn't. How it is pricking along, like an armed knight, up the creases of your neckcloth ! Left chin Shepherd. Mrs. Gentle. Allow me, Mr. Hogg, to remove the unwelcome visitor. (Mrs. GENTLE rises and scares the wasp with her handkerchief.) Shepherd. That's like a leddy, as you are. There's nae kindness like kindness frae the haun o' a woman. Tickler. He was within an inch o' your ear, Hogg, and had made good his entrance, but for the entanglement of the dusty whisker. Shepherd. That's no a word, sir, to speak afore a leddy. It's coorse. But you're wrang again, sir, for the wasp cudna hae made gude his entrance by that avenue, for my left lug'f stuffed wi' cotton. North. How happens it, my dear James, that on coming to town you are never without a cold ? That country will kill you we shall be losing you, James, some day, of a brain -feyer. ICG The Shepherds Wig. Shepherd. A verra proper death for a poet. But it's just your ain vile, vapory, thick, dull, yellow, brown, dead, drizzling, damned (beg you pardon, Mem) easterly haur o' Enibro' that gies me the rheumatics. In the country I think naething o' daundering awa to the holms, without my bannet, or ony thing around my chafts even though it sud be raining and the weather has nae ither effec* than to gar my hair grow. North. You must have been daundering about a good deal lately, then, my dear James, for I never saw you with such a crop of hair in my life. Shepherd. It's verra weel for you that's bald to tauk about a crap o' hair. But the mair hair a man has on his head the better, as lang's it's tousy and no in candle-wick fashion What say ye, Corrnall ? for, judging frae your ain pow, you're o' my opinion. C. Cyril Thornton. I see, Mr. Hogg, that we both patronize Macassar. Shepherd. What ? Macawser ile ? Deevel a drap o't ever wat my weeg nor never sail. It's stinkin stuff as are a' the iles and gies an unwholesome and unnatural greasy glimmer to ane's hair, just like sae muckle creesh. 0. Cyril Thornton. 'Pon my honor, my dear Mr. Hogg, I never suspected you of a wig. Shepherd. Hoots, man, I was metaphorical. It's a weeg o' nature's weavin. (Re-enter Miss GENTLE with a small ivory shuttle in her hand.) Come awa come awa, Mem here's an empty seat near me. (Miss GENTLE sits down beside the SHEPHERD.) And I'll noo praise your beauty ony mair, for I ken that maidens dinna like blushing, bonny as it makes them ; but dinna think it was ony flattery for gif it was the last word I was ever to speak in this warld, it was God's truth, but no the half o' the truth ; and when ye gaed ben Cyril Thornton. 107 the house, I cudna help saying to your Leddy Mother, hoc happy and mair than happy would I be had I sic a dochter. (Enter PETER.) Peter, ray braw man, Mr. North is ordering you to bring but * a bottle o' primrose wine. (Exit PETER.) Wae's me, Mr. North, but I think Peter's lookin auld-like. North. Like master like man. O. Cyril Thornton. Nay, nay, sir I see little or no change on you since I sold out, and that, as you know, was the year in which the Allied armies were in Paris. Shepherd. Weel I declare, Corrnall, that I'm glad to hear your voice again for, as far as I ken you on ower short an acquaintance, I wush it had been langer but plenty o' life let us houp, is yet afore us. You hae but only ae faut and that's no a common ane you dinua speak half aneuch as muckle's your i'reeus could desire. Half aneuch, did I .say na, no a fourth pairt but put a pen intil your haun, and you ding the best o' us. Oh ! man ! but your Memoirs o' your Youth and Manhood's maist interestin. I'm no speakin as a critic, and hate phrasin onybody but you's no a whit inferior, as a whole, to my ain " Perils." G. Cyril Thornton. Allow me to assure you, Mr. Hogg, that I am fully sensible both of the value and the delicacy of the compliment. Many faults in style and composition your practised and gifted eye could not fail to detect, or I ought rather, in all humility to say, many such faults must have forced themselves upon it ; but I know well, at the same time, that the genius which delights the whole world by its own creations is ever indulgent to the crudities of an ordinary mind, inheriting but feeble powers from nature, and those, as you know, little indebted to art, during an active life that afforded but too few opportunities for their cultivation. Shepherd. Feeble poo'rs ! Ma faith, Corrnall, there's nae * Bring but is bring out, as bring ben is bring in, 168 Cyril Thornton. symptoms o' feeble poo'rs yoiiuer you're a strong-thinking etrong-feeling, strc ng-writing, strong-actin, and let me add, notwithstanding the want o' that airm that's inissin, strong- leaking man as is in a' his Majesty's dominions either in the ceevil or military depairtment and the cleverest fallow in a' Britain micht be proud to father yon three volumes. Phrasin's no my faut it lies rather the ither way. They're just perfeckly capital and what I never saw afore in a' my born days, and never houp to see again, as sure as ocht,* the thrid volumtn's the best o' the three, the story, instead o' dvvinin awa intil a consumption, as is the case wi' maist lang stories that are seen gaun backwarts and forrits, no kennin what to do wi' themsels, and loosin their gate as sune as it gets dark grows stouter and baulder, and mair confident in itsel as it proceeds " Veerace aqueerit yeundo,"f till at last it soums up a' its haill poo'rs for a satisfactory catastrophe, and gangs aff victoriously into the land o' Finis in a soun' like distant thunner, or to make use o' a martial simile, sin' I'm speakin to a sodger, like that o' a discharge o' the great guns o' artillery roarin thanks to the welkin for twa great simultawneous victories baith by sea and land, on ane and the same day. North. James, allow me, in the name of Colonel Thornton, to return you his very best thanks for your speech. Shepherd. Ay ay Mr. North my man ye needna, after that, sir, to try to review it in Blackwood; or gin yon do, hae the grace to avow that I gied you the germ o' the article, and sen' out to Altrive in a letter the twenty guineas a sheet. North. It shall be doue,t James. * Ocht aught, anything. t Vires acqulrit eundo. t Cyril Thornton was reviewed by Professor Wilson in Blackwood's Magi* tine, No. CXXVII. North vuns that lie is a Miser. 169 Shepherd. Or rather suppose to save yourself the trouble a' writin, which I ken you detest, and ine the postage you just tak out your red-turkey * the noo, and fling me ower a twenty-pun' Bank post bill and for the sake o' auld lang syne, you may keep the shilling to yoursel. North. The evening is beginning to get rather cold and I feel the air, from the draught of that door, in that painful crick of my neck Shepherd. That's a' a flam. Ye hae nae crick o' your neck. Oh, sir, you're growin unco hard just a verra Joseph Hume. Speak o' siller, that's to say o' the payin o't awa, and you're as deaf 's a nit ; but be there but a whusper o' payin't in til your haun, and you're as gleg o' hearin as a mowdiewarp.f Isna that true? North. Too true, James I feel that I am the victim of a disease and of a disease, too, my Shepherd, that can only be cured by death old age we septuagenarians are all misers. Shepherd. Oh, struggle against it, sir ! As you love me struggle against it ! Dinna let your imagination settle on the stocks. Pass the faldin-doors o' the Royal Bank wi' your een shut sayin a prayer. Dear me ! dear me ! what's the maitter wi' Mrs. Gentle ? Greetin, I declare, and wipin her een wi' Mr. North's ain Bandana ! What for are ye greetin, Mrs. Gentle ? Hae ye gotten a sudden pain in your head? If sae, ye had better gang up-stairs, and lie doun. Mrs. Gentle (in tears, and with a faint sob). Mr. Hogg you know not that man's that noble generous glorious man's heart. But for him, what, where, how might I now have been and my poor orphan daughter there at your side ? Orphan I may well call her for when her brave father, the General, fell Pocket-book. f Mawdiewarp mole. 170 Mrs. Gentle s Agitation. Shepherd. There's nae punishment ower severe to infliek on oie, Mem. But may I never stir aff this firm,* if I wasna a'in jeest; but there's naething mair dangerous than ill- timed daffin I weel ken that and this is no the first time I hue wounded folks' feelins wi' nae mair thocht or intention o doin sae than this angel at my side. Mrs. Gentle (Peter entering with tea-tray). Mr. Hogg, do you prefer black or green tea ? Shepherd. Yes yes Mem black and green tea. But I'm taukin nonsense. Green Mem green mak it strong and I'll drink five cups, that I may lie awauk a' nicht, and repent bringin the saut tear into your ee by my waur than stupid nonsense about our benefactor. Miss Gentle. Peter, take care of the kettle. Shepherd. You're ower kind, Miss Gentle, to bid Peter tak care o' the kettle on my account. There's my legs stretched out, that the stroop may hiss out it's boilin het steam on my shins, by way o' penance for my sin. I'll no draw a worsted thread through a single ane o' a' ?he blis- ters. . . . But it'll make us a' mair than happy me, and the mistress, and the weans, and a' our humble household, if Mrs. Gentle, you and your dutifu' dochter'll come out to Yarrow wi' Mr. North, his verra first visit. Say, Mem, that you'll do't. Oh ! promise you'll do't, and we'll a' be happy as the twenty-second o' June is lang. Mrs. Gentle. I promise it, Mr. Hogg, most cheerfully. The Peebles Fly Miss Gentle. My mother will make proper arrangement*, Mr. Hogg, in good time. Shepherd. And then, indeed, there will be a Gentle Shepherdess in Yarrow. North. A vile pun. * Firm form, bench. Tickler's Gambols. 171 Shepherd. Pun ? Heaven be praised, I never made a pun in my life. It's no come to that o't wi' me yet. A man's mind must be sair rookit o' thochts before he begins in his dotage to play upon words. But then, I say, there will be a shepherdess in Yarrow ; and the author o' Lichts and Shad- ows* who imagines every red-kutedf hizzie he meets to be a shepherdess Miss Gentle. Pardon me, sir, the Lights and Shadows are extremely beau Shepherd. Nae mair sugar, Mem, in ma cup ; the last was rather ower sweet. What was ye gaun to say, Miss Gentle ? But nae matter it's fixed that you're comin out to Altrive in the Peebles Fly, and Miss Gentle. The Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life Shepherd. I agree with you. They certainly are. Nobody admires the author's genius mair than I do; but What the deevil's become o' Mr. Tickler ? I never missed him till this moment. North. Yonder he is, James, rolling down the hill all his length with my gardener's children ! happy as any imp among them and worrying them in play, like an old tiger acting the amiable and paternal with his cubs, whom at another hour he would not care to devour. Shepherd. Look at him wi' his heels up i' the air, just like a horse rolliu i' the garse on bein' let out o' the harnesh ! I wush he mayna murder some o' the weans in his unwieldy gambols. North. 'Tis the veriest great boy, Colonel Thornton ! Yet as soon as he has got rid of the urchins, you will see him come stalking up the gravel walk, with his hands behind bis back, and his face as grave as a monk's in a cloister, * The Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life. By Professor Wilson. * Ked-kutfd red-ank.cd. 172 Tickler and the Calf. till, flinging himself into a chair, with a long sigh he will exclaim against the vanities of this weary world, and, like the melancholy Jacques himself, moralize on that calf yonder which by the way has pulled up the peg, and set off at a scamper over my beds of tulips. Mr. Tickler- hallo will you have the goodness, now that you are on your legs, to tell the children to look after that young son of a cow Tickler (running up o^tt of breath). He has quite the look of a Puma see how he handles his tail, and kicks up his heels like a D'P^gville. Jem Tommy Bauldy, my boys, the calf the calf the hunt's up halloo, my lads halloo! [Of they all set. Shepherd. Faith, I've aneuch o' rinnin after calves at hame. Here I'm on a holiday, and I'll sit still. What's a Puma, Mr. North? I never heard tell o' a beast wi' that name before. Is it outlandish or indigenous ? [ The Calf gallops by in an exhausted state, tail-on-end, with TICKLER, and JEM, TOMMY, and BAULDY, the gardener's children, in full cry. Shepherd. I canna lauch at that I canna lauch at that ; and yet I dinna ken either yonner's Tickler a' his length, haudin fast by the tail, and the calf it's a desperate strong beast for sae young a ane, and a quey * too harlin him through the shrubbery. Haw ! haw ! haw ! haw ! Oh, Corrnall ! but I'm surprised no to hear you lauchin for my Hides is like to split. G. Cyril Thornton. It is a somewhat singular part of my idiosyncrasy, Mr. Hogg, that I never feel the slightest impulse to laugh aloud. But I can assure you, that I have derived from the view-holla the most intense excitation of the midriff. I never was more amused in my life ; and you * Quey a young cow. The Calf is captured. 173 had, withiii my very soul, a silent accompaniment to your guffaw. North. These, Cyril, are not the indolent gardens of Epi- curus. You see we indulge occasionally in active, even rfolent exercises. G. Cyril Thornton. There is true wisdom, Mr. North, in that extraordinary man's mind. It has given me much pleasure to think that Mr. Tickler should have remembered my name for I never had the honor of being in his company but once when I was at the University of Glasgow, in the house of my poor old grand-uncle, Mr. Spreull.* Mr. Tickler had carried some important mercantile case through your law-courts here for Mr. Spreull, and greatly gratified the old gentleman by coming west without ceremony to take pot- luck. It was with no little difficulty that we got through dinner, for I remember Girzy was so utterly confounded by his tout-ensemble, his stature, his tie for he sported one in those days his gestures, his gesticulations, his jokes, his waggery, and his wit, all of a kind new to the West, that she stood for many minutes with the tureen of hotch-potch sup- ported against her breast, and all her grey goggles fascinated as by a serpent, till poor old Mr. Spreull cursed her in his sternest style to set it down on the table, that he might ask a blessing. [TICKLER, JEM, TOMMY, and BAULDT re-cross the front of the Porch in triumph with the captive Calf, and disappear in the rear of the premises. Shepherd. He'll be laid up for a week noo, on account o' this afternoon's stravagin without his hat, and a' this rowin ower braes wi' weans, and a' this gallopin and calf-huntin. He'll be a' black and blue the morn's morning, and sae stiff that he'll no be able to rise. * One of llie characters in Cyril Thornton. 174 The Ladies retire. Mrs. Gentle. Mary, wo must bid Mr. North and his frieuda good-night. You know we are engaged at ten " A nd yon bright star has risen to warn us home." North. Farewell. Shepherd. Faur ye weel, faur ye weel God bless y - baith faur ye weel noo be sure no to forget your promise to bring Miss Mary out wi' ye to Ettrick. Miss Gentle (smiling}. In the Peebles Fly. Shepherd. Na, your father, as ye ca'd him, when ye gied his auld wrinkled forehead a kiss, '11 bring you to the Forest in his ain cotch-and-four. Faur ye weel God bless you baith faur ye weel. C. Cyril Thornton. Ladies, I wish you good evening. Mrs. Gentle, the dews are falling ; allow me to throw my fur cloak over you and Miss Gentle ; it is an ancient affair, but of the true Merino. You flatter me by accepting it. [ Covers Mother and Daughter with his military cloak, and they vanish. North. Now, James, a single jug of toddy. Shepherd. What ! each ? North. Each. There comes Tickler, as grave's a judge make no allusion to the chase. (TICKLER rejoins the party.) But it is chilly, so let us go into the parlor. I see Peter has had the sense to light the candles and there he goes with a pan of charcoal. SCENE II. The Pitt Parlor. Tickler. I fear, Colonel, since you lost your arm, that you are no longer a sportsman. C. Cyril Thornton. I have given up shooting, although Joe Manton constructed a light piece for me, with which I generally contrived to hit and miss time about ; but I am a North in Loch Awe. 175 devout disciple of Izaak, and was grievously disappointed ou my arrival t'other day in Kelso, to find another occupier in Walton-hall ; but my friend, Mr. Alexander Ballautyne, and I, proceed to Peebles on the 1st of June, to decide our bet of a rump and dozen, he with the spinning minnow, and I with Phin's delight. Shepherd. Watty Ritchie'll beat you baith with the May- flee, if it be on, or ony length aneath the stanes. North. You will be all sorry to hear that our worthy friend Watty is laid up with a bad rheumatism, and can no longer fish the Megget Water and the lochs, and return to Peebles in the same day. Shepherd. That's what a' your waders come to at last. Had it no been, Mr. North, for your plowterin in a' the rivers and lochs o' Scotland, baith saut water and fresh, like a Newfoundland dog, or rather a seal or an otter, you needna, had that crutch aneath your oxter. Cormall Cyril, saw ye him ever a fishin ? C. Cyril Thornton. Never but once, for want of better ground, in the Crinan Canal, out of a coal-barge, for braises when I was a red-gowned student at Glasgow. Shepherd. Oh ! but you should hae seen him in Loch Owe, or the Spey. In he used to gang, out, out, and ever sae far out frae the pint o' a promontory, sinkin aye furder and furder doun, first to the waistband o' his breeks, then up to the middle button o' his waistcoat, then to the verra breast, then to the oxters, then to the neck, and then to the verra chin o' him, sae that you wonnered how he could fling the flee, till last o' a' he would plump richt out o' sicht, till the Highlander on Ben Cruachan thocht him drooned ; but he wasna born to be drooned no he, indeed sae he taks to the soomiu, and strikes awa wi' ae arm, like yoursel, sir for the tither had haud o' the rod and, could ye believe't, 170 The Shepherd i though it's as true as Scriptur, fishing a' the time, that no a moment o' the cloudy day micht be lost ; ettles at an island a quarter o' a mile aff, wi' trees, and an old ruin o' a religious house, wherein beads used to be coonted, and wafers eaten, and mass muttered hundreds o' years ago ; and gettin footin on the yellow sand or the green sward, he but gies himsel a shake, and ere the sun looks out o' the clud, has hyucket a four-pounder, whom in four minutes (for it's a multiplying pirn the cretur uses) he lands gasping through the giant gills, and glitterin wi' a thousan' spots, streaks, and stars, on the shore. That's a pictur o' North's fishing in days o' yore.* But look at him noo only look at him noo wi' that atild- farrant face o' his, no unlike a pike's, crunkled up in his chair, his chin no that unwullin to tak a rest on his collar- bane the hauns o' him a' covered wi' chalk-stanes his legs like winnle-straes and his knees but knobs, sae that he canna cross the room, far less soom ower Loch Owe, without a crutch ; and wuuna you join wi' me, Corrnall Cyril, in hauding up baith your hauns I aux your pardon, in hauding up your richt haun and compairing the past wi' the pres- ent, exclaim, amaist sobbin, and in tears, " Vanity o' vani- ties ! all is vanity ! " North (suddenly hitting the Shepherd over the sconce with his crutch). Take that, blasphemer! Shepherd (clawing his pow). " Man of age, thou smitest sore ! " C. Cyril Thornton. Mr. Hogg, North excels at the crutch- exercise. Shepherd. Put your finger, Corrnall, on here did you ever fin' sic a big clour risen in sae wee a time ? Professor Wilson's mode of angling In his younger days is here painteil to the life. Even so late as 1849 he was in the habit of wading up to the loin* In the practice of his favorite pastime. Bronte s Ancestry. 177 C. Cyril Thornton. Never. Mr. North with his crutch, had he lived in the Sylvan Age of Robbery, would have been a match for the best of the merry Outlaws of Sherwood. Little John would have sung small, and Robin Hood fancied him no more than he did the Finder of Wakefield. Shepherd. That's what's ca'd at Buchanan Lodge cracking a practical joke, Corrnall. I maun get Peter to bring me some brown paper steep'd in vinegar, or the clour'll be like a horn. I scarcely think, even already, that my hat would stay on. Oh, sir, but you're desperate cruel. North. Not I, my dear James. I knew I had a man to deal with : the tenth part of such a touch would have killed a Cockney. Shepherd. What a bow-wowing's that, thinks ony o' you out-by ? North. Bronte baying at some blackguards on the outer side of the gate. Shepherd. Oh ! sir, I've heard tell o' your new 'Newfound- land dowg, and would like to see him. May I ring for Peter to lowse him frae his cheen, and bring him ben for me to look at ? (Rings the bett PETEK receives his instruc- tions.') North. Bronte's mother, James, is a respectable female who now lives in Claremont Crescent ; his father, who served his time in the navy, and was on board Admiral Otway's ship when he hoisted his flag in her on the Leith station, is now resident, I believe, at Portobello. The couple have never had any serious quarrel ; but for reasons best known to themselves, choose to live apart. Bronte is at present the last of all his race the heir-apparent of his parents' virtues his four brothers and three sisters having all unfortunately perished at sea. Shepherd. Did ye ever see onything grow sae fast as a Newfoundland whalp ? There's a manifest difference on then? 178 Bronte enters. between breakfast ami denner, and denner and soopor ; and they keep growin a' nicht lang. North. Bronte promises to stand three feet without his shoes Shepherd. I hear him coinin yowf-yowffin as he spangs along. I wush he mayna coup that weak-ham'd bodio, Peter. [Door opens, and BRONTE* bounces in. G. Cyril Thornton. A noble animal, indeed, and the very image of a dog that saved a drummer of ours, who chose to hop overboard, through fear of a flogging in the Bay of Biscay. North. What do you think of him, James ? Shepherd. Think o' him ? I canna think o' him it's aneuch to see him what'n a sagacious countenance ! Look at him lauchin as he observes the empty punch-bowl. His back's preceesely on a line wi' the edge o' the table. And oh ! but he's bonnily marked a white ring roun' the neck o' him, a white breast, white paws, a white tip o' the tail, and a' the rest black as nicht. O man, but you're towsy ! His legs, Mr. North, canna be thinner than my airm, and what houghs, hips, and theeghs ! I'm leanin a' my haill waght upon his back, and his spine bends nae mair than about the same as Captain Brown's chain-pier at Newhaven when a hundred folk are walking alang't to gang on board the steamboat. His neck, too, 's like a bill's if he was turnin o' a sudden at speed, a whap o' his tail would break a man's leg. Fecht ! I'se warrant him fecht, either wi' ane o' his ain specie, or wi' cattle wi' cloven feet, or wi' the lions Nero or Wallace o' Wummell's Menagerie, or wi' the Lord o' Creation, Man by himsel Man ! How he would rug them down dowgs, or soos, or stirks, or lions, or rubbers ! He *Bronte was a real character. His life and death are afterwards comraemor. R'.ud- Bronte's Education. 179 could kill a man, I verily believe, without ever bitin him just by dounin him wi' the waght o' his body and his paws, and then lying on the tap o' him, growlin to throttle and devour him if he mudged. He would do grandly for the Monks o' St Bernard to save travellers frae the snaw. Edwin Laudseer maun come down to Scotland for anes errand, just to pent his pictur, that future ages may ken that in the reign o' George the Fourth, and durin the Queer Whig-and-Tory Administration, there was such a dowg. North. I knew, James, that he was a dog after your own heart. Shepherd. Oh, sir ! dinna let onybody teach him tricks sic as runnin back for a glove, or standin on his hurdles, or loupin out-ower a stick, or snappin bread frae aff his nose, or ringin the bell, or pickin out the letters o' the alphabet, like ane o' the working classes at a Mechanic Institution, leave a' tricks o' that sort to Spaniels, and Poodles, and Puggies (I mean nae reflection on the Peebles Puggie withouten the tail, nor yet Mr. Thomas Grieve's Peero), but respec' the soul that maun be in that noble, that glorious frame ; and if you maun chain him, let him understand that sic restraint is no incornpawtible wi' liberty ; and as for his kennel, I would hae it sclated, and a porch ower the door, even a miniature imitation o' the porch o' Buchanan Lodge. North. James, we shall bring him with us along with the Gentles to Altrive. Shepherd. Proud wad I be to see him there, sir, and gran' soomin wad he get in St. Mary's Loch, and the Loch o' the Lowes, and Loch Skene. But there's just ae objection ae objection sir I dinna see how I can get ower't. North. The children, James ? Why, he is as gentle as a new-dropt lamb. 180 The Bonassus. Shepherd. Na, na it's no the weans for Jamie and hit sisters would ride on his back lie could easy carry threeple to Yarrow Kirk on the Sabbaths. But but he would fecht with The Bonassus. North. The Bonassus ! What mean ye, Shepherd ? Shepherd. I bocht the Bonassus frae the man that had him in a show ; and Bronte and him would be for fechtin a duel, and baith o' them would be murdered, for neither Bronte nor the Bonassus would say " Hold, enough." North. Of all the extraordinary freaks, my dear bard, that ever your poetical imagination was guilty of, next to writing the Perils of Woman, your purchase of the Bonassus seems to me the most miraculous. Shepherd. I wanted to get a breed aff him wi' a maist extraordinar cow, that's half-blood to the loch-and-river kine by the bill's side and I have nae doubt but that they wull be gran' milkers, and if fattened, will rin fifty score a quarter. But Bronte mauna come out to Altrive, sir, till the Bonassus is dead. North. But is the monster manageable, James ? Is there no danger of his rebelling against his master? Then, suppose he were to break through, or bound over the stone- wall and attack me, as I kept hobbling about the green braes, my doom would be sealed. I have stood many a tussle in my day, as you know and have heard, James ; but I am not, now, single-handed, a match for the Bonassus. Shepherd. The stane- wa's about my farm are rather rickly ; bathe never tries to break them doun as lang's the kye's wi' him, nor do I think he has ony notion o' his ain strength. It's just as weel, for wi' yon head and shouthers he could ding doun a house. O. Cyril Thornton. How the deuce, Mr Hogg, did you get The Bonassus. 181 him from Edinburgh to Altrive ? To look at him, he seemed an animal that would neither lead nor drive. Shepherd. I bought him, sir, at Selkirk, waggon and a', and druv him hame mysel. The late owner tanked big aboot his fury and fairceness and aiblins he was fairce in his keepin, as weel he micht be, fed on twa bushels o' ingans unnions, that is per deeam but as sune as I had him at Mount Benger, I backet the waggon a wee doun hill, flang open the end door, and out like a debtor frae five years' confinement lap the Bonassus Tickler. Was you on the top of the waggon, James ? Shepherd. No that thocht had occurred to me but I was munted, and the powney's verra fleet, showin bluid, and jiff I set at the gallop Tickler. With the Bonassus after you Shepherd. Whisht, man, whisht. The poor beast was scarcely able to stann' ! He had forgotten the use of his legs ! Sae I went up to him, on futt, withouten fear, and patted him a' ower. Sair frights some o' the folk frae Megget Water got, on first comin on him unawares and I'm telt that there's a bairn ower-by about the side of Moffat Water it's a callant whose mither swarfed at the Bonas- sus when she was near the doun-lying, that has a fearsome likeness till him in the face ; but noo he's weel kent, and, I may say, liked and respeckit through a' the Forest, as a peaceable and industrious member o' society. North. I dread, my dear James, that, independent of the Bonassus, it will not be possible for me to be up with you before autumn. I believe that I must make atrip to London im Shepherd. Ay, ay, the truth's out noo. The rumor in the Forest was, that you had been sent for by the King a month sin' syne, but wadna gang and that a sheriff's offi- 182 A Royal Command. slier had been despatched in a chaise-and-four frae Lunnon, to bring you up by the cuff o' the neck, and gin you made ony resistance at the Lodge, to present his pistol. North. There are certain secrets, my dearest James, tho development of which, perhaps, lies beyond even the privi- leges of friendship. With you I have no reserve but when Majesty Shepherd. Lays its command on a loyal subject, you was gaun to say, he maun obey. That's no my doctrine. It's slavish-like. You did perfectly richt, sir ; the haill Forest swore you did perfectly richt in refusin to stir a futt frae your ain fireside, in a free kintra like the auld kingdom o' Scotland. Had the King been leevin at Ilolyrood, it micht hae been different ; but for a man o' your years to be harled through the snaw North. I insist that this sort of conversation, sir, stop and that what has been now said most unwarrantedly, remember, James go no farther. Do you think, my dear Shepherd, that all that passes within the penetralia of the Royal breast finds an echo in the rumors of the Forest ? " But something too much of this." Shepherd. Weel, weel, sir weel, weel. But dinna look &ae desperate angry. I canna thole to see a frown on your face, it works sic a dreadfu', I had maist said deeabolical change on the haill expression o' the faytures. Oh, smile sir ! if you please do, Mr. North, sir, my dear f reen, do just gie ae bit blink o' a smile at the corner o' your ee or mouth ay, that'll do, Christopher that'll do. Oh, man, Kit, but you was fairce the noo just at naething ava. as folks generally is when they are at their faircest, for then their rampagin passion meets wi' nae impediment, and keeps feed, feed, feedin on itself and its ain heart. But whisht, there's Uuinner ! Another jug ? 183 Tickler. Only Mr. Ambrose with the coach I ordered to be at the Lodge precisely at one. Shepherd. I'm sorry she's come. For I was just beginuiu to summon up courage to hint the possibility, if no the pro- priety, o' anither bowl or at least a jug. C. Cyril Thornton (rising). God bless you, sir, good morn- iiig Mr. Ambrose may call it but one o'clock, if it gives him any pleasure to think that the stream of time may run counter to the moon and stars ; but it is nearer three, and I trust the lamps are not lighted needlessly to affront the dawn. Once more God bless you sir. Good morning. North. Thursday at six, Cyril farewell. [Enter Mr. AMBROSE to announce the coach. Shepherd. Gude-by, sir dinna get up aff your chair. (Aside) Corrnall, he cnnna rise. The coach '11 drap the Corrnall at Awmrose's in Picardy, and me at the Peebles Arms, sign o' the Sawmon, Candlemaker Row, and Mr. Tickler :\t his ain house, Southside and by then it'll be about time for't to return to the stance in George Street. C. Cyril Thornton (opening the window-shutters at a nod from North}. The blaze of day. [ Coach elrtveg from the Lodge, ribbons and rod in the hand of 'Mir. AMBROSK. XIV IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD AND TICKLER TAKE TC THE WATER. SCENE I. Two Bathing-machines in the Sea at Portobello* SHEPHERD. TICKLER. Shepherd. Halloo, Mr. Tickler, are you no ready yet, man ? I've been a mother-naked man. in my machine here, formair than ten minutes. Hae your pantaloons got entangled amang your heels, or are you saying your prayers afore you plunge ? Tickler. Both. These patent long drawers, too, are a con- founded nuisance and this patent short under-shirt. There is no getting out of them without greater agility than is generally possessed by a man at my time of life. Shepherd. Confound a' pawtents. As for mysel, I never wear drawers, but hae my breeks lined wi' flannen a' the year through ; and as for thae wee short corded under-shirts, that clasp you like ivy, I never hae had ane o' them on sin' List July, when I was forced to cut it aff my back and breast wi' a pair o' sheep-shears, after having tried in vain to get out o't every morning for tvva months. But are ye no ready, sir ? A man on the scaffold vvadna be allowed sae lang time for preparation. The minister or the hangman wad be jugging t him to fling the hankerchief. * A bathing quarter near Edinburgh. t Jugging jogging 184 Tickler on the Brink. 185 Tickler. Hanging, I hold, is a mere flea-bite Shepherd. What ! tae dookin ? Here goes. [The SHEPHERD plunges into the sea. Tickler. What the devil has become of James ? He is nowhere to be seen. That is but a gull that only a seal- ed that a mere pellock. James, James, James ! Shepherd (emerging.) Wha's that roaring ? Stop a wee till J get the saut water out o' my eeu, and my mouth, and my nose, and wring my hair a bit. Noo, where are you, Mr. Tickler ? Tickler. I think I shall put on my clothes again, James. The air is chill ; and I see from your face that the water is as cold as ice. Shepherd. Oh, man ! but you're a desperate cooart. Think shame o' yoursel, stannin naked there, at the mouth o' the machine, wi' the haill crew o' yon brig sailin up the Firth looking at ye, ane after anither, f rae cyuck to captain, through the telescope. Tickler. James, on the sincerity of a shepherd and the faith of a Christian, lay your hand on your heart, and tell me, was not the shock tremendous ? I thought you never would have reappeared. Shepherd. The shock was naething, nae mair than what a body feels when waukenin suddenly during a sermon, or fa'in ower a staircase in a dream. But I am aff to Inchkeith. Tickler. Whiz/. [.Flings a somerset into the sea. Shepherd. Ane twa three four five sax seven aught but there's nae need o' coontin for nae pearl-diver, in the Straits o' Madagascar or aff the coast o' Coromandel, can haud in his breath like Tickler. Weel, that's surprisin. Yon chaise has gane about half a mile o' gate towards Forty- belly sin' he gaed fizzin outower the lugs like a verra rocket. Safe us ! what's this gruppin me by the legs ? A sherk a eherk a sherk ! 186 They start for Iiichkeith. Tickler (yellowing to the surface). Blabla blabla bla Shepherd. He's keept soomiu aneuth the water till he's sick ; but every man for himsel, and God for us a' I'm aff. [SiiKi'UiiKD stretches away to sea in the direction of Inchkeith TICKLEH in pursuit. Tickler. Every sinew, my dear James, like so miich whip cord. I swim like a salmon. Shepherd. Oh, sir ! that Lord Byron had but been alive the 1100, what a sweepstakes ! Tickler. A Liverpool gentleman has undertaken, James, to swim four-and-twenty miles at a stretch. What are the odds ? Shepherd. Three to one on Saturn and Neptune. He'll get numm. Tickler. James, I had no idea you were so rough on the back. You are a perfect otter. Shepherd. Nae personality, Mr. Tickler, out at sea. I'll compare carcases wi' you ony day o' the year. Yet, you're a gran' soomer out o' the water at every stroke, neck, breast, shouthers, and half-way doun the back after the fashion o' the great American serpent. As for me, my style o' soomin's less showy laigh and lown less hurry, but mair speed. Come, sir, I'll dive you for a jug o' toddy. [TICKLER and SHEPHERD melt away like foam-bells in the sunshine. Shepherd. Mr. Tickler ! Tickler. James ! Shepherd. It's a drawn bate sae we'll baith pay. Oh, sir ! isna Embro' a glorious city ? Sae clear the air, yonner you see a man and a woman stannin on the tap o'Arthur's Seat ! I had nae notion ^here were sae mony steeples, and spires, and columns, and pillars, and obelisks, and domes, in Embro' J And at this distance the ee canna distinguish atween them that belangs to kirks, and them that helangs to naval mouu- A Dolphin or a Shark ? 187 ments, and them that be Jungs to ile-gas companies, and them that's only chimley-heids in the auld toun, and the taps o' groves, or single trees, sic as poplars; andaboon a' andahmt a', craigs and saft-broo'd hills sprinkled wi' sheep, lichts and shadows, and the blue vapory glimmer o' a midsummer day het, het, het, wi' the barometer at ninety ; but here, to us twa, bob-bobbin amang the fresh, cool, murmurin, and faemy wee waves, temperate as the air within the mermaid's palace. Anither dive ! Tickler. James, here goes the Fly- Wheel. Shepherd. That beats a' ! He gangs round in the water like a jack roastin beef. I'm thinkin he canna stop himsel. Safe us ! he's fun' out the perpetual motion. Tickler. What fish, James, would you incline to be, if put into scales? Shepherd. A dolphin for they hae the speed o' lichtnin. They'll dart past and roun' about a ship in full sail before the wind, just as if she was at anchor. Then the dc ; phin is a fish o' peace he saved the life o' a poet of auld, Arion, wi' his harp and. oh ! they say the cretur's beautifu' in death Byron, ye ken, comparin his hues to those o' the sun settiu ahint the Grecian Isles. I'sud like to be a dolphin. Tickler. I should choose to sport shark for a season. In speed he is a match for the dolphin and then, James, think what luxury to swallow a well-fed chaplain, or a delicate mid- shipman, or a young negro girl occasionally Shepherd. And feenally to be gmpped wi' a hyuck in a cocked hat and feather, at which the shark rises as a trout does at a flee, hauled on board, and hacked to pieces wi' Cut- lasses and pikes, by the jolly crew or left alive on the deck, gutted as clean as a dice-box, and without an inch o' bowels. Tickler. Men die at shore, James, of natural deaths as bad as that 188 A Whale or the Sea-Serpent f Shepherd. Let me see I sud hue nae great objections tu be a whale in the Polar Seas. Gran' fun to fling a boatfu' o' harpoouers into the air or, wi' ae thud o' your tail, to drive in the steru-posts o' a Greenlaudman. Tickler. Grander fun still, James, to feel the inextricable ha:poon in your blubber, and to go snoviug away beneath an ice-floe with four mile of line connecting you with your dis- tant enemies. Shepherd. But then whales marry but ae wife, and are pas- sionately attached to their offspring. There, they and I are congenial speerits. Nae fish that swims enjoys so large a share of domestic happiness. Tickler. A whale, James, is not a fish. Shepherd. Isna he ? Let him alane for that. He's ca'd a fish in the Bible, and that's better authority than Buffon. Oh, that I were a whale ! Tickler. What think you of a summer of the American Sea- Serpent. Shepherd. What ? To be constantly cruised upon by the haill American navy, military and mercantile ! No to be able to show your back aboon water without being libelled by the Yankees in a' the newspapers, and pursued even by pleasure- parties, playin the hurdy-gurdy and smokin cigars ! Besides, although I hae nae objection to a certain degree o' singularity, I sudna just like to be saevery singular as the American Sea- Serpent, who is the only aue o' his specie noo extant ; and whether he dees in his bed, or is slain by Jonathan, must in- cur^the pain and the opprobrium o' defunckin an auld bache- lor. What's the matter wi' you, Mr. Tickler? [Dives. Tickler. The calf of my right leg is rather harder than is altogether pleasant. A pretty business if it prove the cramp aud the cramp it is sure enough. Hallo James James James hallo I'm seized with the cramp James the Seized with Cramp. 189 sinews of the calf of my right leg are gathered up into a knot about the bulk and consistency of a sledge-hammer Shepherd. Nae tricks upon travellers. You 'venae cramp. Gin you hae, ;.treek out your richt hind leg, like a horse gcein a funk and then ower on the back o' ye, and keep floatin foi a space, and your calf '11 be as saf t's a cushion. Lord safe us ! what's this ? Tjoevil tak me if he's no drooain. Mr. Tick- ler, are you droonin ? There he's doun ance, and up again twice, and up again ; but it's time to tak haud o' him by the hair o' the head, or he'll be doun amang the limpets ! [SHEPHERD seizes TICKLER by the locks. Tickler. Oho oho oho ho ho ho lira hra hrach hrach. Shepherd. What language is that? Finnish? Noo, sir, linna rug me doun to the bottom alang wi' you in the dead- thraws. Tickler. Heaven reward you, James the pain is gone > but keep near me. Shepherd. Whammle yoursel ower on your back, sir. Tha\ 111 do. Hoo are you now, sir ? Yonner's the James Watt * steamboat, Captain Bain, within half a league. Lean on my airm, sir, till he comes alangside, and it 'ill be a real happiness to the captain to save your life. But what '11 a' the leddies do when they're hoistin us aboard ? they maun just use their fans. Tickler. My dear Shepherd, I am again floating like a turtle, but keep within hail, James. Are you to windward or leeward? Shepherd. Right astarn. Did you ever see. sir, in a' your born days, sic a sky ? Ane can scarcely say he sees't, for it's maist invisible in its blue beautifu' tenuity, as the waters o' a well ! It's just like the ee o' a lassie I kent lang ago the The " James Watt" plied between London and Edinburgh, undor th command of Captain Bain. 11)0 The Shepherd of the Xea. lunger you gazed mtil't, the deep, deep, deeper it grew the cawmer and the mair cawm composed o' a smile, as an a myth is t is composed o' licht and seeming something im- palpable to the touch, till you ventured, wi' fear, joy, and treiumlin to kiss it just ae hesitatin, pautin, reverential kiss and then, to be sure, your verra sowl kent it to be a bonny blue ee, covered wi' a lid o' dark fringes, and drappin aiblins a bit frichtened tear to the lip o' love. Tickler. What is your specific gravity, James ? You float like a sedge. Shepherd. Say rather a Nautilus, or a Mew. I'm native to the yelemeiit. Tickler. Where learned you the natatory art, my dear Shepherd ? Shepherd. Do you mean soomin ? lu St. Mary's Loch. For a haill simmer I kept plouterin alang the shore, and pittin ae fit to the grun', knockin the skin aff my knees, and makin nae progress, till ae day, the gravel haein been loosened by a flood, I plowpt in ower head and ears, and in my confusion, turnin my face to the wrang airt, I sworn across the loch at the widest at ae stretch, and ever after that could hae soomed ony man in the Forest for a wager, except Mr. David Ballan- tyne, that noo leeves ower-by yonner, near the Hermitage Castle. Tickler. Now, James, you are, to use the language of Spenser, the Shepherd of the Sea. Shepherd. Oh that I had been a sailor ! To hae circum- navigated the warld ! To hae pitched our tents, or built our bowers, on the shores o' bays sae glitterin wi' league-lang wreaths o' shells, that the billows blushed crimson as they murmured ! To hae seen our flags burnin meteor-like, high up amang the primaeval woods, while birds bright as ony bun tin wit triimnin their pluramage nrr.ang the cordage, sae The bailor's Life. 191 tame in that island, where ship had haply never touched afore, nor ever might touch again, lying in a latitude by itsel, and far out o' the breath o' the tredd-wunds ! Or to 1'ae landed wi' a' the crew, marines and a', excep a guard on shipboard to keep aff the crowd o' canoes, on some warlike isle, tossin wi' the plumes on chieftains' heads, and soun'-soun'-soundiu wi' gongs ! What's a man-o'-war's barge, Mr. Tickler, beautifu' sicht though it be, to the hundred-oared canoe o' some savage Island-king ! The King himsel lying in state no dead, but leevin, every inch o' him on a platform aboon a' his war- riors standin wi' war-clubs, and stane-hatchets, and fish-bane spears, and twisted mats, and tattooed faces, and ornaments in their noses, and painted eeu, and feathers on their heads a yard heigh, a' silent, or burstin out o' a sudden iiitil shootin sangs o' welcome or defiance, in a language made up o' a few lang strang words maistly gutturals and gran' for the naked priests to yell intil the ears o' their victims, when about to cut their throats on the altar-stane that Idolatry had encrusted with blood, shed by stormy moonlicht to glut the maw of their sanguinary god. Or say rather oh, rather say, that the white-winged Wonder that has brought the strangers frae afar, frae lands beyond the setting sun, has been hailed with hymns and dances o' peace and that a' the daughters of the Isle, wi' the daughter o' the King at their head, come a' gracefully windin alang in a figur, that, wi' a thousan' changes, is aye but ae single dance, wi' unsandalled feet true to their ain wild siugin, wi' wings fancifully fastened to tbeir shouthers, and, beautifu' creturs ! a' naked to the waist. But whare the deevil's Mr. Tickler ? Has he sunk during my soliloquy? or swum to shore? Mr. Tickler Mr. Tickler 1 wush 1 had a pistol to fire into the air, that he might be brought to. Yonner he is, playing at porpuss. Let me try if 1 can reach him in twenty strokes it's no aboon a 192 The Shepherd's Adventure. bunder yards. Five yards a stroke ^no bad soomin in dead water. There, I've done it in nineteen. Let me on my back for a rest. Tickler, I am not sure that this confounded cramp Shepherd. The cramp's just like the hiccup, sir nevei think o't, and it's gane. I've seen a white lace veil, sic as Queen Mary's drawn in, lyin afloat, without stirrin aboon her snawy broo, saftenin the ee-licht and it's yon braided clouds that remind me o't, motionless, as if they had lain there a' their lives ; yet, wae's me ! perhaps in ae single hour to melt away for ever ! Tickler. James, were a Mermaid to see and hear you mor- alizing so, afloat on your back, her heart were lost. Shepherd. I'm nae favorite noo, I suspeck, amang the Mermaids. Tickler. Why not, James ? You look more irresistible than you imagine. Never saw I your face and figure to more advantage when lying on the braes o' Yarrow, with your eyes closed in the sunshine, and the shadows of poetical dreams chasing each other along cheek and brow. You would make a beautiful corpse, James. Shepherd. Think shame o' yoursel, Mr. Tickler, for daurin to use that word, and the sinnies o' the cauf o' your richt leg yet knotted wi' the cramp. Think shame o' yoursel ! That word's no canny. Tickler. But what ail the Mermaids with the Shepherd ? Shepherd. I was ance lyin half asleep in a sea-shore cave o' the Isle o' Sky, wearied out by the verra beauty o' the moonlicht that had keepit lyin for hours in ae lang line o' harmless fire, stretchin leagues and leagues to the rim o' th ocean. Nae sound, but a bit faint, dim plash plash plash o' the tide whether ebbin or flawin I ken not no against, but xipon the weedy sides o' the cave With a Mermaid. 198 Tickler. "As when some shepherd of the Hebride Islos, Placed far amid the melancholy main ! " Shepherd. That sdun's like Thamson in his " Castle <>' Indolence." A' the haill warld was forgotten and iny aia uame and what I was and where I had come frae and why I was lyin there nor was I ony thing but a Leevin Dream. Tickler. Are you to windward or leeward, James ? Shepherd. Something like a caulder breath o' moonlicht fell on my face and breast, and seemed to touch all my body and my limbs. But it cauna be mere moonlicht, thocht I, for at the same time there was the whisperin or say, rather, the waverin o' the voice no alang the green cave wa's, but close intil my ear, and then within my verra breast, sae, at first, for the soun' was saft and sweet, and wi' a touch o' plaintive wilduess in't no unlike the strain o ? an Eolian harp, I was rather surprised than feared, and maist thocht that it was but the wark o' my ain fancy, afore she yielded to the dwawm o' that solitary sleep. Tickler. James, I hear the Steamer. Shepherd. I opened my een, that had only been half steekit and may we never reach the shore again, if there was not I, sir, in the embrace o' a Mermaid ! Tickler. James remember we are well out to Inchkeith. If you please, no Shepherd. I would scorn to be drooned with a lee in iny mouth, sir. It is quite true that the hair o' the cretur is green and it's as slimy as it's green slimy and sliddery as the sea-weed that cheats your unsteady footing on the rocks. Then what een ! oh, what een ! Like the boiled een o' a cod's head and shouthers ! and yet expression in them an expression o' love and fondness, that would kae garred an Eskimaw scunner. 194 The Mermaid's Embrace. Tickler. James, you are surely romancing. Shepherd. Oh, dear, dear me ! hech, sirs ! hech, sirs ! the fishiness o' that kiss ! I had hung up my claes to dry on a peak o' the cliff for it was ane o' thae lang midsummer nichts, when the sea-air itself fans ye wi' as warm a sugh as that frae a leedy's fan when you're sittin side by side wi' her in an arbor Tickler. Oh, James you fox Shepherd. Sae that I was as naked as either you or me, Mr. Tickler, at this blessed moment and whan I felt mysel enveloped in the hauns, paws, fins, scales, tail, and maw o' the Mermaid o' a monster, I grued till the verra roof o' the cave let douu drap, drap, drap upon us me and the Mer- maid and I gied mysel up for lost. Tickler. Worse than Venus and Adonis, my dear Shepherd. Shepherd. I began mutterin the Lord's Prayer, and the Creed, and the hundred and nineteenth Psalm but a' wudna do. The Mermaid held the grup and while I was splutterin out her kisses, and convulsed waur than I ever was under the warst nichtmare than ever sat on my stamach, wi' ae desper- ate wallop we baith gaed tapsalteerie frae ae sliddery ledge to anither till, wi' accelerated velocity, like twa stanes, in- creasin accordin to the squares o' the distances, we played plunge like porpusses into the sea, a thousan' f adorn deep and lioo I gat rid o' the briny "Beastliness nae man kens till this day ; for there was I sittin in the cave chitterin like a drookit cock, and nae Mermaid to be seen or heard j al though, wad ye believe me, the cave had the smell o' crabs and labsters, and oysters, and skate, and fish in general aneucli to turn the stamach o' a whale or a sea-lion. Tickler. Ship ahoy ! Let us change our position, Jame? Shall we board the Steamer ? Shepherd. Only look at the waves, hoo they gang welterin tiltip ahoy ! ] 96 frae her prow and sides, and widen in her wake for miles aff ! Gin we venture ony nearer, we'll never wear breeks mair. Mercy on us ! she's bearin doun upon us. Let us soom fast, and, passing across her bows, we shall bear up to windward out o' a' the commotion. Captain Bain ! Captain Bain ! it's me and Mr. Tickler, taking a soom for an appeteet stop the ingine till we get past the bowsprit. Tickler. Heavens ! James, what a bevy of ladies on deck ! Let us dive. Shepherd. You may dive for you swim improperly high ; but as for me, I seem in the water to be a mere Head, like a cherub on a church. A boat, captain a boat ! Tickler. James, you aren't mad, sure ? Who ever boarded a steamer in our plight ? There will be fainting from stem to stern, in cabin and steerage. Shepherd. I ken that leddy in the straw bannet and green veil, and ruby sarsnet, wi' the glass at her ee. Ye ho Miss Tickler. James remember how exceedingly delicate a thing is a young lady's reputation. See, she turns away in confusion. Shepherd. Captain, I say, what news frae London ? Captain Bain (through a speaking-trumpef). Lord Welling- ton's amendment on the bonding clause in the Corn Bill again carried against Ministers by 133 to 122.* Sixty-six shillings ! Tickler. What says your friend M'Culloch to that, Captain ? Shepherd. Wha cares a bodle about corn bills in our situation ? What's the Captain routin about noo out o' * The Duke of Wellington's amendment 011 the Ministerial measure wut when I'm hungry and hunger's soon satisfied if you hae plenty o' vittals. Compare that wi' drinkin when your thursty Peate-vieep lapwing. 220 Hunger or Thirst ? either clear well-water, or sour-milk, or sma' yill, or porter, or speerits half-and-half, and then I wad say that eatin and driukin's pretty much of a muclmess very nearly on a par wi' this difference, that hunger wi' me's never sae intense as tlmrst. I never was sae hungry that I wad hae devoured a bane frae the gutter, but I hae often been sae thursty, on the muirs, that I hae drank black moss- water wi' a green scum on't without scunnerin. North. I never was hungry in my life. Shepherd. That's a confounded lee, sir, beggin your par- don North. No offence, James but the instant I begin to eat, my appetite is felt to be excellent. Shepherd. Felt and seen baith, sir. A how-towdie's a mere laverock to you, sir, on the day the Magazine's finished aff and Mr. Awmrose himsel canna help lauchin at the re- lays o' het beef-stakes that ye keep yokin to, wi' pickled in- gans or shallotts, and spoonfu's o' Dickson's mustard, that wad be aneuch to blin' a Lynx. Tickler. I have lost my appetite Shepherd. I howp nae puir man 'ill find it, now that wages is low and wark scarce ; but drinkin, you see, Mr. North, has this great advantage over eatin, that ye may drink a' nicht lang without being thursty tummler after tummler jug after jug bowl after bowl as lang's you're no sick and you're better worth sittin wi' at ten than at aucht, and at twal than at ten, and during the sma' hours you're just intolerable good company scarcely bearable at a', ane waxes sae truly wutty and out o' a' measure deevertin ; whereas I'll defy ony man, the best natural and acquired glutton that ever was born and bred at the feet o' a father that gaed aff at a city feast, wi' a gob o' green fat o' turtle half-way down his gullet, in an apoplexy, to carry on the eatiu wi' ony The Shepherd's Constitution. 