The man of letters, called him a Whig, and set to; but such was the imbecility of both soul and body, that Mr T.'s fist positively bounded from the fellow's ribs like a spittle off a tailor's goose; and, what was altogether insufferable, the defendant actually stood stock still all the while, winking to his companions, and laughing in his sleeve at the impotent assailant. came safe to hand. Allow me to declare, that I never so much as contemplated an equivalent, much less a forty-and-four-fold return. skate is indeed most excellent, and he who makes wry faces at the greybeard of Fairntosh, “ may gravels round his bladder wrench;" but the poetic curse will neither affect me nor mine. Every one of my literary friends-and, thank God, they are both many and respectable-to whom I have sent slices of the one, and soups of the other, speak highly indeed of their superexcellencies, not only verbally, but also under hand and seal. By the bye, I have just received a note from one of the brotherhood, a gentleman to whom I have the honour of being slightly known, and whose good graces I sought to cultivate wi' a slice and a soup. The language, Mr Editor, is hostile, and seems to indicate that the writer has evil designs in his head against your person. I therefore embrace the earliest opportunity of warning you, my good Sir, to be on your guard, and keep a sharp look-out. Mayhap you would like to see a fair transcript of the billet in question. I anticipate your wish. Here it is: "Mr Thingumby, of the 'GUARDIAN,' returns his best thanks to Mr Killigrew, and begs leave to acknowledge the sovereign efficacy of skate and whisky, in all cases of mental depression and physical debility. Mr T. lang'd for skate to mak' him wanton, to a certainty. The main-spring of his mind had so completely lost its elasticity, that he actually found himself under the painful necessity of hammering his leading articles to the tune of "Ten dull syllables in one dull line;' a melody of itself amply sufficient to mar the sale of every Journal in town, the Guardian excepted, whose main stays, thank God! are the poulterer, cheesemonger, tobacconist, and Buttock-o'-Beef shop. But if his mental system was an object of commiseration, the physical powers were also to be pitied. Mr T. had a strong political antipathy to a certain North Country gentleman, Mr Editor of The Edinburgh,' by name, and longed mightily to floor him. He accordingly made it his business to foregather with the said VOL. II. "But Mr T. is determined to have another bout. He has put himself in a course of training, dismissed all manner of callipash from his table, and strictly adheres to a skate and whisky diet, the most effective of all renovators. Will friend Killigrew have the goodness to send him another wing, and a soup mair o' yon? The last slice and the last noggin are before him. Mr T. feels confident that the boon will be chearfully granted, well knowing that his friend's philanthropy never was appealed to in vain by a fellow-creature in distress." On perusing Thingumby's note, I beseech you, my valued friend, to be calm, and upbraid me not with the heinous crime of supplying the enemy with ammunition. Most solemnly do I protest, that the man's enmity was unknown to me when I unwittingly complimented him with a portion of your good cheer, and further, that I knew no more of his being a literary bruiser than the child unborn. But I will lock my cupboard, and withhold his supplies. In case you should happen, Mr Editor, to foregather with the man, and it is not at all unlikely, for he hath said, in the pride of his heart, "I will have another bout," let me entreat you, my good friend, to keep your temper as heretofore, and abstain from the shedding of blood. Oh, Sir, it is a frightful colour to smear the conscience with. I knew two young gentlemen who filled no less than fourteen families with doleful forebodings, merely through suffering their wrath to get the better of their discretion. They paid their addresses to the same lady, they set off to visit her at the same hour, they travelled abreast on the same road, and conversed on various subjects. On striking into the avenue that led to her father's house, they espied Miss Bridget coming down the foot-way, F and she them. Would to Heaven it had been otherwise ordained! The giddy, light-headed girl, being full of frolic, waved her handkerchief, and cried aloud, or rather chanted, for she possessed an exceeding fine voice, "Black bird, white bird, wha will Yet, nevertheless, wi' the choicest good "His wits I'll restore to thine only son, To minister unto me." Baith sonsie and sleek to see, And made o' the comeliest Kendal Ben E'er came from the South Countrie. "This holy vessel containeth," quo' he, "The sweat o' a sainted sage, Wha ran a devout and a godly race, And died in a good old age. tig me first?" and away they went, Wi' that frae his wallet a bottle he took, like a couple of greyhounds from the slip. The foremost dashed his foot against a stone, and down he went, breadth