221 spunk or speerif after three or four courses, forbye toasted cheese, and roasted chestnuts, and a dessert o' filberts, prunes, awmons, and raisins, ginger-frute, guava jeelly, and ither Wast Indian preserves. The cretur coups ower * comatose. But only tak tent f no to roar ower loud and lang in speakm or singin, and you may drink awa at the Glenlivet till past midnight, and weel on to the morning o' the day after to- morrow. Tickler. Next to the British, Hogg, I know no such consti- tution as yours so fine a balance of powers. I daresay you never had an hour's serious illness in your life. Shepherd. That's a' you ken and the observe comes weel frae you that began the nicht wi' giein the club my death- like prognosis. Tickler. Prognosis ? Shepherd. Simtoms like. This back-end J I had a' three at ance, the Tick Dollaroose, the Angeena Pectoris, and the Jaundice. North. James James James ! TicUcr. Hogg Hogg Hogg ! Shepherd. I never fan' ony pain like the Tick Dollaroose. Ane's no accustomed to a pain in the face. For the tooth- ache's in the inside o' the mouth, no in the face ; and you've nae idea hoo sensitive's the face. Cheeks are a' fu' o' nerves and the Tick attacks the haill bunch o' them, screwing them up to sic a pitch o' tension that you canna help screechiii out, like a thousan* ools, and clappin the pawms o'yourhauns to your distrackit chafts, and rowin yoursel on the floor on your groof, wi' your hair on end, and your een on fire, and a general muscular convulsion in a' your shinies, sae piercin, and searchin, and scrutinisin, and diggin, and houkin, and Coups ower tumbles over. t Tak tenttakQ care, t Bach-end close of the year. Oroqf belly. Tic Douloureux. tearin is the pangfu' pain that keeps eatin atva aud manglii. the nerves o' your human face divine. Draps o' sweat, as big as beads for the neck or arms o' a lassie, are pourin douii to the verra floor, so that the folk that hears you roarin thinks you're greetin, and you're aye afterwards considered a bairnly chiel through the haill kintra. In ane o' the sudden fits I gruppit sic haud o' a grape that I was helpin our Shusey * to muck the byre wi' that it withered in my fingers like a frush f saugh-wand $ and 'would hae been the same had it been a bar o' airn. Only think o' the Tick Dollaroose in a man's face continuing to a' eternity ! North. Or even for a few million ages Shepherd. Angeena Pectoris is even waur, if waur may be, than the Tick Dollaroose. Some say it's an ossified condition o' the coronary arteries o' the heart ; but that' no necessarily true for there's nae ossification o' these arterial branches o my heart. But oh ! sirs, the fit's deadly, and maist like till death. A' at ance, especially if you be walkin up-hill, it comes on you like the shadow o' a thunder-cloud ower smilin natur, silencin a' the singin birds, as if it threatened earth- quake, and you canna doubt that your last hour is come, and that your sowl is about to be demanded of you by its Maker. However aften you may have it, you aye feel and believe that it is, this time death. It is a sort o' swoon, without loss o' sense a dwawm, in which there still is con- sciousness a stoppage o' a' the animal functions, even o' breathin itsel, which, if I'm no mista'en, is the meaning o' a syncope and a' the while something is mg-ruggin at the heart itsel, something cauld and ponderous, amist like the forefinger and thoom o' a heavy haun the haun o' an evil speerit ; and then you expeck that your heart is to rin doon, * Shusen Susan. t Frush brittle. t Saugh-wand willow-wand. Rug-ruggin tear-tearing, Angina Pectoris. 223 just like a clock, wi' a dull cloggy noise, or rumble like that o' disarranged machinery, and then to beat, to tick nae mair ! The collapse is dreadfu'. Ay, Mr. North, collapse is the word. North. Consult Uwins on Indigestion, James the best medical work I have read for years, of a popular yet scientific character. Shepherd. Noo for the Jaundice. The Angeena Pectoris, the Tick Dollaroose, are intermittent " like angel visits, few and far between " but the jaundice lasts for weeks, when it is gatherin or brewin in the system for weeks at its yellowest height, and for weeks as the disease is ebbin in the blood a disease, if I'm no sair mista'en, o' the liver. North. An obstructed condition of the duodenum, James Shepherd. The mental depression o' the sowlin the jaundice is most truly dreadfu'. It would hae sunk Samson on the morning o' the day that he bore aff on his back the gates o' Gaza. Tickler. Tell us all about it, James. Shepherd. You begin to hate and be sick o' things that used to be maist delightfu' sic as the sky, and streams, and hills, and the ee and voice, and haun and breast o' woman. You dauner about the doors, dour and dowie, and are seen sittin in nyeucks and corners, whare there's little licht, no mindin the cobwabs, or the spiders themselves drappin douu amang your unkempt hair. You hae nae appeteet ; and if by ony chance you think you could tak a mouthfu' o' a particular dish, you splutter't out again, as if it were bitter ashes. You canna say that you are unco ill either, but just a wee sickih tongue furry, as if you had been licking a muff or a mawkin and you observe, frae folk staunin weel back when you happen to speak to them which is no aften that your breath's bad, though a wreck before it was as caller as clover. 2?24 Jaundice. You snore raair than you sleep and dream wi'youreen open ugly, confused, mean, stupid, unimaginative dreams, like those of a drunk dunce imitatin a Noctes and that's abooi the warst thing o' a' the complaint, that you're ashamed o yoursel, and begin to fear that you're no the man you ance thocht yoursel, when in health shootin groose on the hills, or listerin sawmon. North. The jaundice that, James, of a man of genius of the author of the Queen's Wake. Shepherd. Wad ye believe it, sir, that I was ashamed of " Kilmeny " ? A' the poems I ever writ seemed trash rubbish fuilzie ; and as for my prose even my verra articles in Maga " Shepherd's Calendar" and a' waxed havers like something in the Metropolitan Quarterly Magazine, the stupidest o' a' created periodicals, and now deader than a' the nails in Nebuchadnezzar's coffin. North. The disease must have been at its climax then, my dear James. Shepherd. Na, na, na ; it was far frae the cleemax. I tuk to the bed, and never luckit out frae the coortains for a fort- night gettin glummier and glummier in sense and sowl, heart, mind, body, and estate eating little or naething, and wad ye believe it? sick, and like to scunner at the very name o' whusky. North. Thank God, I knew nothing of all this, James. I could not have borne the thought, much less the sight, of such total prostration, or rather perversion of your understanding. Shepherd. Wearied and worn out wi' lyin in the bed, I got up wi' some sma' assistance frae wee Jamie, God bless him ! and telt them to open the shutters. What a sicht ! A' faces as yellow's yellow lilies, like the parchment o' an auld drum- head ! Ghastly were they, ane and a', when they leuch ;* yel * Leuch laughed. Progress of Jte Disease. 225 seemed insensible o' their corp-like hue I mean, a Jorp that has died o' some unnatural disease, and been keepit ower lang aboon grun' in close weather, the carpenter having gotten drunk, and botched the coffin. I ca'd for the glass and rny ain face was the warst o' the haill set. Whites o' een ! They were the color o' dandelions, or yellow-yoldrins.*! was feared to wash my face, lest the water grew ochre. That the Jaundice was in the house was plain ; but whether it was me only that had it, or a' the rest likewise, was rnair than I could tell. That the yellow I saw wasna in them, but in me, was hard to believe, when I luckit on them ; yet I thocht on green specks, and the stained wundows in Windermere Station, and reasoned wi' mysel that the discoloration must be in my lens, or pupil, or optic nerve, or apple, or ba' o' the ee ; and that I, James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, was The Jaundice. Tickler. Your portrait, colored from nature, James, would have been inestimable in after ages, and given rise to much argument among the learned about your origin the country of your birth. You must have looked cousin-german to the Green Man and Still. Shepherd. I stoitered to the door, and, just as I feared, the Yarrow was as yellow as a rotten egg a' the holms the color o' a Cockney's play-going gloves the skies like the dirty ochre wa's o' a change-house the cludslike buckskin breeks and the sun, the michty sun himsel, wha lends the rainbow its hues, and is never the poorer, looked at me wi' a discon- solate aspeck, as much as to say, " James, James, is it thou or I that has the Jaundice ? " Tickler. Better than the best bits of Abernethy | in the Lancet, North. * Yellow-yoldrin yellow-hammer. t This eminent practitioner, celebrated no less for his eccentricity ol manner than for his medical skill, was bora in 1764, and died in 1831. He was the author of Surgical Observations. Physiological Essays, etc. The Shepherd's Recovery. Shepherd. Just as I was gaun to answer the sun, the Tick Dollaroose attacked baith o' my cheeks a' my face, lips, chin, nose, brow, lugs, and crown and back o' my head, the An- geena Pectoris brought on the Heart-Collapse and there the three, the Tick, the Angeena, and the Jaundice, a' fell on me at ance, like three English, Scotch, and Eerish regiments stormin a fort, and slaughteriu their way wi' the beggonet on to the citadel r . . ' ; N"rth. That you are alive at this blessed hour, my dearest Jumes, almost exceeds belief, and I begin to suspect that you are not flesh and blood a mere Appearance. Shepherd. Na, faith, a'm a reality ; an Appearance is a puir haun at a jug. Yet, sir, the recovery was weel worth a' I paid for it in suffering. The first time I went out to the knowe yonner, aboon the garden, and gazed and glowered, and better gazed and glowered, on the heavens, the earth, and the air, the three bein blent thegither to mak up that mysterious thing a Day o' Glory I thocht that my youth, like that o' the sun-staring eagle, had been renewed, and that I was ance mair in the verra middle o' the untamed licht and music o' this life, whan a' is fancy and imagination, and friendship and love, and howp, oh, howp, sir, howp, worth a' the ither blisses ever sent frae Heaven, like a shower o' sunbeams, for it canna be darkenit, far less put out by the mirkest midnight o' meesery, but keeps shiniii on like a star, or rather like the moon hersel a spiritual moon, sir, that " is never hid in vacant interlunar cave." Tickler. Mixed metaphors these, James. Shepherd. Nane the waur o' that, Timothy I felt about ane-and-twunty and oh, what an angelical being was a lassie then comin wadin through the ford ! At every step she took, after launin wi' her white feet, havin letten doun fa' her doudlike claes wi' a blush, as she keepit lookin roun' and Literary Men in the Country. 227 roun' for a whyleock, to see gin ony ee had been on her, aa her limbs came silveryin through the water North. The Ladies, James, in a bumper. Shepherd. The leddies. A track o' flowers keepit length- enin alang the greensward as she walked awa', at last, quite out o' sicht. Tickler. And this you call recovering from the Tic-Do u- loureux, the Angina Pectoris, and the Jaundice, James ? [Enter MR. AMBROSE, with copper-kettle No. /] North. Who rung ? Ambrose. I have taken note of the time of the last foui jugs, sir, and have found that each jug gains ten minutes on its predecessor so ventured Shepherd. Oh, Mr. Ambrose, but you wad be a gran' observer o' the motions o' the heavenly bodies in an Astro- nomical Observatory ! The jug's this moment dead. There in wi' a' the sugar, and a' the whusky, fill up, Awmrose, fill up. That stroop's * a gran' pourer, and you're a prime experimenter in hydrostatics. [Exit MR. AMBROSE, susurrans.\ North. A mere literary man, James, is a contemptible creature. Indeed, I often wish that I had flourished before the invention of printing or even of writing. What think you, James, of a Noctes in hieroglyphics ? Shepherd. I scarcely ken ; but I think ane wadna look amiss in the Chinese. Wi' respeck to mere literary men, oh dear me, sir ! hoo I do gauntt when they come out to Mount Benger ! They canna shute, they canna fish, they canna loup, they canna warsle, they canna soom, they canna put the stane, they canna fling the hammer, they canna even drive a gig, they canna kiss a lassie in an aff-haun and pleasant manner, without offeniiin her feelins, as through the Stroop apout. t Gaunt yawn 228 North in his Dotage. dews she " comes wadin all alane ;" and what s perhaps the raaist contemptible o' a', they canna, to ony effeck, irink whusky. Ae glass o' pure speerits on the hill afore breakfast wad gie them a sick headache ; and after denner, although the creturs hae nae objections to the jug, oh, but their heads are wake,* wake before the fire has got sun-bricht, they are lauchin-fou you then fin' them out to be rejected contribu- tors to Blackwood ; and you hear that they're Whigs frae their wee, sharp, shrill, intermittin, dissatisfied, and rather disguatin snore, like a souu' ane aften hears at nicht in moora and mosses, but whence proceedin ane knows not, except it be frae some wild-foul distressed in sleep by a stamach fu' o' slug-worms mixed wi' mire for he aiblins leeves by suction. Where's Mr. Tickler ? North. I saw him slip away a little ago just as he had cleared his boards Shepherd. I never missed him till the noo. North. How delightful for a town-talk teazed poor old man, like me, to take refuge, for a month or so, in a deeper solitude even than Buchanan Lodge the House at the head of the Glen, which, know it ever so well, you still have to search for among so many knolls, some quite bare, some with a birk or two, and some of them each in itself a grove or wood, self- sown all the trees, brushwood, coppice, and standards. Shepherd. You're getting desperate descriptive in your dotage, sir dinna froon there's nae dishonor in dotage, when nature's its object. The aulder we grow, our love for her gets tenderer and mair tender, for this thocht aften comes across our heart, " In the bosom o' this bonny green earth, in how few years shall I be laid dust restored to dust ! " That's a' I mean by dotage. . . . What are ye hummin at, sir. You're no gaun to sing ? * Wake weak. North as a Vocalist. 229 (NORTH sings.) Why does the sun shine on me, When its light I hate to see ? Fain I'd lay me down and dee, For o' life I'm weary ! Oh, 'tis no thy frown I fear 'Tis thy smile I canua bear ' Tis thy smile my heart does tear, When thou triest to cheer me. Ladies fair hae smiled on me A' their smiles nae joy could gie Never lo'ed I ane but thee, And I lo'e thee dearly I On the sea the moonbeams play Sae they'll shine when I'm away Happy then thon'lt be, and gay, When I wander dreary ! Shepherd. Some auld fragmentary strain, remindin him, uae doubt, o' joys and sorrows lang ago ! He has a pathetic vice but sing what tune he may, it still slides awa into " Stroud Water." North. Oh, James ! a dream of the olden time Shepherd. Huts ! huts ! I wush you maunna be gettin rather a wee fuddled, sir hafflins fou. Preserve me ! are ye greetin ? The whusky's maist terrible strong and I suspect has never been chrissened. It's time we be aff ! Oh ! what some o' them he has knouted wad gie to see him in this condition ! But there's the wheels o' the cotch. Or is't a fire-engine ? {Enter AMBROSE, to announce the arrival of the coach.) Dinna look at him, Mr. Ambrose he's gotten the toothache and likewise some ingan in his een. This is aye the way wi' him noo, he fa's aff a' on a sudden and begins greetin it naething, or at things that's rather amusin as itherwise. 280 The Shepherd consoles North. There's mony tbousan' ways o' gettin fou and I ken nae mair philosophical employment than, in sic cityations, the study o' the varieties o' human character. North. Son James Shepherd. Pardon, Father 'twas but a jeest. I've kent you noo the better pairt o' twunty years and never saw I thae bricht een that bricht brain obscured, for wi' a' our daffin our weel-timed daffin our dulce est desipere in loco that's Latin, you ken we return to our hame, or our lodgings, as sober as Quakers and as peace fu', too well- wishers, aue and a', to the haill human race even the verra Wheegs. North. Sometimes, my dear Shepherd, my life from eighteen to twenty-four is an utter blank, like a moonless midnight at other times, oh ! what a refulgent day ! Had yon known me then, James, you would Shepherd. No hae liked you half as weel's I do noo for then, though you was doubtless tall and straucht as a tree, and able and willin baith to fecht man, dowg, or deevil, wi' een, tongue, feet, or hauns, yet, as doubtless, you was prouder nor Lucifer. But noo that you're bent doun no that muckle, just a wee, and your " lyart haffits wearing thin and bare," sae pleesant, sae cheerfu', sae fu' o' allooances for the fauts and frailties o' your fellow-creturs, provided only they proceed na frae a bad heart it's just perfeckly im- possible no to love the wise, merry auld man North. James, I wish to consult you and Mr. Ambrose about the propriety and prudence of my inarrying Shepherd. Never heed ye propriety and prudence, sir, i i mairrying, ony mair than ither folk. Mairry her, sir mairry her and I'll be godfather for the predestined mither o' him will be an Episcopaulian to wee Christopher. Let us off to Southside and sup with Tickler. \ Off to Southside. Glee far three toicet. Fall de rail de, Fall, lall, lall de, Fall de lall de, VU1, tell le, &o. [Exeunt ambo et AMBBOBB, XVI. IN WHICH, AFTER NORTH IS HANGED AND DRO WNED IN A DREAM, THE SHEPHERD IS TEMPTED AND FALLS. Scene, Large Dining-room. Time uncertain. NORTH dis- covered sitting upright in his easy-chair, with arms akimbo on his crutch, asleep. Enter the SHEPHERD and Mr. AMBROSE. Shepherd. Lord safe us ! only look at him sitting asleep. What'n a face ! Dinna leave the parlor, Mr. Awmrose, for it would be fearsome to be alane wi' the Vision. Ambrose. The heat of the fire has overcome the dear old gentleman but he will soon awake ; and may I make so bold, Mr. Hogg, as to request that you do not disturb Shepherd. What ! Wad ye be for my takin aff my shoon, and glidin ower the Turkey carpet on my stockin soles, like a pard or panther on the Libyan sands ? Ambrose (suaviter in modo). I beg pardon, sir, but you have got ts, at this period not uncommon, were a favorite attire of the Shepherd. 232 North asleep. 233 we came to Picardy. I hope, sir, you think him in his usual health ? Shepherd. That's a gude ane, Awmrose. You think him near his latter end, 'cause he's gien up that hellish froon that formerly used sae aften to make his face frichtsome ? Ye ne'er saw him froon sin' ye cam to Picardy ? Look there only look at the cretur's face A darkness comes across it, like a squall Blackening the sea. Ambrose. I fear he suffers some inward qualm, sir. Hij stomach, I fear, sir, is out of order. Shepherd. His stamach is ne'er out o' order. It's an ingine that aye works sweetly. But what think you, Mr. Awmrose, o' a quawm o' conscience ? Ambrose. Mr. North never, in all his life, I am sure, so much as injured a fly. Oh! dear me! he must be in very great pain. Shepherd. So frooned he ance, when in an angry parle He smote the sliding Pollock on the ice. Ambrose. You allude, sir, to that day at the curling on Duddingston Loch. But you must allow, Mr. Hogg, that the brute of a carter deserved the crutch. It was pretty to see the old gentleman knock him down. The crack on the ice made by the carter's skull was like a star, sir. Shepherd. The clud's blawn aff and noo his countenance is pale and pensive, and no without a kind o' reverend beauty, no very consistent wi' his waukin character. But the faces o' the most ferocious are a' placid in sleep and in death. That is an impressive fizziological and sykological fack. Ambrose. How can you utter the word death in relation to him, Mr. Hogg? Were he dead, the whole world might shut up shop. 234 Portrait of North. Shepherd. Na, na. Ye micht, but no the warld. There never leeved a man the warld missed, ony mair than u great, green, spreading simmer tree misses a leaf that fa's iloun on the moss aueath its shadow. Amlrrose. Were you looking round for something, sir ? Shepherd. Ay ; gie me that cork afl yon table I'll burn't on the fire, and then blacken his face wi' coom. Ambrose {placing himself in an imposing attitude between NORTH and the SHEPHERD). Then it must be through my body, sir. Mr. Hogg, I am always proud and happy to see you in my house ; but the mere idea of such an outrage such sacrilege horrifies me ; the roof would fall down the whole land Shepherd. Tuts, man, I'm only jokin. Oh ! but he wad mak a fine pictur ! I wish John Watson Gordon were but here to pent his face in iles. What a mass o' forehead ! an inch atween every wrinkle, noo scarcely visible in the calm o' sleep ! Frae eebree to croon o' the head a lofty mountain o' snaw a verra Benledi wi' rich mineral ore aneath the surface, within the bowels o' the skull, copper, silver, and gold ! Then what a nose ! Like a bridge, along which might be driven cart-loads o' intellect ; neither Roman nor Grecian, hookit nor cockit, a wee thocht inclined to the ae side, the pint being a pairt and pendicle o' the whole, an object in itsel, but at the same time finely smoothed aff and on intil the featur ; while his nostrils, small and red, look as they would emit fire, and had the scent o' a jowler or a vultur. Ambrose. There never were such eyes in a human head Shepherd. I like to see them sometimes shut. The instant Mr. North leaves the room, after denner or sooper, it's the same thing as if he had carried aff wi' him twa o' the fowre cawnles. Ambrose. I have often felt that, sir, exactly that, but Poaching on Hogg's Preserves. 235 never could express it. If at any time he falls asleep, it is just as if the waiter or myself had snuffed out Shepherd. Let my image alane, Mr. Awmrose, and dinna ride it to death double. But what I admire maist o' a' in the face o' him, is the auld man's mouth. There's a warld's difference, Mr. Awmrose, atween a lang mouth and a wide ane. Ambrose. There is, Mr. Hogg, there is they are two different mouths entirely. I have often felt that, but could not express it Sliepherd. Mr. Awmrose, you're a person that taks notice o' a hautle o' things and there canna be a stronger proof, or a better illustration, of the effeck o' the conversation o' a man o' genius like me, than its thus seeming to express former feelings and fancies of the awditor whereas the truth is, that it disna wauken them for the second time, but com- municates them for the first for believe me, that the idea o' the cawnles, and eke o' the difference wi' a distinction atween wide mouths and lang anes, never entered your mind afore, but are baith, bomifecdy, the property o' my ain intelleck. Amln-ose. I ask you many pardons, Mr. Hogg. They are both your own, I now perceive, and I promise never to make vise of them without your permission in writing or Shepherd. Poo I'm no sae pernickitty * as that about my original ideas ; only when folk do mak use o' my obs, I think iny heart. Shepherd. Then that's mair than I do mair than yon or ony ither man should say, after devoorin half a hunder eisters and siccan eisters to say naething o' a tipponny loaf, a qmrter o' a pund o' butter and the better pairt o' twa pots o' porter. North. James ! I have not eat a morsel, or drank a drop, since breakfast. Shepherd. Then I've been confnsioning you wi' mysel. A' the time that I was sookin up the eisters frae out o' their shells, ilka ane sappier than anither in its shallow pool o' caller saut sea-water, and some o' them takin a stronger sook than ithers to rug them out o' their cradles? I thocht I saw you, sir, in my mind's ee, and no by my bodily organs, it would appear, doin the same to a nicety, only dashin on mair o' the pepper, and mixing up mustard wi' your vinegar, as if gratifying a fause appeteet. North. That cursed cholera Shepherd. I never, at ony time o' the year,hae recourse to the cruet till after the lang hunder and in September after four months' fast frae the creturs I can easily devoor them by theirsels just in their ain liccor, on till anither fifty and then to be sure, just when I am beginning to be a wee stawed,* I apply first the pepper to a squad, and then, after a score or twa in that way, some dizzen and a half wi' vinegar, and finish aff, like you, wi' a wheen to the mustard, till the brodd's naething but shells. North. The cholera has left me so weak, that Shepherd. I dinna ken a mair perplexin state o' mind to be in than to be swithering about a further brodd o' eisters, when you've devoored what at ae moment is felt to be sufficient, * Stawed surfeited. Hogg's Insensibility. 243 and auither moment what is felt to be very insufficient feelin stawed this moment, and that moment yaup * as ever noo iayin into yoursel that you'll order in the toasted cheese, and then silently swearin that you maun hae anither yokin at the beardies North. This last attack, James, has reduced me much and a few more like it will deprive the world of a man whose poor abilities were ever devoted to her ser Shepherd. I agree wi' ye, sir, in a' ye say about the diffee- culty o' the dilemma. But during the dubiety and the swither, in comes honest Mr. Awmrose, o' his ain accord, wi' the final brodd, and a body feels himsel to have been a great sumph for suspeckiug ae single moment that he wasna able for his share o' the concluding Centenary o' Noble Inventions. There's really no end in natur to the eatin o' eisters. North. Really, James, your insensibility, your callousness to my complaints, painfully affects me, and forces me to be- lieve that Friendship, like Love, is but an empty name. Shepherd. An empty wame ? f It's your ain faut gin it's empty but you wadua surely be for eatin the very shells ? Oh ! Mr. North, but o' a' the men I ever knew you are the most distinguished by natural and native coortesy and polite- ness by what Cicero calls Urbanity. Tak it tak it. For, I declare, were I to tak it, I never could forgie mysel a' my days. Tak it, sir. My dear sir, tak it. North. What do you mean, James ? What the devil can you mean ? Shepherd. The last eister the maiuners eister it's but a wee ane, or it hedua been here. There, sir, I've douked it in an amalgamation o' pepper, vinegar, and mustard, and a wee drap whusky. Open your mouth, and tak it aff the pint o' my fork that's a gude bairn. Yaup hungry. t Wame Btomach. 24-i North's Confession. North. I have been very ill, my dear James. Shepherd. Haud your tongue nae sic thing. Your cheokg arc no half that shrivelled they were last year ; and there's a circle o' yeloquent bluid in them baith, as ruddy as Robin's breast. Your lips are no like cherries but they were aye rather thin and colorless since first I kent you ; and when chirted thegither oh ! man, but they have a scornfu', and savage, and cruel expression, that ought seldom to be on a face o' clay. As for your een, there's twenty guid year o' life in their licht yet. But, Lord safe us ! dinna, I beseech you, put on your specks ; for when you cock up your chin, and lie back on your chair, and keep fastenin your lowin een upon a body through the glasses, it's mair than mortal man can endure you look so like the Deevil Incarnate. North. I am a much injured man in the estimation of the world, James, for I am gentle as a sleeping child. Shepherd. Come, now -you're wushin me to flatter you ye're desperate fond, man, o' flattery. North. I admit confess glory that I am so. It is im- possible to lay it on too thick. All that an author has to do to secure a favorable notice Shepherd. What'n an avooal ! North. Why, James, are you so weak as ever to have imagined for a moment that I care a pin's point for truth, in the praise or blame bestowed or inflicted on any mortal creature in my Magazine ? Shepherd. What's that, you say ? can I believe my lugs ? North. I have been merely amusing myself for a few years back with the great gawky world. The truth is, James, that I am a misanthrope, and have a liking only for Cockneys. Shepherd. The chaudaleer's gaun to fa' doun on our heads. Eat your words, sir, eat your words, or North. You would not have me lie, during the only time The Shepherd's Horror. 245 that. f< r many years, I have felt a desire to speak the truth ? The only distinctions I acknowledge are intellectual ones. Me ral distinctions there are none and as for religion it is alia Shepherd (standing up). And it's on principles like these boldly and unblushingly avoo'd here in Mr. Awmrose's paper-parlor, at the conclusion o' the sixth brodd, on the evening o' Monday the 22d o' September, Anno Dominie aughteen hunder and twunty-aught, within twa hours o' mid- nicht that you, sir, have been yeditin a Maggasin that has gone out to the uttermost corners o' the yerth, wherever civilization or uncivilization is known, deludin and distrackin men and women folk, till it's impossible for them to ken their right hand frae their left or whether they're standin on their heels or their heads or what byeuk ought to be perused, and what byeuk puttin intil the bottom o' pie-dishes and trunks or what awthor hissed, or what awthor hurraa'd or what's flummery and what's philosophy or what's rant and what's religion or what's monopoly and what's free tredd or wha's poets or wha's but Pats or whether it's best to be drunk, or whether it's best to be sober a' hours o' the day and nicht or if there should be rich church establishments as in England, or poor kirk ones as in Scotland or whether the Bishop o' Canterbury, wi' twunty thousan' a year, is mair like a primitive Christian than the Minister o' Kirkintulloch wi' twa hunder and fifty or if folk should aye be readin sermons or fishin for sawmon or if it's best to marry or best to burn or if the national debt hangs like a millstone round the neck o' the kintra or like a chain o' blae-berries or if the Millennium be really close at haun, or the present Solar System be calculated to last to a' eternity or whether the people should be edicated up to the highest pitch o' perfec- tion, or preferably to be all like trotters through the Bog o 240 tlie. Shepherd is tempted. Allen or whether the Government should subsideeze foreign powers, or spend a' its siller on oursels or whether the Blacks a ad the Catholics should be emancipawted or no afore the demolition o' Priest and Obis or whether God forgie us baith for the hypothesis man has a mortal or an im- mortal sowl be a Phoenix or an Eister ! North. Precisely so, James. You have drawn my real character to a hair and the character, too, of the baleful work over which I have the honor and happiness to preside. Shepherd. I canna sit here ony langer, and hear a' things, visible and invisible, turned tapsy-turvy and tapsalteerie I'm aff I'maff I'm ower to the Auld Toon to tak toddy wi' Christians, and no wi' an Atheist, that would involve the warld in even-doun Pyrrhonism and disorder, if he could, the verra coorses o' the seven Planets, and set the central Sun adrift through the sky. Gude-nicht to ye, sir gude-nicht. Ye are the maist dangerous o' a' reprobates for your private conduct and character is that o' an angel, but your public that o' a fiend ; and the honey o' your domestic practice can be nae antidote to the pushion o' your foreign principles. I'm aff I'm aff. (Enter Mr. AMBROSE with a Howtowdie, and KING PEPIN with Potatoes and Ham?) Shepherd (in continuation). What brought ye intil the room the noo, Mr, Awmrose, wi' a temptation sic as that nae flesh and bluid ca i resist ? Awa back to the kitchiu wi' the sa- vory sacrifice or clash doun the Towdie afore the Bagman in the wee closet-room ayont the wainscot. What'n a bonny, brown, basted, buttery, iley, and dreepiu breast o' a roasted Earock. O' a' the smells I ever fan, that is the maist in supportably seducin to the palate. It has gien me the water- brash. Weel, weel, Mr. North, since you insist on t, we'll resume the argument after supper. The Shepherd's Fall. 247 North. Good-night, James. Ambrose, deposit the Towdie, and show Mr. Hogg down stairs. Lord bless you, Jamea good-night. Shepherd (securing his seat). Diniia say anither word, sir. Nae farther apology. I forgie you. Ye wasna serious. Come, he cheerfu' I'm suuo pacified. Oh, man, but ye cut up a fool * wi' incredible dexterity ! There a leg and a wing to yoursel and a leg and a wing to me then, to you the breast for I ken ye like the breast and to me the back and I dinna dislike the back, and then, Howtowdie! " Farewell ! a long farewell to all thy fatness." Oh, sir ! but the titles are gran' the year! How ony Christian creature can prefer waxies to mealies, I never could conjecture. Anither spoonfu' or twa o' the gravy. Haud haud what a deluge ! North. This, I trust, my dear Shepherd, will be a good season for the poor. Shepherd. Nae fear o' that, sir. Has she ony eggs ? But I forgot the hens are no layin the noo ; they're mootin.f Faith, considering ye didna eat mony o' the eisters, your appeteet's no amiss, sir. Pray, sir, will ye tell me gin there be ony difference atween this new-fangled Oriental disease, they ca' the Cholera, and the gude auld-fashion'd Scottish complent, the colic ? For gudesake, dinna drain the dolphin ! North. A mixture of Giles's and Berwicknectar worthy an ambrosial feast ! Shepherd. It gars my een water, and my lugs crack. Noo for the toasted cheese. (Enter TAFFY with two Welsh Rabbits, and exit.) fool fowl. t Mootin moulting. xvn THE HAGGIS DELUGE. SCENE I. TJie Octagon. Time, Ten. NonTH. SHEPHERD. TICKLER. North. Thank Heaven ! my dear Shepherd, Winter is come again, and Edinburgh is beginning once more to look like herself, like her name and her nature, with rain, mist, sleet, haur, hail, snow I hope, wind, storm would that we could but add a little thunder and lightning the Queen of the North. Shepherd. Hoo could you, sir, wi' a' your time at your ain command, keep in and about Embro' f rae May to December ? The city, for three months in the dead o' simmer, is like a tomb. Tickler (in a whisper to the Shepherd). The widow James the widow. Shepherd (aloud). The weedow sir the weedow ! Couldna he hae brocht her out wi' him to the Forest? At their time o' life, surely scandal wad hae held her tongue. Tickler. Scandal never holds her tongue, James. She drops her poison upon the dew on the virgin's untimely grave her breath will not let the grey hairs rest in the mould Shepherd. Then, Mr. North, marry her at ance, and bring her out in Spring, that you may pass the hinney-moon on the sunny braes o' Mount Benger. North. Why, James, the moment I begin to press matters, A Tender Topic. 249 she takes out her pocket-handkerchief and through sighs and sobs recurs to the old topic that twenty thousand times told tale the dear old General. Shepherd. Deevil keep the dear old General ! Hasna the man been dead these twunty years ? And if he had been leevin, wuldna he been aulder than yoursel, and far mair in- firm ? You're no in the least infirm, sir. North. Ah, James ! that's all you know. My infirmities are increasing with years Shepherd. Wad you be sae unreasonable as to expect them to decrease with years ? Are her infirmities North. Hush she has no infirmities. Shepherd. Nae infirmities ! Then she's no worth a brass button. But let me ask you ae interrogatory. Hae ye ever put the question ? Answer me that, sir. North. Why, James, I cannot say that I ever have Shepherd. What ! and you expeck that she wull put the question to you ? That would indeed be puttin the cart before the horse. If the women were to ask the men, there wad be nae leevin in this warld. Yet let me tell you, Mr. North, that it's a shamefu' thing to keep playiu in the way you hae been doin for these ten years past on a young woman's feelings Tickler. Ha ha ha James ! A young woman ! Why, she's sixty, if she's an hour. North. You lie. SkepJierd. That's a douss * on the chops, Mr. Tickler. That's made you as red in the face as a bubbly-jock, sir. Oh, the power o' ae wee bit single monosyllabic syllable o' a word to awaukeii a' the saf tor and a' the fiercer passions ! Diunu keep bitin your thoomb, Mr. Tickler, like an Itawliau ! Make an apology to Mr. North Douss a blow, a stroke. 250 North and Tickler embrace. Nor\ 'i. I will accept of no apology. The man who calli R woman old deserves death. Shepherd. Did you call her auld, Mr. Tickler ? Tickler. To you, sir, I will condescend to reply. I did not. I merely said she was sixty if she was an hour. Shepherd. In the first place, dinna " Sir " me for it's not only ill-bred, but. it's stupit. In the second place, dinna talk o' " condescending " to reply to me for that's language I'll no thole even f rae the King on the throne, and I'm sure the King on the throne wadna mak use o't. In the third place, to ca' a woman saxty, and then maintain that ye didna ca' her auld, is naething short o' a sophism. And in the fourth place, you shudna hae accompanied your remark wi' a loud haw haw haw, for on a tender topic a guffaw's an aggravation and marryin a widow, let her age be whatitwull, is a tender topic, depend on't sae that on a calm and dispassionate view o' a' the circumstances o' the case, there can be nae dout that you maun mak an apology ; or, if you do not, I leave the room, and there is in end of the Noctes Ambrosiauae. North. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianae ! Tickler. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianae ! Shepherd. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianae. Omncs. An end of the Noctes Anibrosianse ! ! ! North. Rather than that should happen, I will make a thousand apologies Tickler. And I ten thousand Shepherd. That's behavin like men and Christians. Em- brace embrace. [NORTH and TICKLER embrace North. Where were we, James ? Shepherd. I was abusin Embro' in simmer. North. Why ? Shepherd. Whey ? a' the lums * smokeless ! No ae f jack * fAtms chimneys. t No ae not one. Edinburgh in Summer. 251 turnin a piece o' roastin beef afore ae fire in ony ae kitchen in a' the New Toon ! Streets and squares a' grass-grown, sae that they micht be mawn ! Shops like beehives that hae dee'd in wunter! Coaches settin aff for Stirlin, and Perth, and Glasgow, and no ae passenger either inside or out only the driver keepin up his heart wi' flourishing his whip, and the guard sittin in perfect solitude, playin an eerie spring on his bugle-horn ! The shut-up playhouse a' covered ower wi 1 bills that seem to speak o' plays acted in an antediluvian world ! But to return to the near approach o' wunter. Mankind hae again putten on worsted stockins, and flannen drawers white jeans and yellow nankeen troosers hae dis- appeared dooble soles hae gotten a secure footen ower pumps big-coats wi' fur, and mantles wi' miniver, gie an agreeable rouchness to the picturesque stream o' life eddyin alaug the channel o' the streets gloves and mittens are sae general that a red hairy haun looks rather singular every third body ye meet, for fear o' a sudden blash, carries an unbrella a* folk shave noo wi' het water coal-carts are emptyin theirsels into ilka area caddies at the corners o' the streets and drivers on coach-boxes are seen warmin themsels by blawin on their fingers, or whuskin themsels wi' their open nieves across the shouthers skates glitter at shop-wundows, prophetic o' frost Mr. Phin may tak in his rod noo, for nae mair thocht o' anglin till spring, and wi' spring hersel, as wi' ither o' our best and bonniest freens, it may be said, out o' sicht out o' mind. you see heaps o' bears hung out for sale horses are a hairier o' the hide the bit toon bantam craws iiane, and at breakfast you maun tak tent no to pree an egg afore Bmellin at it, you meet hares carryin about in a' quarters and ggemkeepers proceedin out into the kintra wi' strings o' grews, sparrows sit silent and smoky wi' ruffled feathers, waiting for crumbs on the ballustrawds loud is the cacklin 252 Womankind in Winter. in the fowl-market o' Christinas geese that come a month at least afore the day, just like thae Annuals the Forget-me- Nots, Amulets, Keepsakes, Beejoos, Gems, Anniversaries, Souvenirs, Friendship's Offerings, and Wunter- Wreaths Tickler. Stop, James stop. Such an accumulation of imagery absolutely confounds perplexes Shepherd. Folk o' nae fancy. Then for womankind Tickler. Oh ! James, James ! I knew you would not long keep off that theme Shepherd. Oh, ye pawkie auld carle ! What ither theme in a' this wide weary warld is worth ae single thocht or feelin in the poet's heart ae single line frae the poet's pen ae single North. Song from the Shepherd's lyre of which, as of the Teian Bard's of old, it may be said : 'A Do, my dear James, give us John Nicholson's daughter. Shepherd. Wait a wee. The womankind, I say, sirs, never look sae bonny as in wunter, excepp indeed it may be in spring Tickler. Or summer or autumn, James Shepherd. Haud your tongue. You old bachelors ken naething o' womankind and hoo should ye, when they treat you wi' but ae feeliu, that o' derision ? Oh, sirs ! but the dear creturs do look weel in muffs whether they haud them, wi' their invisible hauns clasped thegither in their beauty within the cosy silk linin, close prest to their inuiceiit waists, just aueath the glad beatius o' their first-love-touched hearts Tickler. There again, James ! Shepherd. Or haud them hingin frae their extended richt * The harp with its strings sounds only love. A dear little Laplander. 253 arms, leavin a' the fcegur visible, that seems taller and slimmer as the removed muff reveals the clasps o' the pelisse a' the way douu frae neck till feet ! North. Look at Tickler James how he moves about in his chair. His restlessness Shepherd. Is no unnatural. Then, sir, is there, in a' the beautifu' and silent unfauldins o' natur amang plants and flowers, onything sae beautifu' as the white, smooth, saft chafts o' a bit smilin maiden o' saxteen, aughteen, or twunty blossomin out, like some bonny bud o' snaw-white satin, frae a coverin o' rough leaves, blossomin out, sirs, frae the edge o' the fur tippet, that haply a lover's happy haun had deli- cately hung ower her gracefu' shouthers oh, the dear de- lightfu' little Laplander ! Tickler. For a married man, James, you really describe North. Whisht! Shepherd. I wush you only heard the way the bonny croodin-doos * keep murmuring their jeists f to ane anither, as soon as a nest o' them gets rid o' an auld bacheleer on Princes Street. Tickler. Gets rid o' an auld bachelor ! Shepherd. Booin and scrapinto them after the formal and stately fashion o' the auld school o' politeness, and thinkin himsel the very pink o' courtesy, wi' a gold-headed cane ; aiblins, nae lest, in his haun, and buckles on's shoon for buckles are no quite out yet a'thegither a frill like a fan at the shirt-neck o' him and, wad the warld believe't, knee- breeks ! then they titter and then they lauch and then, as musical as if they were singin in pairts, the bonny, bloomin, innicent wicked creturs break out into I maunna ay, o' sic rosy lips, and sic snawy breasts, a guffaw t * Croodin-doos cooing-doves. t Je'uts Jests, t Gvtfaw a broad laugb *2f>4 The Haggis is introduced. but a guffay, sirs, a g .iffay for that's the feminine o guffaw North. Tickler, we really must not allow ourselves to b insulted in this style any longer Shepherd. And then awa they trip, sirs, flingin an antelope's or gazelle's ee ower their shouther, diverted beyond measure to see their antique beau continuing at a distance to cut capers in his pride till a' at ance they see a comet in the sky a young offisher o' dragoons, wi* his helmet a' in a low wi' a flicker o' red feathers and as he " turns and winds his fiery Pegassus," they are a' mute as death yet every face at the same time eloquent wi' mantling smiles, and wi' blushes that break through and around the blue heavens of their een, like crimson clouds to sudden sunlight burning beauti- ful for a moment, and then melting away like a thocht or a dream ! North. Why, my dear James, it docs one's heart good even to be ridiculed in the language of Poetry. Does it not, Tickler ? Tickler. James, your health, my dear fellow. Shepherd. I never ridicule onybody, sirs, that's no fit to bear it. But there's some sense and some satisfaction in m.-ik ii i a fule o' them, that, when the fiend's in them, can mak fules o' a'body, like North and Tickler (Enter Mr. AMBROSE with a hot roasted Round of Beef- - KING PEPIN iriih a couple of boiled Ducks SIR DAVID (JAM with a trencher of Tripe a la Meg Dods and TAPPYTOORIE with n Haggis. Pickled Salmon, Welst Rabbits, $<., frc. and, an usual, Oysters, raw, stewed scolhpcd, roasted, and pickled, of course Rizzards, Finzeans, lied Herrings.) Shepherd. You've really served up a bonny wee neat bit looper for three, Mr. Awmrose. I hate, for my ain pairt, to . The Haggis overflows. 255 see a table overloaded. It's sae vulgar. I'll carve the hag gis.* North. I beseech you, James, for the love of all that is dear to you, here and hereafter, to hold your hand. Stop- stop stop ! (The SHEPHERD sticks the Haggis, and the Table is instantly overflowed.) Shepherd. Heavens and earth ! is the Haggis mad t Tooels ! f Awmrose tooels ! Safe us ! we'll a' be drooned ! [PiCARDY and his Tail rush out for towels. North. Rash man ! what ruin have you wrought ! See how it has overflown the deck from stem to stern we shall all be lost Shepherd. Sweepin everything afore it ! Whare's the puir biled t dyucks ? Only the croon-head o' the roun' visible ! Tooels tooels tooels ! Send roun' the fire-drum through the city. (Re-enter PICARDY and " the Rest " urith napery.) Mr. Ambrose. Mr. North, I look to you for orders in the midst of this alarming calamity. Shall I order in more strength? Shepherd. See see sir ! it's creeping alang the carpet ! We're like men left on a sandbank, when the tide's comin in rampaugin. Oh ! that I had insured my life ! Oh ! that I had learned to soom ! What wull become o' my widow and my fatherless children ? North. Silence ! Let us die like men. Shepherd. O Lord ! it's ower our insteps already ! Open a' the doors and wundows and let it find its ain level. I'll up on a chair in the meantime. * Atuiggis la the stomach of a sheep filled with the lungs, heart, and HY of tin; same animal, minced with suet, onion!), salt, and pepper. t Tooels towels. t Bileil boiled. Soom swim. 256 Tlic Haggis rises. (The SHEPHERD mounts the back of The Chair, and draws Mr. NORTH up after him.') Sit on my shouthers, my dear dear dearest sir, I insist ou't. Mr. Tickler, Mr. Awmrose, King Pepin, Sir David, and Tappitourie you wee lazy deevil help Mr. North up help Mr. North up on my shouthers ! (Mr. NORTH is elevated, Crutch and all, astride on the SHEPHERD'S shoulders.) North. Good God ! Where is Mr. Tickler ? Shepherd. Look look look, sir, yonner he's staunin on the brace piece on the mantel ! Noo, Awmrose, and a' ye waiters, make your escape, and leave us to our fate. Oh ! Mr. North, gie us a prayer. What for do you look so mees- erable, Mr. Tickler ? Death is common 'tis but " passing through Natur' to Eternity ! " And yet to be drooned in haggis 'ill be waur than Clarence's dream ! Alack and alas- a-day ! it's up to the ring o' the bell-rope ! Speak, Mr. Tickler oh, speak, sir men in our dismal condition Are you sittin easy, Mr. North ? North. Quite so, my dear James, I am perfectly resigned. Yet, what is to become of Maga Shepherd. Oh my wee Jamie ! North. I fear I am very heavy, James. Shepherd. Dinna say't, sir dinna say't. I'm like the pious ^Eneas bearin his father Ancheeses through the flames o' Troy. The similk doesna hand gude at a' points I wish it did oh, baud fast, sir, wi' your arms roun' my neck, lest the cruel tyrant o' a haggis swoop ye clean awa under the side- board to inevitable death ! North. Far as the eye can reach it is one wiie wilderness of suet Ticher. Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! Shepherd. Do you hear the puir gentleman, Christopher ? The Haggis subsides. 257 It's affeckin to men in our condition to see the pictur we hae baith read o' in accounts o' shipwrecks realeezed ! Timothy's gane mad ! Hear till him shoutin wi' horrid glee or the brink o' eternity ! Tickler. Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! North. Horrible ! most horrible ! Tickler. The haggis is subsiding the haggis is subsiding ! It has fallen an inch by the surbase * since the Shepherd's last ejaculation. Shepherd. If you're tellin a lee, Timothy, I'll wade ower to you, and bring you doun aff the mantel wi' the crutch. Can I believe my een ? It is subseedin. Hurra w ! hurraw ! hurraw ! Nine times nine, Mr. North, to our deliverance and the Protestant ascendancy. Omnes. Hurra ! hurraw ! hurree ! Shepherd. Noo, sir, you may dismunt. (Re-enter the Household, with the immediate neighborhood.) Shepherd. High Jinks ! High Jinks ! High Jinks ! The haggis has putten out the fire, and sealed up the boiler (The SHEPHERD descends upon all-fours, and lets Mr. NORTH off gently.) North. Oh, James, I am a daft old man! Shepherd. No sae silly as Solomon, sir, at your time o' life. Noo for sooper. Tickler. How the devil am I to get down ? Shepherd. How the deevil did you get up ? Oh, ho, by the gas ladder ! And it's been removed in the confusion. Either jump down or stay where you are, Mr. Tickler. Tickler. Come now, James shove over the ladder. Shepherd. Oh that Mr. Chantrey was here to sculptur him in that attitude ! Streitch out your richt haun ! A wee grain heicher ! Hoo gran' he looks in basso-relievo ! * Surbate the moulding at the upper edge of the wainscot. 258 Tickler High and Dry. Ticklei . Shove over the ladder, you son of the mist, or I'll brain you with the crystal. Shepherd, Sit doun, Mr. North, opposite to me ami Mr- Awmrose, tak roun' my plate for a shave o' the beef. Isua he the perfeck pictur o' the late Right Honorable William Pitt ? Shall I send you, sir, some o' the biled dyuok ? North. If you please, James. Rather " Like Patience on a monument smiling at Grief." Shepherd. Gie us a sang, Mr. Tickler, and then you shall hae the ladder. I never preed a roasted roun' afore it's real savory. North. " Oh ! who can tell how hard it is to climb The height where Fame's proud temple shines afar ! " Shepherd. I'll let you doun, Mr. Tickler, if you touch the oeiliu wi' your fingers. Itherwise, you maun sing a sang. (TICKLER tries and fails.) Tickler. Well, if I must sing, let me have a tumbler of toddy. Shepherd. Ye shall hae that, sir. (The SHEPHERD fills a tumbler from the jug, and balancing it on the cross of the crutch, reaches it up to Mr. TICKLEII. TICKLER sings " The Twa Magicians.") Shepherd. Noo sir here is the ladder to you for which you're indebted to Mr. Peter Buchan, o' Peterhead, the ingenious collector o' the Ancient Ballads, frae which ye have chanted so speeritedly the speerited " Twa Magicians." It's a capital collection and should be added in a' libraries, to Percy, and Ritsou, and Headley, and the Minstrelsy of the Border, and John Finlay, and Robert Jamieson, and Gilchrist and Kiuloch, and the Quarto o' that clever chiel, Motherwell * o' Paisley, wha's no only a gude collector and * William Motherwell, born in 1798, the author of some spirited ballad* .iid editor of Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern. He died in 1835. Tickler's Ailments. 259 commentator o' >allads, but a gude writer o' them too as he has provet by that real poetical address o' a Northman to his Swurd in Nine o' the Annals. Come awa donn, sir- come awa doun. Tak tent, for the steps are gey shoggly.* Noo sir fa' to the roun'. Tickler. I have no appetite, James. I have been suffering all night under a complication of capital complaints, the toothache, which like a fine attenuated red-hot, steel-sting, keeps shooting through an old rugged stump, which to touch with my tongue is agony the tongue-ache, from a blister on tliat weapon, that I begin to fear may prove cancerous the lip-ache, from having accidentally given myself a labial wound in sucking out an oyster the eye-ache, as if an absolute worm were laying eggs in the pupil the ear-ache, tinglin and stouninf to the very brain, till my drum seems beating for evening parade to which add a headache of the haminer-and-anvil kind and a stomach-ache, that seems to intimate that dyspepsy is about to be converted into cholera morbus ; and you have a partial enumeration of the causes that at present deaden my appetite and that prevented me from chanting the ballad with my usual vivacity. However I will trouble you for a duck. Shepherd. You canna be in the least pain, wi' sae mony complaints as these for they maun neutraleeze ane anither. But even if they dinna, I believe mysel, wi' the Stoics, that pain's nae evil. Dinna you, Mr. North ? North. Certainly. But Tickler, you know, has many odd crotchets. Ambrose (entering with his siiavest physiognomy). Beg par don, Mr. North, for venturing in unrung, but there's a young lady wishing to speak with you Shepherd. A young lady ! show her ben. * Shoggly shaky. t Stounin aching. 260 North'* Nightcap. North. An anonymous article ? Ambrose. No, sir, Miss Helen Sandford, from the Lodge North. Helen ! what does she want ? Ambrose. Miss Sandford had got alarmed, sir Shepherd. Safe us ! only look at the timepiece ! Four o'clock in the mornin ! Ambrose. And has walked up from the Lodge North. What ? Alone ! Ambrose. No, sir. Her father is with her and she bids me say now that she knows her master is well that here is your Kilmarnock nightcap. [Mr. NORTH submits his head to PICAKDY, who adjusts the nightcap. Shepherd. What a cowl ! North. A capote James. Mr. Ambrose, we three must sleep here all night. Shepherd. A' mornin, ye mean. Tak care o' Tickler amang ye but recolleck it's no safe to wauken sleepin dowgs. Oh ! man ! Mr. North ! sir ! but that was touchin attention in puir Eelen. She's like a dochter, indeed. Come awa, you auld vagabon, to your bed. I'll kick open the door o' your dormitory wi' my fit, as I pass alang the transe in the mornin ! The mornin ! Faith, I'm beginnin already to get hungry for breakfast ! Come awa, you auld vagabon come awa. [Exeunt NORTH and SHEPHERD, followed by the Heighj of TICKLER, to Roost. NORTH (singing as they go) " Early to bed, and early to rise, It the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise ! " Da Capo. xvm. IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD, HAVING SKATED VROM YARROW ,TAKES A PLOUTER. SCENE I. The Snuggery. Time, Nine in the Evening. NORTH and TICKLER. Tickler. Replenish. That last jug was most illustrious. 1 vish James were here. North. Hush ! hark ! It must be he ! and yet 'tis not just the pastoral tread either of the Bard of Benger. " Alike, but oh ! how different ! " Tickler. " His very step has music in't as he comes up the stair ! " Shepherd (bursting in with a bang). Huzzaw ! Huzzaw 1 Huzzaw ! North. God bless you, James ; your paw, my dear Sus. Shepherd. Fresh frae the Forest, in three hours Tickler. What ! thirty-six miles ? North. So it is true that you have purchased the famous American trotter ? Shepherd. Nae trotters like my ain trotters ! I've won my bate, sirs. North. Bet? Shepherd. Ay, a bate, a bate o' twenty guineas- Tickler. What the deuce have you got on your feet, James ? 261 262 The Shepherd arrives. Shepherd. Skites.* 1'vo skited frae St. Mary's Loch to the Canawl Basin iii fowre minutes aud a half within the three hours, without turnin a hair. Tickler. Do keep a little farther off, James, for your face has waxed intolerably hot, and I perceive that you have raised the thermometer a dozen degrees. Shepherd (Jlinging a purse of gold on the table'). It 'ill require a gey strang thaw to melt that, chiels ; sae tak youi change out o' that, as Josephf says, either in champagne, or yill, or porter, or Burgundy, or cedar, or Glenlivet just what- somever you like best to drink or devoor ; and we shanmi be lang without supper, for in coming alang the transe 1 shooted to Tappytoorie forthwith to send in samples o' all the several eatables and drinkables in Picardy. I'm desperate hungry. Lowse my skites, Tickler. [TICKLER succumbs to unthong the SHEPHERD'S skate* Tickler. What an instep ! Shepherd. Ay, uaue o' your plain soles, that gang shiflle- shaffling amang the chuckystanes assassinatiii a' the insects ; but a foot arched like Apollo's bow when he shot the Python heel, of a firm and decided but unobtrusive character and taes, ilka aue a thocht larger than the ither, like a family o childer, or a flight o' steps leading up to the pillared portico o' a Grecian temple. (Enter Signer AMBROSIO susurrans with IT below his arm.) Shepherd. That's richt O but Greeny has a gran' gurgle ! A mouthfu' o' Millbank never comes amiss. Oh ! but it's potent ! (gruing). I wuss it be na ile o' vitrol. Iforth. James, enlighten our weak minds. Shepherd. An English bagman, you see he's unco fond o' poetry and the picturesque, a traveller in the soft line paid me a visit the day just at denner-time, in a yellow gig, * Skite$ skates. t Joseph Hume. His Bet with the Bay wan. 203 drawn by a chestnut blude rneer ; and after we had discussed the comparative merits o' my poems, and Lord Byron's, and Sir Walter's, he rather attributin to me, a' things considered, the superiority over baith, it's no impossible that my freen got rather fuddled a wee, for, after roosin his meer to the skies, as if she were fit for Castor himsel to ride upon up and doun the blue lift, frae less to mair he offered to trot her in the gig into Embro', against me on the best horse in a' my stable, and gie me a half-hour's start before puttin her into the shafts ; when, my birses being up, faith I challenged him, on the same condition, to riu him intil Embro' on shank's naigie.* North. What ! biped against quadruped ? Shepherd. Just. The cretur, as suue as he came to the clear uuderstaudin o' my meauin, giedane o' these bitcreeuk- lin cackles o' a Cockney lauch, that can only be forgiven by a Christian when his soul is safteu'd by the sunny hush o' a Sabbath morning. North. Forgotten, perhaps, James, but not forgiven. Shepherd. The batef was committed to black and white ; and then on wi' my skites, and awa like a reindeer. Tickler. What ? down the Yarrow to Selkirk then up the Tweed. Shepherd. Na, na ! uaething like keepiu the high-road for safety in a skiting-match. There it was noo stretchin straught afore me, noo serpenteezin like a great congor eel, and noo amaist coilin itself up like a sleepin adder ; but whether straught or crooked or circling, ayont a' imagina- tion sliddery, sliddery ! Tickler. Confound me if I knew that we had frost. Shepherd. That comes o' trustin till a barometer to tell you when things hae come to the freezin-pint. Frost ! The ice On thank's naigie on foot. t Bate bet. 2G4 The Shepherds Velocity. is fourteen feet thick in the Loch and though you hae nae frost about Embro' like our frost in the Forest, yet I wadna advise you, Mr. Tickler, to put your tongue on the airn-rio, o' a cart or cotch-wheel. North. I remember, James, being beguiled sixty-foui years ago ! by a pretty little, light-haired, blue-eyed lassie, one starry night of black frost, just to touch a cart-wheel for one moment with the tip of my tongue. Shepherd. What a gowmeril ! * North. And the bonny May had to run all the way to the manse for a jug of hot water to relieve me from that bondage. Shepherd. You had a gude excuse, sir, for geein the cutty a gude kissin. North. How fragments of one's past existence come sud- denly flashing back upon Shepherd. Hoo I snooved alang the snaw ! Like a verra curlin-stane, when a dizzen besoms are soopin the ice afor't and the granite gangs groanin gloriously alang, as if in- stinct wi' spirit, and the water-kelpie below strives in vain to keep up wi' the straight-forrit planet, still accompanied as it spins wi' a sort o' spray, like the shiveriu atoms of diamonds, and wi' a noise to which the hills far and near respond, like a water-quake the verra ice itself seemin at times to sink and swell, just as if the Loch were a great wide glitterin tin-plate, beaten out by that cunnin white- smith, Wunter and Tickler. And every mouth, in spite of frost, thaws to the thought of corned beef and greens. Shepherd. Hoo I snooved alang ! Some collies keepit geyan weel up wi' me as far's Traquair manse but ere I crossed the Tweed my canine tail had drapped quite away, * Qowmeril fool. Between the Loch anJ Edinburgh 265 nd I had but the company of a couple cf crows to Peebles. North. Did you dine on the road, James ? Shepherd. Didn't I tell you I had dined before I set off ? I ettled at a cauker at Eddlestone but in vain attempted to moderate my velocity as I neared the village, and had merely time to fling a look to my worthy friend the minister, as I flew by that tree-hidden manse and its rill-divided garden, beautiful alike in dew and in cranreuch ! Tickler. Helpless as Mazeppa ! Shepherd. It's far worse to be ridden aff wi' by ane's ain eowl than by the wildest o' the desert loon. North. At this moment, the soul seems running away with the body, at that, the body is off with the soul. Spirit and matter are playing at fast and loose with each other and at full speed you get skeptical as Spinoza. Shepherd. Sometimes the ruts are for miles thegither regular as railroads and your skite gets fitted intil a groove, sae that you can baud out ane o' your legs like an opera dancer playin a peeryette, and on the ither glint by, to the astonishment o' toll-keepers, who at first suspect you to be on horseback then that you may be a bird and feenally that you must be a ghost. Tickler. Did you upset any carriages, James ? Shepherd. Nane that I recollect. I saw severals but whether they were coming or going in motion or at rest, it is not for me to say but they, and the hills, and woods, and clouds, seemed a' to be floatin awa thegither in the direction o' the mountains at the head o' Clydesdale. Tickler. And where all this while was the bagman ? Shepherd. Wanderin, nae doubt, a' a-foam, leagues ahint ; for the chestnut meer was weel cauked, and she ance won a king's plate at Doncaster. You may hae seen, Mr. North, a 206 Pulls up at ike cloud-giant on a stormy day striding alang the sky, coverina parish wi' ilka stretch o' his spawl,* and pausin, aiblins, to tak his breath now and then at the nieetin o' twa counties ; if sae, you hae seen an image o' me only he was in the heavens, and I on the yearth he an unsubstantial phantom, and I twal stane wecht ho silent and sullen in his flight, I musical and merry in mine Tidier. But on what principle came you to stop, James ? Shepherd. Luckily, the Pentland Hills came to my succor. By means of one of their ridges I got gradually rid of a por- tion of my velocity subdued down into about seven miles an hour, which rate got gradually diminished to about four ; and here I am, gentlemen, after having made a narrow escape from a stumble, that in York Place threatened to set me off again down Leith Walk, in which case I must have gone on to Portobcllo or Musselburgh. North. Well, if I did not know you, my dear James, to be a matter-of-fact man, I should absolutely begin to entertain some doubts of yonr veracity. Shepherd. What the deevil's that hingin frae the roof ? North. Why, the chandelier. Shepherd. The shandleer ? It's a cage, wi' an outlandish bird in't. A pawrot, I declare ! Pretty Poll ! Pretty Poll ! Pretty Poll! Parrot. Go to the devil and shake yourself. Shepherd. Heaven preserve us ! heard you ever the likea o' that? A bird cursin ! What sort o' an education must the cretur hae had ? Poor beast, do you ken what you're ray in ? Parrot. Much cry and little wool, as the devil said when he was sheariu the Hog. Shepherd. You're gettin personal, sir, or madam, for 1 dinna pretend to ken your sex. * Spawl Bboulder. North's Familiars. 2(37 North. That everybody does, James, who has anything to do with Blackwood's Magazine. Shepherd. True enough, sir. If it wad but keep a gude tongue in its head it's really a bonny cretur. What plum- mage ! What'ill you hae, Polly, for sooper ? Parrot. Molly put the kettle on, Molly put the kettle on, Molly put the kettle on, And I shall have some punch. Shepherd. That's fearsome yet, whisht ! What ither vice was that speakin ? A gruff vice. There again ! whisht ! Voice. The devil he came to onr town, And rode away wi' the exciseman. Shepherd. This room's no canny. I'm aff (rising to go). Mercy me ! A raven hoppin aneath the sideboard ! Look at him, how he turns his great big broad head to the ae side, and keeps regardin me wi' an evil eye ! Satan I North. My familiar, James. Shepherd. Whence cam he ? North. One gloomy night I heard him croakin in the garden. Shepherd. You did wrang, sir, it was rash to let him in ; wha ever heard o' a real raven in a surburban garden ? It's some demon pretendin to be a raven. Only look at him wi' the silver ladle in his bill. Noo he draps it, and is ruggin at the Turkey carpet, as if he were colleckin lining for his nest. Let alane the carpet, you ugly villain ! Raven. The devil would a wooin go ho-ho ! the wooin, ho ! * * Dickens' incomparable raven in Barnaby Rudge would have been quite at home in this party ; and appears, indeed, to have taken a lessor, in house- hold economy from North's parrot. '268 .4 Serenade by " Sooty." Shepherd. Ay ay you hear how it is, gentleman " Love is a' the theme " Raven. " To woo his bonny lassie when the kye come Hume ! " Shepherd. Satan singin :me o' my sangs ! Frae this hour I forswear poetry. Voice. love love love, 1 ovuN like a dizziness. Shepherd. What ! another voice ? Tickler. James James he's on your shoulder. Shepherd (starting up in great emotion). Wha's on mj shouther ? North. Only Matthew. Shepherd. Puir bit bonny burdie ! What ! you're a Stirling, are you ? Ay ay just pick and dab awa there at the hair in my lug. Yet J wad rather see you fleein and flutterin in and out o' a bit hole aneath a wall-flower high up on some auld and ruined castle standin by itsel among the woods. Raven. O love love love, Love's like a dizziness. Shepherd. Rax me ower the poker, Mr. North or lend me your crutch, tliat I may brain Sooty. Starling- It wunna let a pulr bodie Gang about his bissiness. Parrot. Fie, whigs, awa fie, whigs, awa. Shepherd. Na the bird doesna want sense. Raven. The deil sat girnin In a neuk, Riving sticks to roast the Duke. Shepherd. Oh ho ! you are fond of picking up Jacobite relics. The Shepherd retires. 269 Raven. Ho ! blood blood blood blood blood ! Shepherd. What do you mean, you sinner ? Raven. Burke him Burke him Burke him. Ho ho ' bo blood blood blood ! J3ronte. Bow wow wow. Bow wow wow. Bow- wow wow. Shepherd. A complete aviary, Mr. North. Weel, that's a sight worth lookin at- Bronte lying on the rug never per- ceivin that it's on the tap o' a worsted teegger a raven, either real or pretended, amusin himsel wi' ruggin at the dowg's toosey tail the pawrot, wha maun hae opened the door o' his cage himsel, sittin on Bronte's shouther and the Stirling, Matthew, hidin himsel ahint his head no less than four irrational creturs, as they are called, on the rug each wi' a natur o' its ain ; and then again four rational creturs, as they are called, sittin round them on chairs each wi' his specific character too and the aught makin ane aggregate or whole of parts not unharmoniously combined. North. Why, James, there are but three of the rationals. Shepherd. I find I was countin mysel twice over. Tickler. Now be persuaded, my dear Shepherd, before supper is brought ben, to take a warm bath, and then rig yourself out in your Sunday suit of black, which Mr. Ambrose keeps sweet for you in his own drawer, bestrewed with sprigs of thyme, whose scent fadeth not for a century. Shepherd. Faith, I think I shall tak a plouter. * [SiiKF'HERD retires into the marble bath adjoining the Snug* gery. The hot water is let on with a mighty noise. Nortli. Do you want the flesh-brushes, James ? Shepherd (from within). I wish I had some female slaves, wi' wooden swurds to scrape me wi', like the Shah o' Persia. Tickler. Are you in, James ? * I'louter a bathe accompanied w 270 " Apollo in the ffet Bath." Shepherd. Hearken ! [A sullen plunge is heard, as of a huge stone into the deep-dywn waters of a draw-well. North (looking at his watch). Two minutes have elapsed. I hope, Tickler, nothing apoplectical has occurred. Shepherd. Blow o wo ho wro ! Tickler. Why, James " You are gurgling Italian half-way down your throat." North. What temperature, James ? Shepherd. Nearly up at egg-boiling. But you had better sirs, be niakin anither jug for that ane was geyan sair dune afore I left you and I maun hae a glass of het-aiid-het as sune sis I come out, to prevent me takin the cauld. I hope there's nae current o' air in the room. Wha's this that bled himsel to death in a bath ? Wasna't Seneca ? North. James, who is the best female poet of the age ? Shepherd. Female what ? Tickler. Poet. Shepherd. Haud your tongue, ye sinner. What ! you are for drawin a pictur o' me as Apollo in the het bath surrounded wi' the Muses ? That would be a fine subject for Etty. North. Isn't his " Judith and Holofernes," my dear Shep- herd, a noble, a majestic performance ? Shepherd. Yon's colorin ! Judith's richt leg's as flesh-like as my ain, noo lyin on the rim o' the bath, and maist as muscular. Tickler. Not so hairy, though, James. Shepherd. I'm geyan weel sodden noo, and I think I'D come out. Ring the bell, sir, for my black claes. North. I have been toasting your shirt, James, at the fire. Will you come out for it ? Shepherd. Fliug't in at the door. Thank you, sir. Ho ! here's the claes, I declare, hingin on the tenters. Is that The Shepherd in Sables. 271 gooper coming in ? Noo, I'm rubbed down ae stockin on anither noo, the flanuen drawers and noo, the breeks. Oh ! but that turkey has a gran' smell ! Mr. Awmrose, ma slippers ? Noo for't. (The SHEPHEHD reappears in full sables, blooming) like a rose.) North. Come away, my dear Shepherd. Is he not, Tickler, like a black eagle that has renewed his youth ? {They take their seats at the Supper-table. Mulliga- tawny Roasted Turkey Fillet of Veal Soles a Pie and the Cold Round Potatoes Oysters, tfc. frc. Sfc. Sfc. i(-c. North. The turkey is not a large one, James, and after a thirty-six miles' run, I think you had better take it on your plate. Shepherd. Na, na, sir. Just set the ashet afore me tak you the fillet gie Tickler the pie and noo, let us hae some discourse about the fine airts. (Supper.) Shepherd. In another month, sirs, the Forest will be as green as the summer sea rolling in its foam-crested waves in moon- light. You maun come out you maun baith come out this spring. North. I will. Every breath of air we draw is terrestrial- ized or etherealized by imagination. Our suburban air, round about Edinburgh, especially down towards the sea, must be pure, James ; and yet, my fancy being haunted by these easterly haurs,* the finest atmosphere often seems to me afloat with the foulest atoms. My mouth is as a vortex, that en- gulfs all the stray wool and feathers in the vicinity. In the country, and nowhere more than on the Tweed or the Yar- row, I inhale always the gas of Paradise. I look about me Haw a chill, foggy, easterly wind. 272 The Dawn of Day. for flowers, and I see none bnt I feel the breath of tho isands. Country smoke from cottages or kilns, or burning heather, ia not like town smoke. It ascends into clouds, on which angels and departed spirits may repose. Shepherd. 0' a' kintra soun's, which do you like best, sir ? North. The crowing of cocks before, at, and after sunrise. They are like clocks all set by the sun. Some hoarsely scrauching, James, some with a long, clear, silver chime and now and then a bit bantam crowing twice for the statelier chanticleer's once and, by fancy's eye, seen strutting and sliding up, in his impudence, to hens of the largest size, not unaverse to the flirtation of the feathery-legged coxcomb. Shepherd. Few folk hae seen oftener than me Natur gettin up i' the mornin. It's no possible to help personifyin her first into a goddess, and then into a human Tickler. There again, James. Shepherd. She sleeps a' nicht in her claes, yet they're never runkled ; her awakening face she turns up dewy to the sun, and Zephyr wipes it wi' his wing without disturbin its dreamy expression never see ye her hair in papers, for crisp and curly, far-streamin, and wide-waven are her locks, as alternate shadows and sunbeams dancin on the dancin music o' some joyous river rollin awa to the far-aff sea ; her ee is heaven her brow the marble clouds ; and after a lang doun- gazing, serene, and spiritual look o' hersel, breathin her orison-prayers, in the reflectin magic o' some loch like an inland ocean, stately steps she frae the east, and a' that meet her mair especially the Poet, wha draps doun amid the heather in devotion on his knees kens that she is indeed the Queen of the whole Universe. Tickler. Incedit Regina. North. Then, what a breakfast at Mount Benger, after a stroll to and fro' the Loch ! One devours the most material " Caller Eggs and Caller Haddies" 273 breakfast spiritually ; and none of the ethereal particles are lost in such a meal. Shepherd. Ethereal particles ! What are they like ? North. Of the soul, James. Wordsworth says, in his own beautiful way, of a sparrow's nest : " Look, five blue eggs are gleaming there ! Few visions have I seen more fair, Nor many prospects of delight More touching than that simple sight ! " But five or six, or perhaps a dozen, white hen-eggs gleaming there all on a most lovely, a most beautiful, a most glorious round white plate of crockery is a sight even more simple and more touching still. Tickler. What a difference between caller eggs and caller baddies ! North. About the same as between a rural lassie stepping along the greensward, like a walking rose or lily endued with life by the touch of a fairy's wand, and a lodging-house Girrzzie laying down a baikie* fu' o' ashes at the mouth of a common stair. Shepherd. North, you're a curious cretur. Tickler. You must excuse him for he is gettin into his pleasant though somewhat prosy dotage. Shepherd. A! men begin to get into a kind o' dotage after five-and-twuuty. They think theirsels wiser, but they're only stupider. The glory o' the heaven and earth has a' flown by ; there's something gane wrang wi' the machinery o' the peristrephic panorama, and it 'ill no gang roun', nor is there ony great matter, for the colors hae faded on the canvas, and the spirit that pervaded the picture ia dead. Tickler, Poo, poo, James. You're haverin. * Baikie a kind of scuttle for ashes. 274 The Vision and Faculty Divine. North. Do you think, my dear James, that there is lesi religion now than of old in Scotland ? Shepherd. I really canna say, sir. At times I think there is even less sunshine. . . . Ony new poets spurtin up, sir, amaug us, like fresh daisies ainang them that's withered ? Noo that the auld cocks are cowed, are the chickens beginning to flap their wings and craw ? Tickler. Most of them mere poultry, James. North. Not worth plucking. Shepherd. It's uncomprehensible, sir, to me altogether, what that something is that ae man only, amang many million, has that makes him poetical, while a' the lave remain to the day o' their death prosaic ? I defy you to put your finger on ae pint o' his mental character or constitution in which the secret lies indeed, there's aften a sort o' stupidity about the cretur that maks you sorry for him, and he's very generally laucht at ; yet there's a superiority in the strain o' his thochts and feelings that places him on a level by himsel aboon a' their heads ; he has intuitions o' the truth, which, depend on't, sir, does not lie at the bottom of a well, but rather in the lift o' the understanding and the imagination the twa hemispheres ; and knowledge, that seems to flee awa frae ither men the faster and the farther the mair eagerly it is pursued, aften comes o' its ain sweet accord, and lies doun at the poet's feet. North. Just so. The power of the soul is as the expression of the countenance the one is strong in faculties, and the other beautiful in features, you cannot tell how but so it is, and so it is felt to be ; and let those not thus endowed by nature either try to make souls or make faces, and they only become ridiculous, and laughing-stocks to the world. This is especially the case with poets, who must be made of finer clay. The Sorrows of the Poor. 275 Tickler. Generally cracked Shepherd. But transpawrent Tickler. Yea, an urn of light. North. There is something most affecting in the natural sorrows of poor men, my dear Shepherd, as, after a few days' wrestling with affliction, they appear again at their usual work melancholy, but not miserable. Shepherd. You ken a gude deal, sir, about the life and character o' the pair ; but then it's frae philosophical and poetical observation and sympathy no frae art-and-part participation, like mine, in their merriment and their meesery. Folk in what they ca' the upper classes o' society a' look upon life, mair or less, as a scene o' enjoyment, and amusement, and delicht. They get a' selfish in their sensibilities, and would fain mak the verra laws o' natur obedient to their wull. Thus they cherish and encourage habits o' thocht and feeling that are maist averse to obedience and resignation to the decrees o' the Almighty when these decrees dash in pieces small the idols o' their earthly worship. North. Too true, alas ! my dearest Shepherd. Shepherd. Pity me ! how they moan, and groan, and greet and wring their hauns, and tear their hair, even auld folk their thin grey hair, when death comes into the bed-room, or the verra drawing-room, and carries aff in his clutches some wee bit spoiled bairn, yaummerin * amang its playthings, or keepin its mither awake a'nicht by its perpetual cries ! North. Touch tenderly, James on Shepherd. Ane wad think that nae parents had ever lost a child afore yet hoo mony a sma' funeral do you see ilka day pacin alang the streets unheeded on, amang the carts and hackney-coaches ? Taummerin fretting. 276 Undemonstrative Sorrow. North. Unheeded, as a party of upholsterer's men carrying furniture to a new house. Shepherd. There is little or naething o' this thochtlesa this senseless clamor in kintra-houses, when the cloud o' God's judgment passes ower them, and orders are gien for a grave to be dug in the kirkyard. A' the house is hushed and quate just the same as if the patient were still sick, and no gane * avra the father, and perhaps the mother, the brothers, and the sisters, are a' gaun about their ordinary business, wi' grave faces nae doubt, and some o' them now and then dichtin the draps frae their eeu ; but, after the first black day, little audible greetin, and nae indecent and impious outcries. North. The angler calling in at the cottage would never know that a corpse was the cause of the calm. Shepherd. Rich folk, if they saw sic douce, f composed ongoings, wad doubtless wonder to think hoo callous, hoo insensible were the puir ! that natur had kindly denied to them those fine feelings that belong to cultivated life ! But if they heard the prayer o' the auld man at nicht, when the survivin family were on their knees around the wa', and his puir wife neist him in the holy circle, they wad ken better, arid confess that there is something as sublime as it is sin- cere and simple in the resignation and piety of those humble Christians, whose doom it is to live by the sweat o' their brow, and who are taught, almost frae the cradle to the grave, to feel every hour they breathe, that all they enjoy, and all they suffer, is dropt doun frae the hand o' God almost as visibly as the dew or the hail, and hence their faith in things unseen and eternal is firm as their belief in things seen and temporal and that they a' feel, sir, when lettin doun the coffin into the grave ! (Jane Uone. The Monotony of Scottish Music. 277 North. Scottish Music, my dear James, is to me rather monotonous. Shepherd. So is Scottish Poetry, sir. It has nae great range ; but human natur never wearies o' its ain prime elementary feelings. A man may sit a haill nicht by his ingle, wi' his wife and bairns, without either thinkin or feelin muckle ; and yet he's perfectly happy till bed-time, and says his prayers wi' fervent gratitude to the Giver o' a' mercies. It's only whan he's beginnin to tire o' the hummin o' the wheel, or o' his wife flytin at the weans, or o' the weans upsettin the stools, or ruggin ane anither's hair, that his fancy takes a very poetical flight into the regions o' the Imagination. Sae lang's the heart sleeps amang its affec- tions, it dwalls upon few images ; but these images may be infinitely varied ; and when expressed in words, the variety will be felt. Sae that, after a', it's scarcely correct to ca' Scottish Poetry monotonous, or Scottish Music either, ony mair than you would ca' a kintra level, in bonny gentle ups and downs, or a sky dull, though the clouds were neither mony nor multiform ; a' depends upon the spirit. Twa-three notes may mak a maist beautifu' tune, twa-three woody knowes a bonny landscape ; and there are some bit streams amang the hills, without ony striking or very peculiar scenery, that it's no possible to dauner along at gloamin without feelin them to be visionary, as if they flowed through a land o' glamour. North. James, I wish you would review for Maga all those fashionable Novels Novels of High Life ; such as Pelham the Disowned Shepherd. I've read thae twa, and they're baith gude. But the mair I think on't, the profounder is rny conviction that the strength o' human nature lies either in the highest or lowest estate of life. 278 North's very Nose Tickler. Is this Tay or Tweed salmon, James ? Shepherd. Tay, to be sure it has the Perthshire accent, very pallateable. But, to speak plain, they may baith gang to thedeevil forme, without excitin ony mair emotion in my mind than you are doin the noo, Tickler, by puttin a bit o 1 cheese on your forefinger, and then, by a sharp smack on the palm, makin the mites spang into your mouth. Tickler. I was doing no such thing, Hogg. Shepherd. North, wasua he ? Puir auld useless body ! he's asleep. Age will tell. He canna staun* a heavy sooper noo as he used to do the toddy tells noo a hantle faster t upon him, and the verra fire itself drowzifies him noo intil a dwawm na, even the sound o' arie's vice, lang continued, lulls him noo half or haill asleep, especially if your talk like mine demands thocht and there indeed, you see, Mr. Tickler, how his chin fa's doun on his breast, till he seems but for a slight snore the image o' death. Heaven preserve us only listen to that ! Did ye ever hear the like o' that ? What is't ? Is't a musical snuff-box ? or what is't ? Has he gotten a wee fairy musical snuff-box, I ask you, Mr. Tickler, within the nose o' him ? or what or wha is't that's playin that tune ? Tickler. It is indeed equally beautiful and mysterious. Shepherd. I never heard " Auld Langsyne " played mair exactly in a' my life. Tickler " List O list ! if ever thou didst thy dear father love J " Shepherd (going up on tip-toes to Mr. North, and putting his ear close to the gentleman's nse). By all that's miraculous, he is snoring " Auld Langsyne ! " The Eolian harp's naething to that it canna play a regular tune but there's no a sweeter, safter, mair pathetic wund instrument in being than his nose. Sfaun - etami. f A haru- of Population, written in opposition to Malthus. 296 North demands Satisfaction, [Mr. NORTH advances toward the SHKPHKRD in an offensive attitude. The. SHEPHERD seizes the poker in one hand, and a chair in the other. Shepherd. Ilaud aff, sir, hand aff or I'll brain you. Diuna pick a quarrel wi' me. I've dune a' I could to prevent it ; but the provocation I received was past a' endurance. Haud aff, sir, haud aff. North, Coward ! coward ! coward ! Shepherd. Flyte * awa, sir flyte awa ; but haud aff, or I'll fell you. North (resuming his seat). I am unwilling to hurt you, James, on account of those at Mount Benger ; but lay down the poker and lay down the chair. Shepherd. Na na na. Unless you first swear on the Bible that you'll tak nae unfair advantage. North. Let my word suffice I won't. Now go to that press and you will see a pair of gloves. Bring them to me \The SHEPHERD fetches the gloves. Shepherd. Ca' you thae gloves ? North, (stripping and putting on the gloves). Now, sir, use your fists as you best may and in five minutes I shall take the conceit out of you Shepherd (peeling to the sark). I'll sune gie you a bluidy nose. f The combatants shake hands and put themselves int) attitude. North. Take care of your eyes. fSHEPHERD elevates his guard and NORTH delivers a dts- perate right-handed lunge on his kidneys. Shepherd. That's no fair, ye auld blackguard. North. Well, then, is that ? ("SHEPHERD receives two left-handed facers, which ' bavin been born and bred in bonny Scotland. What can ye ken o' Kilmeny ? English Opium-Eater (smiling graciously). 'Tis a ballad breathing the sweetest, simplest, wildest spirit of Scottish traditionary song music, as of some antique instrument, long lost, but found at last in the Forest among the decayed roots of trees, and touched, indeed, as by an instinct, by the only man who could reawaken its sleeping chords the Ettrick Shepherd. Shepherd. Na if you say that sincerely and I never saw a broo smoother wi' truth than your ain I maun qualify my former apothegm, and alloo you to be an exception frae the general rule. I wush, sir, you would write a Glossary o' tbe Scottish Language. I ken naebody fitter. North. Our distinguished guest is aware that this is " All Fool's Day," and must, on that score, pardon these court- dresses. We consider them, my dear sir, appropriate to this Anniversary. Shepherd. Mine wasna originally a court-dress. It's the uniform o' the Border Club. But nane o' the ither members would wear them, except me and the late Dyuk o' Buccleuch. So when the King cam to Scotland, and expeckit to be intro- duced to me at Holyroodhouse, I got the tiler at Yarrow- Ford to cut itdoun after a patron * frae Embro' English Opium-Eater. Green and gold to my eyes the most beautiful of colors, the one characteristic of earth, the other of heaven and therefore, the two united, emblematic of genius. Shepherd. Oh ! Mr. De Quinshy sir, but you're a pleasant cretur and were I ask't to gie a notion o' your mainners to them that had never seen you, I should just use twa words, Urbanity and Amenity ineaniu, by the first, that saft, bricht * Patron pattern. 826 The Swords are laid aside. polish that a man gets by leevin amang gentleman scholars in ton i is and cities, burnished on the solid metal o' a happy nutur hardened by the rural atmosphere o' the pure kintra air, in which I ken you hae ever delighted ; and by the ither, a peculiar sweetness, amaist like that o' a woman's, yet sae far frae bein' feminine, as masculine as thato' Allen Ramsay's aiu Gentle Shepherd and breathin o' a harmonious union between the heart, the intelleck, and the imagination, a' the three keepin their ain places, and thus makiu the vice,* speech, gesture, and motion o' a man as composed as a figure on a pictur by some painter that was a master in his art, and produced his effects easily and ane kens na hoo by his lichts arid shadows. Mr. North, amna f I richt in the thocht, if no in the expression ? North. You have always known my sentiments, James Shepherd. I'm thirikiu we had better lay aside our swurds. They're kittle dealin when a body's stannin or walkin ; but the very deevil's in them when ane claps his doup on a chair, for here's the hilt o' mine interferin wi' my ladle-hand. Tickler. Why, James, you have buckled it on the wrong side. Shepherd. What ? Is the richt the wrang ? North. Let us all untackle. Mr. Ambrose, hang up each man's sword on his own hat-peg. There. North. Hark ! my gold repeater is smiting seven. We allow an hour, Mr. De Quincey, to each course and then [ Tlie LEANDERS play " TJie Boatie Rows" the doorfliet open, enter PICARDY and his clan. * pce voice. t Ammtnm not. The simple Coo's Horn" SECOND COURSE FISH. TICKLER. 327 ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. Shepherd. I'm sure we canna be sufficiently gratefu' for having got rid o' a' thae empty tureens o' soup so let us noo set in for serious eatin, and tackle to the inhabitants o' the Great Deep. What's that bit body, North, been about? Daidlin * wi' the mock-turtle. I hate a' things mock soups, pearls, fause tails, baith bustles and queues, wigs, cauves, religion, freenship, love, glass-een, rouge on the face o' a woman, no' exceppin even cork legs, for timmer anes are far better, there bein' nae attempt at deception, which ought never to be pratised on ony o' God's reasonable creatures it's sae insultin. English Opium-Eater. Better open outrage than hidden guile, which Shepherd. Just sae, sir. But it's no a bonny instmment, that key-bugle ? I've been tryin to learn't a' this wuuter, beginnin at first wi' the simple coo's-horn. But afore I had weel gotten the gamut, I had nearly lost my life. Tickler. What ? From mere loss of breath positive ex- haustion ? An abscess in the lungs, James ? Daidlin trifling. 328 Tlie Shepherd's Adventure. Shepherd. Nothing o' the sort. I hae wund and lungs foi ony thing even for roarin you doun at argument, whau, driven to the wa'. you begin to storm like a Stentor, till the verra neb o' the jug on the dirlin table regards you wi' astonish- ment, and the speeders are seen rinnin alang tlie ceilin to shelter themselves in their corner cobwebs. (Cauna ye learn frae Mr. De Quinshy, man, to speak laigh and lown, trustin mair to sense and less to soun', and you'll find your advan- tage in't?, But I allude, sir, to an Adventure. North. An adventure, James ? Shepherd. Ay an adventure but as there's nane o' you for cod's-head and shouthers, I'll first fortify mysel wi' some forty or fifty flakes like half-crown pieces. Tickler Some cod, James, if you please. Shepherd. Help yoursel I'm unco thrang * the noo. Mr. De Quinshy, what fish are you devoorin ? English Opium-Eater. Soles. Shepherd. And you, Mr. North ? North. Salmon. Shepherd. And you, Mr. Tickler? TicUer. Cod. Shepherd. You're a' in your laconics. I'm fear'd for the banes, otherwise, after this cod's dune, 1 sud like gran' to gie that pike a yokin. I ken him for a Linlithgow loon by the length o' his lantern-jaws, and the peacock-neck color o' the dorsal ridge and I see by the jut o' his stammack there's store o' stuffin. There'll be naething between him and me, when the cod's dune for, but halibut and turbot the first the wershest and maist fushionless o' a' swimmin creturs and the second ower rich, unless you intend eatin no other specie o' fish. Tickler. Now for your adventure my dear Shepherd. * Thrang busy. With the Bonassus. 329 Shtpherd. Whisht and you'se hear't. I gaed out ae day, ayont the knowe the same, Mr. North, that kythes* aboon the bit field whare I tried, you ken, to raise a counterband crap o' tobacco and sat doun on a brae among the brackens then a' red as the heavens in sunset tootin awa on the Horn, cttlin first at B flat, and then at A sharp, when I hears, at llie close o' a lesson, what I thocht the grandest echo that ever cam frae a mountain-tap an echo like a rair o' the ghost of ane o' the Bulls o' Bashan, gane mad amang other horned spectres like himsel in the howef o' the cloudy sky English Opium-Eater. Mr. North, allow me to direct your attention to that image, which seems to me perfectly original, and at the same time perfectly true to nature ; original I am entitled to call it, since I remember nothing resembling it, either essentially or accidentally, in prose or verse, in the literature of Antiquity, in that of the middle, ordinarily, but ignorantly, called the Dark Ages, in that which arose in Europe after the revival of letters though assuredly letters had not sunk into a state from which it could be said with any precision that they did revive, or in that of our own Times, which seems to me to want that totality and unity which alone constitute an Age, otherwise but a series of un- connected successions, destitute of any causative principal of cohesion or evolvement. True to nature no less am 1 en- titled to call the image, inasmuch as it giveth, not indeed " to airy nothing a local habitation and a name," but to an " airy something," namely, the earthly bellowing of an animal, whose bellow is universally felt to be terrific, nay, moreover, and therefore sublime, (for that terror lieth at the root if not always, yet of verity in by for the greater number of in stances of the true sublime, from early boyhood my intellect Kj/thes shows iteelf. t Howe hollow. 3CO The Shepherd's Adventure. saw, and my imagination felt to be among the great primdl intuitive truths of our spiritual frame), because it giveth, I repeat, to the earthly bellowing of such an animal an aerial character, which, for the moment, deludes the mind into a belief of the existence of a cloudy kine, spectral in the sky- region, else thought to be the dwelling-place of silence and vacuity, and thus an affecting, impressive nay, most solemn and almost sacred feeling, is impressed on the sovereign reason of the immortality of the brute creatures, a doctrine that visits us at those times only when our own being breathes in the awe of divining thought, and disentangling her wings from all clay encumbrances, is strong in the consciousness of her DEATHLESS ME so Fichte and Schelling speak Shepherd. Weel, sir, you see, doun cam on my " DEATHLESS ME " the Bonatsus, head cavin, tail-tuft on high, hinder legs visible ower his neck and shouthers, and his hump clothed in thunder, 1'. uder in his ae single sel than a wheeling charge o' a haill regiment o' dragoon cavalry on the Portobello sands, doun cam the Bonassus, I say, like the Horse Life Guards takin a park o' French artillery at Waterloo, richt doun, Heaven hae mercy ! upon me, his ain kind maister, wha had fed him on turnips, hay and straw ever sin Lammas, till the monster was as fat's he could l:e in the hide o' him and naething had I to defend mysel wi' but that silly coo's horn. A' the collies were at hame. Yet in my fricht deadly as it was I was thankfu' wee Jamie wasna there lookin for prim- roses for he micht hae lost his judgment. You understand, I he Bonassus had mista'en my B sharp for anither Bonassus challengin him to single combat.* English Opium-Eater. A very plausible theory. Shepherd. Thank you, sir, for that commentary on ma text * Tbe naturalization of the BODHSBUB in Ettrick IB described at page 160. With the Bonassus. 331 for it has gien me time to plouter amang the chouks * o' the cod. Faith, it was nae theory, sir, it was practice and Afore I could fin' my feet, he was sae close upon me that I could see up his nostrils. Just at that moment I remembered that I had on an auld red jacket the ane that was ance sky- blue, you ken, Mr. North, that I had gotten dyed and that made the Bonassus just an evendoun Bedlamite. For amaiat a' horned cattle hate and abhor red coats. North. So I have heard the army say alike in town and country. Shepherd. What was to be done ! I thocht o' tootin the horn as the trumpeter did when run aff wi' in the mouth o' a tengger ; but then I recollected that it was a' the horn's blame that the Bonassus was there so I lost uae time in that specu- lation, but slipping aff my breeks, jackets, waistcoat, shirt, and a', just as you've seen an actor on the stage, I appeared, suddenly before him as naked as the day I was born and sic is the awe, sir, wi' which a human being, in puris naturalibus, inspires the maddest of the brute creation (I had tried it auce before on a mastiff), that he was a' at ance, in a single mo- ment, stricken o' a heap, just the very same as if the butcher had sank the head o' an aix intil his harn-pan his knees trummled like a new-dropped lamb's his tail, tuft and a' had nae mair power in't than a broken thrissle-stalk his een goggled instead o' glowered a heartfelt difference, I assure you Engiish Opium Eater. It seems to be, Mr. Hogg but you will pardon me if I am mistaken a distinction without a difference, as the logicians say Shepherd. Ay, De Quinshy, ma man logician as you are, had you stood in my shoon, you had gotten yoursel on baith horns o' the dilemma. * Chouks jaws. 332 The Flight to Moffat. North. Did you cut off his retreat to the Loch, James, and lake him prisoner ? Shepherd. I did. Poor silly sumph ! I canna help thinkiu that he swarfed ; though perhaps he was only pretendiu so I mounted him, and putting my worsted garters through his nose it had been bored when he was a wild beast in a cara- van I keepit peggin his ribs wi' my heels, till, after gruntin and grainiii,* and raisiu his great big unwieldy red bouk f half frae up the earth, and then swelteriu doun again, if ance, at least a dizzen times, till I began absolutely to weary o' my situation in life, he feenally recovered his cloots,J and, as if inspired wi' a new speerit, aff like lichtnin to the mountains. North. What ! without a saddle, James ? You must have felt the loss I mean the want, of leather Stiepherd. We ride a' mainner o' animals bare-backed in the Forest, sir. I hae seen a bairn, no aboon fowre year auld, ridin hame the Bill at the gloamiu a' the kye at his tail, like a squadron o' cavalry anint Joachim Murat, King o' Naples Mr. North, gin ye keep eatin sae vorawciously at the sawmon, you'll hurt yoursel. Fish is heavy. Dinna spare the vinegar, if you will be a glutton. North. Ma! Shepherd. But, as I was sayin, awa went the Bonassus due west. Though you could hardly ca't even a snaffle, yet I soon found that I had a strong purchase, and bore him doun frae the heights to the turnpike road that cuts the kintra frae Selkirk to Moffat. There does I encounter three gigfu's o' gentlemen and leddies ; and ane o' the latter a bonny cretur leuch as if she kent me, as I gaed by at full gallop and I remembei'ed ha'in seen her afore, though where I couldna * Orainin groaning. t Bouk bulk. $ Gloots feet. { "Ala!" North is too intent npon eating to return an articulate aswer. Tlie Fliyht to Moffat. tell ; but a' the lave shrieked as if at the visible superstition o' the Water- Kelpie on the Water-Horse mistakin day for nicht in the delirium o' a fever and thinkin that it had been the moon shining down on his green pastures aneath the Loch, when it was but the shadow o' a lurid cloud. But I s^on vanished into distance. Tickler. Where the deuce were your clothes all this time, my dear matter-of-fact Shepherd ? Shepherd. Ay there was the rub. In the enthusiasm of the moment I had forgotten them nay, such was the state of excitement to which I had worked myself up, that, till I met the three gigfu's o' leddies and gentlemen a marriage party full in the face, I was not, Mr. De Quinshy, aware of being so like the Truth. Then I felt, all in a moment, that I was a Mazeppa. But had I turned back, they would have supposed that I had intended to accompany them to Selkirk; and therefore, to allay all such fears, I made a show o' fleein far awa aff into the interior into the cloudland of Loch Skene and the Grey Mare's Tail. English. Opium-Eater. Your adventure, Mr. Hogg, would fur- nish a much better subject for the painter, or for the poet, than the Mazeppa of Byron. For it is not possible to avoid feeling, that in the image of a naked man on horseback, there is an involution of the grotesque in the picturesque of the truly ludicrous in the falsely sublime. But, further, the thought of bonds whether of cordage or of leather on a being naturally free is degrading to the moral, intellectual, and physical dignity of the creature so constricted ; and it ought ever to be the grand aim of poetry to elevate and exalt. Moreover, Mazeppa, in being subjected to the scornful gaze of hundreds nay, haply of thousands of spectators the base retinue of a barbarous power in a state of utter- most nudity, was subjected to an ordeal of shame and rage, 334 The English Opium-Eater. which neither the contemplative nor imaginative mind could brook to see applied to even the veriest outcast scutn oi our race. He was, in fact, placed naked in a moving pillory and the hissing shower of scornful curses by which he was by those barbarians assailed, is as insupportable to our thoughts as an irregular volley, or street-firing of rotten eggs, dis- charged by the hooting rabble against some miscreant stand- ing with his face through a hole in the wood, with his crime placarded on his felon breast. True, that as Mazeppa " recoils into the wilderness," the exposure is less repulsive to common imagination ; but it is not to common imagination that the highest poetry is addressed ; and, therefore, though to the fit reader there be indeed some relief or release from shame in the " deserts idle," yet doth not the feeling of degradation so subside as to be merged in that pleasurable state of the soul essential to the effect of the true and legiti- mate exercise of poetical power. Shame pursues him faster than the wolves ; nor doth the umbrage of the forest-trees, that fly past him in his flight, hide his nakedness, which, in some other conditions, being an attribute of his nature, might even be the source to him and to us of a high emotion, but which here, being forcibly and violently imposed against his will be the will of a brutal tyrant, is but an accident of his position in space and time, and therefore unfit to be perma- nently contemplated in a creature let loose before the Imagi- native Faculty. Nor is this vital vice so let me call it in anywise cured or alleviated by his subsequent triumph, when he returns as he himself tells us he did at the head of " twice ten thousand horse ! " for the contrast only serves to deepen and darken the original nudity of his intolerable doom. The mother-naked man still seems to be riding in front of all his cavalry ; nor, in this case, has the poet's art sufficed to reinstate him in his pristine dignity, and to efface all remem- Analyses the Adventure. 335 brance of the degrading process of stripping and of binding, to which of yore the miserable Nude had been compelled to yield, as helpless as an angry child ignominiously whipt by a nurse, till its mental sufferings may be said to be lost in its physical agonies. Think not that I wish to withhold from Byron the praise of considerable spirit and vigor of execu- tion in his narrative of the race ; but that praise may duly belong to very inferior powers, and I am now speaking of Mazeppa in the light of a great Poem. A great Poem it assuredly is not ; and how small a Poem it assuredly is, must be felt by all who have read, and are worthy to read, Homer's description of the dragging, and driving, and whirling of the dead body of Hector in bloody nakedness behind the chariot wheels of Achilles. Shepherd. I never heard onything like that in a' my days. Weel, then, sir, there were nae wolves to chase me and the Bonassus, nor yet mony trees to overshadow us ; but we made the cattle and the sheep look about them, and mair nor ae hooded craw and lang-necked heron gat a fricht, as we came suddenly on him through the mist, and gaed thundering by the cataracts. In an hour or twa I began to get as firm on my seat as a Centaur ; and discovered by the chasms that tho Bonassus was not only as fleet as a racer, but that he could loup like a hunter, and thocht nae mair o' a thirty-feet spang than ye wad think o' stepping across the gutter. Ma faith, we werena lang o' being in Moffat ! English Opium-Eater. In your Flight, Mr. Hogg, there were visibly and audibly concentrated all the attributes of the highest Poetry. First, freedom of the will ; for self-impelled you ascended the animal. Secondly, the impulse, though immediately consequent upon, and proceeding from, one of fear, was yet an impulse of courage ; and courage is not only a virtue, and acknowledged to be such in all Christain countries. 836 The Analysis its continued. but among the Romans who assuredly, however low thoj must be ranked on the intellectual scale, were nevertheless morally a brave people to it alone was given the name virtus. Thirdly, though you were during your whole flight so far passive that you yielded to the volition of the creature yet were you likewise, during your whole course, so far active, that you guided, as it appears, the motions which it was beyond your power entirely to control ; thus vindicating in your own person the rights of the superior order of crea- tion. Fourthly, you were not so subjugated by the passion peculiar and appropriate to your situation, as to be insensible to or regardless of the courtesies, the amenities, and the humanities of civilised life as witness that glance of mutual recognition that passed in one moment, between you and the " bonny creature " in the gig; nor yet to be inattentive to the effect produced by yourself and the Bonassus on various tribes of the inferior creatures, cattle, sheep, crows, and herons, to say nothing of the poetical delight experienced by you from the influence of the beautiful or august shows of nature, mists, clouds, cataracts, and the eternal mountains. Fifthly, the constantly accompanying sense of danger inter- fused with that of safety, so as to constitute one complex emotion, under which, hurried as you were, it may be said with perfect truth that you found leisure to admire, nay, even to wonder at, the strange speed of that most extraordinary animal and most extraordinary he must be, if the only living representative of his species since the days of Aristotle nor less to admire and wonder at your own skill, equally, if not more, miraculous, and well entitled to throw into the shade of oblivion the art of the most illustrious equestrian that ever " witched the world with noble horsemanship.' 1 Sixthly, the sublime feeling of penetrating, like a thunderbolt, cloud-land and all the mist cities that evanished as you The Peroration. 33? galloped into their suburVe, gradually giving way to a feeling no less sublime, of having left behind all those unsubstantial phantom-regions, and of nearing the habitation or tabernacle of men, known by the name of Moffat perhaps one of the most imaginative of all the successive series of states of your soul since first you appeared among the hills, like Sol entering Taurus. And, finally, the deep trance of home-felt delight that must have fallen upon your spirit true still to all the sweetest and most sacred of all the social affections when, the Grey Mare's Tail left streaming far behind that of the Bonassus, you knew from the murmur of that silver stream that your flight was about to cease till, lo ! the pretty village of which you spoke, embosomed in hills and trees the sign of the White Lion, perad venture, motionless in the airless calm a snug parlor with a blazing ingle re-ap- parelling instant, almost as thought food both for man and beast for the Ettrick Shepherd pardon my familiarity for sake of friendship and his Bonassus. Yea, from goal to goal, the entire Flight is Poetry, and the original idea of nakedness is lost or say rather veiled in the halo-light of imagination. Shepherd. Weel, if it's no provokin, Mr. De Quinshy, to hear you, who never was on a Bonassus a' your days, ana- leezin, wi' the maist comprehensive and acute philosophical accuracy, ma complex emotion during the Flight to Moffat f:ir better than I could do mysel North. Your genius, James, is synthetical. Shepherd. Synthetical ? I howp no at least nae mair sae than the genius o' Burns or Allan Kinninghame or the lave for English Opium- Eater. What is the precise Era of the Flight to Moffat ? Shepherd. Mr. De Quinshy, you're like a' ither great 388 The Bonassus is diamissed. philosophers, ane o' the maist credulous o' mankind ! You wad believe me were I to say that I had ridden a whale up the Yarrow frae Newark to Eltrive ! the haill story's a lee! and sa free o' ony foundation in truth, that I wad hae nae objections to tak my Bible-oath that sic a beast as a Bonassus never was creawted and it's lucky for him that he never was, for, seeing that he's said to consume three bushel o' ingans to denner every day o' his life, Noah wad never hae letten him intil the Ark, and he wad hae been fu id, after the subsidin o' the waters, a skeleton on the tap o' Mount Ararat. English Opium- Eater. His non-existence in nature is alto- gether distinct from his existence in the imagination of the poet and, in good truth, redounds to his honor for his character must be viewed in the light of a pure Ens rationis or say rather Shepherd. Just let him be an Ens rationis. But confess at the same time, that you was bammed, sir. English Opium-Eater. I recognize the legitimate colloquial uae of the word .Bam, Mr. Hogg, denoting, I believe, " the willing surrendering of belief, one of the first principles of our mental constitution, to any statement made with apparent sincerity, but real deceit, by a mind not pre- viously suspected to exist in a perpetual atmosphere of falsehood." Shepherd. Just sae, sir, that's a Sam. In Glasgow they ca't a ggeg. But what's the matter wi' Mr. North ? Saw ye ever the cretur lookin sae gash ? * I wish he mayna be in a fit o' apoplexy. Speak till him, Mr. De Quiushy. English Opium-Eater. His countenance is, indeed, omin- ously sable, but 'tis most unlikely that apoplexy should strike a person of his spare habit. Nay, I must sit cor * Qash sagacious : here, in the seuse of " solemn." A Fit of Apoplexy. 