and length, in a glaur dub. The hindmost tumbled over him, and fractured his nose. Then did their evil stars begin to shed baleful influence. Broken nose blamed his bemired rival, called him a spavined cuissar, and kicked his breech. This, of course, was not to be endured. Bad words begot worse, seconds were named, and pistols spoken of-but, softly, where am I going? By jing! I had almost forgot my promise, notwithstanding the second canto of Mrs Dorothy's wrapper-rhyme lays at my elbow; I therefore do myself the honour of presenting it. THE GYRE CARLINE. (Continued.) THEN bauldly arose our gausie Gudewife, "That e'er sic a crew shou'd breed i' the The mair is the shame," quoth she. "Our black-hooded Friars, and grey-hooded Friars, As thrang as the sea wash'd sand, Lie doun i' the bield o' our bonniest bowers, And feed on the fat o' the land. "And warlocks and witches, roaming at will, Elve-shooting our sheep and kye, And making grey naigs o' our bonniest bairns, Curse light on their souls! say I." The father devoutly coost up his een, And faulding his hands, quoth he, “Awa, awa, thou evil woman, Wi' thine awsome blasphemie. "The flood of iniquity thou hast pour'd out, Might bring on the godliest land More terrible curses than Moses shook Frae his wonder-working wand; "And cause thee to graze, like the Vaunter of old, Amang the nowt on the brae, "But when his remains on the hallow'd bier Were moving towards the grave, A demon o' darkness stood on the knowe Syne yell'd to his black and accursed The bier to encompass round, man, Ere they rested on holy ground. "Adown the brae, wi' an eldritch shout, The legion o' fiends halloo'd, Some gnashing their teeth, and ithers a flood O' the bleezing brunstane spued. And as they shaw'd to the rampant foe "But the mighty saint arose in his shroud And soon made the bauldest tak' to the bent, He fought sae courageouslie. "And owre the Lang Moor the infernal host So hotly he did pursue, That a' the heath hang wi' his precious sweat, Like blobs o' the simmer dew. "In triumph, the brave and victorious man Return'd ere the sun went down, Kendal, in Westmorland, has been long famed for the excellence of its Ben, or sole leather. Syne quietly gaed awa to his grave, "But the faithful arose, and trail'd owre the moor His hallowed winding sheet, And into a vessel, unfashion'd by hands, They wrung out the blessed sweat. "Its manifold virtues never decay, Nor lessens its ancient guage, But still holds out, like the widow's oilcruse, Enduring from age to age. "It brightens our glimmering een when we doze I' the maze o' monastic lear, It gladdens our souls, when wasted and worn Wi' fasting and fervent prayer. "And nought i' the land is fitter, I ween, Nor better devis'd can be, To heeze the heart o' a dying saint On the bourn of eternitie. “Bring hither a quegh," quo' the douce auld man, And stroak'd his beard sae grey, Syne pour'd out the cordial, lucent, I ween, As the balmy dews of May. The cup wasna weel frae the young miller's lips When his blood began to thowe, I' the bree o' the winter night, But when that the sonsie third he had toom'd O' its holy and precious brie, "The better o't never was barrel'd," he cried, "By the brewsters o' Burgundie: "For lo, it descends, like the summer shower, On parch'd and on thirsty plains, I feel the warmth o' its generous worth Approaching my verra reins. "And O the effects o' its matchless "And now I'll relate, wi' a faithfu' tongue, The feats o' that dreadfu' night, The pranks that were play'd, and the cantrips cast, By the new moon's lanesome light. "Amang the whins, wi' an uncannie tow, The Jezabel tether'd me, Where monie a steed to the sea-fowls' scream Was snoring fu' piteouslie +. "And doubtless they'd been by the bel dames bewitch'd, As dozing and slumbering they lay, For the lids o' their een, and their senses were seal'd, Though they sobbed and shook wi' dismay. "And sae did my banes; for I ne'er was sae scaur'd Since the blessed hour I was born, When squadrons o' carlines alighted, like craws, On the rigs o' the new-sawn corn. "Down louped Nanse Neiven, wha wickedly waw'd On the rigging o' Twynholm mill, Till auld Miller Donaldson coost aff his sark, And danced on the sheeling hill. "Down lap Nicky Heron, wha purr'd on the hearth To the howdie at Auchincairn, Till the waefu' gudwife sipped a' the het yill, And smother'd a braw knave bairn. "Then, sooping the lift, on a green broom cowe, Came Jenny M'Clure o' Troqueer, Wha sat wi' her pluff on the hemlock knowe, And shook Davie Halliday's bier. knowledge, though slender enough, was amply sufficient to impose on ignorant credulity. The good fathers of those days, it seems, were wont to administer. spiritual consolation to all such as were afflicted with mental lassitude, from a leather bottle, curiously decorated with hieroglyphical devices, and very gravely attributed the flow of animal spirits, usually succeeding the doze, to supernatural causes. + It would appear that these hagridden unfortunates had been transformed into quadrupeds by