339 rected ; for I believe that attacks of this kind have, within the last quarter of a century, become comparatively frequent, and constitute one of the not least perplexing phenomena submitted to the inquisition of Modern Medical Science. Mr. North, will you relieve our anxiety ? Shepherd (starting up, and flying to Mr. North). His face a' purple. Confoun' that cravat ! for the mair you pu' at it, the tichter it grows. English Opium-Eater. Mr. Hogg, I would seriously and earnestly recommend more delicacy and gentleness. Shepherd. Tuts. It's fastened I declare, ahint wi' a gold buckle, and afore wi' a gold preen, a brotch frae Mrs. Gentle, in the shape o' a bleedin heart ! 'Twill be the death o' him. Oh ! puir fallow, puir fallow ! rax* me ower that knife. What's this ? You've given me the silver fish-knife, Mr. De Quinshy. Na, that's far waur, Mr. Tickler. That swurd for carvin the round. But here's my ain jockteleg.f SHEPHERD unclasps his pocket-knife, and while brandish- ing in great trepidation, Mr. NORTH opens his eyes. North. Emond ! Emond ! Emond ! Thurtell Thurtell Thurtell !J Shepherd. A drap o' bluid's on his brain, and Reason becomes Raving ! What's man ? Tickler. Cut away, James. Not a moment to be lost. Be firm and decided, else he is a dead heathen. Shepherd. Wae's me wae's me ! Nae goshawk ever sae glowered, and only look at his puir fingers hoo they are workin ! I canna thole the sicht, I'm as weak's a wean, and fear that I'm gaun to fent. Tak the knife, Tickler Oh, look at his hauns look at his hauns L * Rax reach. t JocMelega. folding-knife. J Robert Emond was tried in Edinburgh on the 8th of February, and executed on the 17th of March 1830, for the murder of Katherine Franks and her daughter Madeline, in their house at Abbey, near Haddington. 340 The Pike's Back-lone Tickler (bending over Mr. North). Yes, yes, my dear sir 1 comprehend you I Shepherd (in anger and astonishment). Mr. Tickler, are you mail ? .ingerin your fingers in that gate, as if you were mockin him ! English Opium-Eater. They are conversing, Mr. Hogg, in that language which originated in Oriental Shepherd. Oh ! they're speakin on their fingers ? Then a's richt, and Mr. North's comin roun' again intil his seven senses. It's been but a dwawm ! Tickler. Mr. North has just contrived to communicate to me, gentlemen, the somewhat alarming intelligence that the back-bone of the pike has for some time past been sticking about half-way down his throat ; that, being unwilling to interrupt the conviviality of the company, he endeavored at first to conceal the circumstance, and then made the most strenuous efforts to dislodge it, upwards or downwards, with- out avail ; but that you must not allow yourselves to fall into any extravagant consternation, as he indulges the fond hope that it may be extracted, even without professional assistance, by Mr. De Quinshy, who has an exceedingly neat small Byronish hand, and on whose decision of character he places the most unfaltering reliance. Shepherd (in a huff). Does he ! Very weel sin he for- gets auld freens let him do sae North. Ohrr Hogrwhu chru u u u Hogru- whuu Shepherd. Na ! I canna resist sic pleadin eloquence as that here's the screw, let me try it. Or what think ye, Mr. Tickler, what think ye, Mr. De Quinshy, o' thir pair o' boot-hooks ? Gin I could get a cleek o' the bane by ane o' the vertebrae, I might hoise it gently up, by slaw degrees, sae that ane cou.d get at it wi' their fingers, and then pu' it In Mr. North's Throat. 341 out o' his mouth in a twinklin ! But first let me look doun his throat. Open your mouth, my dearest sir. [MR. NORTH leans back his head, and opens his mouth. Shepherd. I see't like a harrow. Rin ben baith o' ye, for Mr. Awmrose. [TICKLER and Mr. DE QUJNCEY obey. Weel ackit, sir wee! ackit I was taen in mysel at first, for your cheeks were like coals. Here's the back-bane o' the pike on the trencher I'll (Re-enter TICKLER and OPIUM-EATER, with Mr. AMBROSE, pale as death.) It's all over, gentlemen. It's all over! Ambrose. Oh ! oh ! oh ! [Faints away into TICKLER'S arms. Shepherd. What the deevil's the matter wi' you, you set o' fules ? I've gotten out the bane. Look here at the skeleton o' the shark! English Opium-Eater. Monstrous! North (running to the assistance of Mr. AMBROSE). We have sported too far, I fear, with his sensibilities. English Opium-Eater. A similar case of a fish-bone in Germany Shepherd. Mr. De Quinshy, can you really swallow that ? [Looking at the pike-back, about two feet long. But the hour has nearly expired. ~ The LEANDERS play " Hey, Johnnie Cope, are you wauken yet 1 ? " Mr. AMBROSE starts to his feet, runs off and re- appears almost instanter at the head of the forces. 342 * Hungers naething till THIRD COURSE-FLESH. TICKLER. Beef-Steak Pic. Haunch of Venison. Rump. ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. Shepherd (in continuation). And do you really think, Mr North, that the kintra's in great and general distress, and a orders in a state o' absolute starvation ? North. Yes James although the Duke * cannot see the sufferings of his subjects, I can and Shepherd. Certain appearances do indicate national dis- tress ; yet I think I could, withouten meikle difficulty, lay my haun the noo on ithers that seem to lead to a different conclusion. North. No sophistry, James. Shepherd. Hunger's naething till Thrust. Ance in the middle o' the muir o' Rannoch I had neer dee'd o' thrust. 1 was crossing frae Loch Ericht fit f to the heid o'Glenorchy, and got in amang the hags, $ that for leagues and leagues a' round that dismal region seem howked out o' the black moss by demons doomed to dreary days-dargs for their sins in the wilderness. There was naething for't but loup loup loupin out o' ae pit intil anither hour after hour till, sail * The Duke of Wellington. He was at this time Prime Minister. t Fit foot. t Hags pits whence peat has been dug. 5 Days-dargs day's labors. Lost in Rannoch. 343 forfeuchen,* I feenally gied raysel up for lost. Drought had sooked up the pools, and left their cracked bottoms barkened t in the heat. The heather was sliddery as ice, aneath that torrid zone. Sic a sun ! No ae clud on a' the sky glitterin wi' wirewoven sultriness ! The howe o' the lift $ was like a great cawdron pabblin into the boil ower a slow fire. The element of water seemed dried up out o' natur, a' except the big drops o' sweat that plashed doun on my fevered hauns, that began to trummle like leaves o' aspen. My mouth was made o' cork covered wi' dust lips, tongue, palate, and a', doun till my throat and stammack. I spak and the arid soun' was as if a buried corpse had tried to mutter through the smotherin mools. I thocht on the tongue of a parrot. The central lands o' Africa, whare lions gang ragin mad for water, when cheated out o' blood, canna be worse dreamed I in a species o' delirium than this dungeon'd desert. Oh ! but a drap o' dew would hae seein'd then pregnant wi' salva- tion ! a shower out o' the windows o' heaven, like the direct gift o' God, Rain ! Rain ! Rain ! what a world o' life in that sma' word ! But the atmosphere look'd as if it would never melt mair, intrenched against a' liquidity by brazen barriers burnin in the sun. Spittle I had nane and when in desperation I sooked the heather, 'twas frush and fushionless, as if withered by lichtnin, and a' sap had left the vegetable creation. What'n a cursed fule was I for in rage I fear I swore inwardly (Heev'n forgie me) that I didna at the last change-house put into my pouch a bottle o' whisky ! I fan' my pulse and it was thin thin thin sma' sma' sma' noo nane ava and then a nutter that telt tales o* the exhausted heart. I grat. Then shame came to my relief shame even in that utter solitude. Somewhere or ither in Forfeiichtn fatigued. t Barkened hardened, t HOIPC o' the lift hollow of the sky. Grat wept. 344 The Delirium of Thirst. tho muir I knew there was a loch, and I took out my map But the infernal idiwut that had planned it hadna allooed n yellow circle o' aboon six inches square for a' Perthshire. What's become o' a' the birds thocht I and the bees and the butterflees and the dragons ? A' wattin their bills nd their proboscisces in far-off rills, and rivers, and lochs ! O blessed wild-dyucks, plontcrin in the water, streekin theirsels up, and flappin their flashin plumage in the pearly freshness ! A great big speeder, wi' a bag-belly, was rinnin up my leg, and I crushed it in my fierceness the first inseck I ever wantonly murdered sin' I was a wean. I kenna whether at last I swarfed or slept but for certain sure T had a dream. I dreamt that I was at hame and that a tub o' whey was staunin on the kitchen dresser. I dook'd my head intil't, and sooked it dry to the wood. Yet it slokened * not my thrust, but aggravated a thousand-fauld the torment o' my greed. A thunder-plump or waterspout brak amang the hills and in an instant a' the burns were on spate ; the Yarrow roarin red, and foaming as it were mad, and I thocht I could hae drucken up a' its linns. 'Twas a brain fever, ye see, sirs, that had stricken me a sair stroke and I was con- scious again o' lying broad awake in the desert,wi' my face up to the cruel sky. I was the verra personification o' Thrust! and felt that I was ane o' the Damned Dry, doom'd for his sins to leeve beyond the reign o' the element to a' Eternity. Suddenly, like a man shot in battle, I bounded up into the air and ran off in the convulsive energy o' dying natur till dorm T fell and felt that I was about indeed to expire. A sweet, saft, celestial greenness cooled my cheek as I lay, and my burnin een and then a gleam o' something like a mighty diamond a gleam that seemed to comprehend within itsel the haill universe shone in upon and through my being I * Sickened quenched. A Robin's Nest. 345 gazed upon't wi' a* my senses. Mercifu' Heaven ! what was't but a WELL in the wilderness ! water water water, and as I drank I prayed ! Omnes. Bravo bravo bravo ! Hurra hurra hurra ! Shepherd. Analeeze that, Mr. De Quinshy. English Opium-Eater. Inspiration admits not of analysis in itself an evolvement of an infinite series Shepherd. Isna the Dolphin rather ower sweet, sirs ? We maun mak haste and drain him and neist brewst, Mrs. Awmrose maun be less lavish o' her sugar for her finest crystals are the verra concentrated essence o* saccharine sweetness, twa lumps to the mutchkin. English Opium-Eater. Mr. Hogg, that wallflower in your button -hole is intensely beautiful, and its faint wild scent mingles delightfully with the fragrance of the coffee Shepherd. And o' the toddy ae blended bawm. I pu'd it aff ane o' the auld towers o' Newark, this morning, frae a constellation o' starry blossoms, that a' nicht lang had been drinkin the dews, arid at the dawin could hardly hand up their heads, sae laden was the haill bricht bunch wi' the pearlins o' heaven. And would ye believe't, a bit robin- redbreast had bigged its nest in a cozy cranny o' the moss wa', ahint the wallflower, a perfect paradise to brood and breed in, out flew the dear wee beastie wi' a flutter in my face, and every mouth opened as I keeked in and then a' was hushed again just like my ain bairnies in ae bed at hame no up yet for the hours were slawly iutrudin on the " innocent brichtness o' the new-born day ; " and it was, guessing by the shadowleas light on the tower and trees, only about four o'clock in the mornin. Tickler. I was just then going to bed. Shepherd. Teetus Vespawsian used to say sometimes : " 1 846 " Ggemm and Fools ! " have lost a day" but the sluggard loses a' his life, and lets it slip through his hauns like a knotless thread. English Opium-Eater. I am no sluggard, Mr. Hogg yet I Shepherd. Change nicht into day, and day into nicht, rinnin coonter to natur, insultin the sun, and quarrellin wi' the equawtor. That's no richt. Nae man kens what Beau- ty is that hasna seen her a thousan' and a thousan' times lyin on the lap o' nature, asleep in the dawn on an earthly bed a spirit maist divine. . . . Whisht, I heard a fissliu in the gallery ! North. Leander ! (The horns sound, and enter ol nspt AMBROSE.) Shepherd ( in continuation). Ggeuam ! and Fools ! FOURTH COURSE FOWL. T1CKLEK. Chickens. !..._ ' ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. North, (in continuation). The Greek Tragedy, James, was austere in its principles as the Greek Sculpture. Its sub- jects were all of ancestral and religious consecration ; its style, high, and heroic, and divine, admitted no inter- mixture even of mirth, or seldom and reluctantly, much less Sophocles and Shakespeare. 347 of grotesque and fantastic extravagances of humor, which would have marred the consummate dignity, beauty, and magnificence of all the scenes that swept along that enchanted floor. Such was the spirit that shone on the soft and the stately Sophocles. But Shakespeare came from heaven and along with him a Tragedy that poured into one cup the tears of mirth and madness ; showed Kings one day crowned with jewelled diadems, and another day with wild wisps of straw ; taught the Prince who, in single combat " Had quench'd the flame of hot rebellion Even in the rebels' blood," to moralize on the field of battle over the carcase of a fat buffoon wittily simulating death among the bloody corpses of English nobles ; nay, showed the son and that son, prince, philosopher, paragon of men jocularly conjuring to rest his Father's Ghost, who had revisited earth " by the glimpses of the moon, making night hideous." Shepherd. Stop stop, sir. That's aneuch to prove your pint. . . . And sae your auld freen's dead. What kirkyard was he buried in ? North. Greyfriars. Shepherd. An impressive place. Huge, auld, red, gloomy church a countless multitude 'o grass graves a' touchin ane anither a' roun the kirkyard wa's marble and freestane monuments without end, o' a' shapes, and sizes, and ages some quaint, some queer, some simple, some ornate ; for genius likes to work upon grief and these tombs are like towers and temples, partakin not o' the noise o' the city, but staunin aloof frae the stir o' life, aneath the sombre shadow o' the Castle cliff, that heaves its battlements far up into the sky. A sublime cemetery yet I sudna like to be interred in't it looks sae dank, clammy, cauld 848 By the Sea-shore. T\ckler. And uncomfortable. A corpse would be apt to catch its death of cold. Shepherd. Whisht. Where did he leeve ? North. On the sea-shore. Shepherd. I couldna thole to leeve on the sea-shore. Tickler. And pray why not, James ? Shepherd. That everlastin thunner sae disturbs iny imagi- nation, that my soul has nae rest in its ain solitude, but becomes transfused as it were into the michty ocean, a' its thochts as wild as the waves that keep foamin awa into naething, and then breakin back again into transitory life for ever and ever and ever as if neither in sunshine nor moonlight, that multitudinous tumultuousness, frae the first creation o' the world, had ever ance been stilled in the blessedness o' perfect sleep. English Opium-Eater. In the turmoil of this our mortal lot, the soul's deepest bliss assuredly is, O Shepherd ! a tideless calm. Shepherd. The verra thocht, sir the verra feelin the verra word. North. What pleasanter spot, James, than a country kirk- yard? Shepherd. I steek my een and I see ane the noo in a green laigh lown spot amang the sheep-nibbled braes. A Funeral ! See that row of schoolboy laddies and lassies drawn up sae orderly o' their ain still accord, half curious and half wae,* some o' the lassies wi' lapfu's o' primroses, and gazin wi' hushed faces as the wee coffin enters in on meii'a ehouthers that never feel its wecht, wi' its doun-hangin and gracefu' velvet pall, though she that is hidden therein was the poorest o' the poor ! Twa-three days ago the body in that coffin was dancin like a sunbeam ower the verra sods that are noo about to be shovelled over it ! The flowers sh * Wat sorrowful. A fluneral in the (rlen. 349 had been gatheriu sweet, innocent, thochtless cretur then moved up and doun on her bosom when she breathed for she and nature were blest and beautifu' in their spring. An auld white-headed man, bent sairly doun, at the head o' the grave, lettin the white cord slip wi' a lingerin, reluctant tenderness through his withered hauns ! It has reached the bottom. Wasna that a dreadfu' groan, driven out o' his heart, as if a strong-haun'd man had smote it by the first fa' o' the clayey thunder on the fast-disappearing blackness o' the velvet soon hidden in the bony mould ? He's but her grandfather for she was an orphan. But her grandfather ! Wae's me ! wha is't that writes in some silly blin' book that auld age is insensible safe and secure f rae sorrow and that dim eyes are unapproachable to tears ? Tickler. Not till dotage drivels away into death. With hoariest eld often is parental love a passion deeper than ever bowed the soul of bright-haired youth, watching by the first dawn of daylight the face of the sleeping bride. Shepherd. What gal's us a' fowre talk on such topics the nicht ? Friendship ! That, when sincere as ours is sincere will sometimes saften wi' a strange sympathy merriest hearts into ae mood o' melancholy, and pitch a' their voices on ae key, and gie a' their faces ae expression, and mak them a' feel mair profoundly, because they a' feel thegither, the sadness and the sanctity different words for the same mean- ing o' this our mortal life ; I howp there's naething the maitter wi' wee Jamie. North. That there is not, indeed, my dearest Shepherd. At this very moment he is singing his little sister asleep. Shepherd. God bless you, sir ; the tone o' your voice is like silver trumpet. Mr. De Quinshy, hae you ever soum'd up the number o' your weans?* * Weans children. 350 The English Opium-Eater. English Opium-Eater. Seven. Shepherd. Stop there, sir, it's a mystical number, and may they aye be like sae mony planets in bliss and beauty circlin n mn the sun. English Opium- Eater. It seemeth strange the time when as yet those Seven Spirits were not in the body and the air which I breathed partook not of that blessedness which now to me is my life. Another sun another moon other stars since the face of my first-born. Another earth another heaven ! I loved, methought before that face smiled the lights and the shadows, the flowers and the dews, the rivulets that sing to Pilgrims in the wild, the mountain wells, where all alone the " book-bosomed " Pilgrim sitteth down and lo ! far below the many-rivered vales sweeping each to its own lake how dearly did I love ye all ! Yet was that love fantastical and verily not of the deeper soul. Imagination over this " visible diurnal sphere " spread out her own spiritual qualities, and made the beauty that beamed back upon her dreams. Nor wanted tenderest touches of humanity as my heart remembered some living flower by the door of f ar-up cottage, where the river is but a rill. But in my inner spirit there was then a dearth, which Providence hath since amply, and richly, and prodigally furnished with celestial food which is also music to the ears, and light to the eyes, and the essence of silken softness to the touch a family oi immortal spirits, who but for me never had been brought into the mystery of accountable and responsible being ! Of old I used to study the Spring but now its sweet sadness steals unawares into my heart when among the joyous lambs I see my own children at play. The shallow nest of the cushat seems now to me a more sacred thing in the obscurity of the pine-tree. The instincts of all the inferior creatures are now holy in my eyes for, like Keason's self, On Parental Love. 351 they have their origin in love. Affection for my own children has enabled me to sound the depths of gratitude. Gazing on them at their prayers, in their sleep, I have had revelations of the nature of peace, and trouble, and innocence, and sin, and sorrow, which, till they had smiled and wept, offended and been reconciled, I knew not how could I ? to be within the range of the far-flying and far-fetching spirit of love, whicli is the life-of-life of all things beneath the sun, moon and stars. Shepherd. Do ye ken, sir, that I love to hear ye speak far best ava when you lay aside your logic ? Grammar's aften a grievous and gallin burden ; but logic's a cruel constraint on thochts, and the death of feelings, which ought aye to rin blendin intil ane anither like the rainbow, or the pink, or the peacock's neck, a beautifu' confusion o' colors, that's the mair admired the mair ignorant you are o' the science o' opticks. I just perfectly abhor the word " therefore," it's sae pedantic and pragmatical, and like a doctor. What's the use o' premises ? commend me to conclusions. As for inferences, put them into the form o' apothegms, and never tell the world whence you draw them for then they look like inspiration. And dinna ye think, sir, that reasoning's far inferior to intuition ? Tickler. How are your transplanted trees, James ? Shepherd. A' dead. Tickler. I can't endure the idea of a transplanted tree. Transplantation strikes at the very root of its character as a stationary and stedfast being, flourishing where nature dropt it. You may remove a seedling ; but 'tis sacrilege to hoist up a huge old oak by the power of machinery, and stick him into another soil, far aloof from his native . spot, which for so many years he had sweetly or solemnly overshadowed. 852 Was Bogg's Greet Shepherd. Is that feelin L.O a wee owre imaginative ? Tickler. Perhaps it is and none the worse of that either for there's a tincture of imagination in all feelings of any p.th or moment nor do we require that they should always be justified by reason. On looking on a tree with any emotion of grandeur or beauty, one always has a dim notion of its endurance its growth and its decay. The place about it is felt to belong to it or rather, they mutually belong to each other, and death alone should dissolve the union. Shepherd. I fin' mysel convincin that is, being convinced but no by your spoken words, but by my ain silent thochts. I felt a' you say, and mair too, the first time I tried to trans- plant a tree. It was a birk a weepin birk and I had loved and admired it for twenty years by its ain pool, far up ane o' the grains * o' the Douglas Water, where I beat Mr. North at the fishin North. You never beat me at the fishing, sir, and never will beat me at the fishing, sir, while your name is Hogg. I killed that day in half the time double the number Shepherd. But wecht, sir wecht, sir, wecht. My creel was mair nor dooble yours's wecht and every wean kens that in fishin for a wager, wecht wins it's aye decided by wecht. North. The weight of your basket was not nearly equal to mine, you Shepherd. Confound me gin, on an average, ane o' my troots didna conteen mair cubic inches than three o' yours while I had a ane to produce that, on his first showin his snoot, I could hae swore was a sawmon ; he would hae filled the creel his ain lane sae I sent him hame wi' a callant I met gaun to the school. The feck o' yours was mere fry and some had a' the appearance o' bein' baggy mennons. You're a * Grains- -branches. The Douglas Water is a tributary of the Yarrow. Heavier than North's ? 353 gran' par-fisher, sir ; but you're naeThorburn * either at troots, morts or fish, f North (starting up in a fury). I'll fish you for Shepherd. Mr. North ! I am ashamed to see you exposin yoursel afore Mr. De Quinshy besides, thae ragin fits are dangerous and, some time or ither, 'ill bring on apoplexy. Oh ! but you're fearsome the noo -black in the face, or rather, blue and purple and a' because I said that you're nae Thor- burri at the fishin. Sit doun sit doun, sir. | Mr. NORTH sits down, and cools and calms himself, while the horns sound for the fifth course, " The gloomy nicht is gathering fast." * A noted angler on TweedsJde. t In the language of anglers, salmon alone are called flab, 23 xxn. THE BLOODY BATTLE OF THE BEES. Scene, The Arbor, Buchanan Lodge. Time, Mght o'clock. Present. NORTH, ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER, SHEPHERD, and TICKLER. Table with light wines, oranges, biscuits, almonds, and raisins. Shepherd. Rain but no star-proof, this bonny bee-hummin, bird-nest-concealin Bower, that seems but for the trellis- wark peepin out here and there where the later flowerin- shrubs are scarcely yet out o' the bud rather a production o' Nature's sel than o' the gardener's genius. Oh, sir, but in its bricht and balmy beauty 'tis even nae less than a perfeck Poem! North. Look, James, how she cowers within her couch only the point of her bill, the tip of her tail, visible so pas- sionately cleaveth the loving creature to the nestlings beneath her mottled breast, each morning beautifying from down to plumage, till next Sabbath-sun shall stir them out of their cradle, and scatter them, in their first weak wavering flight, up and down the dewy dawn of their native Paradise. Shepherd. A bit mavis ! * Hushed as a dream and like a dream to be startled aft intil ether, if you but touch the leaf- croon that o'er-canopies her head. What an ee ! Shy, yet confidin as she sits there ready to flee awa wi' a rustle in a * M ivis thrush. 354 The Nest of a Thrush. 355 moment yet linked within that rim by the chains o' love, motionless as if she were dead ! North. See she stirs ! Shepherd. Dinna be disturbed. I could glower at her for hours, musin on the mystery o' instinct, and at times for- gettin that my een were fixed but on a silly bird, for sae united are a' the affections o' sentient Natur, that you hae only to keek * in til a brush o' broom, or a sweet-brier, ordoun to the green braird aneath your feet, to behold in the lintie, or the lark or in that mavis God bless her ! an emblem o' the young Christian mother fauldin up in her nursin bosom the beauty and the blessedness o' her ain First-born ! North. I am now threescore-and-ten, James, and I have suffered and enjoyed much ; but I know not if, during all the confusion of those many-colored years, diviner delight ever possessed my heart and my imagination, than of old entranced me in solitude, when, among the braes, and the moors, and the woods, I followed the verdant footsteps of the Spring, uncom- pauioned but by my own shadow, and gave names to every nook in nature, from the singing birds of Scotland discovered, but disturbed not, in their most secret nests. Tickler. Namby-pamby ! Shepherd. Nae sic thing. A shilfa'sf nest within the angles made by the slicht, silvery, satiny stem o' a bit birk-tree, and ane o' its young branches glitterin and glimmerin at ance wi' shade and sunshine and a dowery o' pearls, is a sicht that, when seen for the first time in this life, gars a boy's being loup out o' his verra bosom richt up intil the boundless blue o' heaven ! Tickler. Poo Shepherd. Whisht oh, whisht. For 'tis felt to be something far, far beyond the beauty o' the maist artfu' contrivances o * Keek peep. t ShUfa chaffinch 35o Hogg the " Herrier" mortal man, and gin he be a thochtfu' callant, which frae wanderin and daunderin by himsel, far awa frae houses, and ayont the loneliest shielin * amang the liills, is surely nae unreasonable hypothesis, but the likeliest thing in natur, thinkna ye that though his mood micht be indistinck even as ony sleepin dream, that nevertheless it maun be sensibly interfused, throughout and throughout, wi' the consciousness that that Nest, wi' sic exquisite delicacy intertwined o' some substance seemingly mair beautifu' than ony moss that ever grew upon this earth, into a finest fabric growin as it were out o' the verra bark o' the tree, and in the verra nook, the only nook where nae winds could touch it, let them blaw a' at ance frae a' the airts, wadna, sirs, I say, that callaut's heart beat wi' awe in its delicht, feelin that that wee, cosy, beautifu' and lovely cradle, chirp-chirpin wi' joyfu' life, was bigged there by the hand o' Him that hung the sun in our heaven, and studded with stars the boundless universe ? Tickler. James, forgive my folly Shepherd. That I do, Mr. Tickler and that I would do, if for every peck there was a firlot. Yet when a laddie, I was an awfu' herrier ! f Sic is the inconsistency, because o' the corruption o' human natur. Ilka spring, I used to hae half a do/en strings o' eggs Tickler. u Orient pearls at random strung.* Shepherd. Na no at random but a' accordin to an innate sense o' the beauty o' the interminglin and interfusin varie- gation o' manifold color, which, when a' gathered thegither on a yard o' twine, and dependin frae the laigh roof o' our bit cottie, aneath the cheese-bauk, and aiblins atween a con pie o' hangin hams, seemed to ma een sae f u' o' a strange*, Shielin a shelter for sheep or shepherd among the hills, t Herrier rifler of birds' nests. Tickler the Devourer. 357 wild, woodland, wonderfu', and maist uuwarldish loveliness, that the verra rainbow hersel, lauchin on us laddies no to be feared at the thunuer, looked nae mair celestial than thae egg-shells! Ae string especially will I remember till my dying day. It tapered awa frae the middle, made o' the eggs o' the blackbird doun through a' possible vareeities lark, lintie, yellow-yite, hedge-sparrow, shilfa, and gold- finch ay, the verra goldfinch hersel, rare bird in the Forest to the twa ends so dewdrap-like, wi' the wee bit blue pearlins o' the kitty-wren. Damm Wullie Laidlaw for stealin them ae Sabbath when we was a' at the kirk ! Yet I'll try to forgie him for sake o' " Lucy's Flittin," * and because not- withstanding that cruel crime, he's turned out a gude husband, a gude faither, and a gude freen. Tickler. We used, at school, James, to boil and eat them. Shepherd. Gin ye did, then wouldna I, for ony considera- tion, in a future state be your sowl. Tickler. Where's the difference ? Shepherd. What ! atween you and me ? Yours was a base, fleshly hunger, or hatred, or hard-heartedness, or scathe and scorn o' the quakin griefs o' the bit bonny shriekin burdies around the tuft o' moss, a' that was left o' their herried nests ; but mine was the sacred hunger and thirst o' divine silver and gold gleamin amang the diamonds drapt by mornin on the hedgeraws, and rashes, and the broom, and the whins love o' the lovely desire conquerin but no killin pit/ and joy o' blessed possession, that left at times a tear on my cheek for the bereavement o' the heart-broken warblers o' the woods. Yet brak I not mony o' their hearts, after a' ; for if the nest had five eggs, I generally took but twa ; though I confess that on gaun back again to " Lucy's Flitting," by William Laidlaw, Sir Walter Scott's friend, ii one of our simplest and most pathetic melodies. 358 The Opium-Eater reverses brae, bauk, bush, or tree, I was glad when the nest wag deserted, the eggs cauld, and the birds awa to some ither place. After a' I was never cruel, sirs ; that's no a sin o* mine and whenever, either then or since, I hae gien pain to ony leevin cretur, in nae lang time after, o' the twa pairties, mine has been the maist achin heart. As for pyats, and hoodie-craws, and the like, I used to herry them without compunction, &iA flingin up stanes, to shoot them wi' a gun as they were flasterin out o' the nest. English Opium-Eater. Some one of my ancestors for, even with the deepest sense of my own unworthiness, I cannot believe that my own sins, as a cause, have been adequate to the production of such an effect must have perpetrated some enormous some monstrous crime, punished in me, his descendant, by utter blindness to all birds' nests. Shepherd. Maist likely. The De Quinshys cam ower wi' the Conqueror, and were great criminals. But did you ever look for them, sir ? English Opium- Eater. From the year 1811 the year in which the Marrs and Williamsons were murdered * till the year 1821, in which Bonaparte the little vulgarly called Napoleon the Great died of a cancer in his stomach Shepherd. A hereditary disease accordin to the doctors. English Opium-Eater . did I exclusively occupy myself during the spring months, from night till morning, in search- ing for the habitations of these interesting creatures. Shepherd. Frae nicht till mornin ! That comes o' reversin the order o' Natur. You micht see a rookery or a heronry by moonlicht but no a wren's nest aneath the portal o' some cave, lookin out upon a sleepless waterfa' dinnin to the stars. * In the second volume of his Miscellanies (1854), Mr. De Quincey has described these murders with a power an i circumstantiality which excite the most absorbing interest in the mind of the reader. The Order of Nature. 359 Mr. De Quinshy, you and meleeves in twa different warlds and yet its wonnerfu' hoo we understaun' ane anither sae weel's we do quite a phenomena. When I'm soopin you're breakfastin when I'm lyin doun, after your coffee you're risin up as I'm coverin my head wi' the blankets, you're pittin on your breeks as my een are steekin like sunflowers aneath the moon, yours are glowin like twa gas-lamps and while your mind is masterin poleetical economy and metapheesics, in a desperate fecht wi' Ricawrdo and Kant,* I'm heard by the nicht-wanderin fairies snorin trumpet-nosed through the land o' Nod. English Opium-Eater. Though the revolutions of the hea- venly bodies have, I admit, a certain natural connection with the ongoings of Shepherd. Wait awee nane o' your astrology till after sooper. It canna be true, sir, what folk say about the influence o' the moon on character. I never thocht ye the least mad. Indeed, the only faut I hae to fin' wi' you is, that you're ower wise. Yet we speak what, in the lang-run, would appear to be ae common language I sometimes understaun' you no that very indistinctly and when we tackle in our talk to the great interests o' humanity, we're philosophers o' the same school, sir, and see the inner warld by the self-same central licht. We're incomprehensible creturs, are we men that's beyond a dout ; and let us be born and bred as we may black, white, red, or a deep bricht, burnished copper in spite o' the division o' tongues, there's nae division o' hearts, for it's the same bluid that * David Ricardo, an eminent member of the London Stock Exchange, and the profoundest writer on political economy which this country has pro- duced, died in 1823- Immanuel Kant was the great philosopher of Kouigs. berg, his native town, from which he was never farther distant than miles, during the whole course of a life which lasted from 1724 to 1804. 360 The Opium-Eater's World. gangs circulatin through our mortal tenements, carrying alang on its tide the same freightage o' feelins and thochts, emotions, affections, and passions though, like the ships o' different nations, they a' hoist their ain colors, and prood, prood are they o' their leopards, or their crescent-moons, or their stars, or their stripes o' buntin ; but see ! when it blaws great guns, hoo they a' fling owerboard their storm- anchors, and when their cables pairt, hoo they a' seek the shelterin lee o' the same michty breakwater, a belief in the being and attributes of the One Living God. But was ye never out in the daytime, sir ? English Opium-Eater. Frequently. Shepherd, But then it's sae lang sin' syne, that in memory the sunlicht maun seem amaist like the moonlioht, sic, indeed, even wi' us that rise with the laverock, and lie doun wi' the lintie, is the saftenin the shadin the darkenin power o' the Past, o' Time the Prime Minister o' Life, wha, in spite o' a' Opposition, carries a' his measures by a silent vote, and aften, wi' a weary wecht o' taxes, bows a' the wide warld doun to the verra dust. English Opium-Eater. In the South my familiars have been the nightingales, in the North the owls. Both are merry birds the one singing, and the other shouting, in moods of midnight mirth. Nor in my deepest, darkest fits of medita- tion or of melancholy, did the one or the other ever want my sympathies, whether piping at the root of the hedgerow, or hooting from the trunk of a sycamore else all still both on earth and in heaven. Shepherd. Ye maun hae seen mony a beautifu' and mony a sublime sicht, sir, in the Region, lost to folk like us, wha try to keep oursels awauk a' day and asleep a' nicht and yorr sowl, sir, maun hae acquired something o' the serene and solemn character o' the sunleft skies. And true it is, Mr. The Religious World. 861 De Quinshy, that ye hae the voice o' a nicht-wanderin man laigh and lown pitched on the key o' a wimplin burn speakin to itsel in the silence, aneath the moon and stars. Tickler. "Pis pleasant, James, to hear all us four talking at one time your bass, my counter, Mr. De Quincey's tenor, and North's treble North. Treble, indeed ! l\clder. Ay, childish treble Shepherd. Come, nae quarrellin yet. That's a quotation frae Shakespeare, and there's nae insult in a mere quotation. (after a pause.} Oh, man ! if them that's kickin up sic a row the noo about the doctrine o' the Christian religion had looked intil the depths o' their ain natur wi' your een, they had a' been as mum as mice keekin roun' the end o' a pew, in place o' scrauchin like pyats on the leads, or a hoodie wi' a sair throat. English Opium-Eater. I know not to what you allude, Mr. Hogg, for I live out of what is called the Religious World. Shepherd. A loud, noisy, vulgar, bawlin, brawlin, wranglin, branglin, routin, and roarin warld maist unfittin indeed for the likes o' you, sir, wha, under the shadows o' woods and mountains, at midnight, communes wi' your ain heart, and is still. English Opium-Eater. No religious controversy in modern days, sir, ever seemed to me to reach back into those recesses in my spirit where the sources lie from which well out the bitter or the sweet waters the sins and the miseries the holinesses and the happinesses of our incomprehensible being ! Shepherd. And if they ever do, hoo drumly the stream ! English Opium-Eater . Better even a mere sentimental re- ligion, which, though shallow, is pure, than those audacious doctrines broached by Pride-in-Humility, who ; blind as the 362 In a Grave Mood. bat, essays the flight of the eagle, and, ignorant of the low- est natnvaa, yet claims acquaintance with the decrees of the Most High. Shej)herd. Ay better far a sentimental a poetical reli- gion, as you say, sir though that's far frae being the true thing either for o' a' the Three Blessings o' Man, the last is the best Love, Poetry, and Religion. What'n a book micht be written, I've aften thocht and aiblins may hae said on thae three words ! English Opium-Eater. Yes, my dear James Beauty, the BOU! of Poetry, is indeed divine but there is that which is diviner still and that is DUTY. u Flowers laugh before her on their beds, And fragrance In her footing treads ; She doth preserve the stars from wrong, And the eternal heavens through her are fresh and strong." Shepherd. Wha said that ? English Opium-Eater. Who ? Wordsworth. And the Edinburgh Review laughed. Shepherd. He has made it, sin' syne, lauch out o' the wrang side o' its mouth. He soars. North. Human life is always, in its highest moral exhibi- tions, sublime rather than beautiful and the sublimity is not that of the imagination, but of the soul. Shepherd. If you will alloo a simple shepherd to speak on gic a theme North. Yes, my dearest James, you can, if you choose, speak on it better than either of us. Shepherd. Weel, then, that is the view o' virtue that seems maist consistent wi' the revelation o' its true nature by Chris- tianity, Isna there, sirs, a perpetual struggle a ceevil war in ilka man's heart ? This we ken, whenever we have an opportunity o' discerning what is gaun on in the hearts o' The .Religious Sentiment. 963 ithers, this we ken, whenever we set ourselves to tak a steady gaze in til the secrets o' our ain. We are, then, moved ay, appalled, by much that we behold ; and wherever there is sin, there, be assured, will be sorrow. But arena we aften cheered, and consoled too, by much that we behold ? And wherever there is goodness, our ain heart, as weel's them o' the spectators, burns within us ! Ay it burns within us. We feel we see, that we or our brethren are pairtly as God would wish as we must be afore we can hope to see His face in mercy. I've often thocht intil mysel that that feeling is ane that we may desecrate (is that the richt word ?) by rank- ing it amang them that appertains to our senses and our imagination, rather than to the religious soul. North. Mr. De Quincey ! English Opium-Eater. Listen. An extraordinary man in- deed, sir ! Shepherd. No me ; there's naething extraordinar about me, mair than about a thousand ither Scottish shepherds. But ca' not, I say, the face o' that father beautifu' who stands beside the bier o' bis only son, and wi' his ain withered hands helps to let doun the body into the grave though all its lines, deep as they are, are peacefu' and untroubled, and the grey uncovered head maist reverend and affecting in the sun- shine that falls at the same time on the coffin of him who was last week the sole stay o' his auld age ! But if you could venture in thocht to be wi' that auld man when he is on his knees before God, in his lanely room, blessing Him for a' His mercies, even for having taken awa the licht o' his eyes, extinguished it in a moment, and left a' the house in dark ness you would not then, if you saw into his inner spirit, venture to ca' the calm that slept there beautifu' ! Na, na, na ! In it you would feel assurance o' the immortality of the Soul o' the transitoriness o' mere human sorrows o' the 364 How sorrow is idealized. vanity o' a' passion that clings to the clay o' the powei which the spirit possesses in richt o' its origin to see God's internal justice in the midst o' sic utter bereavement as might well shake its faith in the Invisible o' a' life where there is nae decaying frame to weep over and to bewail ; and sae thinking and sae feelin ye would behold in that auld mail kneelin in your unkent presence, an eemage o' human nature by its intensest sufferings raised and reconciled to that feenal state o' obedience, acquiescence, and resignation to the will o' the Supreme, which is virtue, morality, piety, in ae word RELIGION. Ay, the feeual consummation o' mortality putting on immortality, o' the soul shedding the slough o' its earthly affections, and reappearing amaist in its pristine innocence, nae unfit inhabitant o' Heaven. English Opium-Eater. Say not that a thousand Scottish shepherds could so speak, my dear sir. Shepherd. Ay, and far better, too. But hearken till me, when that state o' mind passed away frae us, and we became willing to find relief, as it were, frae thochts sae far aboon the level o' them that must be our daily thochts, then we raicht. and then probably we would, begin to speak, sir, o' the beauty o' the auld man's resignation, and in poetry or paint- ing the picture micht be pronounced beautifu', for then our souls would hae subsided, and the deeper, the inair solemn, and the inair awfu' o' our emotions would o' themselves hae retired to rest within the recesses o' the heart, alang wi' tuaist o' the maist mysterious o' our moral and religious con- victions. (Dog barks.) Heavens ! I could hae thocht that was Bronte! North. No bark like his, James, now belongs to the world of sound. Shepherd. Purple black was he all over, except the star on his breast as the raven's wing. Strength and sagacity The Death of Bronte. 365 emboldened his bounding beauty, and a fierceness lay deep down within the quiet lustre o' his een, that tauld ye, even when he laid his head upon your knees, and smiled up to your face like a verra intellectual and moral cretur, as he was, that had he been angered, he could hae torn in pieces a lion. North. Not a child of three years old and upwards, in the neighborhood of the Lodge, that had not hung by his mane, and played with his fangs, and been affectionately worried by him on the flowery greensward. Shepherd. Just like a stalwart father gainbollin wi' his lauchin bairns ! And yet there was a heart that could bring itsel to pushion Bronte ! When the atheist flung him the arsenic ba', the deevil was at his elbow.* North. 'Twas a murder worthy of Hare or Burke, or the bloodiest of their most cruel and cowardly abettors. Shepherd. I agree wi' you, sir ; but dinna look sae white, and sae black, and sae red in the face, and then sae mottled, as if you had the measles ; for see, sir, how the evening sunshine is sleeping on his grave ! North. No yew-tree, James, ever grew so fast before Mrs Gentle herself planted it at his head. My own eyes were somewhat dim, but as for hers God love them ! they streamed like April skies and nowhere else in all the garden are the daisies so bright as on that small mound. That wreath, so curiously wrought into the very form of flowery letters, seems to fantasy like a funeral inscription his very name Bronte. Shepherd. Murder's murder, whether the thing pushioned bae four legs or only twa for the crime is curdled into crime Bronte was poisoned at least so it is very confidently believed by ome of Dr. Knox's students, in revenge for the exposure of the principle! m which their anatomical school was conducted. 366 Are Animals immortal? in the blackness o' the sinner's heart, and the revengeful shedder even of bestial blood would, were the same demon tc mutter into his ears, and shut his eyes to the gallows, poison the well in which the cottage-girl dips the pitcher that breaks the reflection o' her bonny face in that liquid heaven. But hark ! wi' that knock on the table you hae frichtened the mavis ! Aften do I wonder whether or no birds, and beasts, and insecks hae immortal sowls ! English Opium-Eater. What God makes, why should He annihilate ? Quench our own Pride in the awful conscious- ness of our Fall, and will any other response come from that oracle within us Conscience than that we have no claim on God for immortality, more than the beasts which want indeed " discourse of reason," but which live in love, and by love, and breathe forth the manifestations of their being through the same corruptible clay which makes the whole earth one mysterious burial-place, unfathomable to the deepest sound- ings of our souls ! Shepherd. True, Mr. De Quinshy true, true. Pride's at the bottom o' a' our blindness, and a' our wickedness, and a' our madness ; for if we did indeed and of verity, a' the nichts and a' the days o' our life, sleepin and waukin,' in delicht or in despair, aye remember, and never for a single moment forget, that we are a' WORMS Milton, and Spenser, and Newton gods as they were on earth and that they were gods, did not the flowers and the stars declare, and a' the two blended warlds o' Poetry and Science, lyin as it were like the skies o' heaven reflected in the waters o' the earth in ane anither's arms ? Ay, Shakespeare himsel a WORM and Imogen, and Desdemona, and Ophelia, a' but the eemages o' WORMS and Macbeth, and Lear, and Hamlet ! Where would be then our pride and the self-idolatry o' our pride, and all the vain-glorifications o' our imagined magnificence ? O 1 Bronte arrives. 367 Dashed doun into the worm-holes o' our birth-place, among all crawlin and slimy things and afraid in our lurking-places to face the divine purity o' the far, far-aff and eternal heavens in their infinitude ! Puir Bronte's dead and buried and sae in a few years will a' Us Fowre be ! Had we naething but our boasted reason to trust in, the dusk would become the dark and the dark the mirk, mirk, mirk ; but we have the Bible, and lo ! a golden lamp illumining the short midnicht that blackens between the mortal twilight and the immortal dawn. North (blowing a boatswain's whistle). Gentlemen look here ! (A noble young Newfoundlander comes bounding into the Arbor.) Shepherd. Mercy me ! mercy me ! the verra dowg himsel ! The dowg wi' the star-like breast! North. Allow me, my friend, to introduce you to O' BRONTE. Shepherd. Ay I'll shake paws wi' you, my gran' fallow ; and though it's as true among dowgs as men, that he's a clever chiel that kens his ain father, yet as sure as wee Jamie's mine ain, are you auld Bronte's son. You've gotten the verra same identical shake o' the paw the verra same identical wag o' the tail. (See, as Burns says, hoo it " hangs ower his hurdles wi' a swurl.") Your chowks the same like him, too, as Shakespeare says, "dew-lapped like Thessawlian bills." The same braid, smooth, triangular lugs, hanging doun aneath your chafts ; and the same still, serene, smilin, and sagacious een. Bark ! man bark ! let us hear you bark. Ay, that's the verra key that Bronte barked on whenever " his blood was up and heart beat high : " and I'se warrant that in anither year or less, in a street-row, like your sire you'll clear the causeway o' a clud o' curs, and carry the terror o' your name f rae t-he Auld to the New Flesh-market ; though 368 North's Matjuuil powder. tak my advice, ma dear 0' Bronte, and, except wheiv circum stances imperiously demand war, be thou thou jewel of a Jowler a lover of peace ! English Opium- Eater. I am desirous, Mr. Hogg, of culti- vating the acquaintance nay, I hope of forming the friend- ship of that noble animal. Will you permit him to Shepherd. Gang your wa's,* O'Bronte, and speak till the English Opium-Eater. Ma faith ! you hae nae need o' drogs to raise your animal speerits, or heighen your imagination. What'n intensity o' life ! But whare's he been sin' he was puppied, Mr. North? North. On board a whaler. No education like a trip to Davis Strait. Shepherd. He'll hae speeled, I'se warrant him, mony an ice- berg and worried mony a seal aiblins a walrus, or sea-lion. But are ye no feared o' his rinnin awa to sea ? North. The spirit of his sire, James, has entered into him, and he would lie, till he was a skeleton, upon my grave. Shepherd. It canna be denied, sir, that you hae an un- accountable power o' attaching to you, no only dowgs, but men, women, and children. I've never douted but that you maun hae some magical pouther, that you blaw in amang their hair na, intil their verra lugs and een imperceptible fine as the motes i' the sun and then there's nae resistance, but the sternest Whig saftens afore you, the roots o' the Radical relax, and a' distinctions o' age, sex and pairty the last the stubbornest and dourest o' a fade awa intil undis- tinguishable confusion and them that's no in the secret o' your glamoury, fears that the end o' the warld's at haun, and that there 'ill sune be nae mair use for goods and chattels in the Millennium. Tickler. As I am a Christian * Gang your wa's get off. O'Broide. swatloivs Opium. 369 Shepherd. You a Christian ! Tickler Mr. De Quincey has given O'Bronte a box of opium. Shepherd. What ! Has the dowg swallowed the spale-box o' pills ? We maun gar him throw it up. English Opium-Eater. The most monstrous and ignominious ignorance reigns among all the physicians of Europe respect- ing the powers and properties of the poppy. Shepherd. I wush in this case, sir, that the poppy mayna pruve ower poorfu' for the puppy, and that the dowg's no a dead man. Wull ye take your Bible-oath that he bolted the box ? English Opium-Eater. Mr. Hogg, I never could see any suffi- cient reason why, in a civilized- and Christian country, an oath should be administered even to a witness in a court of justice. Without any formula, Truth is felt to be sacred nor will any words weigh Shepherd. You're for upsettin the haill frame o' ceevil society, sir, and bringing back on this kintra a' the horrors o' the French Revolution. The power o' an oath lies, no in the Reason, but in the Imagination. Reason tells that simple affirmation or denial should be aneuch atween man and man. But Reason canna bind, or if she do, Passion snaps the chain. For ilka passion, sir, even a passion for a bead or a button, is as strong as Samson bursting the withies. But Imagination can bind, for she ca's on her Flamin Ministers the Fears ; they palsy-strike the arm that would disobey the pledged lips and thus oaths are dreadfu' as Erebus and the gates o' hell. But see what ye hae dune, sir, only .ook at D'Bronte [O'BRONTE sallies from the Arbor goes driving head-over- heels through among the flower-beds, tearing up pinks and carnations with his mouth and paws, and, finally, makei repeated attempts to climb up a tree. #70 Cf Bronte* s Hallucinations. English Opium- Eater. No such case is recorded in the medical books and very important conclusions may be drawn from an accurate observation of the phenomena now exhibited by a distinguished member of the canine species, under such a dose of opium as would probably send Mr. Coleridge * him- self to Shepherd. his lang hame or Mr. De Quinshy either though I should be loth to lose sic a poet as the ane, and sic a philosopher as the ither or sic a dowg as O'Bronte. But look at him speelin up the apple-tree like the auld serpent ! He's thinkin himsel, in the delusion o' the drog, a wull-cat or a bear, and has clean forgotten his origin. Deil tak me gin I ever saw the match o' that ! He's gotten up ; and's lyin a* his length on the branch, as if he were streekin himsel cut to sleep on the ledge o' a brig ! What thocht's gotten intil his head noo ? He's for herryin the goldfinch's nest amang the verra tapmost blossoms ! Ay, my lad ! that was a thud ! O'BRONTE, yho has fallen from the pippin, recovers his feet storms the Arloi upsets the table, with all the bottles, glasses, and plates and then, dashing through the glass front-door of the Lodge, disappears with a crash into the interior. English Opium-Eater. Miraculous ! Shepherd. A hairy hurricane \ What think ye, sir, o' the SCOTTISH OPIUM-EATER ? English Opium-Eater. I hope it is not hydrophobia. Tickler. He manifestly imagines himself at the whaling, and is off with the harpooners. Shepherd. A vision o' blubber's in his sowl. Oh that he could gie the warld his Confessions ! S. T. Coleridge was a great consumer of opium. See his " Confessions " In Cottle's Reminiscences. Born in 1771, Coleridge died in 1834. T7te Beehive is upaet. 371 English Opium- Eater. Mr. Hogg, how am I to understand that insinuation, sir ? Shepherd. Ony way you like. But did ever onybody see a philosopher sae passionate ? Be cool be cool. Tickler. See, see, see ! [O'BRONTE. " Like a glory from afar, Like a reappearing star," comes spanging back into the cool of the evening, with CYPRUS, NORTH'S unique male tortoise-shell cat in his mouth, followed by JOHN and BETTY, broom-and-spit- armed, with other domestics in the distance. North. Drop Cyprus, you villain ! Drop Cyprus, you villain ! I say, you villain, drop Cyprus or I will brain you with Crutch ! [O'BnONTE turns a deaf ear to all remonstrances, and con- tinues his cat-carryiny career, through flower, fruit, and kitchen-gardens the crutch having sped after him in vain, and upset a beehive. Tickler. Demme I'm off. [Makes himself scarce. North. Was that thunder ? Shepherd. Bees bees bees ! In til the Arbor intil the Arbor. Oh ! that it had a door wi' a hinge, and a bolt in the inside ! Hoo the swarm's ragiu wud ! The hum- min heavens is ower het to baud them and if ae leader chances to cast his ee hither, we are lost. For let but aue set the example, and in a moment there 'ill be a charge o' beggonets.* English Opium-Eater. In the second book of his Georgict Virgil, at once poet and naturalist, and indeed the two characters are, I believe, uniformly united, beautifully treats of the economy of bees and I remember one passage * Beggonets bayonets. 372 Hogg and Tickler fly. Shepherd. They're after Tickler they're ifter Tickler- like a cloud o' Cossacks or Polish Lancers a them that's no settlin on the crutch. And see see, a division the left o' the army is bearin doun on 0' Bronte. He'll sune liberate Ceeprus. Tickler (sub tegmine fagi). Murder murder murder! Shepherd. Ay, you may roar that's nae flea-bitiu nor midge-bitiu neither -na, it's waur than wasps for wasps' stings hae nae barbs, but bees' hae and when they strike them in, they canna rug them out again withouten leavin ahint their entrails sae they curl theirsels up upon the wound, be it on haun, neck, or face, and, demon-like, spend their vitality in the sting, till the venom gangs dirlin to your verra heart. But do ye ken I'm amaist sorry for Mr. Tickler for he'll be murdered outricht by the insecks although he in a mainner deserved it for rinnin awa, and no sharin the common danger wi' ,he rest at the mouth of the Arbor. If he escapes wi' his life, we maun ca' a court-martial, and hae him broke for cooardice. Safe us ! he's comin here wi' the haill bike * about his head ! Let us rin ! let us rin ! Let us rin for our lives ! \_The SHEPHERD is off and away. North. What ! and be broke for cowardice ! Let us die at our posts like men. English Opium-Eater. I have heard Mr. Wordsworth deliver an opinion, respecting the courage, or rather the cowardice, of poets, which at the time, I confess, seemed to me to be unwarranted by any of the accredited phenomena of the poetical character. It was to this effect : That every passion of the poet being of " imagination all compact," fear would in all probability, on sudden and unforeseen emergencies, gain an undue ascendancy in his being over all the other unaroused active powers ; (and here suffer me to put you * ike ewarm. 'the Philosopher's Serenity. on your guard agaiist believing, that by the use of such terms as Active Powers, I mean to class myself, as a meta- physical moralist, in the Scottish school, that is, the school more especially of Reid and Stewart * whose ignorance of the Will the sole province of Moral Philosophy I hold to be equally shameful and conspicuous :) so that, except iu cases where that Fear was withstood by the force of Sym- pathy, the poet so assailed would, ten to one (such was the homely expression of the Bard anxious to clinch it), take to almost immediate flight. This doctrine, as I have said, appeared to me, at that time, not to be founded on a suffi- ciently copious and comprehensive induction ; but I had, very soon after its oral delivery by the illustrious author of the Excursion, an opportunity of subjecting it to the test act: For, as Mr. Wordsworth and myself were walking through a field of considerable nay, great extent of acres discussing the patriotism of the Spaniards, and more par- ticularly the heroic defence of " Iberian burghers, when the sword they drew In Zaragoza, naked to the gales Of fiercely-breathing war," a bull of a red color (and that there must be something essentially and inherently vehement in red, or rather the natural idea of red, was interestingly proved by that answer of the blind man to an inquirer more distinguished probably for his curiosity than his acuteness " that it was like the sound of a trumpet ") bore down suddenly upon our dis- course, breaking, as you may well suppose, the thread thereof, and dissipating, for a while, the many high dreams (dreams indeed !) which we had been delighting to predict * Dr. Thomas Reid, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Glasgow, born in 1709, died in 179C. Dugald Stewart, Professor ol Aforal Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, born in 17KJ, died in 1828. North threatens to JVre. of the future fates and fortunes of the Peninsula. The Bard's words, immediately before the intrusion of Taurus, were, " that death was a bugbear," and that the universal Spanish nation would " work out their own salvation." One bellow and we were both hatless on the other side of the ditch. " If they do," said I, " I hope it will not be after our fashion, with fear and trembling." But I rather suspect, Mr. North, that I am this moment stung by one of those insects behind the ear, and in among the roots of the hair, nor do I think that the creature has yet disengaged or rather disentangled itself from the nape for I feel if strug- gling about the not I trust immedicable wound the bee being scarcely distinguishable, while I place my finger on the spot, from the swelling round the puncture made by its sting, which, judging from the pain, must have been surcharged with nay, steeped in venom. The pain is indeed most acute and approaches to anguish I had almost said agony. North. Bruise the bee " even on the wound himself has made." 'Tis the only specific. Any alleviation of agony ? English Opium-Eater. A shade. The analysis of such pain as I am now suffering or say rather, enduring [TICKLER and the SHEPHERD, after having in vain sought shelter among the shrubs, come flying demented towards the Arbor. Tickler and Shepherd. Murder ! murder ! murder ! North. " Arcades ambo, Et cantare pares, et respondere parati I " English Opium-Eater. Each encircled, as to his forehead, with a living crown a murmuring bee-diadem worthy of Aristaeus. North. Gentlemen, if you mingle yourselves with us, I will shoot you both dead upon the spot with this fowling-piece. O" 1 Bronte is attacked. 375 Shepherd. What'n a foolin-piece ? Oh ! sir, but you're cruel ! [TICKLER lies down, and rolls himself on a plat. North. Destruction to a bed of onion-seed ! James ! into the tool-house. Shepherd. I hae tried it thrice but John and Betty hae barred themselves in against the swarm. Oh ! dear me I'm exhowsted sae let me lie down and dee beside Mr. Tickler! \_The SHEPHERD lies down beside Mr. TICKLER. English Opium-Eater . If any proof were wanting that I am more near-sighted than ever, it would be that I do not see in all the air, or round the luminous temples of Messrs. Tickler and Hogg, one single bee in motion or at rest. North. They have all deserted their stations, and made a simultaneous attack on O'JBronte. Now, Cyprus, run for your life ! Shepherd (raising his head). Hoo he's devoorin them by hunders ! Look, Tickler. TicHer. My eyes, James, are bunged up and I am flesh- blind. Shepherd. Noo they're yokin to Ceeprus ! His tail's as thick wi' pain and rage as my arm. Hear till him cater- waulin like a haill root'-fu' ! Ma stars, he'll gang mad, and O' Bronte 'ill gang mad, and we'll a' gang mad thegither, and the garden 'ill be ae great madhouse, and we'll tear ane anither to pieces, and eat ane anither up stoop and roop, and a' that 'ill be left o' us in the mornin 'ill be some bloody tramplin up and doun the beds, and that 'ill be a catastrophe waur if possible than that o' Sir Walter's Ayrshire Tragedy and Mr. Murray 'ill melodramateeze us in a piece ca'd the " Bluidy Battles o' the Bees ; '' and pit, boxes, and gallery 'ill a' be crooded to suffocation for a hunder nichta at haill price, to behold swoopin alang the stage the LAST o' THE NOCTKS AMBROSIAN^E ! ! ! 376 The Hive exterminated' English Opium-JEater. Then, indeed, will the "gaiety oi nations be eclipsed " ; sun, moon, and stars may resign their commission in the sky, and Old Nox reascend, never more to be dislodged from the usurpation of the effaced, obliterated, and extinguished universe. Shepherd. Nae need o' exaggeration. But sure aneuch I wadna, for anither year, in thai case, insure the life o' the Solar System (Rising up.) Whare's a' the bees ? North. The hive is almost exterminated. You and Tickler have slain your dozens said your tens of dozens O'Bronte has swallowed some scores Cyprus made no bones of his allowance and Mr. De Quincey put to death one. So much for the killed. The wounded you may see crawling in all directions, dazed and dusty ; knitting their hind-legs together, and impotently attempting to unfurl their no longer gauzy wings. As to the missing, driven by fear from house and home, they will continue for days to be picked up by the birds, while expiring on their backs on the tops of thistles and binweeds and of the living, perhaps a couple of hundreds may be on the combs, conferring on State affairs, and Shepherd. Mournin for their queen. Sit up, Tickler. [TICKLER rises, and shakes himself. What'n a face ! North. Ton my soul, my dear Timothy, you must be bled forthwith for in this hot weather inflammation and fever-. Shepherd. Wull sune end in mortification then coma and then death. We maun lance and leech him, Mr. North, foi we canna afford, wi' a' his failins, to lose Southside. Tickler. Lend me your arm, Kit North. Take my crutch, my poor dear fellow. How are you now ? Shepherd. I loo are you noo? Hoo are you noo? A G-hastly Visage. 377 English Opium-Eater. Mr. Tickler, I would fain hope, sir that, notwithstanding the assault of those infuriated insects, which in numbers without number numberless, on the up- Betting Tickler. Oh ! oh ! Whoh ! whoh ! whuh ! whuh ! Shepherd. That comes o' wearin nankeen pantaloons with- out drawers, and thin French silk stockins wi' open gushets, and nae neckcloth, like Lord Byron. I find corduroys and tap-boots impervious to a' mainner o' insects, bees, wasps, hornets, ants, midges, clegs, and, warst o' a' the gad. By the time the bite reaches the skin, the venom's drawn out by ever so mony plies o' leather, linen, and wurset and the spat's only kittly. But (putting his hand to his face} what's this ? Am I wearin a mask ? a fause-face wi' a muckle nose ? Tell me, Mr. North, tell me, Mr. De Quinshy, on the honors o' twa gentlemen as you are, am I the noo as ugly as Mr. Tickler ? North. 'Twould be hard to decide, James, which face deserves the palm ; yet let me see let me see I think I think, if there be indeed some slight shade of What say you, Mr. De Quincey ? English Opium- Eater. I beg leave, without meaning any disrespect to either party, to decline delivering any opinion on a subject of so much delicacy, and Tickler and Shepherd (guffawing). What'n a face ! what'n a face ! Oh ! what'n a face ! English Opium-Eater. Gentlemen, here is a small pocket- mirror, which, ever since the year Shepherd. Dinna be sae chronological, sir, when a body's Bufferin. Gie's the glass (looks in) and that's ME ? Blue, black, ochre, gambooshe, purple, pink, and green ! Bottle- nosed wi' een like a piggie's ! The Owther o' the Queen's Wake ! I maun hae my pictur taen by John Watson Gordon, 878 Leeches are applied set in diamouds, and presented to the Empress o' Russia, of some ither croon'd head. I wunner what wee Jamie wad think! It is a phenomena o' a fizzionamy. An' hoo sail I get out the stings ? North. We must apply a searching poultice. Shepherd. 0' raw veal ? Tickler (taking the mirror out of the Shepherd's hand). Ay I North. 'Twould be dangerous, Timothy, with that face, to sport Narcissus. " Sure such a pair were never seen, So aptly formed to meet by nature ! " Ha! O'Bronte? [O* BRONTE enters the Arbor, still under the influence of opium. What is your opinion of these faces ? O 1 Bronte. Bow wow wow wow. Bow wow wow- wow ! Shepherd. He taks us for Eskymaws. North. Say rather seals, or sea-lions. O' Bronte. Bow wow wow wow. Bow wow wow- wow ! Shepherd. Laugh'd at by a dowg ! Wha are ye ? [JOHN and BKTTY enter the Arbor with basins and towels, and a phial of leeches. North. Let me manage the worms. Lively as fleas. [Mr. NORTH, with tender dexterity, applies six leeches to the SHEPHERD'S face. Shepherd. Preens preens preens preens ! * North. Now, Tickler. [Attempts, unsuccessfully, to perform the same kind office to TICKLER. Your sanguineous system, Timothy, is corrupt. They won t fasten. * Preens pins To the Wounded. 379 Shepherd. Wunria they sook him ? I find mine hangin cauld frae temple to chaft, and swallin there's ane o' them played plowp intil the basin. North. Betty the salt. Shepherd. Strip them, Leezy. There's anither. North. Steady, my dear Timothy, steady ; ay ! there he does it, a prime worm of himself a host. Sir John Leech. English Opium-Eater. I observe that a state of extreme languor has succeeded excitement, and that O'Bronte has now fallen asleep. Hark ! a compressed whine, accompanied by a slight general convulsion of the whole muscular system, indicates that the creature is in the dream-world. Shepherd. In dookin ! or fechtin or makin up to a North. Remove the apparatus. [JOHN and BETTY carry away the basins, pitchers, phial, towels, $cc., : creeshy breist o' him shinin outower a' its braid beautifu' rotundity, wi' a broonish and a yellowish licht, seemin to be the verra concentrated essence o' tastefu' sappiness, the bare idea o' which, at ony distance o' time and place, brings a gush o' water out o' the pallet his theeghs slightly crisped by the smokeless fire to the preceese pint best fitted for crunchin and, in short, the toot-an-sammal o' the Bird a perfeck specimen o' the beau-ideal o' the true Bird o' Para- dise, for sic a guse, sir, (but oh ! may 1 never be sair sairly tempted) wad a man sell his kintra or his conscience and neist day strive to stifle his remorse bygobblin up the giblet-pie. Is discussed. 409 North. To hear you speak, James, the world would take you for an epicure aud glutton, who bowed down five tiiws a day in fond idolatry before the belly-god. What a delusion ! (Enter PICARDY and Tail, with ail the substantialities of the season.) Shepherd. Eh ! Eh ! What'n a guse ! Mr. Awmrose. Dinna bring in a single ither guse, till we hae despatched our freen at the head o' the table. Mr. Tickler, whare 'ill ye sit ? and what 'ill ye eat ? and what 'ill ye drink ? and what 'ill ye want to hear ? and what 'ill ye want to say ? For oh, sir ! you've been pleesant the nicht in ane o' your lown, but nv seelent humors. \_Tlie Three tackle to. XXIV. IN WHICH, IN THE RACE FROM THE SALOON TO THE SNUGGERY, TICKLER AND THE SHEPHERD ARE DISTANCED BY NORTH. Scene, the Snuggery. Time, Five o'Clock. Actors, NORTH, TICKLER, and the SHEPHERD. Occupation, Dinner. Shepherd. What'n a bill o' fare ! As lang's ma airm was the slip o' paper endorsed wi' the vawrious eatems,* and I was feared there micht be delusion in the promise ; but here, far ayont a' hope, and aboon the wildest flichts o' fancy, the realization o' the Feast ! North. Mine host has absolutely outdone to-day all his former outdoings. You have indeed, sir. Ambrose. You make me too happy, sir. Shepherd. Say ower proud, Picardy. Ambrose. Pride was not made for man, Mr. Hogg. Mr. North, I trust, will forgive me, if I have been too bold. Shepherd. Nor woman neither. Never mind him ; I forgie you, and that's aneueh. You've made a raaist excellent observe. Tickler. Outambrosed Ambrose, by this regal regale ! Shepherd. I ken naemair impressive situation for a human being to find himsel placed in, than in juxtaposition wi' a mony-dished deuner afore the covers hae been removed. The * Eatems items. 410 Anticipations. 411 sowl sets itself at wark wi' a' its faculties, to form definite conceptions o' the infinite vareeities o' veeands on the eve o' being brocht to licht. Can this, it asks itsel in a laigh vice can this dish, in the immediate vicinity, be, do ye think, a roasted fillet o' veal, sae broon and buttery on the outside, wi' its crisp faulds o' fat, and sae white and sappy wi' its firm breadth o' lean in the in ? Frae its position, I jalouse * that ashetcan conteen nothing less than a turkey and I could risk my salvation on't, that while yon's Wesfc- phally ham on the tae side, yon's twa how-towdies on the ither. Can you Tickler. No man should speak with his mouth full. Shepherd. Nor his head empty. But you're mistaken if you mean me, Mr. Tickler, for rna mouth was at no period o' ma late discourse aboon half fu', as I was carefu' aye to keep swallowing as I went alang, and I dinna believe you could discern ony difference in ma utterance. But, besides, I even-doun deny the propriety, as weel's the applicability, o' the apothegm. To enact that na ; man shall speak during denner wi' his mouth fu', is about as reasonable as to pass a law that nae man, afore or after denner, shall speak wi' his mouth empty. Some feeble folk, I ken, hae a horror o' doin twa things at ance ; but I like to do a score, provided they be in natur no only compatible but congenial. Tickler. And who, pray, is to be the judge of that ? Shepherd. Mysel ! Every man in this warld maun judge for himsel ; and on nae account whatsomever suffer ony ither loon to judge for him, itherwise he'll gang to the deevil at a baun-canter. North. Nobody follows that rule more inviolably than Tickler. Shepherd. In the body, frae the tie o' his crawvat a' the * Jalouse respect. 412 The. Covers are lifted. way doun to that o' his shoon in the sowl, frae the lightest surmise about a passing cloud on a showery day, to his inaist awfu' thochts about a future state, when his " extravagant and erring spirit hies " iutil the verra bosom o' eternity. Tickler. James, a caulker. Shepherd. Thank ye, sir, wi' a" my wull. That's prime. Pure speerit. Unchristened. Sma' stell. Gran' worm. Peat-reek. Glenlivet. Ferintosh. It wad argue that a man's heart wasna in the richt place, were he no, by pronouncin some bit affectionate epithet, to pay his debt o' gratitude to sic a caulker. North. James, resume. Shepherd. Suppose me, sir, surveying the scene, like Moses frae the tap o' Pisgah the Promised Land. There was a morning mist, and Moses stood awhile in imagination. But soon, sun-smitten, burst upon his vision through the trans- lucent ether the region that flowed with milk and honey while sighed nae inair the children o' Israel for the flesh-pats o' Egypt. Just sae, sirs, at the uplifting o' the covers, flashed the noo * on our een the sudden revelation o' this lang- expected denner. Howsimultawneous the muvement! As if they had been a' but ae man, a Briareus, like a waff o' lichtnin gaed the hauris o' Picardy, and Mon. Cadet, and King Pepin, and Sir Davvvid Gam, and Tappytoorie, and the Pech, and the Hoi Polloi , and, lo and behold ! towerin tureens and forest-like epergnes, overshadowing the humbler warld o' ashets ! Let nae man pretend after this to tell me the difference atween the Beautifu' and the Shooblime. North. To him who should assert the distinction I would simply say, " Look at that Round ! " Shepherd. Ay, he wad fin' some diffieeculty in swallowin that, sir. The fack is, that the mavvgic o' that Buttock o' The noo (the now) at this moment. Epicures and Gluttons. 413 Beef considered as an objeck o' intellectual and moral Taste, lies in Harmony. It reminds you o' that fine line in Byron, which beyond a' doubt was originally inspired by sic anither objeck, though afterwards differently applied : " The soul, the music breathing from that face ! " Tickler. Profanation ! Shepherd. What ! is there ony profanation in the applica- tion o' the principles and practice o' poetry to the common purposes o' life ? Fancy and Imagination, sirs, can add an inch o' fat to round or sirloin, while at the same time they sae etherealeese its substance, that you can indulge to the suppos- able utmost in greediness, without subjectin yoursel, in your ain conscience, to the charge o' grossness ony mair than did Adam or Eve when dining upon aipples wi' the angel Raphael in the bowers o' Paradise. And Heaven be praised that has bestowed on us three the gracious gift o' a sound, steady, but not unappeasable appeteet. Tickler. North and I are Epicures but you, James, I fear, are a Shepherd. Glutton. Be't sae. There's at least this comfort in ma case, that I look like ma meat Tickler. Which at present appears to be cod's head and shoulders. Shepherd. Whereas, to look at you, a body would imagine that you leeved exclusively on sheep's head and trotters. As for you, Mr. North, I never could faddom the philosophy o' your fondness for soups. For hotch-potch and cockyleekie the wisest o' men may hae a ruling passion ; but to keep plowterin, platefu' after platefu', amang broon soup, is surely no verra consistent wi' your character. It's little better than moss-water. Speakin' o' cockyleekie, the man was an atheist that first polluted it wi' prunes 414 The Fastidious Tickler. North. At least no Christian. Shepherd. Prunes gie't a sickenin sweetness, till it taste* like a mouthfu' o' a cockney poem ; and, scunnerin, you splutter out the fruit, afraid that the loathsome lobe is a stinkin snail. Tickler. Hogg, you have spoilt my dinner. Shepherd. Then maun ye be the slave o' the sense?, sir, and your very imagination at the mercy of your palat or rather, veece versa, the roof o' your mouth maun haud the tenure o' its taste frae anither man's fancy a pitiable con- dition for a single word may change luxuries intil necessaries, and necessaries intil something no eatable, even during a siege. North. 'Tis all affectation in Tickler this extreme fastidi- ousness and delicacy. Shepherd. I defy the utmost powers o' language to disgust me wi' a glide denner. My stamack would soar superior Tickler. Mine, too, would rise. Shepherd. Oh, sir, you're wutty ! but I hate puns. Tickler, is that mock ? Tickler. I believe it is ; but the imitation excels the original, even as Byron's Bcppo is preferable to Yrere'sGianfs. Shepherd. A' but the green fat. North. Deep must be the foundation and strong the super- structure of that friendship which can sustain the shock of seeing i4s object eating mock-turtle soup from a plate of imitation silver Shepherd. Meaner than pewter, as is the soup than sowens. An invaluable apothegm! North. Not that I belong, James, to the Silver- Fork School.* Shepherd. The flunkeys as we weel ca'd them, sir a contumelious nickname, which that unco dour and somewhat Novelists of the Theodore Hook class had been thus characterized. The Wooden Spoon. 415 stupit radical in the Westminster would try to make himsel believe he invented ower again, when the impident plagiary changed it as he did the ither day into " Lackey." North. I merely mean, James, that at bed or board I abhor all deception. Shepherd. Sae, sir, div* I. A plated spoon is a pitifu' imposition ; recommend me to horn ; and then nane o' your egg-spoons, or pap-spoons for weans, but ane about the diameter o' my loof, that when you put it weel ben into your mouth, gars your cheeks swall, and your een shut wi' satisfaction. Tickler. I should like to have your picture, my dear James, taken in that gesture. North. Finely done in miniature, by MacLeay. Tickler. No. By some savage Rosa. Shepherd. A' I mean, sirs, is sincerity and plain-dealing. *'One man," says the auld proverb, ''is born wi' a silver spoon in his mouth, and another wi' a wudden ladle." Noo, what would be the feelings o' the first, were he to find that fortune had clapt iutil his mouth, as Nature was geein him to the warld, what to a' appearance was a silver spoon, and by the howdie and a' the kimmers f sae denominated accordingly, but when shown to Mr. Morton the jeweller, or Messrs. Mackay and CunnSnghame, was pronounced plated ? He would sigh sair for the wudden ladle. Indeed, gents, I'm no sure but it's better nor even the real siller metal. In the first place, it's no sae apt to be stown ; t in the second, maist things taste weel out o' wud ; thirdly, there's nae expense in keepin't clean, whereas siller requires constant pipe-clay, leather, or flannen ; fourthly, I've seen them wi' a maist beautifu' polish, acquired in coorse o' time by the simple pro- cess o' sookin the horn as it gaed in and out o' the mouth ; * Div do. t Kimmers gossips. t Stown stolen. 41G Memory and Intellect. fifthly, there's ten thousand times mair vareeity in the colors ; sixthly Tickler. Enough in praise of the Wooden Spoon.* Poor fellow ! I always pity that unfortunate annual. Shepherd. Unfortunate annual! You canna weel be fou already ; yet, certes, you're beginnin to haver and indeed I have observed, no without pain, that a single caulker some- hoo or ither superannuates ye, Mr. Tickler. North. James, you have spoken like yourself on the subject of wooden spoons. 'Twas a simple but sapient homily. " Worms, madam ! nay, it is." Be that my rule of life. Shepherd. The general rule admits but o' ae exception Vermicelli ? What that sort o' soup's composed o' I never hae been able to form ony feasible conjecture. Aneuch for me to ken, on your authority, Mr. North, that it's no worms- North. I have no recollection of having ever given you such assurance, James. Shepherd. Your memory, my dear sir, you'll excuse me for metionin't, is no just what it used to be North. You are exceedingly im Shepherd. Pertinent. Pardon me for takin the word out o' your mouth, sir but as for your judgment North. I believe you are right, my dear James. The memory is but a poor power after all well enough for the mind in youth, when its business is to collect a store of ideas Shepherd. But altogether useless in auld age, sir, when the Intellect North. Is Lord Paramount and all his subjects come flocking of their own accord to lay themselves in loyality at his feet. Shepherd. There he sits on his throne, on his head a croon, The lowest graduate in honors at Cambridge is so called. In Old Age. 417 and in his haun a sceptre. Cawm is his face as the sea and his brow like a snaw-white mountain. By divine right a king ! North. Spare my blushes. Shepherd. I wasna speakin o' you, sir sae you needna blush. I was speakin o' the Abstrack Power o' Intellect per- sonified in an Eemage, " whose stature reached the sky," and whose countenance, serenely fu' o' thocht, partook o' the majestic stillness o' the region that is glorified by the setting sun. North. My dear boy, spare my blushes. Shepherd. Hem. (His face can nae mair blush than the belly o' a hen redbreast.) What philosopher, like an adjutant- general, may order out on parawde the thochts and feelings, and, strick though he be as a disciplinawrian, be obeyed by that irregular and aften mutinous Macedonian phalanx ? North. I confess it does surprise me to hear you, James, express yourself so beautifully over haggis. Shepherd. What for ? What's a wee haggis but a big raggoo ? an' a big raggoo, but a wee haggis ? But will you believe me, Mr. Tickler, I was sae taen up wi' the natural sentiment, that I kentna what was on my plate. Tickler. And probably have no recollection of having, within the last ten minutes, eat a how-towdy. Shepherd. What the deevil are you twa about ? Circum- navigating the table in arm-chairs ! What ! Am I on wheels too ? [ The SHEPHERD follows NORTH and TICKLER round the genial board. North. How do you like this fancy, my dear James ? Shepherd. Just excessively, sir. It gies us a perfeck com- mand o' the entire table, east and wast, north and south; and at present, I calculate that I am cuttin the equawtor. 27 418 T/ie Curricles. North. It relives Mr. Ambrose and his young gentlemen from unnecessary attendance and, besides, the exercise is most salutary to persons of our age, who are apt to get fat ami Indolent. Shepherd. Fozy. So ye contrive to rin upon horrals,* halt- ing before a darling dish, and then away on a voyage o' new discovery. This explains the itherwise unaccountable size o' this immense circle o' a table. Safe us ! It would sit forty ! And yet, by this ingenious contrivance, it is just about sufficient size for us Three. Hae ye taen out a pawtent ? North. No. I hate monopolies. Shepherd. What ! You, the famous foe o' Free-tredd ! North. With our national debt Shepherd. Dinna tempt me, sir, to lose a' patience under a treatise on taxes North, Well I won't. But you admire these curricles ? Shepherd. Moveable at the touch o' the wee finger. Whase invention ? North. My own. Shepherd. You Daedalus ! North. The principle, James, I believe is perfect but I have not been yet able to get the construction of the vehicle exactly to my mind. Shepherd. I dinna ken what mair you could howp for, unless it were to move at a thoch*. Farewell, sirs, I'm aff across the line to yon pie nae sma' bulk even at this distance. Can it be pigeons ? [SHEPHFRD wheels away south-east. North. Take your trumpet. Shepherd. That beats a'. For ilka man a silver speakin- trumpet! Let's try mine. (Shepherd puts his trumpet to hi* mouth.) Ship ahoy ! Ship ahoy ! Horralt or whorles very small wheels. Southside in Pursuit. 419 v North (Irumpet-tongued). The Endeavor* bound for Shepherd. Whist whisht sir. I beseech you whisht. Nae drums can staun' siccan a trumpet, blawn by siccan lungs (laying down his trumpet). This is, indeed, the Pie o' Pies. I howp Mr. Tickler 'ill no think o' wheelin roun' to this quarter o' the globe. Tickler (o-n the trumpet). What sort of picking have you got at the Antipodes, James ? Shepherd. Roar a little louder for I'm dull o' hearin. Is he speakin o' the Bench o' Bishops ? Tickler (as before, but louder). What pie? Shepherd. Ay ay. Tickler (larghetto). What pie? Shepherd. Ay ay. What'n a gran' echo up in yon corner! [TICKLER wheels away in search of the north-west passagt and on his approach the SHEPHERD weighs anchor with the pie, and keeps beating up to windtoard close-hauled at the rate of eight knots, chased by SOUTSHIDE, who is seen dropping fast to leeward. North. He'll not weather the point of Firkin.f Shepherd (putting about under North's stern). I'll rin for pro- tection frae the Pirrat,$ under the guns o' the old Admiral and being on the same station, I suppose he's entitled to his ain share o' the prize. Here, my jolly veteran, here's the Pie. Begin wi' a couple o' cushats, and we'll divide atween us the croon o' paste in the middle, about as big's the ane the King God bless him wore at the coronation. [TICKLER wheels his chair into the nook on the right of the chimney-piece. Southside, hae you deserted the diet ? O man ! you're * Professor Wilson had a yacht on Wlndennere named " The Endearor." t A point of land running into Loch Lomond IB so called. } Pirate, 420 Sound the Trumpets! surely no sulky? Come back come back, I beseech you and let us shake hauns. It'll never do for us true Tories to quarrel amang oursels at this creesis. What'n a triumph to the Whigs, when they hear o' this schism ! Let's a' hae a finger in the pie, and as the Lord Chancellor said, and I pre- sume did, in the House o' Lords " on my bended knees, 1 implore you to pass this bill ! " * [The SHEPHERD kneels before TICKLER, and presents to him a plateful of the pie. Tickler (returning to the administration). James, we have conquered, and we are reconciled. North. Trumpets ! [ Three trumpet cheers. Gurney (rushing in alarm from the ear of Dionysius). Gentlemen, the house is surrounded by a mob of at least fifty thousand Reformers, who with dreadful hurrahs are shouting for blood. Shepherd. Fifty thousan' ! Wha counted the radical ras- cals? Gurney. I conjecture their numbers from their noise. For Heaven's sake, Mr. North, do not attempt to address the mob North. Trumpets ! [ Three trumpet cheers. Gurney (retiring much abashed into his ear). Miraculous ! Ambrose (entering with much emotion). Mr. North, I fear the house is surrounded by the enemies of .he constitution, demanding the person of the Protector Shepherd. Trumpets ! [Three trumpet cheers. Exit AMBROSE tn astonish-nent. North. Judging from appearances, I presume dinner is over. * Lord Brcugham concluded his speech on Parliamentary Reform, October 7, 1831, in the following terms : " I pray and exhort yon not to reject this measure. By all you hold most dear by all the ties that bind every one of us to our common opder and our common country, I solemnly adjure you, I warn you, I implore, yea, on my bended kntee, I supplicate you Reject not this Bill." The Start. 421 Shepherd. A'm stawed.* North. There is hardly any subject which we have not touched, and not one have we touched which we did not adorn. Shepherd. By subjeck? do you mean dishes ? Certes, we have discussed a hantle o' them some pairtly, and ithers totally ; but there's food on the brodd yet sufficient for a score o' ordinar men TicJder. And we shall have it served up, James, to supper. Shepherd. Soun' doctrine. What's faith without warks ? North. Now, gentlemen, a fair start. Draw up on my right, James elbow to elbow. Tickler, your place is on the extreme gauche. You both know the course. The hearth-rug of the snuggery's the goal. All ready ? Away ! [The start is the most beautiful thing ever seen and all Three at once make play. SCENE II. The Snuggery. Enter NORTH in his flying chair, at the rate of the Derby f beating, by several lengths, TICKLER and the SHEPHERD, now neck and neck. North ( pulling up as soon as he has passed the Judges' stand). Our nags are pretty much on a par, I believe, in point of con- dition, but much depends, in a short race, on a good start, and there the old man showed his jockeyship. Shepherd. 'Twas a fause start, sir 'twas a fause start I'll swear it was a fause start till ma deein day for I hadna gotten mysel settled in the saiddle, till ye was aff like a shot, and afore I could get intil a gallop, you was half-way across the flat o' the saloon. North. James, there could be no mistake. The signal to start was given by Saturn himself ; and Slaved surfeited. 422 Hogg refers his Claim Shepherd. And then Tickler, afore me and him got to the fuuldin-doors, after some desperate crossin and jostlin, 1 alloo, on baith sides, ran me clean all' the coorse, and I had to make a complete circle in the bow-window or I could get the head o' my horse pinted again in a richt direction for winniu the race. Ca' ye that fair ? I shall refer the haill business to the decision o' the Jockey Club. North. What have you to say, Tickler, in answer to this very serious charge? Tickler. Out of his own mouth, sir, I convict him of con- duct that must have the effect of debarring the Shepherd from ever again competing for these stakes. Shepherd. For what stakes ? Do you mean to mainteen, you brazen-faced neerdoweel, that I am never to be alloo'd again to rin Mr. North frae the saloon to the Snuggery for ony steaks we choose, or chops either ? Things 'ill hae come to a pretty pass, when it sail be necessar to ask your leave to start you blacklegs ! Tickler. He's confessed the crossing and jostling. Shepherd. You lee. Wha began't ? We started sidey-by sidey, ye see, sir, frae the rug afore the fire, where we was a' three drawn up, and just as you was gaun out o' sicht atween the pillars, Tickler and me ran foul o' ane anither at the nor', east end o' the circular. There was nae faut on either side there, and a'm no blainin him, except for ackwardness, which was aiblius mutual. As sune's we had gotten disentangled, we entered by look o' ee, if no word o' mouth, in til a sorial compact to rin roun' opposite sides o' the table which we did and in proof that neither of us had gained an inch on the ither, no sooner had we rounded the south-west cape, than together, came we wi' sic a clash, that I thocht we had been baith killed on the spat. There was nae faut on either side there, ouy mair than there had been at the nor'-east ; To the Jockey Club. 428 but then began his violation o' a* honor ; for ha'in succeeded in shovin mysel aff, I was makin for the fauldin-doors due west ettlin for the inside, to get a short turn when, whup- pin and spurrin like mad, what does he do but charge me richt on the flank, and drive me, as I said afore, several yards aff the coorse, towards the bow-window, where I was neces sitated to fetch a circumbendibus that wad hae lost me the race had I ridden Eclipse. Ca' ye that fair ? But it was agreed that we were to be guided by the law of Newmarket, sae I'll refer the haill affair to the Jockey Club. Tickler. Hear me for a moment, sir. True, we got en- tangled at the nor'-west most true at the sou'-west came we together with a clash. But what means the Shepherd by shoving off ? Why, sir, he caught hold of my right arm as in a vice, so that I could make no use of that member, while at the same time he locked me into his own rear, and then away he went like a two-year-old, having, as he vainly dreamt, the race in hand by that manoeuvre, so disgraceful to the character of the carpet. North. If you please, turf. Tickler. Under such circumstances, was I to consider my- self bound by laws which he himself had broken and reduced to a dead letter ? No. My subsequent conduct he has accu- rately described ; off the course for we have a bit of speed in us I drove him ; but as for the circumbendibus in the bow-window, we must believe that on his own word. Shepherd. And daur you, sir, or ony man breathin, to dout ma word North. Be calm, gentlemen. The dispute need not be re- ferred to the Club for, consider you were nowhere. Shepherd. Eh? North. You were both distanced. Shepherd. Baith distanced ! Hoo ? Where's the post ? 424 The Coalition against North. North. The door-post of the Snuggery. Shepherd. Baith our noses were through afore you hul reach- ed the rug. I'll tak ma Bible-oath on't. Werena they, Tick ler ? Tickler. Both. North. Not a soul of you entered this room for several seconds after I had dismounted Shepherd. After ye had dismounted ? Haw ! haw ! haw ! Tickler ! North confesses he had dismounted afore he was weighed and has thereby lost the -ace. Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Noo, ours was a dead 1 eat so let us divide the stakes Tickler. With all my heart ; but we ran for the Gold Cup. Shepherd. Eh ! sae we did, man ; and yonner it's on the sideboard a bonny bit o' bullion. Let's keep it year about ; and, to prevent ony hargle-barglin about it, let the first turn be mine ; oh ! but it'll do wee Jamie's heart gude to glower on't stannin aside the siller punch-bowl I got frae my friend Mr. What's the matter wi' ye, Mr. North ? What for sae doun i' the mouth ? Why fret sae at a trifle ? North. No honor can accrue from a conquest achieved by a quirk. Shepherd. Nor dishonor frae defeat; then, " prithee why so pale, wan lover ? prithee why so pale ? " Tickler. I can hardly credit my senses when I hear an old sportsman call that a quirk, which is in fact one of the foundation-stones of the law of Racing. Shepherd. I maun gang back for ma shoon. North. Your shoon. Shepherd. Ay,ma shoon I flung them baith in Mr. Tickler's face for which I noo ask his pardon when he ran me an* the coorse Tickler. No offence, my dear James, for I returned the compliment with both snuff-boxes The Dessert. 425 North Oh ! ho ! So you who urge against me the objection of having dismounted before going to scale, both confess that you flung away weight during the race ! Shepherd. Eh ? Mr. Tickler, answer him Tickler. Do, James. Shepherd (scratching his head with one hand, and stroking hit chin with the other). We've a' three won, and we've a' three lost. That's the short and the lang o't sae the Cup maun staun' ower till anither trial. North. Let it be decided now. From Snuggery to Saloon. Shepherd. What ! after frae Saloon to Snuggery ? That would be reversin the order o' nature. Besides, we maun a' three be unco dry sae let's turn to, till the table and see what's to be had in the way o' drink. What'n frutes ! North. These are Ribstons, James a pleasant apple^ Shepherd. And what's thir? North. Golden pippins. Shepherd. Sic jargonels ! shaped like peeries and yon Auchans* (can they be ripe?) like taps. And what ca' ye thae, like great big fir-cones, wi' outlandish-lookin palm-tree leaves archin frae them wi' an elegance o' their ain, rouch though they seem in the rin', and aiblins prickly ? What ca' ye them ? North. Pine-apples. Shepherd. I've aften heard tell o' them but never clap ped een on them afore. And these are pines ! Oh ! but the snent is sweet, sweet and wild as sweet and as wild resto- rative. I'se tak some jargonels afterwards but I'll join you noo, sir, in a pair o' pines. [NORTH fives the SHEPHERD a pine-apple* Hoo are they eaten ? Auchans a kind of pear. 126 The Flavor of Pine-Apple. Tickler. With pepper, mustard, and vinegar, like oysters, James. Shepherd. I'm thinkin you maun be leein. Tickler. Some people prefer catsup. Shepherd. Hand your blethers. Catchup's gran' kitchen * for a' kinds o' flesh, fish, and fule, but for frutes the rule is ' sugar or naething," and if this pine keep the taste o' promise to the palat, made by the scent he sends through the nose, nae extrawneous sweetness will he need, self-sufficient in his ain sappiness, rich as the color o' pinks, in which it is sae savorily enshrined. 1 never pree'd ony taste half sae delicious as that in a' ma born days ! Ribstanes, pippins, jargonels, peaches, nectrins, currans and strawberries, grapes and grozets, a' in ane ! The concentrated essence o' a' ither frutes, harmoneesed by a peculiar tone o' its ain till it melts in the mouth like material music. North (pouring out for the Shepherd a glass of sparkling champagne). Quick, James quick ere the ethereal particles escape to heaven. Shepherd. You're no passin aff soddy f upon me ? Soddy's ma abhorrence it's sae like thin soap suds. North. Fair play's a jewel, my dear Shepherd. " From the vine-coyered hills and gay regions of France " Shepherd. " See the day-star o' liberty rise." liiat beats ony guseberry and drinks prime wi' pine. An- ith^r glass. And anither. Noo put aside the Langshanks and after a' this daffin let's set in for serious drinkin, thinkin lookin, and speakin like three philosophers as we are and still let our theme be Human Life. Kitchen relish. t Soda water. North is sick of Life. 427 North. James, I am sick of life. With me " the wine of life is on the lees." Shepherd. Then drink the dregs and be thankfu'. As lang's there's anither drap, however drumly, in the bottom o' the bottle, dinna despair. But what for are you sick o 1 life ? You're no a verra auld man yet and although ye was, why mayna an auld man be geyan happy ? That's a' ye can expeck noo. But wha's happy think ye perfeckly happy on this side o' the grave ? No ane. I left yestreen wee Jamie God bless him greetin as his heart would break for the death o' a bit wee doggie that he used to keep playin wi' on the kuowe mony an hour when he ought to hae been at his byuck and when he lifted up his bonny blue een a' fu' o' tears to the skies, after he had seen me bury the puir tyke in the garden, I'se warrant he thocht there was a sair change for the waur in the afternoon licht for never did callant loe collie as he loed Luath ; and to be sure he, on his side, wasna ungratefu' J:or Luath keepit lichin his haun till the verra last gasp, though he dee'd of that cruel distemper. Fill your glass, sir. North. I have been subject to fits of blackest melancholy since I was a child, James. Shepherd. An' think ye, sir, that naebody has been subjeck to fits o' blackest melancholy since they were a bairn but yoursel ? Wi' some it's constitutional, and that's a hopeless case ; for it rins, or rather stagnates, in the bluid, and meesery has been bequeathed frae father to son, doun mony dismal generations nor has ceased till some childless suicide, by a maist ruefu' catastrophe, has closed the cleemax, by the unblessed extinction o' the race. But you, my dear sir, are come o' a cheerfu' kind, and mirth laughed in the ha's o' a' your ancestors. Cheer up, sir cheer up fill your glass wi' Madeiry an' nae mair folly about fits for you' re gettin fatter 428 The Young and Sappy. an' fatter every year, and what you ca' despair 's but the dumps. North. O, niihi praetcritos referat si Jupiter annos ! Shepherd. Ay passion gies vent to mony an impious prayer ! The mair I meditat on ony season o' my life, the mair fearfu' grows the thocht o' leevin't ower again, and my sowl recoils alike frae the bliss and frae the meesery, as if baith alike had been sae intense that it were impossible they could be re-endured ! North. James, I regard you with much affection. Shepherd. I ken you do, sir and I repay't three-fauld ; but I canna thole to hear you talkin nonsense. What for are ye no drinkin your Madeiry ? North. How pregnant with pathos to an aged man are those two short lines of Wordsworth about poor Ruth ! " Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn'd, A young and happy child." Shepherd. They are beautifu' where they staun', and true ; but fause in the abstrack, for the youngest and happiest child has often wept and mourned, even when its uiither has been try in to rock it asleep in its cradle. Think o' the teethin, sir, and a' the colic-pains incident to babbyhood ! North. " You speak to me who never had a child." Shepherd. I'm no sae sure o' that, sir. Few men hae leeved t,ill threescore and ten without being faithers ; but that's no the pint ; the pint is the pleasures and pains o' childhood, and boo nicely they are balanced to us poor sons of a day ! I ken naething o' your childhood, sir, nor o' Mr. Tickler's, except that in very early life you maun hae been twa stirrin gentlemen Tickler. I have heard my mother say that I was a remark- ably mild child till about Shepherd Six when it cost your faither an income for Childhood of Tickler. 429 tawse to skelp out o' you the innate ferocity that begau to break upon you like a rash alaug wi' the measles Tickler. It is somewhat singular, James, that I never have had measles nor small pox nor hooping-cough nor scarlet- fever nor Shepherd. There's a braw time comin, for these are com- plents nane escape ; and I shouldna be surprised to see you at next Noctes wi' them a' fowre a' spotted and blotched, as red as an Indian or a tile-roof, and crawin like a cock, in a fearsome manner to which add the Asiatic cholera, and then, ma man, I wadna be in your shoon for the free gift o' the best o' the Duke's store-farms, wi' a' the plenishin for the fifth comin on the ither fowre, lang as you are, wad cut you aff like a cucumber. North. " Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade ! Ah, fields beloved in vain ! Where once my careless childhood stray 'd, A stranger yet to pain." Shepherd. That's Gray and Gray was the best poet that ever belanged to a college but North. All great (except one) and most good poets have belonged to colleges. Shepherd. Humph. But a line comes soon after that is the key to that stanza " My weary soul they seem to soothe I " Gray wasna an auld man far frae it when he wrote that beautifu' Odd but he was fu' o' sensibility and genius and after a lapse o' years, when he beheld again the bits o' bricht aud bauld leevin eemages glancin athwart the green a' the Eton College callants in full cry his heart amaist dee'd within him at the sicht and the soun' for his pulse, as he 430 The Joy of Grief! put his finger to his wrist, beat feut and intermittent in coin parison, and nae wunner that he should fa' intil a dooble delusion about their happiness and his ain meescry. And sae the poem's colored throughout wi' a pensive spirit o' regret, in some places wi' the gloom o' melancholy, and in ane or twa amaist black wi' despair. It's a fine picture o' passion, sir, and true to nature in every touch. Yet frae beginnin to end, in the eye o' reason, and faith, and religion, it's a' ae lee. Fause, surely, a' thae forebodings o' a fatal futurity. For love, joy, and bliss are not banished frae this life ; and in writin that verra poem, mamma the state o' Gray's sowl hae been itsel divine ? North. Tickler? Tickler. Good. Shepherd. What are mony o' the pleasures o' memory, sire, but the pains o' the past spiritualeezed ? North. Tickler? Tickler. True. Shepherd. A' human feelings seem somehow or ither to partake o' the same character, when the objects that awake them have withdrawn far, far awa intil the dim distance, or disappeared for ever in the dust. Tickler. North? North. The Philosophy of Nature. Shepherd. And that Tarn Cawmel maun hae felt, when he wrote that glorious line " And teach impasslon'd souls the joy of grief 1 " North. The joy of grief ! That is a joy known but to the happy, James. The soul that can dream of past sorrows till they touch it with a pensive delight can be suffering under no severe trouble Shepherd. Perhaps no, sir. But may that no aften happen The Blue Devils. 431 too, when the heart is amaist dead to a' pleasure in the present, and loves but to converse wi' phantoms ? I've seen pale still-faces o' widow-women, ane sic is afore me the noo, whase husband was killed in the wars lang lang ago in a forgotten battle she leeves on a sma' pension in a laigh and lonely house, that bespeak constant communion wi' the dead, and yet nae want either o' a meek and mournfu' sympathy wi' the leevin, provided only ye show them by the considerate gentleness o' your manner, when you chance to ca' on them on a week-day, or meet them at the kirk on Sabbath, that you ken something o' their history, and hae a Christian feelin for their uncomplainin affliction. Surely, sir, at times, when some tender gleam o' memory glides like moonlight across their path, and reveals in the hush some ineffable eemage o' what was lovely and beloved o' yore, when they were, as they thocht, perfectly happy, although the heart kens weel that 'tis but an eemage, and nae mair yet still it maun be blest ; and let the tears drap as they will on the faded cheek, I should say the puir desolate cretur did in that strange fit o' passion suffer the joy o' grief. North. You will forgive me, James, when I confess, that though I enjoyed just now the sound of your voice, which seemed to me more than usually pleasant, with a trembling tone of the pathetic, I did not catch the sense of your speech. Shepherd. I wasna makin a speech, sir only uttering a sort o' sentiment that has already evaporated clean out o' mind or passed awa like an uncertain shadow. North. Misery is selfish, James and I have lost almost all sympathy with my fellow-creatures, alike in their joys and their sorrows. Shepherd. Come, come, sir cheer up, cheer up. It's nae- thing but the blue devils* 482 The Blue Devih. North. All dead one after another the friends in whoa: lay the light and might of my life and memory's self is faithless now to the " old familiar faces." Eyes brows lips smiles voices all all forgotten ! Pitiable, indeed, is old age, when love itself grows feeble in the heart, and yet the dotard is still conscious that he is day by day letting some sacred remembrance slip for ever from him that he once cherished devoutly in his heart's core, and feels that mental decay alone is fast delivering them all up to oblivion ! Shepherd. Sittin wi' rheumy een, mumblin wi' his mouth on his breist, and no kennin frae ither weans his grandchil- dren, wha have come to visit him wi' their mother, his ain bricht and beautifu' dauchter, wha seems to him a stranger passing alang the street. North. What said you, James ? v Shepherd. Naething, sir, naething. I wasna speakin o' you but o' anither man. North. They who knew me and loved me and honored me and admired me for why fear to use that word, now to me charmless ? all dust! What are a thousand kind acquaintances, James, to him who has buried all the few friends of his soul all the few one two three but powerful as a whole army to guard the holiest recesses of life! Shepherd. An' am I accounted but a kind acquaintance and nae mair ? I wha North. What have I said to hurt you, my dear James ? Shepherd. Never mind, sir never mind. I'll try to forget it but North. Stir the fire, James and give a slight touch to that lamp. Shepherd There's a bleeze, sir, at ae blast. An' there's the Orrery, bricht as the nicht in Homer's Iliad, about which The Salmon Medal 433 you wrote sic eloquent havers. And there's your bumper- glass. Noo, sir, be candid, and tell me gif you dinna think tliat you've been a verra great fule ? North. I believe I have, my dear James. But, by all that is ludicrous here below, look at Tickler ! [ Tickler sleeps Shepherd. Oh for Cruckshank ! North. By the bye, James, who won the salmon medal this season on the Tweed ? Shepherd. Wha, think ye, could it be, ye coof, but mysel ? I bet them a' by twa stane wecht. Oh, Mr. North, but it wad hae done your heart gude to hae daunered alang the banks wi' me on the 25th, and seen the slauchter. At the third thraw the snout o' a famous fish sookit in ma flee and for some seconds keepit stedfast in a sort o' eddy that gaed sullenly swirlin at the tail o' yon pool I needna name't for the river had risen just to the proper pint, and was black as ink, except when noo and then the sun struggled out frae atween the clud-chinks, and then the water was purple as heather-moss in the season of blaeberries. But that verra instant the flee began to bite him on the tongue, for by a jerk o' the wrist I had slightly gien him the butt and sun- beam never swifter shot frae Heaven, than shot that saumon- beam down intil and out o' the pool below, and alang the saugh-shallows or you come to Juniper Bank. Clap clap clap at the same instant played a couple o' cushats frae an aik aboon my head, at the purr o' the pirn, that let out in a twinkling a hunner yards o' Mr. Phin's best, strang aneucb to haud a bill or a rhinoceros. North. Incomparable tackle ! Shepherd. Far, far awa doun the flood, see till him, sir- see till him, loup-loup-loupin intil the air, describin in the spray the rinnin rainbows ! Scarcely could I believe, at sic a distance, that he was the same fish. He seemed a 484 Hogg in his Cork-Jacket eauinon divertin himsel, without ony connection in this warld wi' the Shepherd. But we were linked thegither, sir, by the iuveesible gut o' destiny and I chasteesed hitn in his pastime wi' the rod o' affliction. Windin up windin up, faster than ever ye grunded coffee T keepit closin in upon him, till the whalebone was amai.st perpendicular outower him, as he stoppit to tak breath in a deep plum. You see the savage had gotten sulky, and you micht as weel hae rugged at a rock. Hoo I leuch ! Easiu the line ever so little, till it just moved slichtly like gossamer in a breath o' wund I half persuaded him that he had gotten aff ; but na, na, ma man, ye ken little about the Kirby-beuds gin ye think the peacock's harl and the tinsy hae slipped frae your jaws ! Snoovin up the stream, he goes hither and thither, but still keepin weel in the middle and noo strecht and steddy as a bridegroom ridin to the kirk. NortJi. An original image. Shepherd. Say rather application! Maist majestic, sir, you'll alloo, is that flicht o' a fish when the line cuts the surface without commotion, and you micht imagine that he was sailin unseen below in the style o' an eagle about to fauld his wings on the cliff. North. Tak tent, James. Be wary, or he will escape. Shepherd. Never fear, sir. He'll no pit me aff my guard by keepin the croon o' the causey in that gate. I ken what he's ettlin at and it's naething mair nor less nor yon island. Thinks he to himsel, wi' his tail, " Gin I get abreist o' the broom, I'll roun' the rocks, doun the rapids, and break the Shepherd." And nae sooner thocht than done but bauld in my cork -jacket North. That's a new appurtenance to your person, James ; I thought you had always angled in bladders. Shepherd. Sae T used but last season they fell doun to my Plays his Salmon. 435 heels, and had nearly drooned me sae I trust noo to my bodyguard. North. I prefer the air life-preserver. Shepherd. If it bursts you're gone. Bauld in my cork-jacket, I took till the soomin, haudin the rod aboon my head North. Like Caesar his Commentaries. Shepherd. And gettin fittin on the bit island there's no a shrub on't, you ken, aboon the waistband o' my breeks I was just in time to let him easy ower the Fa', and Heaven safe us ! he turned up, as he played wallop, a side like a house ! He fand noo that he was in the hauns o' his maister, and began to loss heart ; for naethin cows the better pairt o' man, brute, fool, or fish, like a sense o' inferiority. Some- times in a large pairty it suddenly strikes me dumb North. But never in the Snuggery, James never in the Sanctum Shepherd. Na, na, na never i' the Snuggery, never i' the Sanctum, my dear auld man ! For there we're a' brithers, and keep bletherin withouten ony sense o' propriety I ax pardon o' inferiority bein' a' on a level, and that lichtsome, like the parallel roads in Glenroy, when the sunshine pours upon them frae the tap o' Ben Nevis. North. But we forget the fish. Shepherd. No me. I'll remember him on my deathbed. In body the same, he was entirely anither fish in sowl. He had set his life on the hazard o' a die, and it had turned up blanks. I began first to pity, and then to despise him for frae a fish o' his appearance I expeckit that riae ack o' his life wad hae sae graced him as the closin ane and I was pairtly wae and pairtly wrathfu' to see him dee saft! Yet, to do him justice, it's no impossible but that he may hae druv his snout again' a stane, and got dazed and we a' ken by experience that there's naething mair likely to calm courage 486 The Last Leap. Jian a brainin knock on the head. His org-in o' locality had gotten a clour, for he lost a' judgment atween wat and dry, and came floatin, belly upmost, in amang the bit snail-bucky- shells on the sand around my feet, and lay there as still as if he had been gutted on the kitchen-dresser an enormous fish. North. A sumph. Shepherd. No sic a sumph as he looked like and that you'll think when you hear tell o' the lave o' the adventure. Bein' rather out o' wund, I sits doun on a stane, and was wipin ma broos, wi' ma een fixed upon the prey, when a' on a sudden, as if he had been galvaneesed, he stotted up intil the lift, and wi' ae squash played plunge into the pool, and awa doun the eddies like a porpus. I thocht I should hae gane mad, Heaven forgie me and I fear I swore like a trooper. Loupin wi' a spang frae the stane, I missed ma feet, and gaed head-ower-heels intil the water while amang the rushin o' the element I heard roars o' lauchter as if frae the kelpie himsel, but what afterwards turned out to be guffaws frae your friens Boyd and Juniper Bank,* wha had been wut- nessin the drama frae commencement to catastrophe. North. Ha ! ha ! ha ! James ! it must have been excessively droll. Shepherd Risin to the surface wi' a guller, I shook ma uieve at the neerdoweels, and then doun the river after the sumph o' a saumon, like a verra otter. Followin noo the sicht and noo the scent, I wasna lang in comin up wi' him for he was as deid as Dawvid and lyin on his back, I pro- test, just like a man restin himsel at the soomin. I had for- gotten the gaff so I fastened ma tooth intil the shouther o him and like a Newfoundlan' savin a chiel frae droonin, I * Messrs. Boyd of Innerlolthen and Thorburn of Juniper Bank, a farm on Tweedside. TJie Shepherd on Shakespeare. 437 hare him to the shore, while, to do Boyd and Juniper justice, the lift rang wi' acclamations. North. What may have been his calibre ? Shepherd. On puttin him intil the scales at nicht, he just turned three stane tron. Tickler (stretching himself out to an incredible extent). Alas! 'twas but a dream ! Shepherd. Was ye dreamin, sir, o' bein' hanged ? Tickler (recovering hisjirst position). Eh ! North. " So started up in his own shape the Fiend." We have been talking, Timothy, of Shakespeare's Seven Ages. Tickler. Shakespeare's Seven Ages. Shepherd. No Seven Ages but rather seven characters. Ye dinna mean to mainteen that every man, afore he dees, maun be a sodger and a justice o' the peace ? Tickler. Shepherd versus Shakespeare Yarrow versus Avon. Shepherd. I see no reason why me, or ony ither man o' genius, michtna write just as weel's Shakspeer. Arena we a' mortal ? Mony glorious glints he has, and surpassin sun- bursts but oh ! sirs, his plays are desperate fu' o' trash like some o' ma earlier poems Tickler. The Queen's Wake is a faultless production. Shepherd. It's nae sic thing. But it's nearly about as perfeck as ony work o' human genius ; whereas Shakspeer's best plays, sic as Hamlet, Lear, and Othello, are but strang daubs Tickler. James Shepherd. Are they no, Mr. North ? North. Rather so, my dear Shepherd. But what of his Seven Ages ? Shepherd. Nothing except that they're very poor. What's the first? 438 The First North. "At first the Infant, Mewling and puking in its nurse's arms 1 " Shepherd Weel, theu, the verra first squeak or skir] o* a newborn weaii in the house, that, though little louder nor that o' a rotten, fills the entire tenement frae grun'-wark to riggin, was far better for the purposes o' poetry than the mewlin and pukin for besides bein' onything but disgustfu' though sometimes, I alloo, as alarmin as unexpected, it is the sound the young Roscius utters on his first appearance on any stage ; and on that latter account, if on nae ither, should hae been seleckit by Shakspeer. North. Ingenious, James. Shepherd. Or the moment when it is first pitten,* trig as a bit burdie, intil its father's arms. Tickler. A man-child the imp. Shepherd. Though noo sax feet f ower, you were then your sel, Tickler, but a span lang little mair nor the length o' your present nose. Tickler. 'Twas a snub. Shepherd. As weel tell me that a pawrot, when it chips the shell, has a strecht neb. Tickler. Or that a hog does not show the cloven foot till he has learnt to grunt. Shepherd. Neither he does fui he grunts the instant he's farrowed like ony Christian sae you're out again there, and that envenomed shaft o' satire fa's to thegrun'. North. No bad blood, gents ! Shepherd. Weel, then or, when yet unchristened, it lies awake in the creddle and as its wee dim een meet yours, as you're lookin doun to kiss't, there comes strangely ower its bit fair a something joyfu', that love construes intil a smila * Pitten put. Of the Seven Ages. 439 Tickler. " Beautiful exceedingly." Hem. Shepherd. Or, for the first time o' its life in lang-claes, held up in the hush o' the kirk, to be bapteesed while Tickler. The moment the water touches its face, it falls into a fit of fear and rage Shepherd. Sune stilled, ye callous carle, in the bosom o' ane o' the bonny lassies sittin on a furm in the transe, a' dressed in white, wha wi' mony a silent hushaby lulls the lamb, noo ane o' the flock, into haly sleep. Tickler. Your hand, my dear James. Shepherd. There. Tak a gude grup, sir, for in spite o' that sneerin, you've a real gude heart. North. This is the second or third time, my dear James, that we have been cheated by some chance or other out of your Seven Ages. But hark ! the timepiece strikes nine and we must away to the Library. Two hours for dinner in the Saloon two for wine and walnuts in the Snuggery then two for tea-tea and coffee-tea in the Library and finally, two in the blue-parlor for supper. Such was the arrangement for the evening. So lend me your support, my dear boys we shall leave our curricles behind us and start pedestrians. I am the lad to show a toe. \_Exennt. XXV. IN WHICH NORTH ERECTS HI$ TENT IN THE FAIRY'S CLEUGH, AND IS CRO WNED KING OF SCOTLAND BY THE FOREST WORTHIES. SCENE I. Tent in the Fairy's Olcngh. NORTH and the REGISTRAR * lying on the brae. (fn attendance, AM- BROSE and Ms 7'm7.) Registrar. And here we are in the Fairy's Cleugh, among the mountains of North. Peeblesshire, Dumfriesshire, Lanarkshire, for here all three counties get inextricably entangled ; yet in their pastoral peace they quarrel not for the dominion of this nook, central in the hill-heart, and haunted by the Silent L 3 eople. Registrar. You do not call us silent people ! Why, you out-talk a spinning-jenny, and the mill-clapper stops in despair at the volubility of your speech. North. Elves, Sam Elves. Is it not the Fairy's Cleugh ? Registrar. And here have been " little feet that print the ground." But 1 took them for those of hares North. These, Sam, are not worm-holes nor did Mole the miner upheave these pretty little pyramids of primroses for * " The Registrar " was Mr. Samuel Anderson, formerly of the firm of Brougham and Anderson, wine merchants, Edinburgh. He afterwards ob- tained from Lord Chancellor Brougham (his partner's brother) the appoint- ment of Registrar of the Court of Chancery. He was an esteemed friend of Professor Wilson's, and a general favorite in society. He died in 1849. 410 North as a Fairy. 441 these, Sam, are all Fairy palaces, and yonder edifice that towers above the Lady-Fern therein now sleeps let us speak low, and disturb her not the Fairy Queen, waiting for the moonlight and soon as the orb shows her rim rising from behind Birk-fell away to the ring will she be gliding with all the ladies of her Court Registrar. And we will join the dance Kit North. Remember then that I am engaged to Registrar. So am I three-deep. North. Do you know, Sam, that I dreamed a dream ? Registrar. You cannot keep a secret, for you blab in your sleep. North. Ay both talk and walk. But I dreamed that I saw a Fairy's funeral, and that I was myself a fairy. Registrar. A warlock. North. No a pretty little female fairy not a span long. Registrar. Ha! ha! ha! North. And they asked me to sing her dirge, and then I sang for sorrow in sleep, Sam, is sometimes sweeter than any joy ineffably sweet and thus comes back wavering intc my memory the elegiac strain. THE FAIRY'S BUBIAL. Where shall oui Mjter rest? Where shall we bury her ? To the grave's silent breast Soon we must hurry her t Gone is the beauty now From her cold bosom ! Down droops her livid brow, Like a wan blossom ! Not to those white lipe cling Smiles or caresses ! Dull is the rainbow wing, Dim the blight tressos ! 442 TJie Fairy's Burial Death now hath claimed his spoil Fling the pall over her ! Lap we earth's lightest soil, Wherewith to cover her ! Where down in yonder vale Lilies are growing, Mourners the pure and pale Sweet tears bestowing ! Morning and evening dews Will they shed o'er her ; Each night their task renew! How to deplore her ! Here let the fern-grass grow, With its green drooping ! Let the narcissus blow, O'er the wave stooping ! Let the brook wander by, Mournfully singing t Let the wind murmur nigh, Sad echoes bringing. And when the moonbeams shower, Tender and holy, Light on the haunted hour Which is ours solely, Then will we seek the spot Where thou art sleeping, Holding thee unf orgot With our long weeping I Amorose (rushing out of the Tent). Mr. Tickler, sirs, Mr. Tickler ! Yonder's his head and shoulders rising over the knoll in continuation of his herald the rod. North (savagely). Go to the devil, sir. Ambi-ose ( petrified). Ah ! ha ! ha ! ah ! si sir pa- pa pard North (unmottified). Go to the devil, I say, sir. Are you deaf? Ambrose (going, going, gone). I beseech you,Mr. Registrar North is admonished. 443 North (grimly). " How like a fawning publican he looks ! " Registrar. A most melancholy example of a truth I never believed before, that poetical and human sensibility are alto- gether distinct nay, perhaps incompatible ! North, forgive me (North grasps the crutch) ; but you should be ashamed of yourself nay, strike, but hear me! North (smiling after a sort). Well Themistocles. Registrar. You awaken out of a dream-dirge of Faery Land where you, by force of strong imagination, were a female fairy, not a span long mild as a musical violet, if one might suppose one, " by a mossy stone half-hidden from the eye," inspired with speech. North. I feel the delicacy of the compliment. Registrar. Then you feel something very different, sir, I assure you, from what I intended, and still intend, you shall feel; for your treatment of my friend Mr. Ambrose was hocking. North. I declare on my conscience, I never saw Ambrose ! Registrar. What ! aggravate your folly by falsehood ! Then are you a lost man and North. I thought it a stirk staggering in upon me at the close of a stanza that Registrar. And why did you say " sir " ? Nay nay that won't pass. From a female fairy, not a span long, " and even the gentlest of all gentle things," you suffer yourself to trans- form you into a Fury six feet high ! and wantonly insult a man who would not hurt the feelings of a wasp ! North (humbly). I hope I am not a wasp. Registrar. I hope not, sir ; but permit me, who am not one of your youngest friends, to say to you confidentially, that you were just now very unlike a bee. North (hiding his face with both his hands). All sting and oo honey. Spare me, Sam. 444 Se apologizes. Registrar. I will. But the world would not have credited it, had she heard it with her own ears. Are you aware, sir, that you told Mr. Ambrose " to go to the devil " ? North (agitated). And has he gone ? Registrar (beckoning on Ambrose, who advances). Well, Ambrose ? North. Ambrose ! Do you forgive me ? Ambrose, (falling on one knee). No no no my dear eir my honored master North. Alas ! Ambrose I am not even master of myself. Ambrose. It was all my fault, sir. I ought to have looked first to see if you were in the poetics. Such intrusion was most unpardonable for (smiling and looking down) shall mere man obtrude on the hour of inspiration when " The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Glances from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, And as imagination bodies forth The form of things unknown, turns them to shape, And gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name." Registrar. Who suffers, Ambrose ? Ambrose. Shakespeare, sir. Mr. Tickler ! Mr. Tickler ! Mr. Tickler ! (catching up his voice) Mr. Tick Registrar. Yea verily and 'tis no other ! Tickler (stalking up the brae rod in hand and creel on his shoulder with his head well laid back and his nose pretty per- pendicular with earth and sky). Well boys what's the news ? And how are you off for soap ? How long here ? Ho ! ho i The Tent. North. Since Monday evening and if my memory serve me right, this is either Thursday or Friday. Whence, Tim? Tickler. From the West. But is there any porter ? Ambrose (striving to draw). Ay ay sir. Arrival of Tickler. 445 Tickler. You may as well try to uproot that birk. Give it me. [Put the bottle between his feet stoops and lays on his strength. Registrar (jogging North). Oh! for George Crnikshank ! Tickler (loiid explosion and much smoke). The J ig. Ambrose. Here, sir. Tickler (teeming). Brown stout. The porter's in spate. THE QUERN ! Omnes. Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! Ambrose. Hip hip hip Registrar. Hush ! Tickler. Hech ! That draught made ray lugs crack. Oh ! Kit ! there was a grand ploy at Paisley. Ambrose. Dinner on the table, sir, North. As my old friend Crewe the University Orator at Oxford concludes his fine poem of Lewesdon Hitt " To-morrow for severer thought, but now To dinner, and keep festival to-day." SCENE II. Time, Four o' Clock. Scene changes to the interior of the tent. DINNER Salmon Turbot Trout Cod Haddocks Whitings Turkey Goose Veal-pie Beaf steak ditto Chicken Ham THB ROUND Damson, Cherry, Currant, Grozet (ihis year's) Tarts, &c., Sfc., frc., SCENE III. Time, Five o 1 Clock. Without change of place. DESSERT Melons Grapes Grozet.1 Pine-apples Golden Pippins New Yorkers Filbert* Hazels. WINES Champagne Claret Port Madeira 446 The fairy's Oleugh. Cold Punch in the Dolphin GLENLIVET IN THI TOWER OP BABEL Water in the Well. North. Ambrose, tuck up the tent-door. Fling it wide opeti. [AMBROSE lets in heaven. Registrar. " Beautiful exceedingly ! " North. Ne'er before was tent pitched in the Fairy's Cleugh ! I selected the spot from a memory, where lie many thousand worlds great and small and of the tiny not one sweeter, sure, than this before our eyes ! Registrar. I wonder how by what fine process you chose ! Yet why, might I ask my own heart why now do I fix on one face, one form, and see but them haunted as my imagination might be with the images of all the loveliest in the land ? Tickler. Sam ! you look as fresh as a daisy. North. That is truly a vista. Those hills for we must not call them mountains how gently they come gliding down from the sky, .on each side of the vale-like glen ! Registrar. Vale-like glen ! Thank you, North that is the very word. North. separated but by no wide level of broomy greensward if that be a level, broken as you see it with fre- quent knolls most of them rounded softly off into pastures some wooded, and here and there one with but a single tree, the white-stemmed, sweet-scented birk Registrar. Always lady -like with her delicate tresses, how ever humble her birth. North. Should we say that the " spirit of the aoene" is sylvan or pastoral ? Registrar. Both. North. Sain ! how is it I see no sheep ? Registrar. Sheep and lambs there must be many latent Cuckoo! Cuckoo! 447 somewhere ; and I have often noticed, sir, a whole green region without a symptom of life, though I knew that it was not a store-farm, and that there must be some hundred score? of the woolly people within startling of the same low mut ter of the thunder-cloud. North. How soon a rill becomes a river! Registrar. A boy a man ! North. That is the source of the Woodburu, Sam, that well within five yards of our tent. Registrar. How the Naiad must be enjoying the wine- cooler ! Imbibing inhaling the aroma, yet returning more than she receives, and tinging the taste of that incomparable claret vintage 1811 with her own sweet breath! North. Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo ! Yonder she goes ! see, see, Sam ! flitting along the faint blue haze on the hill- side, across the burn. In boyhood, never could I catch a glimpse of the bird any more than Wordsworth. " For them wert still a hope ! a joy Still longed for, never seen." But so 'tis with us in our old age. All the mysteries that held our youth in wonderment, and made life poetry, dissolve and we are sensible that they were all illusions ; while other mysteries grow more awful ; and what we sometimes hoped, in the hour of passion, might be illusions, are seen to be God's own truths, terrible to sinners, and wearing a ghastly aspect in the gloom of the grave ! Tickler. Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo ! North. She has settled again on some spray for she is always mute as she flies ! And I have stood right below her, within three yards of her anomalous ladyship, as, down head and up tail, with wings slightly opening from her sides, and her feathers shivering, she took far and wide possession of the .stillness with her voice, mellow as if she lived 01 448 The Elf-Well honey ; and indeed I suspect, Sam though the bridegroom eluded my ken that with them two 'twas the honeymoon. Ambrose (rushing into the Tent, stark naked, except his flan- nel drawers). Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! Who'll dance who'll dance with me waltz jig Lowland reel Highland fling gallopade ? Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! (Keeps dancing round the Tent table yelling, and snapping his fingers.) North. Be seated, gentlemen I see how it is he has been drinking of the elf-well, up among the rocks behind the Tent, and human lip never touched that cold stream, but man or woman lost his or her seven senses, and was insane for life. Registrar. A pleasant prospect. Tickler. That may be but, confound me, if Ambrose be the man to be caught in that kind of trap. Where's the Tower of Babel ? North. There! Ambrose (pirouetting). Look yonder, mine honored mas- ter, through those rocks. North. Nay, Brose, I can see as far through a millstone, or a milestone either, as most men, but as for looking through rocks Ambrose. I saw him, with these blessed eyes of mine, I saw him on horseback, sir, driving down the hill yonder, sir, at full gallop North. Whom ? ye saw whom ? Ambrose. Himself, sir his very own self, sir as I hope to be saved. Registrar. I fear his case is hopeless. Those sudden accesses are fatal. Tickler. Who, his drawers will be at his heels if Ambrose (somewhat subsiding). I had gone into the iookin, The Wild Huntsman ! 449 gentlemen, as you say in Scotland, and was ploutering about in the pool, when, just as I had squeezed the water out of my eyes after a plunge, I chanced to look up the hillside, and there I saw him with these blessed eyes I saw him *< own very self. (Horses' hoofs heard at full gallop nearing the Tent, lecher. The Wild Huntsman ! [Horse and rider charge the Tent horse all of a sudden halts thrown back on his haunches and rider, flying over his head, alights on his feet while his foraging cap spins over the Lion's fiery mane, now drooping in the after- noon calm from the mast-head. Omnes. THE SHEPHERD ! THE SHEPHERD ! THE SHEP- HERD ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! Shepherd. Hurraw ! hurraw ! hurraw ! North (white as a sheet, and seeming about to siooori). Water ! Shepherd. Whare's the strange auld tyke ? Whare's the queer auld fallow ? Whare's the canty auld chiel ! Whare's the dear auld deevil ? Oh ! North North North North ma freen ma brither ma faither let's tak ane anither intil ane anither's arms let's kiss aue anither's cheek as the guid cheevalry knichts used to do when, ha'in fa'en out aboot some leddy-luve, or some disputed laun', or some king's changefu' favor, or aiblins aboot naething ava but the stupit .ees o' some evil tongues, they happened to forgather when riding opposite ways through a wood, and flingin themsels, wi' ae feeling and ae thocht, aff their twa horses, cam clashin thegither wi' their mailed breists, and began Bobbin in the silence o' the auncient aiks that were touched to their verra cores to see sic forgiveness and sic affection atween thae twa stalwart champions, wha, though baith noo weepin like weans or women, had aften ridden side by side thegither, wi' shield^ 450 Ttie Feud is healed. on their breists and lang lances shootin far out fearsomely afore them, intil the press o' battle, while their chargers, red- wat-shod, gaed gallopin wi' their hoofs that never ance touched the grim' for men's faces bashed bluidy, and their sodden corpses squelchin at every spang o' the flying dragoons. But what do I mean by all this talkin to mysel ? Pity me Mr. North but you're white's a ghaist ! Let me bear ye in my airms until the Tent. [SHEPHEKD carries NORTH into the Tent. North. I was much to blame, James but Shepherd. I was muckle mair to blame mysel nor you, sir, and North. Why, James, it is by no means improbable that you were Shepherd. ye auld Autocrat ! But will ye promise me gin I promise ye North. Anything, James, in the power of mortal man to perform. SJiepherd. Gie's your haun ! Noo repeat the words after me (NORTH keeps earnestly repeating theioords) I swear, in this Tent pitched in the Fairy's Cleugh, in presence o' Timothy Tickler and Sam An North. They are not in the Tent. Shepherd. I wasna observin. That's delicate. That I wull never breathe a whusper even to ma ain heart at the lane- liest hour o' inidnicht except it be when I am sayin my prayers dinna sab, sir o' ony misunderstaunin that ever happened atween us twa either about Mawga, or ony ither toppic as lang's I leeve an' am no deserted by my senses but am left in fu' possession o' the gift o' reason ; an' I noo dicht aff the tablets o' my memory ilka letter o' ony ugly record, that the enemy, takin advantage o' the corruption o' our fallen natur contreeved to scarify there, wi' the pint o How the News Spread. 451 an airn pen red-Let frae you wicked place I noo dicht them a' aff, just as I dicht aff frae this table thae wine-draps wi' ma sleeve and I forgie ye frae the verra bottom o' ma sowl wi' as perfect forgiveness as if you were my am brither, deeiu at hame in his father's house shune after his return frae a lang voyage outower the sea! [NORTH and the SHKPHEKD again embrace their faces troz exceedingly > heerful and they sit for a little vhilc without saying a tcord. North. My dear James, have you dined ? Shepherd. Dined ? Why, man, I've had ma fowre-hours. But I maun tell ye a' about it. A bit lassie, you see, that had come to your freen Scottie's to pay a visit to a sister o' hers a servant in the family that was rather dwinin frae the kintra down about Aunadale-wise, past by the Tent in the grey o' the morning, yesterday, afore ony aue o' you were out o' the blankets, except a cretur that, frae the description, maun hae been Tappytoorie, and she learned frae him that the Tent belanged to a great lord they ca'd North Lord North and that he had come out on a shootin and a fishin ploy, and, forby, to tak a plan o' a' the hills, in order to mak a moddle o' them in cork, wi' quicksiller for the lochs and rinnin waters, and sheets o' beaten siller for the waterfa's, and o' beaten gold for the element at sunset and that twa ither shinin characters were in his rettenue wham Tappy ca'd to her as she threeped * Sir Teemothy Tickleham, R- t., o' Southside, and the Lord High Registrar o' Lunnon. Ma heart lap to ma mouth, and then after some flutterin becam as heavy's a lump o' cauld lead. The wife gied me sic a smile ! And then wee Jamie was a' the while, in his affectionat way, leanin again' ma knee. I took a walk by mysel ; and a' was licht. Forthwith I despatched some ThreciHd asiwrtod. 452 The Shepherd on the Hoad. gillies to wauken the Forest. I never steekit an ee, and by skreigh o' clay * was aff on 'ihe beast. But I couldna ken how ye michl be fenuin t i the Tent for fish,, sae I thocht I micht as weel tak a wimp at the Meggat. How they lap ! t I filled ma creel afore the dew-melt; and as it's out o' the poo'r o' ony mortal man wi' a heart to gie Dwer fishin in the Meggat durin a tak, I kent by the sun it was nine-hours, and by that time I had filled a' my pouches, the braid o' the tail o' some o' them whappin again' my elbows. You'll no be surprised, Mr. North for though you're far frae bein' sic a gude angler as you suppose, and as you cry yoursel up in Mawga, oh ! but you're mad fond o't that I had clean forgotten the beast ! After a lang search I fand him a mile doun the water, and ma certes, for the next twa hours the gress didna grow aneath his heels. I took a hantle o' short cuts, for I ken the kintra better than ony fox. But I forgot I wasna on foot the beast gotblawn, and coming up the Fruid, reested wi' me on Garlet-Dod. The girth burst aff fell the saddle, and he fairly laid himsel doun ! I feared he had brak his heart, and couldna think o' leavin him, for, in his extremity, I kent the raven o' Gameshope wad hae picked out his een. Sae I just thocht I wad try the Fruid wi' the flee, and put on a pro- fessor. H The Fruid's fu' o' sma' troots, and I sune had a string. I couldna hae had about me, at this time, ae way and ither, in ma several repositories, string and a,' less than thretty dizzen o' troots. I heard the yaud nicherin, and kont he had gotten second wun', sae having hidden the saddle among the brackens, munted, and lettin him tak it easy for the first half-hour, as I skirted Earlshaugh holms I got him on the haun-gallop, and I needna tell jou o' the Skreigh o' day break of day. t Fennin faring. t Lop leaped. A tributary of the Tweed. I A fly, so called after Professor Wilson. Tickler is " trotted" 453 Arab-like style iu which I feeually brocht him in, for, con- sidering that I carried wecht, you'll alloo he wad be cheap at a hunder guineas, and for that soum, sir, the beast's your ain ! Rax me ower the jug. But didna I see a naked man? [Re-enter TICKLER and the REGISTAR. Tickler. King of the Shepherds, mayst thou live for ever! Shepherd (looking inquisitively to NORTH). Wha's he that' (Turning to TICKLER) Sir ! you've the advantage of me for I really cannot say that I ever had the pleasure o' seein you atween the een afore ; but you're welcome to our Tent sit doun, and gin ye be dry, tak a drink. Registrar. James? Shepherd. Ma name's no James. But what though it was ? Folk shouldna be sae familiar at first sight. To NORTH in an undertone) A man o' your renown, sir, should really be mair seleck. Tickler. I beg pardon, sir but I mistook you for that half- witted body, the Ettrick Shepherd. Shepherd. Ane can pardon ony degree o' stoopidity in a fallow that has sunk sae laigh in his ain esteem, as weel's in that o' the warld, as to think o' retreevin his character by pretendin to pass himsel aff, on the mere strength o' the length o' his legs, for sic an incorrigible ne'er-do-weel as Timothy Tickler. But let me tell you, you had better keep a gude tongue in your head, or I'll maybe tak you by the cuff o' the neck, and turn ye out o' the Tent. North to the (SHEPHERD in an undertone?) Trot him, James, trot him he's sensitive. Shepherd. You maybe ken him? Is't true that he's gotten intil debt, and that Southside's adverteezed ? Tickler (coloring). It's a lie, 454 Tfie Lord Hiyh Registrar. Shepherd. Tliat pruvcs it to be true. Nay, it aniaist, too pruves you to be Tickler. Oh ! nae mair nonsense nae mair nonsense, sir Southside, Southside but I'm happier to see you, sir, than tongue can tell but as the heart knoweth its am bitterness, sae knoweth it its ain sweetness too ; and noo that I'm sittin again atween you twa (putting one arm over CHRISTOPHER'S shoulder, and one over TIMOTHY'S, starting up and rushing round the circular) " gude faith, I'm like to gi eet." Sam ! Sam ! Sam ! Registrar. God bless you, James. Shepherd. And hae ye come a' the way frae Lunnon to the Fairy's Cleugh ? And werena ye intendin to come out to Altrive to see the auld Shepherd ? Oh ! but we were a' glad, man, to hear o' your appointment, though nane o' us ken very distinckly the nature o't, some sayin they had made you a Bishop, only without a seat among the Lords, some a Judge o' the Pleas ; and there was a sugh for a while but frae you're bein' here the noo, during the sittin o' Parliament, that canna weel be true that the King, by the recommenda- tion o' Lord Broom and Vox, had appointed you his Premier, on the death o' Yearl Grey ; but tell me, was the lassie richt after a' in denominatin ye, on the authority o' Tappytoorie, Lord High Registrar o' Lunnon, and is the post a sinecure, and a free gift o' the Whigs ? Registrar. That, James, is my appointment but 'tis no sinecure. The duties are manifold, difficult, and important. North. I wish somebody would knock me down for a song. Shepherd. I'll do that but recollect nae fawsettoes I canna thole fawsettoes a very tailor micht be ashamed o' fawsettoes for fawsettoes mak ye think o' something less than the ninety-ninth pairt o' a man and that's ten timea less than a tailor and amaist naething ava sae that tha man vanishes intil a pint. Nae fawsettoes. Studies from the Antique. 455 (NORTH sinys " jSam Anderson") Tickler. That must be all Greek to you, James. Registrar. The less you say, the better, Tim, about Greek. The Shepherd was not with us when I sung a scrap of old Eubulus but Shepherd. I have been studyin the Greek for twa wunters.* Wunter afore last I made but sma' progress, and got but a short way ayont the roots for the curlin cam in the way but this bygane wunter there was nae ice in the Forest or at Duddistane either and I maistered, during the lang nichts at hame, an incalculable crood o' dereevative vocables, and a hantle o' the kittlest compounds. Registrar. What grammars and lexicons do you use, Shep- herd ? Shepherd. Nane but the maist common. I hae completed a version o' Theocritus, and Bion, and Moschus no to men- tion Anacreon ; and gin there's nae curlin neist wunter either aud o' that there's but sma' chance, for a change has been gradually takin place within these few years, in the ellipse o' the earth I suspect about the ecliptic I purpose puttin a' ma strength upon Pindar. His Odds are dark but some grand, as ane o' thae remarkable simmer-nichts when a' below is lown, and yet there is storm in heaven, the moon glimps- ing by fits through cluds, and then a' at ance a blue spat fu' o' stars. North. The Theban Swan Shepherd I'm ower happy to sing this afternoon, but I'm able, I think, to receet ; and here's ane o' my attempts on an Eedle o' Bion the third Eedle get the teetle frae Tickler. Tickler. Third Idyl of Bion. ' I e.inna read Greek," the Shepherd had sal I on an earlier evening ' except in a Latin translation done into English." 456 An Idyl of Bion. (SHEPHEUD recites. Great Venus once appeared to mo, still slumbering in my bed. And Cupid in ber beauteous hand, a tottoring cbild she led ; And thus with winning words she spake, " See, Cupid hero I bring. Oh, take him ! shepherd dear to me, and teach him how to sing ! " She disappeared, and I began, a baby in my turn, To teach him all the shepherd's songs as though he meant to learn How Pan the crooked pipe found out, Minerva made the flute, How Hermes struck the tortoise-shell, and Phoebus formed the lute. All this I taught, but little heed gave Cupid to my speech ; Then he himself sweet carols sung, and me began to teach The loves of God and meu, and all his mother did to each. Then 1 forgot what I myself to Cupid taught before : But all the songs he taught to me, I learnt them evermore ! North. Quite in the style of Trevor, who did such fine versions for my articles on the Greek Anthology. Shepherd. I canna mak out, Mr. North, the cause o' the effect o' novelty as a source o' pleasure. Some objects aye please, however common. Tickler. Don't prose, Jamie. Shepherd. Ass ! There's the Daisy. Naebody cares inuckle about the Daisy till you ask them and then they feel they hae aye liked it, and quote Burns. Noo uaobody tires o' the daisy. A' the warld would be sorry gin a' daisies were dead. Tickler. Puir auld sill" body. Shepherd. There agair are Do ikens. What for are they a byword ? Theyre saft, and smooth, and green, and hae nae bad smell. Yet a' the warld would be indifferent were a' dockens dead. Tickler. I would rather not. Shepherd. What for? Would a docken, think ye, Mr. North, be " beauteous to see, a weed o' glorious feature," if it were scarce and a hot-house plant ? Would leddies and gentlemen, gin it were ony ways an unique, pay to gel a The Loving Ways of Dogs. 457 look at a docken ? But I fin' that I'm no thrawin ae single particle o' licht on the subjeck ; and the perplexing question will aye recur, " Why is the daisy, though sae common, never folt to be commonplace ? and the docken aye ? " Tickler. The reason, undoubtedly, is Shepherd. Hand your arrogant tongue, Sotithside, and never again, immediately after I hae said that ony metapheezical subjeck's perplexing, hae the insolence and the silliness to say, " The reason, undoubtedly, is." If it's no coorse, it's rude and a man had better be coorse nor rude ony day but oh, sirs, what'n a pity that in the Tent there are nae dowgs ! Tickler. I hate curs. Shepherd. A man ca'in himsel a Christian, and Latin poetry and dowgs ! Tickler. Hang the brutes. Shepherd. There's nae sic perfeck happiness, I suspeck, sir, as that o' the brutes. No that I wuss I had been born a brute yet af ten hae I been tempted to envy a dowg. What gladness in the cretur's een, gin ye but speak a single word to him, when you and hira's sittin thegither by your twa sols on the hill. Pat him on the head, and say, " Hector, ma man ! " and he whines wi' joy snap your thooms, and he gangs dancing round you like a whirlwind gie a whusslin hiss, and he loups frantic ower your head cry halloo, and lie's aff like a shot, chasing naething, as if he were mad. North. Alas ! poor Bronte ! Shepherd. Whisht, dinna think o' him, but in general o' dowgs. Love is the element a dowg leeves in, and a' that's necessary for his enjoyment o' life is the presence o' his master. Registrar. " With thee conversing, he forgets all time." Shepherd. Yet, wi' a' his sense, he has nae idea o' death. True, he will lie upon his master's grave, and even howk wi' if>8 The Wayside Pan. his paws in an affeckin manner, but for a' that, believe me, ke has nae idea o' death. He snokes wi' his nose into the hole his paws are liowkin, just as if he were after a moudiewarp. North. God is the soul of the brute creatures. SJtepfard. Ay, sir instinct wi' them's the same's reason wi' us, only we ken what we intend they do not; we reflect in a mathematical problem, for example, how best to l/.g a house ; they reflect nane, but what a house they big ! Sir Isaac Newton, o' himsel, without learniu the lesson frae the bees, wadna hae contrived a hive o' hinney-combs, and biggeu them np, cell by cell, hung the creation, like growing fruit, on the branch o' a tree ! North. You that are a Greek scholar, James, do you remember an inscription for a wayside Pan, by Alcaeus? Shepherd. I remember the speerit o't, but I forget the words. Indeed, I'm no sure if ever I kent the words ; but that's nae- thing at this moment I feel the inscription in the original Greek to be very beautiful ! For sake o' Mr. Tickler, perhaps you'll receet it in English? North. Wayfaring man, by heat and toil oppress'd, Here lay thee down thy languid limbs to rest, Jpon this flowery meadow's fragrant breast. Here the pine leaves, where whispering zephyrs stray, Shall soothe thee listening to Cigala's lay, And on yon mountain's brow the shepherd swain Pipes by the gurgling fount his noontide strain. Secure beneath the plantane's* leafy spray, From the autumnal dog-star's sultry ray. To-morrow thou'lt get on, wayfaring man, So listen to the good advice of Pan. Shepherd. Thae auncients, had they been moderns, womld hae felt a' we feel oursels ; and sometimes I'm tempted to confess, that in the matter o' expression o' a simple thocht, Plantane the plane-tree. TJie Forest is wakened. 459 th -y ratKer excel us for, however polished may be ony aue o lieir .uaist carefu' compositions, it never looks artificial, an I the verra finish o' the execution seems to be frae the fin : finger o' Nature's ain inspired sel ! Oh, how I hate the artiticial ! Registrar. Not worse than I. Shepherd. Ca' a thing artificial that's no ony sic tiling, and ye make me like it less and less till I absolutely dislike it ; but then the sense o' injustice comes to ma relief, and I love it better than afore as, for example, a leddy o' fine educa- tion, or a garden flower. For, I'll be shot, if either the ane or the ither be necessarily artificial, or no just as bonny, regarded in a richt licht, as a lass or a lily o' low degree. Ony ither touchin trifle frae the Greek, sir? North. We have had Pan now for Priapus. Shepherd. Ye maun heed what you say, sir, o' Priawpus. North. Archias is always elegant, James. Registrar. And often more than elegant, North poetical. He had a fine eye, too, sir, for the picturesque. North. Near to the shore, upon this neck of land, A poor Priapus, here I ever stand. Carved in such guise, and forced such form to take, As sons of toilsome fishermen could make, My feetless legs, and cone-shaped, towering head, Fill every cormorant with fear and dread- But when for aid the fisher breathes a prayer, I come more swiftly than the storms of air. I also eye the ships that stem the flood: 'Tis deeds, not beauty, show the real God. [Loud hurras heard from the glen, and repeated by all th< echoes. North. Heavens ! what's that ? Shepherd. Didna I tell ye I had waukenedthe Forest? What's twunty, thretty, or fifty miles to the lads and lassies 460 The Forest Worthies arrive o' the South o' Scotland ? Auld women and weans '11 walk that atwecn the t\v:i gloamins, and haena they gigs, and carts, and pownics fur the side-saddle, and lang bare-backed yands that ran carry fewer easy and at a piuch, by haudin on by main; and tail, five ? Scores liae been paddin the hoof* sin' mornin t'rae the head o' Clydesdale Annan-banks hae been roused as by the sound o' a trumpet and the auldGrey Mare t has been a' day whuskin her tail \vi' pleasure to see Moffatdale croiidin to the Jubilee. [ They nil take their station outside on the brae, and hold iiji their hands. North. I am lost in amazement ! Tidier. A thousand souls ! Registrar. I have been accustomed to calculate the numbers of great multitudes and I fix them at fifteen hundred, men, women, and children. Shepherd. Twa hunder collies, and, asses and mules in- cluded, a hunder horse. Registrar. Of each a Turm. Shepherd. Oh ! sir, isna't a bonny sicht ? There's a Tredd's Union for you, sir, that may weel mak your heart sing for joy shepherds and herdsmen, and ploughmen, and woods- men, that wad. if need Avere, fecht for their kintra. ^:' Christopher North at their head, against either foreign or domestic enemies : but they come noo to do him homage at the unviolated altar which Nature has erected to Peace. Registrar. A band of maidens in the van unbonneted silkcn-snooded all. And hark they sing! Too distant for ui to catch the words but music has its own meanings and only that it is somewhat more mirthful, we might think it was a hymn ! * Paddin the hoof trudging on foot. t The waterfall so called near St. Mary's Loch. To crown the King of Scotland! 461 Shepherd (to Tickler and the Registrar) . Dinua. look at him, he's greetin. If that sound was sweet, isna this silence sublime ? Tickler. What are they after now, James ? Shepherd. They line gotten their general orders and a' the leaders ken weel hoo to carry them in til effeck. The phalanx is noo break! n into pieces noo, like camstrary* cluds ae speerit inspires and directs a' its muvernents, and it is deploying, Mr. Tickler, round yon great hie-kirk-looking rocks, intil a wide level place that's a perfect circle, and which ye wha hae been here the best part o' a week, I'se warrant, keu naething about ; for Natur, I think, maun hae made it for hersel ; and such is the power o' its beauty, that sittin there aften in youth, hae I clean forgotten that there was ony ither warld. Registrar. "Shaded with branching palm, the sign of Peace." Shepherd. Ay, mony o' them are carrying the boughs o' trees and it's wonderfu' to see how leafy they are so early in the season. But Spring, prophetic o' North's visit, has festooned the woods. Tickler. Not boughs and branches only Shepherd. But likewise furins. There's no a few mechanics amang them, sir, house-carpenters and the like, and seats 'ill be sune raised a' round and round, in an hour or less you'll see sic a congregation as you saw never afore, a' sittin in an amphitheatre and aneath a haugin rock a platform and on the platform a throne wi' its regal chair and in the chair wha but Christopher North and on his head a crown o' Flowers for lang as he has been King o' Scotland this this is Co 1 onation Day. Hearken to the bawu ! t Comsttr.iri/ or ctimsttery unmanageable. 1 8e the noblest race o' leevin men except the Scotch and for- by that, sirs, a poet is nae mair a poet in his ain kintra than a prophet a prophet ; but yonner my inspiration was acknowl TJie Shepherd in the Park. 473 edged, and I thocht mair o' mysel as the owther o' the Queen's Wake, five hunder miles awa frae the forest, thnii I ever had ony visible reason to do sae in the city ower which Mary Stuart ance rang,* and in the very shadow o' Holyrood. North. How you must have eclipsed Count d'Orsay ! f Shepherd. I eclipsed nane. There's nae eclipsin yonner for the heaven was a' shinin wi' mony thousan' stars. But the eugh went that the Ettrick Shepherd was in the Park the Shepherd o' the Wake, and The Pilgrims, and Kilmeny North. And the Noctes Shepherd. Ay, o' the Noctes and what were they ever, or wad they ever again hae been, withouten your aiu auld Shepherd ? North. Dark dark irrecoverably dark ! Shepherd. Your haun. Thousans o' trees were there but a' I kent o' them, as they gaed gliding greenly by, was that they were beautifu' ; as for the equipages, they seemed a' ae equipage Tickler. Your cortege. Shepherd. Wheesht wheesht O man, wunnaye wheesht ! Representin containin a' the wealth, health, rank, boauty, grace, genius, virtue o' England Tickler. Virtue ! Shepherd. Yes virtue. Their een were like the een o angels ; and if virtue wasna sinilin yonner, then 'twould be vain to look for her on this side o' heaven. North. I fear, my dearest Shepherd, that you forgot the Flowers of the Forest. Shepherd. Clean. And what for no ? Wasna I a stranger in Lumion ? and would I alloo fancy to flee awa wi' me out * Jlany reigned. t This accomplished gentleman, and leader of the fashion in his day, died In 1862. 474 "TheFun-xtforme!" the gates o' Paradise ? Na she couldna hae dune that, had she striven to harl me by the hair o' the head. Oh, sir ! Bulfioient for the hour was the beauty thereof sowl and enses were a' absorbed in what I saw and I became Tickler. The Paragon of the Park. Shepherd. A\ r ull you no fine him, sir, in saut and water? North. Silence, Tim ! Shepherd. He disturbs one like the Death-Tick, North. Well, James? Shepherd. The Forest for me, after a' ! Sae would it hae been, sir, even had I been ca'd up to Lunnon in my youth or prime. Out o' utter but no lang forgetfulness it would hae risen up, stretchin itsel out in a' its length and breadth, wi' a' its lochs and mountains, and hills and streams St. Mary's and the Yarrow, the dearest o' them a' and wafted me alang wi't, far aff and awa frae Lunnon, like a man in a warld o' his ain, swoomin northward through the air, wi' motion true to that ae airt, and no deviatin for sake o' the brichtest southern star. Buller. Most beautiful. Shepherd. If it would hae been sae even then, Mr. Buller, hoo much mair maun it hae been sae but some three simmers back, when my hair, though a gey dour broon, was yielding to the grey ? You was never at Mount Benger, sir, nor Altrive, and the mair's the pity, for happy should we a' be to see sic a fine, free, freeuly fallow and o' sic bricht pairts though the weans inichtna just at first follow your English BuUcr. For their sakes, my dear Shepherd forgive my familiarity I should learn their own Doric in a day. Shepherd. That you wad, my dear Mr. Buller ; and thiukna ye, gin if I ever, for a flaff, * in the Park, forgot my ain cosy bield, that the thochl on't cam na back on my heart ay, the Flaff -instant. A Monosyllable. 475 verra sicht o't afore my een dearer than ever for sake o' the wee bodies speerin at their mother wlien faither was coinin hame arid for sake o' her, who, for my sake, micht at that moment be lettin drap a kiss ou their heads. Tickler. Now that we have seen the Shepherd in the Park, pray, James, exhibit yourself at the Flay. Shepherd. The last exhibition you made o' yoursel, Mr. Tickler, at the Play, as you ca't meanin, I presume, in the Playhouse wasna quite sae creditable as your freens wad hae wished sittin in ane o' the upper boxes wi' a pented wax-doll no to ca' them waur on ilka haun North. Is that a true bill, Tickler ? Tickler. A lie. Shepherd. I never answer that monosyllable * but canna help followin't up, on the present occasion, wi' an apothegm , to wit, that a man's morals may be judged by his mainners. But I tell you, Mr. North, and you, Mr. Buller, that 1 was in ane of the houses ance, and but ance ; I gaed there out o' regard to some freens, and I ever after staid awa out o' regard to mysel for o' a' the sichts that ever met my een, there never was the like o' yon ; and I wonder hoo men-folk and women-folk, sittin side by side, could thole't in a public theatre. [There is silence for a time. NORTH rings the silver bell, and appear PETER and AMBROSE with the cold round, ham and fowls and tongues, and the unassuming but not unsubstantial et-ceteras of such a small snug Midsummer supper as you may suppose suitable at a Nodes on the Leads of the Lodge, NORTH nods, and PETER lets on the gas. " But ae word explains a' genius genius wull a' the inetaphixziana lr the warld ever expound that mysterious monosyllable ? " Tickler. Monosyllable, James, did you say ? " Shepherd. Ay monosyllable ! Doeona that mean a word o' throe sylla- ties? " Tickler. It la all one In the Greek, my dear James." 476 The Tailors Strike. Shej)herd. Furcweel to the moon and stars. North. What will you eat, James ? Shepherd. I'll tuk some hen. Mr. Buller, gie me the tw:i legs and the twa wings and the breist and then haun the hen ower to Mr. Tickler. \Tliey settle down into serious eating. The SHEPHERD taking the lead hard pressed by NORTH. North. James, what is your opinion of the state of public affairs ? Shepherd. 0, sir ! but yon was like to be a great national calamity ! North. Probably it was, James. Pray, wha; was it? Tickler, The Plague ? Shepherd. Far waur than the Plague 'cause threatenin to be mair universal though, like the Plague, it was in Lunnon thank heaven where it first brak out THE TAILORS' STRIKE ! North. 'Twas an appalling event and, like the great earthquake at Lisbon, was, no doubt, felt all over Europe. Shepherd. The rural districts, as you ca' them, Mr. North, haena aye escaped sic a calamity. I weel remember, in the year wan,* a like visitation in the Forest. It wasna on sae big a scale for the boonds wadna admit o' its bein sae but the meesery was nae less though contrackit within a nar- rower circle. Tickler. Diffused over a wider sphere. North. When? Tickler. And how ? Shepherd. The Tailor at Yarrow Ford, without having * Wan one- " The year wan "an ellipsis for the year 1801. The Strike in the Forest. 477 shown ony symptoms o' the phoby the nicht afore, ae morning at sax o'clock strack ! North. How dreadful ! Shepherd. You may weel say that, sir. 'Twas just at the dawn o' the Season o' Tailors, when a' ower the Forest there begins the makin o' new claes and the repairin o' aukl North. Making as Bobby says " The auld claes look amaist ae weel's the new." Shepherd. The maist critical time o' the haill year. North. Well, James ? Shepherd. At sax he strack and by nine it was kent frae Selkirk to the Grey-Mare's Tail. A' at ance ordinar claes only but mairrage-shoots and murnins were at a deid staun. A' the folk in the Forest saw at ance that it was im possible decently to get either married or buried. For, wad ye believe't, the mad body was aff ower the hills, and bat* Watty o' Ettrick Pen ! Of coorse he strack and in his turn aff by ti short cut to the Lochs, and bat Bauldy o' Bourhope, wha loupt frae the buird like a puddock. and flang the guse in the fire, svvearin by the shears, as he flourished them round his head, and then sent them intil the ass-hole, that a' mau- kind micht thenceforth gang nakit for him up to the airm- pits in snaw ! Ncrth. We are all listening to you, James, with the most intense interest. Shepherd. The Three Tailors formed themsels intil a union and boond themsels by an aith the words o' which hae never transpired but nae dout they were fearsome and they ratified it it has been said wi' three draps each o' their ain bluid, let out wi' the prick o' a needle no to shue 478 The Forest Rises anither steek gin the Forest were to fa' doun afore them on its knees ! North, Impious ! Shepherd. But the Forest had nae sic intention and bauldly stood up again' the Rebellion. Anld Mr. Laidlaw the faither o' your freens, Watty, George, and James took the lead and there was a gatherin on Mount Benger the same farm that, by a wonderfu' coincidence, I afterwards came to hauld at which resolutions were sworn by the Forest no to yield, while there was breath in its body, though back and side micht gang bare. I there made ma maiden speech ; for it wasna ma maiden speech though it passed for such, as often happens the ane ye heard, sir ma first in the Forum. North. I confess I had my suspicions at the time, James, I thought I saw the arts of the sophist in those affected hesi tations and that I frequently heard, breaking through the skilful pauses, the powers, omnipotent in self-possession, of the practised orator. Shepherd. Never was there sic a terrible treeo as them o' Yarrow Ford, Ettrick Pen, and Bourhope ! Three decenter tailor lads, a week afore, ye micht hae searched for in vain ower the wide warld. The streck changed them into demons. They cursed, they swore, they drank, they danced, they focht first wi' whatever folk happened to fa' in wi' them on the stravaig and then, castin out amang theirsels, wi' ane anither, till they had a' three black een and siccan noses ! Tickler. 'Tis difficult for an impartial, because unconcerned, spectator to divine the drift of the different parties in a fight of three. Shepherd. They couldna ha divined it theirsels for there was nae drift amang them to divine. There they were a' three lounderin at hap-hazard, and then gaun heid-ower-heelg Against the Tailors. 479 on the tap o' ane anither, or colleckit in a knot in the glaur ; and I couldna help sayin to Mr. Bryden father o' your favorite Watty Bryden, to whom ye gied the tortoise-sheD mull " Saw ye ever, sir, a Tredd's- Union like that." Tickler. Why not import ? Shepherd. As they hae dune since in Luunon frae Ger- many ? Just because naebody thocht o't. Importin tailors to ensure free tredd ! ! Tickler. And how fared the Forest ? Shepherd. No weel. Some folk began tailorin for theirsels but there was a strong prejudice against it and to them mat made the attempp the result was baith ridiculous and painfu', and in ae case, indeed, had nearly proved fatal. Tickler. James, how was that? Shepherd. Imagine yoursel, Mr. Tickler, in a pair o' breeks, wi' the back pairt afore the seat o' honor transferred to the front North. Let us all so imagine, Tickler. Shepherd. They shaped them sae,without bein' able to help it, for it's a kittle airt cuttin out. Tickler. But how fatal ? Shepherd. Dandy o' Dryhope, in breeks o' his ain gettin up, rashly daured to ford the Yarrow but they grupped him sae ticht atween the fork, that he could mak nae head gain'* the water comin doun gey strang, and he was soopit aff his feet, and taen out mair like a bundle o' claes than a man. Tickler. How ? Shepherd. We listered him like a fish. North. " Time and the hour run through the roughest day!" Shepherd. And a' things yerthly hae an end. Sae had the etreck. To mak a lang story short the Forest stood it out * Gain, against. 480 Watty o' the Pen the tailors gied in and the Tredd's-Union fell to pieces But no before the Season o' Tailors was langower, and pair! o' the simmer too for they didna return to their wark till the Langest Day. It was years afore the rebels recovered frae the want o' wage and the waste o' pose ; * but atween 1804 and 1808 a' three married, and a' three, as you ken, Mr. North for I hae been direckin mysel to Mr. Tickler and Mr. Buller hae been ever sin' syne weel-behaved and weel-to-do and I never see ony o' them without their tellin me to gie you their compliments, mair especially the tailor o' Yarrow Ford, for Watty o' the Pen him, Mr. Buller, that used to be ca'd the Flyin Tailor o' Ettrick sometimes fears that Christopher North hasna got ower yet the beatin he gied him in the ninety-odd the year Louis XVI. was guillotined at hap-stap-and-loup. North. He never beat me, Mr. Buller. Btdler. From what I have heard of you in your youth, sir, indeed I can hardly credit it. Pardon my skepticism, Mr. Hogg. Shepherd. You may be as great a skeptic as you choose but Watty bate Kitty a' till sticks. North. You have most unkindly persisted, Hogg, during all these forty years, in refusing to take into account my corns Shepherd. Corns or nae corns, Watty bate you a' till sticks. North. Then I had been fishing all day up to the middl 3 in the water, with a creel forty pound weight on my back Shepherd. Creel or nae creel, Watty bate you a' to sticks. North. And I had a hole in my heel you might have put your hand into Shepherd. Sound heels or sair heels, Watty bate you a' to sticks. Pose& secret board of money ; savings. Beat North to Sticks. 481 North. And I sprained one of my ankles at the first rise. Shepherd. Though you had sprained baith, Watty wad hue bate you a* till sticks. North. And those accursed corduroys cut me Shepherd. Dinna curse the corduroys for in breeks or out o' breeks, Watty bate ye a' till sticks. North. I will beat him yet for a Shepherd. You shanna be alloo'd to mak sic a fule o your- sel. You were ance the best louper I ever saw excepp ane and that ane was wee Watty o' the Pen the Flyin Tailor o' Ettrick and he bate ye a' till sticks. North. Well I have done, sir. All people are mad on some one point or other and your insanity Shepherd. Mad or no mad, Watty bate you a' till sticks. North. Peter, let off the gas. (Rising with marked dis- pleasure.) Shepherd. Oh man ! but that's puir spite ! Biddin Peter let aff the gas, merely 'cause I tauld Mr. Buller what a' the Forest kens to be true, that him the bairns noo ca' the AULD HIRPLIN HURCHEON, half-a-century sin', at hap-stap- and-loup, bate Christopher North a' till sticks. North (with great vehemence). Let off the gas, you stone ! Shepherd. That's pitifu' ! Ca'in a man a stane ! a man that has been sae lang too in his service and that has gien him nae provocation for it wasna Peter but me that was obleeged to keep threepin that Watty o' the Pen by folk o' my time o' life never ca'd onything less than the Flying Tailor o' Ettrick, though by bairns never ca'd onything mair but the Auld Hirplin Hurcheon, at hap-stap-and-loup on fair level mossy grun' bate him a' till sticks. North (in a voice of thunder). You son of a sea-gun, let ofl the gas. Shepherd. Passion's aften figurative, and aye forgetfu' 482 Sunrise on the Sea. But I fear he'll be breakin a bluid-veshel sae I'll remind him o' the siller bell. Peter has orders never to shaw his neb but as soun' o' the siller bell. Sir, you've forgotten the siller bell. Play tingle tingle tingle ting. North (ringing the silver bell). Too bad, James. Peter, let off the gas. [PETER lets off" the gas. Shepherd. Ha ! the bleeze o' morn ! Amazin ! 'Twas shortly after sunset when the gas was let on and noo that the gas is let aff, lo ! shortly after sunrise ! Buller. With us there has been no night. Shepherd. Yesterday was the Twunty-first o' June the Langest Day. We could hae dune without artificial licht for the few hours o' midnicht were but a gloamin and we could hae seen to read prent. Buller. A deep dew. North. As may be seen by the dry lairs in the wet grass of those cows up and at pasture. Shepherd. Naebody else stirrin. Look, there's a hare washin her face like a cat wi' her paw. Eh man ! look at her three leverets, like as mony wee bit bears. Butter. I had no idea there were so many singing birds so near the surburbs of a great city. Shepherd. Hadna ye ? In Scotland we ca' that the skreigh o' day. North. What has become of the sea ? Shepherd. The sea ! somebody has opened the sluice, and let aff the water. Na there it's fasten your een upon yon great green shadow for that's Inchkeith and you'll suue come to discern the sea waverin round it, as if the air grew glass, and the glass water, while the water widens out intil the Firth, and the Firth awa intil the Main. Is yon North Berwick Law or the Bass or baith or naither or a cape o' cloudland, or a thocht ? A Scottish Breakfast. 488 North, " Under the opening eyelids of the morn." Shepherd. See ! Specks like black water-flees. The boats c" the Newheeven fishermen. Their wives are snorin yet wi' their head in mutches- but wull sune be risin to fill their creels. Mr. Buller, was you ever in our Embro' Fish- Market ? BuJler. No. Where is it, sir ? Shepherd. In the Parliament Hoose. Buller. In the Parliament House ? Shepherd. Are you daft ? Aneath the North Brig. Buller. You said just now it was in the Parliament House. Shepherd. Either you or me has been dreamin. But, Mr North, I'm desperate hungry are ye no intendin to gie us ony breakfast ? North (ringing the silver bett). Lo ! and behold ! {Enter PETER, AMBROSE, KING PEPIN, SIR DAVID GAM and TAPPYTOORIE, with trays.) Shepherd. Rows het frae the oven ! Wheat scones ! Barley scones ! Wat and dry tost ! Cookies ! Baps ! Muffins ! Loaves and fishes ! Rizzars ! Finnans ! Kipper ! Speldrins ! Herring ! Marmlet ! Jeely ! Jam ! Ham ! Lamb ! Tongue ! Beef hung ! Chickens ! Fry ! Pigeon pie ! Crust and broon aside the Roon' but sit ye doun no freens, let's staun' baud up your haun bless your face North, gie's a grace. (NORTH says grace.) Noo let's fa' too but hooly hooly hooly what vision this ! What vision this ! An Apparition or a Christian Leddy ! I ken, I ken her by her curtshy did that face no tell her name and her nature. Oh deign, Mem, to sit doun aside the Shepherd. Pardon me tak the head o' the table, ma honored Mem and let the Shepherd sit doun aside rou and may I mak sae bauld as 184 A Creature of the JElement. to introduce Mr. Buller to you, Mem ? Mr. Buller, clear yoni een for on the Leads o' the Lodge, in face o' heaven and be risiu sun, I noo introduce you till Mrs. GENTLE. North (starting and looking wildly round). Ha ! Shepherd. She's gane ! North (recovering some of his composure). Too bad, James. Shepherd. Saw your nocht ? Saw naebody ocht ? Omnes. Nothing. Shepherd. A cretur o' the element ! like a' the ither love- liest sichts that veesit the een o' us mortals but the dream o' a dream ! But, thank heaven, a's no unsubstantial in this warld o' shadows. Were ony o' us to say sae, this breakfast would gie him the lee ! Noo, Gurney, mind hoo ye extend your short-haun. Small still Voice. Ay, ay, sir. Butter. " Oh Gurney ! shall I call thee bird, or but a wan- dering voice ! " North. " O blessed Bird 1 the world we pace Again appears to be An unsubst antial faery-place, . That is fit home for Thee I " xxvn. A DINNER IN THE FOREST. SCKNB I. The Shepherd's Study, Altrive. The SHEPHERD seated at dinner. Time Six o' Clock. AMBROSE '.n wailing. (Enter, hurriedly, NORTH and TICKLER.) Shepherd. What for keep ye folk waitrn in this way, sirs, for denner! and it past sax! Sax is a daft-] ike hour for denner in the Forest, but I'm aye wullin to humor fules that happen to be reseedin in ma ain house at hame. Whare were you and what hae ye been about ? No * shaviu at least for twa sic bairds I dinna remember ha'in witnessed sin' I was in Wales towards the close o' the century and they belanged to twa he-goats glowerin ower at me frae the ruins o' Dolbaldron Castle. Tak your chairs ye Jews. Moses ! sit you on my richt haun and Aaron ! sit you on my left. [NORTH and TICKLER sit down as commanded. North. 'Tis the first time in my life that I have been one moment behind the hour. Shepherd. I believ't. For you can regulat your stamack like a timepiece. It gangs as time's a chronometer and on board a ship you could tell by't to a nicety when she would reach ony particular port. I daursay it's correck the noo by No not. 486 The, Dinner-bell at Altrive. the sun but I aye mak Girrzzy bate * the girdle twa-threa minutes afore the chap o' the knock, f Tickler. Bate the girdle ? Shepherd. Ay, just sae, sir bate the girdle. I used to hae a bell hung on the bourtree at the gable-end the auld Yarrow kirk-bell but it got intil its dotage, its tongue had the palsy, it's cheeks were crackit and pu' the rape as you would, it's vice was as puir's as a pan's. Then the lichtnin, that maun hae had little to do that day, melted it iutil the shape o' an airn icicle, and it grew perfeckly useless sae I got a drum that ance belanged to the militia, and for some seasons it diverted the echoes that used to tak it aff no amiss, whether braced or itherwise but it too waxed auld and impotent, and you micht as weel for ony music that was in't, hae bate the kitchen-dresser wi' the lint-beetle sae I then got a gong sent ower frae India frae your freen and mine, Dr. Gray God bless him and for a lang, deep, hollow trummlin, sea-like, and thunderous sound, it bate a' that ever was heard in this kintra but it created sic a dis- turbance far and wide, that, sair against my wull, I had to shut it up in the garret. North. Wherefore, James ? Shepherd. In the first place, it was sae like thunner that folk far aff couldna tell whether it was thunuer or no ; and I've kent them yoke their carts in a hurry to carry in their hay afore it was dry for stacking, fearing a plump. Ae Sun- day the sound keepit a' the folk frae the kirk, and aften they wadna ventur on the fuirds, in dread o' a sudden spate frae a water-spoot. I learnt at last to bate it more gently ; but then it was sae like the sound o' a bill afore he breaks out intil the bellow, that a' the kye in the forest grew red-wud- mad ; sae then I had to take to batin the girdle an idea Bate beat. t Chap o' the knock striking of the clock. The Covers are lifted. 487 that was suggested to me ae day on the swarmin o' a tap swarm o' a skep o' bees in the garden and I find that on a clear day sic as this, when the atmosphere's no clogged, that it answers as weel's either the kirk-bell, the drum, or the gong. Yon would hear't ayont the knowe, sirs ; and wasna't bonny music? Arcades Ambo. Beautiful, exceedingly. Shepherd. If her I needna name had been at hame, there would hae been a denner on the table wordier* o' my twa maist esteemed and dearest freens ; but I howp wi' sic as we hae without her mair immediate yet prospective care you will be able to make a fend.f North. Bread and cheese would be a feast with the Shep herd. Shepherd. 'Deed it wad be nae sic thing. It's easy to speak o' feasting on cheese and breed, and butter and breed and in our younger days they were truly a feast on the hill. But noo our pallets, if they dinna require coaxin, deserve a goo ; t and I've seen a barer buird. Mr. Awmrose, lift the lids. [Mr. AMBROSE smilingly lifts the lids. North and TicJder (in delighted wonder). Bless us ! Shepherd. That's hotch-potch and that's cocky-leeky the twa best soups in natur. Broon soup's moss-water and white soup's like scauded milk wi' worms in't. But see, sirs, hoo the ladle stauns itsel in the potch and I wush Mr Tickler could see himsel the noo in a glass, curlin up his nose, wi' his een glistening, and his mouth waterin, at sicht and smell o' the leeky. We kilt a lamb the day we got your letter, sir, and that's a hind-quarter twal-pund wecht. Ayout it's a beef-stake poy for Geordy Scougal slaughtered a beast last market day at lunerleithen and his meat's aye prime. Here are three fules and that ham's nae sham, sae Wordier worthier. f Fend shift. t Goo provocative. 488 The Dishes are disclosed. we sail ca' him Japhet. I needna tell ye yen's a roasted green-guse frae Crosslee and neist it mutton-chaps but the rest's a' ggem. That's no cat, Tickler but hare as you may ken by her lugs and fud. That wee bit black beastie I wuss she mayna be wizened in the roastin is a water-hen ; the twa aside her are peaseweeps to the east you may observe a leash o' grouse wastwards ho ! some wild dyucks a few pints to the south a barren pair o' paitricks and due north a whaup. North (helping himself to a couple of flappers.) " O' a' the airte the wund can blaw I dearly loo the west, For there the bonny dyuckie lies, The dyuck that I loe beat." Shepherd. Butyoumaunnabe expeckin a second and third coorse. I hate to hae denner set afore me by instalments ; and, frae my no havin the gift o' prophecy, I've kent dish efter dish slip through my fingers in a succession o' coorses, till I had feenally to assuage my hunger on gratins they ca' parmesan. Sir George Warrenner * will recollek hoo I pickit them aff the plate as if I had been famished, yet frae first to last there had been nae absolute want o' vittals. I kept aye waitin for the guse ; but nae guse o' an edible kind made his appearance, and I had to dine ower again at sooper in my aiu bottle.* That's a sawmon. Ambrose. There is somebody at the door, sir. Shepherd. Let him in. (AMBROSE opens the door, and enter Clavers, Giraffe, Rover, Guile, and Fang.) It's the dowgs. Gentlemen, be seated. \_The Canine take their s?at$. North. " We are seven." * I believe that Sir Qeorge Warrender presided at a public dinner given to Hogg in London, t Mottle hotel. Symptoms of Hydrophobia. 489 Shepherd. A mystical nummer North. The Pleiades. Tickler. ' And lend the Lyre of heaven another string." Shepherd. I ken, Mr. Tickler, ye dinna like dowgs. But ye needna be feared, for nane o' them's got the hydrophoby excepp it may be Fang. The cretur's been very snappish sin' the barommator reached ninety, and bat a goslin that began to bark but though the goslin bat him again, he hasna yet been heard to quack ony, sae he's no muckle mad. You're no mad, Fang ? Fang. Buy wuy wuy. Shepherd. His speech's rather affeckit. He used to say bow wow wow. Tickler (sidling away nearer the Shepherd). I don't much like his looks. Shepherd. But, dear me ! I've forgotten to help you and hae been eatin and talkin awa wi" a fu* mouth and trencher, while baith o' yours is stannin wide open and empty and I fear, bein' out a' day, you maun be fent. Tickler. Say grace, James. Shepherd. I said it, Timothy, afore I sat doun ; and though you two was na in, it included you, for I kent you wadna be far aff ; sae it's a' richt baith in time and place. Fa' tae. Tickler. If you have been addressing me, my dear sir, never was there more needless advice. A more delicious duck- ling North. Than Fatima I never devoured. Shepherd. O ye rubiawtors ! Twa wild dyucks dune to the very doups ! I intented to hae tasted them mysel but the twa thegither wadna hae wechted wi' my whaup. Tickler. Your Whaup? 490 Friendship among Dogs. Shepherd. You a Scotchman and no ken a whaup ? .O yon gowk ! The English ca't a curly. Tickler. Oh ! a curlew. I have seen it in Bewick. Shepherd. And never in the muirs ? Then ye needna read Booick. For to be a naturalist you maun begin wi' natur, and then study her wi' the help o' her chosen sons. But what think ye, sirs, o' thae pecks o' green pease ? North. By the flavor, I know them to be from Cacra Bank. Shepherd. Never kent I a man o' sic great original genius, wi' sic a fine delicate taste. They're really sae. John Grieve kent ye was comin to Altrive, and sent me ower baith them and thae young potawtoes. You'll be delichted to see him the morn in Ettrick kirk for I haena kent him lookin sae strang and fresh for a dizzen years oh ! there's nae- thing for ane ony way invalidish like the air o' ane's native hills! Tickler. Come, Mr. Hogg, do tell us how you got the game ? Shepherd. It wasna my blame. Last Saturday, that's this day week, I gaed out to the fishin, and the dowgs gaed w i' me, for when they're left at hame they keep up siccan a yowlin that folk passin by micht think Altrive a kennel for the Duke's jowlers. I paid nae attention to them, but left them to amuse theirsels Clavers and Giraffe, that's the twa grews Fang, the terrier and Guile and Rover, collies at least they ca' Rover a collie, though he's gotten a cross o' some outlandish bluid, and he belangs to the young gentle- man at Thirlstane, but he's a great freen o' our Guile's, and often pays him a visit. Tickler. I thought there had been no friendship among dogs. Shepherd. Then you thocht wrang for they aften loe ane anither like bithers, especially when they're no like ane anith- er, being indeed in that respect, just like us men ; for nae twa human beings are mair unlike ither, physically, morally, " Watty's deidr 491 and intellectually, than you and me, Mr. Tickler, and yet dinna we loe ane anither like brithers ? Tickler. We do, we do, my dearest Shepherd. Well ? Shepherd. The trouts wadna tak ; whup the water as I wad, I couldna get a loup. Flee, worm, mennow, a' useless, and the water, though laigh, wasna laigh aneuch for guddlin. Tickler. Guddlin? Shepherd. Nae mair o' your affeckit ignorance, Mr. Tickler. You think it fashionable to be ignorant o' everything vulgar folk like me thinks worth kuawin, but Mr. North's a genteeler man nor you ony day o' the week, and he kens brawly what's guddKn ; and what's mair, he was ance himsel the best guddler in the south o' Scotland, if you exceppit Bandy Jock Gray o' Pebbles. He couldna guddle wi' Bandy Jock ony mair than loup wi' Watty o' the Pen, the Flyin Taibr o' Ettrick. North (laying down his knife and fork). I'll leap him to- morrow for love. Shepherd. Wheesht wheesht. The morn's the Sabbath. North. On Monday then running hop-step-and-leap, or a running leap, on level ground back aud foi ward with or without the crutch let him use sticks if he will Shepherd. Wheesht wheesht. Watty's deid. North. Dead! Shepherd. And buried. I was at the funeral on Thursday. The folk are talkin o' pittin up a bit monument to him in- deed hae asked me to indite an inscription. I said it should be as simple as possible and merely record the chief act o' his life " Hie JACET WALTER LAIDLAW OP THE PEN, THE CELEBRATED FLYING TAILOR OP ETTRICK, WHO BEAT CHRISTOPHER NORTH AT HOP-STEP-AND-JUMP." North (resuming his knife andfork).~We\\ fix your day, and '/hough Tweed should be in flood, I will guddle Bandy Jock. 492 "Bandy Jock." Shepherd. Bandy Jock "ill guddle nae raair in this warld. lie dee'd o' the rheumatiz on May-day and the same inscrip- tion wi' a little variation Icavin out " hop-step-and-iump," and inserting " guddlin " will answer for him that will answer for Watty o' the Pen. Tit^klcr. 'Pon honor, my dear sir, I know not guddlin. Shepherd. In the wast they ca't ginnlin. Tickler. Whew ! I'll ginnle Kit for a pair of ponies. North (derisively). Ha, ha, ha. Shepherd. I've seen Bandy Jock dook doun head and shouthers, sae that you saw but the doup o' him facin the sun, aneath a bank, and remain for the better pairt t>' five minutes wi' his mouth and nostrils in the water hoo he contrived to breathe I kenna when he wad draw them out, wi' his lang carroty hair a' poorin, wi' a trout a fit lang in ilka haun, and ane aiblins auchteen inches atween his teeth. Tickler. You belong, I believe, Mr. Hogg, to the Royal Com- pany of Archers ? Shepherd. What connection has that ? I do ; and I'll shoo* you ony day. Captain Colley ance backed Bandy Jock again a famous tame otter o' Squire Lomax's frae Lancashire somewhat about Preston that the Squire aye carried wi' him in the carriage a pool bein' made for its accommodation in the floor wi' air-holes and Jock bate the otter by fifteen pound though the otter gruppit a sawmon. Tickler. But, mine host, the game ? Shepherd. Do you no like it ? Is't no gude ? It surely canna be stinkin ? And yet this het wather's sair compleened o' by the cyuck, and flees will get intil the Safe. I gie you my word for't, howsomever, that I saw her carefully wi' a knife scrapin out the mauks. Tickler. I see nothing in the shape of maggots in this one. Shepherd. Nor shall ye in this ane (forking it) for I see How the Old Cock was got. 49* that, though I'm in my ain house, I maun tak care o' mysel wi' you Embro' chaps, or I'll be famished. Tickler. But, mine host, the game ? Shepherd. That cretur Fang there him wi' the slicht touch o' the hydrophoby is the gleggest at a grup o' ggem sit- tin, in a' the Forest. As for Rover, he has the nose o' a Spanish pinter, and draws and backs as if he had been regu- larly brak in by a dowg-breaker, wi' a dowg-whup on the muirs. On my way up the Yarrow me wi' my fishin-rod in my haun, no put up, and no unlike the Crutch, only with- out the cross Rover begins snokin and twinin himsel in a serpentine style, that aye denotes a strang scent wi' his fanlike tail whaffin and Fang close at his heels when Fang pounces on what I thocht might pruve but a tuft o' heather, or perhaps a mowdiewarp but he kent better for in troth it was the Auld Cock and then whurr whurr whurr a covey o' what seemed no far short o' half a bunder for they broon'd the lift ; and in the impetus o' the moment, wi' the sudden inspiration o' an improveesistreecky, I let fly the rod amang them as if it had been a rung.* It wounded many, but knocked doun but three and that's them, or at least was them for I noo see but ane Tickler ha'in taen to his share the Auld Cock. North. And the ducklings ? Shepherd. Ca' them flappers. A maist ridiculous Ack o' Parliament has tried to mak them ggem through it's weel kent that tame dyucks and wild dyucks are a' ae breed but a thousand Acks o' Parliament 'ill never gar me consider them ggem, or treat them as ggem, ony mair than if you were to turn out a score o' how-towdies on the heather, and ca' them ggem. Tickler. Pheasants * liimj walking etaff. 494 The Flappers. Shepherd. I ken naethiog about feesants, excepp that they are no worth eatin. North. You are wrong there, James. The duke sends me annually half-a-dozen, and they eat like Birds of Paradise. Shepherd. Even the hen's no half sae gude's a hen. Bu f for the flappers. A' the five dowgs fand theirsels a' at ance in amang a brood on a green level marshy spat, where escape was impossible for puir beasts that couldna yet flee and therefore are ca'd flappers. It wad hae been vain for me to try to ca' the dowgs aff sae I cried them on and you never saw sic murder. The auld drake and dyuok keepit circling round quack-quack-quackin out o' shot in the sky and I pitied the puir pawrents lookia doun on the death o' their promising progeny. By gude luck I had on the sawmon- creel and lookin round about, I crammed in a' the ten doun wi' the lid and awa alang the holms o' Yarrow as if I was selecking a stream for beginnin to try the fishin when, wha sud I meet but ane o' his Grace's keepers ! Afore I keut whare T was, he put his haun aneath the basket, and tried to gie't a hoist but providentially he never keekit intil the hole and tellin him I had had grand trootin but maun be aff, for that a lassie had been sent to tell me that twa gentlemen frae Embro' had come out to Altrive I wished him gude day, and took the f uird. But my heart was loupin, and I felt as if I was gaun to fent. A sook o' Glenlivet, however, set me a' richt and we shall hae the lave to sooper I howp poosie's tasty, sir ? North. I have rarely ate a sweeter and richer leveret. Shepherd. I'll thank ye, sir, to ca' the cretur by her richt name the name she gaed by, to my knowledge, for mony years a Hare. She hasna been a leveret sin' the King's visit to Scotland. I howp you dinna find her teuch ? * * Teuch tough. The Witch in a Hare-skin. 495 North. Not yet. Shepherd. You maun lay your account wi' her legs bein* harder wark than her main body and wings. I'm glad to see Girrzzy hasna spared the stuffin and you needna hain the jeel,* for there's twa dizzen pats o' new, red, black, and white, in that closet, wi' their mouths cosily covered wi' pages o some auld lowse Nummers o' JSlackwood's Magazine the feck o' them belangin to twa articles, entitled " Streams " and Cottages." North (wincing). But to the story of the game. Shepherd. The witch was sitting in her ain kail-yard the preceese house I dinna choose to mention when Giraffe, in louping ower the dyke, louped ower her, and she gied a spang intil the road, turning round her fud within a yard o' Clavers and then sic a brassel a' three thegither up the brae ! And then back again in a hairy whirlwind twa miles in less than ae minute. She made for the mouth o' the siver, t but Rover, wha had happened to be examining it, in his inquisi- tive way, and kent naething o' the coorse, was comin out just as she was gaun in, an' atween the twa there ensued, unseen in the siver, a desperate battle. Weel dune, witch weel dune, warlock and at ae time I feared frae his yelpin and yowlin that Rover was gettin the warst o't, and micht lose his life. Auld poosies cuff sair wi' their forepaws and theirs is a wicked bite. But the outlandish wolfiness in Rover brak forth in extremity, and he cam rushin out o' the siver wi' her in his mouth, shaking her savagely, as if she had been but a ratten, and I had to choke him aff. Forby thrap- lin her, he had bit intil the jugular and she lost sae meikle bluid, that you hae eaten her the noo roasted, instead o' her made intil soup. She wad hae been the tenderer o' anither fortnicht o' this het wather wi' the glass at 92 in the ffain t7iejeell>e sparing of the Jelly. t Siver a covered drain. 496 She recovers her Skin, shade o' the Safe in the Larder yet you seem to be gettin on North. Pretty well were it not that a sinew like a length of catgut from the old dame's left hip has got so entangled among my tusks, that Shepherd. You are speakin sae through your teeth as no tc be verra intelligible. Let me cut the sinny wi' my knife. [The SHEPHERD operates with much surgical dexterity. North. Thank you, James. I shall eat no more of the leveret now but take it minced at supper. Shepherd. Minshed ! ma faith, you've minshed it wi' a vengeance. She's a skeleton noo, and nae mair and let's send her in as a curiosity in a glass case to James Wilson to meet him on his return frae the Grand Scientific Expedi tion o' thae fearless feelosophers into the remotest regions o' Sutherland, to ascertain whether par be par, or o' the seed o 1 sawmon. We'll swear that we fand it imbedded in a solid rock, and it '11 pass for the young o' some specie o' antedilu- vian yelephant. Tickler. Clap the skin upon it and tell James that we all three saw it jump out of the heart of the trap. Shepherd. A queer idea. Awmrose, bid Girrzzy gie ye the hare-skin o' that auld hare that's noo eaten intil a skeleton by Mr. North. [Exit AMBROSE, and enters with the hare-skin. North. Allow me to put it on. [NORTH seems much at a loss. Shepherd. Hoot, man ! The skin's inside out ! There the lugs fit nicely (the SHEPHERD adroitly re-furs Pitss) and the head but there's a sair fa'in aff everywhere else- and noo that it's on this unreal mockery is mair shockin than the skeleton. Tak it awa tak it awa, Mr. A wmrose I canna thole to look at it. And vanishes through the Window. 197 Worth. Stop, Ambrose. Give it me a moment. [NORTH lends it a legerdemain touch after the style of the late celebrated Othello Devaynes of Liverpool, and the witch, in point of activity, apparently not one whit the worse of having been eaten, jumps out of the window. Omnes. Halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! [Clovers, Giraffe, Rover, Guile, and Fang, spnng from their seats, and evanish Fang clearing the sill as clean as a frog. Tickler. Now, Ambrose, down with the window for, though my nose is none of the most fastidious, we have really had in everv way quite enough of dogs. 32 xxvrn. A DAY AT TIBBIE'S. SCENE 1 Green in front of TIBBIE'S, head of St. Mary's Loch.* Time Four afternoon. SHEPHERD standing alone, in a full suit of the Susalpine Tartan. Arrive NORTH and TICKLER on their Norwegians. Shepherd. True to time as the cuckoo or the swallow. Hail, Christopher ! Hail, Timothy ! Lords o' the ascend ant, I bid ye hail ! Tickler. Hoo's a' wi' ye, Jeems ? Shepherd. Brawlies brawlies, sir ; but tak my advice, Mr. Tickler, and never attempp what ma excellent freeii, Downie o' Appin, ca's the Doric, you Dowg, for sic anither pronoun- ciation was never heard on this side o' the North Pole. North. My beloved Broonie ! lend a helping hand to your old accomplice while he endeavors to dismount. Shepherd. My heart hotches, like a bird's nest wi' young anes, at the sound o' your vice. Ay ay I'll affectionately lend a helpin haun to my auld accomplice while he endea- vors to dismunt my auld accomplice in a' kinds o' innicent wicketness and Clootie shanna tak the ane o' us without the ither I'm determined on that, yet Clootie's a great coward, and wull never hae courage to face the Crutch ! Tibbie Shields and her interesting pastoral hostelry still flourish foi the accommodation of travellers in the wild solitudes of St Mary's Loch, Selkirkshire. A Statue of Hippolytus. 499 Tickler. And how am I to get off ? Shepherd. Your feet's within twa-three inches o' the grand already strauchtyour knees plant your soles on the sward let gae the grup, and the beast '11 walk out frae aneath you, as if he was passing through a triumphal airch. Cream-colored pownies ! Are they a present frae the royal stud ? North. They are Norwegians, James, not Hanoverians. Lineally descended from the only brace of cavalry King Haco had on board at the battle of Largs. Shepherd. His ain body-guard o' horse-marines. Does he bite? North. Sometimes. But please to observe that he is muzzled. Shepherd. I thocht 'twas but a nettin ower his nose. Does he kick ? North. I have known him kick. Shepherd. I canna say I like that layin back o' his lugs nor yet that twust o' his tail and, mercy on us, but he's gotten the Evil Ee ! Tickler. Tibbie ! a stool. [TIBBIE places a cutty stool below TICKLER'S left foot and describing half a circle with his right, TIMOTHY treads the sod then facing about, leans with his right elbow on Harold' 's shoulder while his left forms the apex :f an isosceles triangle, as hand on hip he stands, like Hippt- lytus or Meleager. Shepherd (admiring Tickler). There's an equestrian statue worth a thousand o' that o' Lord Hopetoun and his horse in front o' the Royal Bank though judges tell me that Cawmel the sculptor's a modern Midas. Hoo grandly the figures combine wi' the backgrund ! See hoo that rock relieves Tickler's heid, and hoo that tree carries off Hawco's tail ! 600 Tickler in his Shooting-coat. The Director-general was wrang in swearing that sculp,tur needs nae scenery to set it aff for will onybody tell me that that group would be as magnificent within the four bare wa'p o' an exhibition-room, as where it noo stauns, in the heart o' licht, encircled by hills, and overhung by heaven ? Gin a magician could, by a touch o' his wand, convert it in til marble, it would be worth a ransom. But, alas ! 'tis but transitory flesh and bluid ! Tickler. Why don't you speak, James ? Shepherd. Admiration has held me mute. I beseech ye, sir, dinna stir for sic anither attitude for elegance, grace, and majesty, 's no within the possible combinations o' the particles o' maitter. Tibbie ! tak aff your een, it's no safe for a widow woman to glower lang on sic a spectacle ! Then the garb ! what an advantage it has ower Lord Hopetoun's ! His lordship looks as if he had loupt out o' his bed on sae sudden an alarm, that he had time but to fling the blankets ower his shouthers, and the groom iiae time to saiddle the horse, which his maister had to ride a' nicht bare backit altogether beneath the dignity o' a British general. But there the costume is a' in perfeck keepin purple plush jacket wi' great big white horn buttons single breisted cape hangin easily ower the back o' the neck haun-cuffs fliped to gie the wrists room to play and the flaps o' the mony-pouched reachin amaist doon to the knee, frae which again the ee travels alang the tartan trews till it feenally rests on a braw brass buckle or is it gowd ? bricht on his instep as a cairngorm. But up wi' a swurl again flees im- agination, and settles amang the lights and shadows o' the picturesque scenery o' that mony-shaped straw-hat the rim o' its circumference a Sabbath-day's journey round umbra- geous umbrella, aneath which he stauns safe frae sun and rain and might entertain a seleck pairty in the cool of the North's face. 50i air ! which he could keep in circulation by a shake o' his head ! Tickler. Now that I have stood for ray statue, James, pray give us a pen-and-ink sketch of Christopher. Shepherd. There he sits, turned half round on the saiddle, wi' ae haun restin on the mane, and the ither haudin by the crupper, no that he's feared to fa' aff for I've seldom seen him tummle at a staun-still but that I may hae a front, a back, and a side view o' him a' at ance for his finest pint is what I would venture, wi' a happy audacity, to ca' the circu- lar contour o' his full face and figure in profile sae that the spectawtor has a comprehensive visey o' a' the characteristic attributes o' his outward man. North. The circular contour of my full face and figure in profile ? I should like to see it. Shepherd. I fear I shanna be able to feenish the figure at ae sittin, for it's no easy to get rid o' that face. North. I am trying to look as mild as cheese. Shepherd. Dinna fasten your twa grey green een on mine like a wull-cat. North. Verily they are more like a sucking dove's. Shepherd. Surely there's nae need to look sae cruel about the doun-drawn corners o' your mouth for that neb's aneuch o' itsel every year liker and liker a ggem-hawk's. North. I am a soft-billed bird. Shepherd. A multitude o' lang, braid, white, sharp teeth's fearsome in the mouth o' an auld man, and maks ane suspeck dealins wi' the enemy, and an unhallowed lease o' a lang life. North. Would that I had not forgotten to bargain for exemption iVom the toothache ! Shepherd. I wuss there mayna be mair meant than meets the 03 in thae marks on the forehead. They tell na o' the touch o' Time, but o' the Tempter. 502 "Bae y* sett your Sowlf" North. T rub them off so and lo the brow of a boy ! Shepherd. Answer me ae question I adjure you hae ye selt your sowl to Satan ? North (smiling). James ! Shepherd. Heaven bless you, sir, for that smile for it has scattered the dismal darkness o' doubt in which ye were beginning to wax intil a demon, and I behold Christopher North in his ain native light a man a gentleman :md a Christian. But whare's the crutch ? North. Crutch ! The useless old sinecurist has been lying 3n velvet all autumn. Henceforth I believe I shall dispense with his services for the air of the Forest has proved fatal to gout, rheumatism, and lumbago of which truth behold the pleasant proof James here goes ! [NORTH springs up to his feet on the crupper, throws a somerset over Haco's rump, and bounds from the green sward as from a spring-board. Tickler. Not amiss. Let's untackle our cattle and make our toilet. [NORTH and TICKLER strip their steeds, and turn them loose into the meadow, green as emerald with a flush of aftergrass, in which they sink to the fetlocks, as at full gallop they describe fairy-rings within fairy-rings, till in the centre of the field they subside into a trot, and after diversely careering a while with flowing mane and tail, and neighings that thrill the hills, settle to serious eating, and look as if they had been quietly pasturing there since morn. North. That's right, my good Tibbie. Put my pail of water and my portmanteau into the arbor. Tickler. That's right, my pretty Dolly, put my pail of water and my portmanteau into the shed. North's Captures. 508 [NoiiTH retires into the arbor to make his toilet, and TICKLER into the opposite shed. The SHEPHERD remains midway between held there by the counterac- tion of two equal powers of animal magnetism. Shepherd. Are ye gaun into the dookin in thae twa pails ? North. No as rural lass adjusts her silken snood by re- flection in such pellucid mirror so am I about to shave. Shepherd. Remember the fable o' the goat and the well. North (within the Arbor). How beautiful the fading year ! A month ago, this arbor was all one dusky green now it glows it burns with gold, and orange, and purple, and crimson ! How harmonious the many-colored glory ! How delightful are all the hues in tone ! Shepherd. Arena ye cauld staunin there in your linen ? For I see you through the thin umbrage, like a ghost in a dirty shirt. North. Sweet are autumn's rustling bowers, but sweeter far her still when dying leaf after dying leaf drops unre- luctantly from the spray all noiseless as snow-flakes and like them ere long to melt away into the bosom of mother earth. It seems but yesterday when they were buds ! Shepherd. Tak tent ye dinna cut yoursel it's no safe to moraleese when ane's shavin. Are ye speakin to me, or was that meant for a soliloquy ? North. In holt or shaw, in wood or grove, on bush or hedge- row, among broom or bracken, the merry minstrelsy is heard no more ! Soon as they cease to sing they seem to disap- pear ; the mute mavis retires with her speckled throat and breast so beautiful into the forest gloom ; the bold blackbird hides himself for a season, till the berries redden the holly- trees ; and where have all the linties gone? Are they, too, home-changing birds of passage ? and have they flown un- gratefully away with the swallows, to sunny southern isles ? 604 Leaving Altrive early. Shepherd. He's raair poetical nor corrcck in his ornithology; yet it's better to fa' into siclike harmless errors in the study o* leevin birds errors o' a lovin heart, and a mournfu' imagina- tion than to keep scientifically richt amang stuffed speci- mens sittin for ever in ae attitude wi' bead-een in a glass-case. Tickler (within the Sited). What have you been aboit with yourself all day, my dear James ? Shepherd. No muckle. I left Altrive after breakfast- about nine and the Douglas Burn lookin gey temptiu, I tried it wi' the black gnat, and sune creeled some fowre or five dizzen the inaist o' them sma' few exceedin a pund. Tickler. Hem.* Shepherd. I fear, sir, you've gotten a sair throat. Aue sune tires o' trootin at ma time o' life, sae I then put on a sawmon flee, and without ony howp daunered donn to a favorite cast on the Yarrow. Sometimes a body may keep threshin the water for a week without seein a snout and sometimes a body hyucks a fish at the very first thraw ; and sae it happened wi' me though I can gie mysel nae credit for skill for I was just wattin my flee near the edge, when a new-run fish, strong as a white horse, rushed at it, and then out o' the water wi' a spang higher than my head, "My heart to my mouth gied a sten," and he had amaist rugged the rod out my nieve ; but I sune recovered my presence o' mind, and after indulgin his royal highness in a few plunges, I gied him the butt, and for a quarter o' an hour keept his nose to the grunstane. It's a sair pity to see a sawmon sulky, and I thocht and nae doub* sae did he that he had taen up his lodgins at the bottom o' a pool for the nicht though the sun had just reached his meridian. The plump o' a stane half a hunderwecht made * Hem implying a doubt Hogg lands Ms Salmon. 505 him shift his quarters and a sudden thocht struck him that he would mak the best o' his way to the Tweed, and then doun to the sea at Berwick. But I bore sae hard on him wi' an auchteen-feet rod, that by the time he had swam twa miles and a' that time, though I aften saw his shadow, I seldom saw himsel he was sae sair blawn that he cam to the surface o' his ain accord, as if to tak breath and after that I had it a' my ain way for he was powerless as a sheaf o' corn carried doun in a spate and I landed him at the fuird, within a few hunder yards o' Altrive. Curious aneuch, wee Jamie was sittin by himsel on the bank, switherin about wadin across, and you may imagine the dear cretur's joy on seem a twunty-pund fish the heaviest ever killed wi' the rod in Yarrow floatin in amang his feet. Tickler. You left him at home ? Shepherd. Whare else should I hae left him ? Tickler. Hem. Shepherd. You really maun pit some flannen round that throat for at this time o' the year, when baith man and horse is saft, inflammation rapidly arrives at its hicht mortification without loss o' time ensues and within the four-and-twunty hours I've kent a younger chiel than you, sir, streekit out Tickler. What? Shepherd. A corp. Tickler. Any more sport? Shepherd. Returnin to the Loch, I thocht I wad try the otter.* Sae I launched him on a steady leaden keel twa yards lang breadth o' beam three inches and mountin a hunder and fifty hyucks This is an implement with a number of tty-Looks attached to it; :in bristles at ony time, or mak me lift up my mane for her de- licht, that she inicht lie doun bashfully aneath its shadow, or as if shelterin there frae some object o' her fear, crouch pantin amang that envelopment o' hairy clouds. Tickler. Whew! North. In that excellent work. The Naturalist's Library,edit- cd by my learned friend Sir William Jardine, it is observed, if I recollect rightly, that Temminck, in his Monograph, places the African lion in two varieties that of Barbary and that of Senegal without referring to those of the southern parts of the continent. In the southern parts there are two kinds analogous, it would seem, to the northern varieties the yellow and the brown, or according to the Dutch colon- ists, the blue and the black. Of the Barbary lion, the hair is of a deep yellowish brown, the mane and hair upon the breast and insides of the fore-legs being ample, thick, and shaggy ; of the Senegal lion, the color of the body is of a much paler tint, the maue is much less, does not extend so far upon the shoulders, and is almost entirely wanting upon the breast and insides of the legs. Mr. Burchel encountered a third variety of the African lion, whose mane is nearly quite black, and him the Hottentots declare to be the most fierce and daring of all. Now, my dear James, pardon me for asking whether you were the Senegal or Barbary Lion, or one of the southern varieties analogous to them, or the third variety, with the mane nearly black, that encountered Mr. Burchel ? Tickler. He must have been a fourth variety, and probably the sole specimen thereof ; for all naturalists agree that the young males have neither mane nor tail-tuft, and exhibit no incipient symptoms of such, appendages till about their third year. Shepherd. Throughout the hale series o' my transmigration 640 " The Terrible Tawney of Timbuctoo" o' sowl I hae aye been equally in growth and genius extra- ordinal precocious, Timothy ; and besides, I dimia clearly see Loo either Buffoon, or Civviar, or Tinnock, or Sir William Jarrdinu, or James Wulson, or even Wommle himsel, familiar as they may be wi' Lions in plates or cages, should ken better about their manes and the tuft o' their tails, than me wha was ance a Lion in propria persona, and hae thochts o' writing my ain Leonine Owtobiography wi' Cuts. But as for my color, I was neither a blue, nor a black, nor a white, nor a red Lion though you, Tickler, may hae seen siclike on the signs o' inns but I was the TERRIBLE TAWNEY o' TIM- BUCTOO ! ! ! Tickler. What ! did you live in the capital ? Shepherd. Na in my kintra seat a' the year roun'. But there was mair than a sugh o' me in the metropolis mony a story was tauld o' me by Moor and Mandingo and by whisper o' my name they stilled their cryiu weans, and frichtened them to sleep. What kent I, when a lion, o' geo- graphy ? Nae map o' Africa had I ever seen but what I scrawled wi' my ain claws on the desert dust. As for the Niger, I cared na whether it flawed to meet the risin or the settin sun but when the sun entered Leo, I used instinc- tively to soom in its waters ; and I remember, as if it had been yesterday, loupin in amang a bevy o' black girlies bathin in a shallow, and breakfastir. on ane o' them, wha ate as tender as a pullet, arid was as plump as a paitrick. It waa lang afore the time o' Mungo Park ; but had I met Mungo I wouldna hae hurt a hair o' his head for my prophetic sowl would hae been conscious o' the Forest, and however hungry, never would 1 hae harmed him wha had leeved on the Tweed. North. Beautiful. Pray, James, is it true that your lion prefers human flesh to any other nay, after once tasting it, that he uniformly becomes an authropophagus ? The Tawney's Favorite Dish. 541 Shepherd. He may or he may not uniformly become an anthropophagus, for I kenna what an anthropophagus is ; but as to preferring human flesh to ony ither, that depends on the particular kind o' human flesh. J presume, when I was a lion, that I had the ordinar appetencies o' a lion that is, that I was rather aboou than below average or par and at a' events, that there was naething about me unleonine. Noo, I could never bring my stamack, without difficulty, to eat an auld woman : as for an auld man, that was out D' the question, even in starvation. On the whole, I preferred, in the long run, antelope even to girl. Girl doubtless was a delicacy ance a fortnight or thereabouts but girl every day would hae been Tickler. Toujourf perdrix. Shepherd. Just sae. Anither Lion, a freen o' mine, though, thocht otherwise, and used to lie in ambuscade for girl, on which he fed a' through the year. But mark the consequence why, he lost his senses, and died ragin mad ! Tickler. You don't say so ? Shepherd. Instinctively I kent better, and diversified my denners with zebras and quaggas, and such small deer, sae that I was always in high condition, my skin was aye sleek, my mane meteorous ; and as for my tail, wherever I went, the tuft bore aff the belle. North. Leo are you, or are you not a cowardly animal ? Shepherd. After I had reached the age o' puberty my cour- age never happened to be put to ony verra severe trial, for I was aye faithfu' to my mate and she to me and jealousy never disturbed our den. Tickler. Any cubs ? Shepherd. But I couldnahae wanted courage, since I never felt fear. I aye took the sun o' the teegger ; and though the rhinoceros is an ugly customer he used to gie me the wa* ; 542 Sis Fight with the Unicorn. at siclit o' me the elephant became his ain trumpeter, and sounded a retreat in amang the trees. Ance, and ance only I had a desperate fecht wi' a unicorn. North. So he is not fabulous ? Shepherd. No him, indeed he's ane o' the realest o' a beasts. Tickler. What may be the length of his horn, James ? Shepherd. 0' a dagger. North. Shape? Shepherd. No speerally wreathed like a ram's horn but strecht, smooth, and polished, o' the yellow ivory sharper than a swurd. Tickler. Hoofs? Shepherd. His hoofs are no cloven, and he's no unlike a horse. But in place o' nicheriri like a horse, he roars like a bull ; and then he leeves on flesh. Tickler. I thought he had been omnivorous. Shepherd. Nae cretur's omnivorous but man. North. Rare ? Shepherd. He maun be very rare, for I never saw anither but him I focht. The battle was in a wudd. We're natural enemies, and set to wark the moment we met without ony quarrel. Wi' the first pat o' my paw I scored him frae shouther to flank, till the bluid spouted in jettees. As he ran at me wi' his horn I joukit ahint a tree, and he transfixed it in the pith sheathin't to the verra hilt. There was nae use in flingin up his heels, for wi' the side-spang I was on his back, and fastenin my hind claws in his flank, and my fore- claws in his shouthers, I began at my leisure devoorin him in the neck. She sune joined me, and ate a hole into his inside till she got at the kidneys ; but judgin by him, nae animal's mair tenawcious o' life than the unicorn for when we left him the remains were groanin. Neist mornin we went to Carried into the Capitol. 543 breakfast on him. but thae gluttonous creturs, the vultura had been afore us, and he was but banes. North. Are you not embellishing, James ? Shepherd. Sic a fack needs nae embellishment. But I confess, sirs, I was, on the first hearin o't, incredulous o' Major Laing's ha'in fand the skeleton stickin to the tree ! North. Why incredulous? Shepherd. For wha can tell at what era I was a lion ? But it pruves that the banes o' a unicorn are durable as aim. North. And ebony an immortal wood. Tickler. Did you finish your career in a trap ? Shepherd. Na. I died in open day in the centre o' the great square o' Timbuctoo. Tickler. Ha, ha ! baited ? Shepherd. Na. I was lyin ae day by mysel for she had disappeared to whalp amang the shrubs waitin for some wanderin waif comin to the well for thirst is stronger than fear in them that dwall in the desert, and they will seek for water even in the lion's lair when I saw the head o' an un- known animal high up amang the trees, browzin on the sprays and then its lang neck and then its shouthers and then its forelegs ; and then its body droopin doun into a tail like a buffalo's an animal unlike ony ither I had ever seen afore for though spotted like a leopard, it was in shape liker a unicorn but then its een were black and saft, like the een o' an antelope, and as it lickit the leaves, I kent that tongue had never lapped bluid. I stretched mysel up wi* my usual roar, and in less time than it taks to tell't was on the back o' the Giraffe. Ambo. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! Shepherd. I happened no to be verra hungry ; and my fangs without munchin pierced but an inch or twa deep. Brayin across the sand-hills at a lang trot flew the caraelo< 544 He dies in the Great Square. pard nor for hours slackened she her pace, till she plunged into the Black river * Tickler. The Niger. Shepherd. swam across, and bore me through many groves into a wide plain, all unlike the wilderness round the Oasis we had left at morn. North. What to that was Mazeppa's ride on the desert-born ! Shepherd. The het bluid grew sweeter and sweeter as I drank and I saw naething but her neck, till a' at ance staggerin she fell doun and what a sicht! Rocks, as I thocht them but they were houses encirclin me a' round ; thousan's o' blackamoors, wi' shirts and spears and svvurds and fires, and drums, hemmin the Lion and arrows like the flyin dragons I had seen in the desert, but no, like them, harmless stingin me through the sides intil the entrails, that when I bat them brak ! You asked me if I was a cooard ? Was't like a cooard to drive, in that condition, the haill city like sheep ? But a' at ance, without my ain wull, my spangin was changed into sprawlin wi' my fore-feet. I still made them spin ; but my hind-legs were useless my back was broken and what I was lappin, sirs, was a pool o' my ain bluid. I had spewed it as my heart burst ; first fire grew my een, and then mist and the last thing I remember was a shout and a roar. And thus, in the centre o' the great square o' Timbuctoo, the Lion died! North. And the hide of him, who is now the Ettrick Shep- herd, has for generations been an heirloom in the palace of the Emperor of all the Saharas ! Shepherd. Nae less strange than true. Noo, North, let's hear o' ane o' your transmigrations. North. Another night ; for really, after such painting and such poetry . . Shall we have some beef a-la-mode, James ? The Old Man Eloquent. 545 Shepherd. Eh? (Beef a-la-mode.) Shepherd (in continuation). What is Love o' Kintra but aii amalgamated multitude o' sympathies in brethren's hearts ! North. Yes, James, that is our country not wheic we have breathed alone ; not that land which we have loved because it has shown to our opening eyes the brightness of heaven, and the gladness of earth ; but the land for which we have hoped and feared, that is to say, for which our bosom has beat with the consenting hopes and fears of many million hearts ; that land, of which we have loved the mighty living and the mighty dead ; that land, the Roman and the Greek would have said, where the boy had sung in the pomp that led the sacrifice to the altars of the ancient deities of the soil. Shepherd. And therefore, when a man he would guard them frae profanation, and had he a thousau' lives, would pour them a' out for sake o' what some micht ca' superstition, but which you and me, and Southside, sittin there wi' his great grey een, would fearna, in the face o' heaven, to ca' religion. 7\ckler. Hurra ! Shepherd. I but clench my nieves. North. James, the Campus Marti us and the Palaestra Shepherd. Sir ? North. where the youth exercised Heroic Games, were the Schools of their Virtue ; for there they were taking part in the passions, the power, the life, the glory that flowed through all the spirit of the nation. Shepherd. 0' them, sir, the ggems at St. Ronau's are, but on a sma' scale, and imperfect eemage. North. Old warriors and gowned statesmen, that frowned in marble or in brass, in public places, and in the porches of 546 On the Fire of Patriotism. noble houses, trophied monuments, and towers riven with the si-ars of ancient battles the Temple raised where Jove had stayed the Flight or the Victory whose expanded wings still seemed to hover over the conquering bands what were all these to the eyes and the fancy of the young citizen, but characters speaking to him of the great secret of his Hopes and Desire* in which he read the union of his own heart to the heart of the Heroic Nation of which he was One ? Shepherd, My bluid's tinglin and my skin creeps. Diuna 8 tap. North. And what, James, I ask you, what if less noble passions must hereafter take their place in his mind ? what if he must learn to share in the feuds and hates of his house or of his order ? Those far deeper and greater feelings had been sunk into his spirit in the years when it is most suscep- tible, unsullied, and pure, and afterwards in great contests, in peril of life and death, in those moments of agitation or profound emotion in which the higher soul again rises up, all those high and solemn affections of boyhood and youth would return upon him, and coiisecrate his warlike deeds with the noblest name of virtue thas was known to those ancient states. Shepherd. What was't ? Eh ? North. Patriotism. Shepherd. Ou ay. Say on, sir. North. Therefore how was the Oaken Crown prized which was given to him who had saved the life of a citizen ! Shepherd. And amang a people too, sir, whare every man was williu at a word to die. North. Perhaps, James, he loved not the man whom he had preserved ; but he had remembered in the battle that it was a son of his country that had fallen, and over whom he had spread his shield. He knew tha, the breath he guarded was part of his country's being. " The Citizen of the World" 547 Shepherd. Mr. Tickler, saw ye ever si een ? North. Look at the simple incitements to valor in the ongs of that poet who is said to have roused the Lacede- monians, disheartened in unsuccessful war, and to have animated them to victory. " He who fights well among the foremost, if he fall shall be sung among his people ; or if he live, shall be in reverence in their council ; and old men shall give place to him ; his tomb shall be in honor, and the children of his children." Shepherd. Simple incitement, indeed, sir, but as you said richtly, shooblime. North. Why, James, the love of its own military glory in a warlike people is, indeed, of itself an imperfect patriotism. Shepherd. Sir ? Wull ye say that again, for I dinna just tak it up ? North. Believe me, my dear Shepherd, that in every country there is cause for patriotism, or the want of such a cause argues defects in the character and condition of the country of the grossest kind. It shows that the people are vicious, or servile, or effeminate Shepherd. Which only a confoonded leear will ever say o' Scotsmen. North. The want of this feeling is always a great vice in the individual character ; for it will hardly ever be found to rise from the only justifiable or half-justifiable cause, namely, when a very high mind, in impatient disdain of the baseness of all around it, seems to shake off its communion with them. I call that but half-justifiable. Shepherd. And I, sir, with your leave, ca't a'thegither unjustifiable, as you can better explain than the simple Shepherd. North. You are right, James. For the noblest minds do not thus break themselves loose from their country; but 548 Is an Ignoble Animal. they mourn over it, and commiserate its sad estate, and would die to recover it. They acknowledge the great tie of nature of that house they are and its shame is their own. Shepherd. Ob, sir ! but you're a generous, noble-hearted cretur ! North. In all cases, then, the want of patriotism is sheer want of feeling ; such a man labors under an incapacity of sympathizing with his kind in their noblest interests. Try him, and you shall find that on many lower and unworthier occasions he feels with others that his heart is not simply too noble for this passion but that it is capable of being animated and warmed with many much inferior desires. Shepherd. A greedy dowg and a lewd ane, in the ae case, snarlin for a bane and in the ither, growlin for the flesh. I scunner at sic a sinner. North. Woe to the citizen of the world ! Shepherd. Shame shame shame ! North. The man who feels himself not bound to his coun- try can have no gratitude. Shepherd. Hoo selfish and cauld-hearted maun hae been his very childhood ! North. I confess that, except in cases of extreme distress, I have never been able to sympathize with emigrants. Shepherd. I dinna weel ken, sir, what to say to that but mayna a man love, and yet leave his country ? North. My dear James, I see many mournful meanings in the dimness of your eyes so shall not pursue that sub ject but you will at least allow me to say, that there is something shocking in the mind of the man who can bear, without reluctance or regret, to be severed from the whole world of his early years who can transfer himself from the place which ?s his own to any region of the globe where he The Shepherd's Last Speech, 549 can advance his fortune who, in this sense of the word, can say, in carrying himself, " omnia mea mecum porto." Shepherd. That's no in my book o' Latin or Greek quo- tations. North. Exiles carry with them from their mother country all its dearest names. Shepherd. And a wee bit name canna it carry hi it a wecht o' love ? North. Ay, James, the fugitives from Troy had formed a little Ilium, and they had, too, their little Xanthus. Tickler. " Et avertem Xanthi cognomine rivum." Shepherd. You're twa classical scholars, and wull aye be quotin Greek. But for my part, after a' those eloquent diatribes o' yours on the pawtriotism o' the auncients, I wudna desire to stray for illustrations ae step out o' the Forest. Tickler. Aren't ye all Whigs ? Shepherd. Some o' a' sorts. But it's an epitome o' the pastoral war Id at large and the great majority o' shepherds are Conservatives. They're a thinkin people, sir, as ye ken , and though far frae bein' unspeculative, or uuwillin to adopt new contrivances as sune's they hae got an insight intil the principle on which they work, yet a new-fangle in their een's but a new-fangle ; and as in the case o' its bein' applied to a draw-well, they wait no only to see how it pumps up, but hae patience to put its durability to the proof o' a pretty lang experience, sae in the political affairs o' the State they're no to be taen in by the nostrums o' every reformer that has a plan o' a new, cheap constitution to shaw, but they fasten their een ou't as dourly as on a dambrodd ; * and then began cross-questionin the cheil > quack or else no on the vawrious bearings o' the main * Dambrodd draft-board. 650 On " the Salvation of the Kintra" springs, wheels, and drags ; and as sune's they perceive a hitch, they cry, Ha ! ha ! ina lad ! I'm thinkiii she'll no riii up hill and if ye let her lowse at the tap o' ane, she'll rattle to the deevil. North. And such too, my dear sir, don't you think, is the way of thinking among the great body of the agriculturists ? Shepherd. I could illustrate it, sir, by the smearin o' sheep. Tickler. And eke the shearing. Shepherd. Say clippin. The Whigs and Radicals assert toon folks are superior in mind to kintra folks. They'll be sayin neist that they're superior to them likewise in body and speak o' the rabble o' the Forest as ither people speak o' the rabble o' the Grassmarket. But the rural riff-raff are in spriuklins, in sma' families, and only seen lousin ane anither on spats forming an angle on the road-sides. Fiudlay o' Selkirk has weel-nigh cleaned the coouty o' a' sic but in great toons, and especially manufacturin anes, there are haill divisions hotchin wi' urban riff-raff, and it's them ye hear at hustins routin in a way that the stots and stirks o' the Forest would be ashamed o' theirsels for doiu in a bare field on a wunter day, when something had hindered the hind fra carryiu them some fodder to warm their wames in the suaw. The salvation o' the kintra, sir, depends on the Tickler. This will never do, North this is too bad. See, 'tis six ! North (rising, and giving his guests each his candle). We shall hear you another time, my dear Shepherd but now Shepherd. The salvation o' the kintra, sir, depends on the North (touching Jirsl one spring and then another, while fly open two panels in the oak wainscoting). You know your rooms. The alarm-bell will ring at twelve and at one lunch will be Is left unfinished. 551 on the table in tie Topaz. I wish you both the nightmare. ( Touches a spring, and vanishes.) Shepherd. Mr. Tickler ! I say the salvation o' the country baith gane ! I'm no sleepy but I'll rather sleep than solilo- queese. ( Vanishes.) Sic TRANSEUNT NOCTES AMBROSIANA. THE A P P ENDIX. 1. NOTICES LY PROFESSOR MERRIER II. GLOSSARY OF SCOTCH WORDS. L NOTICES OF TIMOTHY TICKLER AND THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD, BY PROFESSOR FERRIER. AMBROSE'S was situated in the vicinity of West Register Street, at the back of the east end of Princes Street, and close to the Register Office. Here stood the tavern from which the Noctesi Ccenceque, commemorated in these volumes, derived their name. A cursed spotj 'tis sad, in days of yore ; But nothing ails it now the place is merry ! " But a too literal interpretation is not to be given to the s^ene of these festivities. Ambrose's Hotel was indeed " a local hab- itation and a name," and many were the meetings which Pro- fessor Wilson and his friends had within its walls. But the true Ambrose's must be looked for only in the realms of the im- agination the veritable scene of the " Ambrosian nights" ex- isted nowhere but in their Author's brain, and their flashing fire was struck out in solitude by genius, wholly independent of the stimulus of companionship. The same remark applies to the principal characters who take part in these dialogues. Although founded to some extent on ths actual, they are in the highest degree idealized. Christo- pher North was Professor Wilson himself, and here, therefore, the real and the ideal may be viewed as coincident. But Tim- othy Tickler is a personage whose lineaments bear a resemblance to those of their original only in a few fine although unmistak 556 Appendix. able outlines, while James Hogg in the flesh was but a faint ad- umbration of the inspired Shepherd of the Noctes. Mr. Robert Sym (the prototype of Timothy Tickler) was born in 1750, and died in 1844 at the age of ninety-four, having re- tained to the last the full possession of his faculties, and en- joyed uninterrupted good health to within a very few years ol his decease. He followed the profession of Writer to the Sig- net from 1775 until the close of that century, vhen he retired from business on a coii.pctent fortune. He was uncle to Pro- fessor Wilson by the mother's side, and his senior by some five-and-thirty years. He thus belonged to a former generation, and had passed his grand climacteric long before the establish- ment of "Blackwood's Magazine," with which he had no con- nection whatever beyond taking an interest in its success. And although his conviviality flowed down upon a later stock, and was never more heartily called forth than when in the company of his nephew, these circumstances must of themselves have prevented the Author of the " Noctes " from trenching too closely on reality in his effigation of Timothy Tickler. Mr Sym's portrait in the character of Timothy Tickler is sketched more than once in the course of the " Noctes Ambrosi- anae." But the following description of him by the Ettrick Shepherd is so graphic, and for the most part so true, that I cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing it : " I had never heard," says Hogg in his ' Reminiscences of Former Days,'* " more than merely his [Mr Sym's] name, and imagined him to be some very little man about Leith. Judge of my astonishment when I was admitted by a triple-bolted door into a grand house f in St. George's Square, and introduced to its lord, an uncommonly fine-looking elderly gentleman, about seven feet high, and as straight as an arrow ! His hair was whitish, his complexion had the freshness and ruddiness of youth, his looks and address full of kindness and benevolence ; but whenever he stood straight up (for he always had to stoop about Prefixed to ' Altrive Tales,' by the Ettrick Shepherd. London, 1832. t This is a slight exaggeration. Mr Sym's house, though sufficiently com modious, was a hachelor domicile of very moderate dimensions. Notices by Professor Ferrier. 557 half-way when speaking to a common-sized man like me), then you could not help perceiving a little of the haughty air of the determined and independent old aristocrat. " From this time forwind, during my stay in Edinburgh, Mr. Sym's hospitable mansion was the great evening resort of his three nephews* and nie ; sometimes there were a few friends beside, of whom Lockhart and Samuel Andersonf were mostly two, but we four for certain ; and there are no jovial evenings of my by-past life which T reflect on with greater delight than those. Tickler is completely an original as any man may see who has attended to his remarks ; for there is no sophistry there, they are every one his own. Nay, I don't believe that North has, would, or durst, put a single sentence into his mouth that had not proceeded out of it.J No, no ; although I was made a scape-goat, no one, and far less a nephew, might do so with Timothy Tickler. His reading, both ancient and modern, is boundless, his taste and perception acute beyond those of most other men ; his satire keen and biting, but at the same time his good-humor is altogether inexhaustible, save when ignited by coining in collision with Whig or Radical principles. Still, there being no danger of that with me, he and I never differed in one single sentiment in our lives, excepting as to the com- parative merits of some strathspey reels. Professor Wilson, Mr. Robert Sym Wilson, Manager of the Royal Baiik of Scotland, and Mr. James Wilson, the eminent naturalist. I Samuel Anderson makes his appearance at page 440. t This observation is very wide of the mark, Assuredly Mr. Sym was no consenting party to the slight liberties which were taken with him in the "Noctes," and it is not to be supposed that he had more than a faint suspicion of his resemblance to the redoubted Timothy. What Hogg says in regard to the vigor of Mr. Sym's talents, and the originality and pointedness of his remarks, is quite true ; but had the nephew ventured to report any of the conversations of the uncle, there cannot be a doubt that the " breach of priv- ilege" would have been highly resented by the latter. But the Professor had too much tact for that. He U ok good care not to sail too near the wind ; and the utmost that can be said is, that the language and sentiments of Mr. Sym bore some general resemblance, and supplied a sort of groundwork, to tlio conversational characteristics of Mr. Tickler. This also is incorrect. Mr. Sym's reading, although accurate and intelli- gent so far as it went, was by no means unbounded. It was limited to our boat British classics and of these his special favorHes were Hume and Swift. 558 Appendix. " But the pleasantost part of our fellowship is yettodescriba. At a certain period of the night our entertainer knew, by the longing looks which I cast to a beloved corner of the dining-room, what was wanting. Then, with " Oh, I beg your pardon, Hogg, I was forgetting," he would take out a small gold key that hung by a chain of the same precious metal from a particular button-hole, and stalk away as tall as the life, open two splendid fiddle-cases and produced their contents ; first the one and then the other, but always keeping the best to himself. I'll nevei forget with what elated dignity he stood straight up in the middle of that floor and rosined his bow; there was a twist of the lip and an up- ward beam of the eye that were truly sublime. Then down we eat side by side, and began at first gently, and "with" easy mo- tion, like skilful grooms keeping ourselves up for the final heat, which was slowly but surely approaching. At the end of every tune we took a glass, and still our enthusiastic admiration of the Scottish tunes increased our energies of execution redoub- led, till ultimately it became not only a complete and well- contested race, but a trial of strength, to determine which should drown the other. The only feelings short of ecstasy which came across us in these enraptured moments were caused by hearing the laugh and the joke going on with our friends, as if no such thrilling strains had been flowing. But if Sym's eye chanced at all to fall on them, it instantly retreated upwards again in rnild indignation. To his honor be it mentioned, he has left me a legacy of that inestimable violin, provided that I outlive him.* But not for a thousand such would I part with my old friend." To this description I may be just permitted to add, that in the more serious concerns of life Mr. Sym's character and career were exemplary. To the highest sense of honor, and the most scru- pulous integrity in his professional dealings, he united the man- ners of a courtier of the ancient r/gime, and a kindliness of na- ture which endeared him to the old and to the young, with the latter of whom, in particular, he was always an especial favorite*. * Hogg did not outlive him. Notices by Profemsor Ferrier. 559 But the animating spirit of the " Xoctes Ambrosianae " is the Ettrick Shepherd himself. James Hogg was born in 1772, in a cottage on the banks of the Ettrick, a tributary of the Tweed ; and died at Altrive, near St. Mary's Loch a lake in the same district in 1835. His early years were spent in the humblest pastoral avocations, and he scarcely received even the rudiments of the most ordinary education. For long " chill penury re- pressed his noble rage ; " but the poetical instinct was strong within him, and the flame ultimately broke forth under the promptings of his own ambition, and the kind encouragement of Sir Walter Scott. After a few hits and many misses in various departments of literature, he succeeded in striking the right chord in the " Queen's Wake," which was published in 1813. This work stamped Hogg as, after Burns (proximus sed longo in- tervallo), the greatest poet that had ever sprung from the bosom of the common people. It became at once, and deservedly, pop- ular; and by this poem, together with some admirable songs, imbued with genuine feeling and the national spirit of his coun- try, he has a good chance of being known favorably to posterity. But his surest passport to immortality is his embalmment in the " Noctes Ambrosianae." In connection with this brief notice of James Hogg, I may take the opportunity of clearing up a point of literary history which has been enveloped in obscurity until now : I allude to the authorship of a composition which is frequently referred to in the " Noctes Ambrosianae," the celebrated ChaldeeMS. This trenchant satire on men and things in the metropolis of Scot- land was published in the seventh number of " Blackwood'a Magazine." It excited the most indescribable commotion at the time so much noise, indeed, that never since has it been per- mitted to make any noise whatever, this promising babe having been pitilessly suppressed almost in its cradle, in consequence of threatened legal proceedings. A set of the Magazine containing it is now rarely to be met with. The authorship of this compo- sition has been always a subject of doubt. Hogg used to claim the credit of having written it. I have recently ascertained that to him the original conception of the Chaldee MS. is due; and 560 Appendix. also tli at liu was the author of the first thirty-seven verses of Chap. I., and of one or two sentences beside. So that, out of the one hundred and eighty verses of which the whole piece consists, about forty are to be attributed to the Shepherd. Hogg, indeed, wrote and sent to Mr. Blackwood much more of the Chaldee MS. than the forty verses aforesaid ; but not more than these were inserted in the Magazine ; the rest of the produc- tion being the workmanship of Wilson and Lockhart. Such is a true and authentic account of the origin and authorship of the Chaldee MS. ... To return to the Shepherd. There was a homely heartiness of manner about Hogg, and a Doric simplicity in his address, which were exceedingly prepos- sessing. He sometimes carried a little too far the privileges of an innocent rusticity, as Mr. Lockhart has not failed to note in his Life of Scott ; but, in general, his slight deviations from etiquette were rather amusing than otherwise. When we con- sider the disadvantages with which he had to contend, it must be admitted that Hogg was, in all respects, a very remarkable man. In his social hours, a naivetJ, and a vanity which dis- armed displeasure by the openness and good-humor with which it was avowed, played over the surface of a nature which at bottom was sufficiently shrewd and sagacious ; but his conver- sational powers were by no means pre-eminent. He never, in- deed, attempted any colloquial display, although there was sometimes a quaintness in his remarks, a glimmering of droll- ery, a rural freshness, and a tinge of poetical coloring, which re- deemed his discourse from common place, and supplied to the consummate artist who took him in hand the hints out of which to construct a character at once original, extraordinary, and delightful a character of which James Hogg undoubtedly furnished the germ, but which, as it expanded under the hands of its artificer, acquired a breadth, a firmness, and a power to which the bard of Mount Benger had certainly no preten- sion. . . . In another respect the dialect of the Shepherd is peculiar : it is thoroughly Scottish, and could not be Anglicized without losing its raciness and spoiling entirely the dramatic propriety Notices ly Professor Ferrier. 561 of his character. Let it aot be supposed, however, that it is in any degree provincial, or that it is a departure from English speech in the sense in which the dialects of Cockneydom and of certain English counties are violations of the language of Eng- land. Although now nearly obsolete, it ranks as a sister-tongue to that of England. It is a dialect consecrated by the genius of Burns, and by the usage of Scott ; and now confirmed as classi- cal by its last, and in some respects its greatest, master. This dialect was Burns's natural tongue ; it was one of Sir Walter'a most effective instruments ; but the author of the " Noctes Am- brosianae, wields it with a copiousness, flexibility, and splendor which never have been, and probably never will be equalled. As the last specimen, then, on a large scale, of the national language of Scotland which the world is ever likely to see, I have preserved with scrupulous care the original orthography of these compositions. Glossarial interpretations, however, have been generally subjoined for the sake of those readers who la- bor under the disadvantage of having been born on the south side of the Tweed. M // GL OSZAR7 A' all A bee alone Abeigh aloof A boon above Ackit acted Acks acts Acquent acquainted Ae one Afterhend afterwards Ahint behind Aiblins perhaps Aik oak Aim iron Airt direction, point of the compass Aits oats Alane alone Amna am not Ance once A neath beneath Anent concerning, about Aneuch enough Ankil ankle A'.-gl i n g wrangling Ashet an oblong dish Asks lizards Ass-hole ash-pit, or dust-hole A'thegither altogether Athort athwart Atower away from Atween between Auchteen eighteen Aughts owns Auld old Auld-woman a revolving iron chimney-top Aumry cupboard in a corner Ava at all Awee a little while Awin owing Awmous alms Ax ask Ayont beyond Back-o'-beyont (back-of-be- Baird beard yond) a Scotch slang phrase Bairn signifying any place indefi- Bairnie nitely remote Bairnly childish Backend close of the year Baith both Baggy-mennon a minnow, Bakiefu's bucketfuls thick in the belly Ballant ballad Baikie a bucket for ash^s Bane bone Glossary of Scotch Words. 56S Banieness largeness and strength of bone Bap a small flat loaf with pointed ends Bardy positive Barkened hardened Bashed somewhat flattened with heavy strokes or blows Bat bit Bate beat Bauchle an old shoe crushed down into a sort of slipper Bauk one of a set of planks or spars across the joists in rude old Scotch cottages Bauld bold Bawdrons a cat Bawm balm Bawn band Bawns banns Beek to grow warm and ruddy before the fire; (beek in the hearth heat) Beetin fanning and feeding a fire with fuel Beggonets bayonets sat}**- Belyve soon Ben into the room Beuk book Bick bitch Bield shelter Big to build Bike swarm Bikes nests of bees Biled boiled Bill bull Biiuui be not Birk (tree) birch links bi rches Birks beggar-my-neighbor, a game at cards Birr force liirses bristles ; metaphori- cally used in Scotland for angry pride Birzed bruised Blab a big drop Black-a-viced of dark com- plexion Blash, (a) a drench Blashin -driven by the wind and drenching Blate bashful Blaw blow Blawmange > , , Bleimanch- { blanc-mange Blethers rapid nonsensical talk Blin' blind Blouterin gabbling noisily and foolishly Blouts large deep blots or stains scarcely dried Blude blood Bocht bought Bock vomit Bodle a small Scottish coin, not now used Bogle a goblin Bole the cup or bowl of a pipe Bonny handsome, beautiful Bonny fide bona fide Bonspeil a match at curling Boo bow Bools marbles Boord board Boud were bound Bouet a hand-lanthom Bouk bulk Bourtree elder-tree Bo water bolster Boyne a washing-tub Brace-piece mantel-piece Brackens ) r Brakens-J fern Braes slopes somewhat steep Braid broad Brak broke Branglin a sort of superlative of wrangling Brasale panting haste up a hill 564 Appendix. Brastlin hasting up a hill toilsomely, and with heavy panting Braw fine Breckans see Brackens B reeks trousers Breid bread Breist breast Brent rising broad, smooth, and open Brewst a brewing ; used in the text as the making of a jug or bowl of toddy Bricht bright Brock badger Brodd board Broo brow Broo'd brewed Broou brown Broose a race at a country wedding Browst see Brewst Brughs burghs Bubbly-jock turkey-cock Buckies a kind of sea-shell Bught sheepfold Buird a board ; used in tha text as the low table 011 which a tailor sits Buirdly tall, large, and stout Buirds boards Bum buzz Bumbee the bumble-bee Bummer blue-bottle fly Bun' ) , Bund-j bound Bunker window-seat Burd- board Burnie rivulet Busked dressed showily But into an outer or inferior apartment By-gaun (in the by-gaun) in going past Byre cowhouse Byuckie small book Caff chaff Callant young lad Caller fresh Came comb Camstrary unmanageable Canny (no canny). Canny means gentle, but "uo canny" is a phrase in Scotland for one with a spice of the power of a wizard or devil in him Cantrip magical spell Canty lively Carvey the smallest kind of sweetmeats, generally put on bread-aud-butter for chil- dren C aucht c aught Candle see Cadie Cauff chaff Cauked tipped with rough points, as horse-shoes are prepared for slippery roada in frost Cauldit troubled with a cold Cauldrife easily affected by cold ; in the text it is used as selfishly cold Cauler fresh Caulker a glass of pure spirits, a dram Causey causeway Caves tosses Cavie a hencoop Caviu tossing Cttwm calm Glossary of Scotch Words. 665 Cawnle candle Chack a squeeze with the teeth Chaclat chocolate Chai'ts jaws Chap knock Chapped struck, as a clock strikes Chapping knocking Chap o' the knock striking of the clock Chaumer chamber Cheep to complain in a small peevish voice Cheyre chair Chiel a fellow, a person Chirt to press hard with occa- sional jerks, as in the act of turning a key in a stiff lock Chitterin shivering, with the teeth chattering at the same time Chop shop Chovies an cho vies Chowin chewing Chowks jaws Chow't chew it Chrissen'd christened, bap- tized Chuckies hens Chucky-stane a small smooth round stone, a pebble Chumley chimney Clachan a small village Clackins broods of young birds Claes clothes Clapped (clapped een) set eyes Clarts mud Clash a noisy collision Claught to clutch Clauti n groping Cleckin brood Cleedin clothing Cleek a hold cf anything, caught with a hooked instru- ment Cleemat climate Cleugh a very narrow glen Clink cash Clishmaclaver idle talk Clockin bent on hatching Cloits falls heavily Clootie the devil Cloots feet [towni Glosses narrow lanes in Clour a lump raised by a blow Clout a bit of linen or other cloth Clud cloud Cockettin coquetting Cockit cocked Cock-laird yeoman Cocko-nit cocoa-nut Codlin a small cod Coft bought Coggly shaky from not stand- ing fair Collie shepherd's dog Collyshangie squabble Connate conceit Conceit ingenious device Coo cow Cooart coward Coof a stupid silly fellow Cookies soft round cakes o fancy bread for tea Coom to blacken with soot Coorse coarse Coots ankles Copiawtor plagiarist Corbies carrion crows Corn-stooks shocks of corn Cosh neat Cosy snug Cotch coach Cottie small cottage Coup upset Coupin-atane copo-stone Couthie frank and kind Covin cutting 606 Appendix. Cozy snug Crabbit crabbed Crack a quiet conversation between two Craig neck Cranreuch hoar-frost Crap-sick sick at the stomach Crappit cropped, made to bear crops Craw a crow of triumph Creddle cradle Creel a fish basket Creenklin chuckling, with a small tinkling tone of tri- umph in it Creepie a small low stool Creesh grease Cretur creature Crinkly hoarsely crepitating Croodin doos cooing doves Croon crown Grouse brisk and confident Crowdy a gruel of oatmeal and cold water Cruckit crooked Cruds curds, thickened milk Crunkled a wrinkled rough ness Crummle crumble Cuddie donkey, an ass Cuddie-heels iron boot or shoe heels Cuff (cuff o' the neck) nape of the neck Cummers female gossips. In the text the word simply means elderly wives Cuntra country Curtshy curtsy Custock stalk of colewort or cabbage Cute ankle Cutty a frolicsome little lass Cutty-mun a slang phrase for a poor fellow's dance in air when he is hanged Cyuck cook D l)ab peck, like a bird Dadds thumps Dae do Daffin frolicking Daft crazy Daidliu trifling Daigh dough Dambrod Draught-board Dang beat Daud lump Daudin thumping Daunderin sauntering Daun er saunter Daur dare Dawin the breaking of the dawn Day-1 i ly asphodel Day's-darg -day's labor Dazed bewildered from in- toxication or derangement Dead-thraws agonies of death Deavin deafening Dee die Deealec dialect Deid dead Delvin diggi ng Dew-blobs big drops of dew Dew-flaughts vapors of dew Dight wipe Din dun Dinna do not Dirl a tremulous shock Disna does not Div do Dixies a hearty scolding by way of reproof Glossary of Scotch Words. 567 Dizzcn dozen Docken dock Doit a small copper coin Doited stupid Dolp bottom or breech Donsy a stupid lubberly fel- low Doo pigeon Dook bathe Door-cheek side of the door Donee grave and quiet Douk bathe Doundraucht down-drag Do up bottom or breech Dour slow and stiff Douss a blow, a stroke Dowy doleful Dracht draught Drappie little drop Draucht draught Dree to suffer Dreem suffering Dreigh tedious Droich dwarf Drookin drenching Drookit drenched Droosy drowsy Drucken drunken Drumly turbid, muddy Drummock meal mixed with cold water Dub puddle Dung knocked Dunge see Dunsh Dumbie a dumb person Dunsh a knock, a jog or quick shove with the ellx>w Dunshin bumping Durstna durst not Dwam o' drink a drunken stupor Dwinin pining Dyuck duck E Ear early Earock a chicken Eatems items Ee eye p]e-brees eyebrows Eein eyeing Een eyes Eerie inspiring or inspired with nameless fear in a soli- tary place Eerisome fear-inspiring in a lonely place Eerocks see Earock Eident diligent Eiry full of wonder and feai Eisters oysters Ettle intend and aim at Evendown undisguised and clear Exhowsted exhausted Pack fact Fai losophers philosophers Fan' fc.lt Fanklcd entangled Farder farther Far-keekers far-lookers Farrer farther Fash trouble Fasho us troublesome Fates fuats 568 Appendix. Pause-face mask Faut fault Fawsettoes falsettoes Faynomenon phenomenon Fearsome terri ble Fechtin fighting Feck number or quantity. " The grand feck," means the greater proportion, or most Feckless feeble Feenal final Feesants pheasants Fend shift Fennin faring Pent faint Ferly (to) to look amazed and half unconscious Fernytickled freckled Feturs features Fictious fictitious Fidginfain restless from ex- cess of eagerness and delight Fin's feels Finzeans smoked haddocks Firm form, bench Fisslin rustling almost inau- dibly Fit foot Fit-ba football Fivver fever Fizz make an effervescing sound Fizzionamy physiognomy Flaff instant Flaffs strong windy puffs Flaffered blown about with strong puffs of wind Flaffin fluttering in the air Flaucht a momentary out- burst of flame and smoke Fleech beseech with fail- words Flees flies Flesher butcher Flett- -Hat (in music) Flichter flutter Flinders shivers Fliped turned back or up, dt inside out Flipes comes peeling off in shreds Floory flowery Fluff a quick short flutter Flyte rail Flyped see Fliped Foggies garrison soldiers ; old fellows past their best, or worn out Fool fowl Forbye besides Forfcuchen fatigued Forgather wi' fall in with Fo r ri t i'o r ward Foulzie see Fuil/ie Foumart polecat Fowre four Fowre - hours tea, taken by Scotch rustics about four o'clock in the afternoon Fozie soft as a frost-bitten turnip Frae from Fraucht freight Freen friend Frush brittle Frutus fruits Fu' tipsy Fud breech ; seldom used ex cept in reference to a hare or rabbit Fugy flee off in a cowardly manner Fuilzie filth ; filth of streets and sewers Fuirds fords Fules fools, fowls Fulzie see Fuilzie Fulzie-man a night-man Fummlin fumbling Funk a kick Furm form Fush ionless without sap Fut foot Glossary of Scotch Words. 569 Grab mouth Gaberlunzies mendicants Gad the gadfly Gaily rather Gain' against Gallemaufry idle hubbub Gang go Gar make Garse grass Gash solemnly and almost supernaturally sagacious Gate manner Gaunt yawn Gaucy portly Gawmut gamut Gawpus fool Gear goods, riches Geeing giving Gegg to impose upon one's credulity with some piece of humbug Geggery humbug to impose upon the credulous Gerse grass Gey- J Geyari > rather Geyly ) Ggeg a piece of humbug to impose upon the credulous Ggem game Ghai stly gh ostly Gie give Gied given Gif if Gillies serving-lads in the train of a Highland chief- tain Gimmer a two-yeai-old ewe Gin if Ginnlin catching trouts with the hand Girn grin Girnel a large meal-chest Girrzies coarse servant-girls Gizzy a sort of coinpouud cf giddy and dizzy Glaff momentary wide flutter and flash Glaur mud Gled the glead or kite Glee 'd squi nting Gleg quick and sharp Gleg-eed sharp-eyed Glint a quick gleam Gloamin twilight of evening Glower stare with wide won- dering eyes Glummier gloomier Glutter a gurgling pressure of words and saliva when the mouth cannot utter fast enough Cellaring uttering with loud confused vehemence Goo provocative to food Gouk fool Gowan daisy Gowden golden Gowk fool Gowmeril fool Gowpen, what the two iiandi put together can hold Grain to groan Gr ai ns b ranches Gran ed groa ned Grape a dung-fork Grat wept Gratins gratings Grawds grades Gree prize Greening longing for a tiling, as a pregnant woman ia said to long Greet weep Grew greyhound Grewiu coursing the hare, & 570 Appendix. Grieves -farm stewards or over- seers Groof belly Grozert ) Grozet- gooseberry Grousy inclined to shiver with cold Gruin disposed to shiver Gruesome causing shudder- ing with loathing Grufe Gruff- Grumph to grunt like a sow Grumphie pig Grun' ground Grunstane grindstone Grup gripe, hold Guddlin catching trout.? with the hand Gude good Guffaw a broad la jgh Culler a gurgling sound in the throat when it is com- pressed or half-choked with water Gullerals angry gurgling noises from the mouth Gull-grupper one catching gulls Gully large pocket-knife Gurlin rolling roughly, hud- dled together Gushets fancy pieces worked with wide open stitches in the ankles of stockings Gutsy gluttonous Guttlin guzzling, eating glut- tonously H Ha' hall Hadden holding Haddies haddocks Hafflins half Hags breaks in mossy ground, remnants of breastworks of peat left among the dug pits Hagglin cutting coarsely Hail, (a) abundance Haill whole 1 lai Isome wholesome Hain husband Hai nches haunches Hairst harvest Hairt heart Hale whole Haliest holiest Hactle number, handful Hap hop Hap-step-and-loup hop- step- and-leap Haps wraps IJarl drag Hargarbargiln g wran gl i n g, bandying words backward and forward Harn-pan brai n-pan, skull Hams brains Hash a noisy blockhead Hand ) , , , , , > hold Hauld J Haun hand Haur a thick cold fog Havers j argo n Haverer proser Haveril a chattering half-wit- ted person Hawn hand Ilawnle handle Hawrem harem Hawse throat Heads and thraws heads and feet lying together at both ends of a bed Heech high Hee-fleers high-flyers Heelan Highland Heich high Glossary of Scotch Words. 571 Heid head Hotch to heave up and down Heidlands headlands Hotchin heaving up and down Heigli high Hottle hotel Herried robbed or rifled, Houghs the hollows of the generally in reference to legs behind, between the birds' nests calves and the thighs Herrier a robber of birds' Houghmagandy fornication nests Houkit dug Het hot Houlats owls Hicht height Houp hope Hing't hang it Howdie midwife Hinny honey Howe hollow Hirple to walk very lamely Howes holes Hirsel flock Howf haunt Hizzie hussy, a young woman, Howk to dig married or unmarried, gen- Howp hope erally applied to one of a How-towdies barn-door fowls free open carriage Huggers stockings without Hoast to cough feet Hogg a year-old sheep Hunder hundred Hoggit hogshead Hurcheon urchin, hedgehog Hoise raise Hurdies hips Hoodie-craws hooded crows Hurl (a) a ride in any vehicle, Hoolet owlet but with usual reference to a Hooly leisurely cart Horrals small wheels on which Huts, tuts ! an exclamation tables or chairs move of contemptuous doubt or HorrePd wheeled, having unbelief wheels Hyuckit hooked Idiwit idiot Ingan onion U es oils Ingine genius, ingenuity Hey oily Ingle fireside, hearth Ilk ) , Interteenin entertaining Ilka-r ach ' every Intil-into Ill-faured ill-favoured Isna is not Jalouse suspect Jeest > . fc Jawp splash Jeist J ,!(.. ( a ) a turn Jigot gigot Jeely Jelly Jimp-waisted- -slender- waisted 572 Appendix. Jinkin turning suddenly when Jookery-pawkery ) juggling pursued Joukery-pawkery J trickery Jirt to send out with quick Jookin coming suddenly forth short emphasis in a sly and somewhat stoop Jockteleg a folding-knife ing manner Jougs an iron collar fastened Jouked dodged to the wall of a church, and Joukit dodged, to avoid put round a culprit's neck, in thrust or blow the old ecclesiastical disci- Jugging jogging pline of Scotland Kame comb Kirns feasts of harvest home, Keckle cackle with a dance Kecklin cackling Kitchen relish Keek peep Kittle difficult Keekit peeped Kittly easily tickled, sensitive Keeklivine pen chalk pencil Kittled literally littered, as of Kembe comb kittens Ken know Kitty-wren wren Kennin't knowing it Kiver cover Kenna do not know Kivey covey Kenspeckle noticeable Knappiri breaking with quick Kent known short blows Ker-hauned left-handed Knowe knoll Kerse carse, alluvial lands ly- Kye cows ing along a river Kyeanne cayenne Kibbock a cheese Kyloe an ox, generally used in Kimmers gossips reference to the Highland Kipper fish dried in the sun, breed usually applied to salmon Kythes shows itself Kyuck cook L. Lab strike erally applied to words long Laigh low and learned (verba sesquipe- Lair learning dalia) with contempt for him Laith loth that uses them Laithsome, loathsome Lap leaped Lameter cripple Lauchin laughing Lane lone, alone Launin landing Lanes (twa) two selves Law (as applied to a height) Lang long an isolated hill, generally Lang-nebbed long-nosed ; gen- more or less conical in form Glossary of Scotch Words. 673 Lav e remainder Laverock lark Leddies ladies Leear liar Leecures liqueurs Leeds leads Lee-lang live-long Leemits limits Leeves lives Len loan Leuch laughed Licht light Licks chastisement Lift firmament Lilt to sing merrily Limmers worthless characters, usually applied to women Links downs Linns small cascades, together with the rocks over which they fall Lintie linnet Lintwhite linnet Lister a pronged spear for striking fish Lith joint Loan a green open place near a farm or village, where the cows are often milked Lo'esome lovable Loo to love Loof palm of the hand Loot stoop Losh a Scotch exclamation of wonder Lounderin striking heavily in a fight Loup leap Lout lower the head, stoop Low flame Lowin flaming Low n calm Lowse loose Lozen window pane Luck \ , , Luk- [ look Lug ear Lum chimney Lyart grey, hoary M Mailin a small property Make match, or mate Mankey a kind of coarse cloth for female wear Manteens maintains Mantel chimney-piece Marrow match, equal Mart an ox killed at Martin- mas and salted for winter pro- vision Mauks maggots Maukin hare Maun must Mawt malt Measter master Meer mare Meerage m irage Meikle much Meltith a meal of meat Mennon minnow Mense to grace, to enable to make a good show Mere mare Messan a mongrel cur Mettaseekozies-metempsychosia Michtna might not Midden dunghill Mint (to) to hint or aim at Mirk dark Mizzles measles Monyplies part of the intes- tines with many convolutions Mool mule Mortcloth the black cloth thrown over the coffin at a funeral 674 Appendix. Moold mould Muckle much Mootiu moulting Mudged made the slightest Mooldy mouldy. movement Mou mouth Munted mounted Moul mould, earth, soil Mummle mumble Mouls small crumbling clods Murnins mourning-dress Moudiwarp, Moudiewart Mutch a woman's cap mole Mutchkin a Scotch liquid Muck the byre clean out the measure nearly equivalent to cow-house the imperial pint N Nae no Nieve fist Naig nag Nocht nought, nothing Nam own Noo now Nate neat Noos and thans now and then Nawsal nasal Noony luncheon Neb nose Notts notes Neep turnip Nowte neat cattle Neerdoweel one who never Nowtical nautical does well,incorrigibly foolish Numm benumbed or wicked. Nummers numbers Neist next Nuzzliri Nuzzlin, pressing Neuk nook with the nose, as a child New harled new plastered against its mother's breast Nicher neigh Nyaffing small yelping Niddlety-noddlety nodding Nyuck nook the head pleasantly O Obs observation Out-by without, in the opeii Ocht ought air Ocht aujrl , anything Outower out over Odd ode Ower over Oe grandson Ower-by over the way Ony ae any one Owertap overtop Ool owl Owther author Oxter arm-pit Pabble to boil, to make the Paddocks frogH sound and motion of boiling Pa : ks a drubbing Glossary of Scotch Words. 575 Paiddlin wading sauntering- Iv for amusement in the wa- ter Paircin piercing Pairodowgs paradox Paitrick partridge Parritch oatmeal porridge Parallel parcel Partens crabs Pastigeos pasticcios Pat put Patrick partridge Patron pattern Pawkie shrewd Puum palm Pease-weep lapwing Pech pant Pechs pigmies Peel pill Peepin peeping Peerie peg-top Peerie-weerie insignificant Peeryette pirouette Peery i n purling Pellock a porpoise Pensie pensive Peuter painter Pernicketty precise in trifles, finical Pickle small quantity Pingle difficulty, trouble Pint point Pirn reel for a fishing-line Pirrat pirate Pit to put Pitten put Flench plough Plookin plucking Ploom plumb, 100,000 Ploomdamass prune Plouter to work or play idly and leisurely in water or any other soft matter Plow]) the sound of anything small but heavy dropping in- to water or other soft matter Ploy a social meeting foi amusement Pluff a small puff as of ig- nited powder Plum a perpendicular fall Pockey-ort marked with tb small-pox Poleish police Pomes poems Pooked plucked Poor power Poorfu' powerful Poortith poverty Poossie pussy ; applied to a Pootry poultry [hara Pose hoard of money Potty putty Ponpit pulpit Pouther powder Po utry poul try Pow poll or head Powheads tadpoles Powldowdies oysters Powper pauper Poy pie Pree try, taste Pree'd 'tried, tasted Preein tasting Preevat private Prent print Prick-ma-denty finical, ridic- ulously exact Priggiu entreating, haggling with a view to cheapen Prin pin Propine gift; properly gift in promise or reserve Pruve prove Pu' pull Puckit meagre and mean looking; better spelt "pook- it." Puir poor Push ion poison Puddock-stools fungi Pvot magpie 5T6 Appendix. Q Quaich a drinking-cup with two handles, generally of wood Quat did quit Quate quiet Quey (a) a young cow Quullies small quills R Raggoo ragout Rampawgeous outrageously violent Rampauging raging and storming Ram-stara headlong, onward without calculation Randie scolding woman Rang reigned Rape rc-pe Rashes rushes Rasps raspberries Rattan rat Rax reach Ream cream Rebate receipt, recipe Red-kuted red-ankled ^led-wud mad raging mad Reek smoke Reest to be restive Reesty restive Reseedin residing Rickle a loose heap Rickley loosely built up and easily knocked down Riff -raff ery of the rabble and disreputable Rig ridge of land Riggin roof and ridge Ripe poke Ripin poking Rippet disturbance Riving tearing Rizzers Rizzer'd haddies Shaddoc ks dried in Roan spout Rockins evening neighborly meetings for a general spin- ning with the distaff Rooket, rooked " cleaned out* at play Roop rump Roosed extolled Roots routs Rose-kamed rose-combed Rotten rat Rouch rough Roun' round Roup rump Rouse extol Routin roaring Rows rolls Rowled rolled Row ted roared Rubber robber Rubbit robbed Rubiawtors devouring mon- sters Rucks ricks Ruff applause by beating with the feet Rug tear Rung a cudgel Runkled crumpled Rype see Ripe Sabbin sobbing Saft soft Saip soap Sair serve Glossary of Scotch Words. 577 Sair sore Sants saints Sark shirt Sass sauce Sassenach a Lowlan ler or Englishman Saugh wand willow wand Saun sand Saunt saint Saut salt Sawmont salmon Scald scold Scale spill Scart scratch Sceeance science Schule school Sclate slate Sclutter a bubbling outburst or rush of liquid Scones soft cakes of bread, generally unleavened Scoonrel scoundrel Scoor scour Scraugh a screech or shriek Screed tear, a revel Scribe scrab or wild apples Scroof nape Scrow crew Scunner to shudder with loathing Scutter a thin scattered dis- charge Seek sect Seelent silent Seenonims synonyms Seepit soaked Seggs sedges Seik sick Sel self ,Selt sold Sereawtira seriatim Sey assay, prove Shachliu shuffling Shank's naigie on foot Shankers ale-glasses with ' long stalks Shaw show Shauchly ill made about the limbs and feet, and walking with a sort of shuffle Shave slice Shawps husks Shells cells Shielin a shepherd'i slender, temporary cot Sh ilf a chaffinch Shinna shall not Shissors scissors Shoggly shaky Shooblimest sublimest Shool shovel, spade Shoon shoes Shoor shower Shouther shoulder [withered Shranky slender, lean, and Shucken shaken Shue sew Shusey Susan Sib akin Siccan such kind of Sich a sigh Siclike such as, similar Sile soil Siller silver, money Sinnies sinews Sin 'syne ago Siver a covered drain Skaith harm Skarted scratched Skeel skill Skeely skilful Skein-dhu a Highland dagger Skelp a slap, a sharp blow (properly with the palm of the hand) Skently scantily, barely Skep hive Skeugh a slight shelter ; more correctly spelt Scug Skirl a shrill cry Skirrin flying Skites skates 578 Appendix. Skraich ) , srrpam Sough^rumor Skreich J a ch)t s ' ream Soum swim, Bum Skreigh (skreigh-o-day) Soup sup break of day Sourocks sorrel Skreeds long pieces Sowens see Sooens Skrow number, swarm Spale-box a small box made ol Skuddy naked chips of wood, mainly for Skunner shudder with disgust holding pills or salves Slaters small insects of the Spang leap beetle species Sparables small iron nails in Sleuth hound blood-hound soles and heels of shoes, &c. Slokener allayer of thirst Spat spot Sluddery slippery Spate stream in flood Sma small Spawl shoulder Smeddum spirit Speaned weaned Smeeks stifles with smoke Speat stream in flood Smiddy smithy Speel climb Smoored smothered Speer ask Snaffin the shortest, smallest Speerally spirally petulant bark of the smallest Speldrins haddocks salted and dog dried Sueevlin speaking with a Spinnle-shankit thin-limbed strong nasal twang through Spleet split the mucus of the nose Spootin spouting Snokin smelling like a dog Spring-brod spring-board Snood head-baud worn by Spunk a wooden match tipped maidens only with brimstone Snooking sucking down by Spunked out came to light the nostrils Spunkie spirited S nooled cowed Squozen squeezed Snoot snout Stab stake Snooved went smoothly and Stacherin staggering constantly Staigs stags Snoving going smoothly and Stake steak constantly Stamack stomach Soddy soda water Staue stone Sonsy well-conditioned Stap stop Soo sow Starnies stars Soocker sucker Staun stand Sooens a sort of flummery Stawed satiated made of the dust of oatmeal Steaks stakes Sook suck Steek shut Soom swim Steepin stipend Soop sup Stell a still, a shelter for sheep Sooper supper or cattle Sooterkiii abortion Sternies stars Glossary of Scotch Words. 579 Stey steep Strecht straight Sticket minister one who gives Streck strike up the clerical profession in Streckin stretching Scotland from not being able Streekit stretched to get ordination and a living Stroop spout Stirks young cattle in the first Strussle fight year of their age Stullion stallion Stock fore part of a bed Sturt trouble Stoiter stagger Sud should Stocks shocks of corn Sugh (keep a calm sugh) be Stool the bottom of any crop ; quiet. Sugh itself means the generally thick and close crops solemn murmur of wind in the are said to " stool out " when trees or through a narrow they thicken at bottom passage Stooned pained Suit suite Stoop and roop completely Sumph a blockhead Stoopit stupid Sune soon Stot to rebound Swallin swelling Stotted rebounded Swap exchange Stoun a thrilling beat, a quick Swarf a swoon painful ache Swattle fill gluttonously or Stounmg aching drunkenly Stour flying dust, or dust in Sweein swinging motion Sweered unwilling Stown stolen Sweeties small sweetmeats Stownways stealthily Swither hesitate Stracht straight Swoopit swept Strack struck Swurl whirl Strae straw Swutches switches Stramash uproar, tumult Sybo a young onion with ita Strang strong green tail Strauchened straightened Symar cymar, scarf Stravaig idle, aimless wander- Syne (sin'syne) ago ing Tae one of two Tap top Tacs toes Tapsalteerie heels-over-head Taeds \. , Tapsetowry in excited and Taids \ raised confusion Taigle linger Taukin talking Tain (the the one Tauted > matted Tangle a kind of sea-weed Tautied f Tantrums a fit of sulky whim, Tawpy thoughtless and coarse whimsical aulleus Tawry tarry 580 Appendix. Tawse the implements of flag- ellation in Scottish schools Tawty matted Teegar tiger Teep type Tent care Thairin fiddle-strings Thees thighs Theekin thatching Theekit thatched Theirsel theirselves Thir these Thocht thought Thole endure Thoom thumb Thrang busy Thrapple windpipe Thrapplin choking by com- pressing the throat Thrawart and uucannie per- verse and dangerous Thrawin throwin Threed thread Th reecolore tricolor Th reeped asserted Threeple triple Tbreteen thirteen Thretty thirty Thrissle thistle Throughither mixed all to- gether Thursty thirsty Thud a thump, and the noise it makes Th 1 1 1 n i u 1 ef u' s thimblef uls Ticht tight Tiler tailor Till to Till't to it Timmer timber Tiimner-tuned altogether un- musical in the voice Tining losing Tinsy tinsel Tint lost Tirlin unroofing T'ither the other Tocher dowry Toddle to totter like a child in walking Toddler a tottering child Toman a knoll, a thicket Tooels towels Toom empty Toon town Toosy ) Toosey > shaggy, rough, dia- Toozy ) bevelled Toozliu handling the lasses in rough sport Tootin blowing a horn Tosh up display to best advan tage Toshly neatly Tot the whole number Touts sounds Touzle deal roughly with Towdie a barn-door fowl Towmont twelvemonth Towsy snaggy, dishevelled, rough Tramper wandering beggar Trance passage Transmogrify to metamorphose strangely Trate treat Tredd trade Trig neat Trochs troughs Trotters legs and feet True trow, believe Trummel ) Trummle } Trumlin trembling Twa-haun two-handed Twa-three two or three Twal twelve Twalt twelfth Tyke dog, cur Tyuk took tremble Glossary of Scotch Words. U Unce ounce Unco uncommon Unwiselike unlike the truth, ridiculous Upcast taunt, reproach Uptak apprehension, compre- hension Urchin the shell so called Vacance vacation Vice voice Vicey small thin voice Vivers victuals Vizy a deliberate look at a particular object W Wa' wall Wab web Wabsters weavers Wad would Waef u ' sorrowful Waff wave Waght weight Wale best Walin choosing Wallise valise Wame stomach Wamefu bellyful Wamle a sudden tumbling roll, generally on the belly Wan one Warn a were not Warsle wrestle Was na't was it not Water-pyat the water-ouzel Wather weather Wattin wetting Waught (a) a large draught Waukrife watchful, sleepless Wa?ir worse Weans children Weather-gleam a gleam of light in the track of the sun on the edge of the horizon, in cloudy weather Wecht weight Wede weeded Wee little Wees (by littles and wees), by insensible degrees Weel-f aured weel- favored Weel-kend well-known Weezen'd dried, hide-bound, withered, shrunk, and yellow Werena were not Wersh insipid Wershness insipidity Whafflin raising a wind with violent waving Whalps whelps Whammle upset Whang a large slice or cut Whap a heavy slap Whase whose What-whet Whattin whetting Wh aups curlews Wheen a number Wheesht J Wheish V hush Whisht ) Whilk which Whilly-wha a shuffler Whins furze Whutnle to turn up or round Whup whip Whupt wlnpt Whurlint whirling 582 Appendix. Whuskin whisking Whusky whisky Wh usper whisper Whussle ) ..u-,,*.! WhusWe-j Whl8fcle Whut whit Whyleock little while Wi' hit with it Wice wise Wimplin curling and pur- ling Win get Windle-strae a tall, dun, sap- less grass that grows on Scottish hills Windle - strae - legged with small, puny legs Wise entice Wiselike judicious Wizen throat Wizened see Weezened Wons dwells Wonner wonder Wonnin dwelling Woo wool Wordier worthier Wrastle wrestln Wud angry Wudcock woodcock Wudcut woodcut Wudds woods Wudna would not Wudness distraction Wull-cat wild cat Wullie-waucht large draught Wuirt will it Wummle wimble Wundin winding Wunk wink Wunna will not Wunnel-strae see Windle- strae Wunnock window Wurset worsted Wus swish Wut wit Wutty witty Wuzzard wizard Wysslike judiciously Wyte blame, fault Yammer murmur or whimper Yestreen yester even. peevishly Yett gate Yatt yacht Yill ale Yaud a sorry old horse Yirth earth Yawp sharp set Yoke till him set upon him Yearock chicken Yonner yonder Yellow yoldrin yellow ham- Yott yacht mer ' Youf-youfin yelp-yelping Yepoch epoch Yerk-yerking carp-( arping YertL aartl UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAOUTY A 001 428691 8