the enemy when fast asleep. Not so our intelligent and very circumstantial narrator, whose optics were only beginning to close when Maggie shook her bridle of power, otherwise, in all probability this interesting tale would never have seen the light. “And auld Luckie Oliver lap frae the lift, "I gaz'd wi' dismay on the horrible crew, "But O how I shook i' the throes o' affright, Alighted the Gyre Carline! most assuredly would I set about beseeching mankind to discard laughter and lamentation altogether from the catalogue of their worldly duties, and leave sorrowing and rejoicing entirely to the ladies. Grief sparkles to the best advantage in the eye of an amiable woman, and joy is the most worthy of being so called when brightening a fair face. But any man, with half an eye, may perceive that I have already too many irons in the fire, and that it will require my very best exertion to hammer them "She came frae the west, on the deep- all in a workmanlike manner. Such sobbing wind, Array'di' the gaudiest gear, being the fact, I must of necessity abandon the notion of writing an es And round her the warlocks o' wide Gal- say on gentle hearts for the present, lowa' The frightfu' flare o' her een, Will aye scare my rest, like the Spedling's ghaist That howls on the castle green." I will do my endeavours to furbish up another canto of this old legend for your next publication-a task, by the bye, that is far from being bairns' play, owing to the tattered condition of Mrs Dorothy's wrappers; and, with respect to Miss Dinwoodie, for whose personal safety you seem to be in the fidgets, please to inform all inquiring friends, that she is in Christian hands, if we may give credit to the continuation of her story herewith inclosed. With best love to the whole literary corps, I remain, and diligently attend to my anvil. So here it goes! John Dinwoodie and his wife were much to be pitied. A beloved daughter, in whom their tenderest hopes were fondly treasured up, was missing, under circumstances that rendered the case peculiarly distressing. Their only son had rode away, for the avowed purpose of seeking his sister where haply she might be found, and his long absence gave rise to many unpleasant remarks. Wattie Shaw, the ploughman, returned about midnight from a fruitless search, with many strange reports of the Elf-knowe affair, which he solemnly declared were passing for sterling currency in every village he visited,-the most prominent of which was thus related by Walter: "When passing through Clachancalzie, I rode up to a wheen folk assembled before the smithy-door to make inquiries; but no sooner did I mention Balachan Grange, than the whole of them held up their hands, tauld a most frightfu' story about Aggie and the Elfknowe, and speered if it was really true that the fairies had flown awa wi' her? That's beyond a' manner o' doubt,' quo' the smith's wife; for a certain person o' my acquaintance foregathered wi' a wayfaring man wha had been an eye-witness to the whole transaction frae first to last, and he confirmed every syllable o' the tale that Johnny Swingletree tauld in our smithy about the young woman. The bridal folk, it wou'd appear, were delving awa i' the consciousness o' their ain strength, for not one o' them had a Bible in his pouch to keep the elves in awe that dwalt i' the knowe; and just when they had gotten a deil's dizen o' sods flaed, and that's thirteen, the fairy pipes began to play, the green swaird shivered like the hide o' a naig beast when the clegs vex him, shook the whole posse o howkers aff their legs, and the heels-owre-head tumbling that ensued was truly frightfu'. But the mischief didna end there. The enchanted knowe continued to heave and writhe, and shake its sides i' the throes o' travail, until it perfectly burst like a bewitched haggis; and the hubbub o' voices, mingled wi' a' sorts o' music, that arose frae its shuddering ruins, and smote the stoutest heart wi' dismay, was altogether untholeable. Then did the assailants begin to suspect that they had gotten the wrang sow b' the lug. Before ye cou'd ha'e playt that,' quo' Brunty's wife, clapping her twa hands thegither, the eldritch din became doubly terrific, and myriads o' wee fingers and thumbs alighted on the naked parts o' their flesh. Haffits were buffeted, lugs nipped, and noses wrung in abundance. The yells o' the lads, and the skirls o' the lasses, were distinctly heard a' the gate at Closeburn Kirk. But the bridegroom, poor fallow, was dealt wi' in a still more extraordinary manner. Twa grimey hands, wi' lang black claws, gripped him hard and fast, and skelped the waefu' lad wi' his ain taws until he was baith black and blue.'" Wattie Shaw enumerated no less than eleven editions of this very singular story that he had fallen in with on his route, all differing from each other, in some respects, as to minor particulars, though the leading features, generally speaking, were much alike; and should my worthy readers not feel inclined to marvel at these trifling facts, the short space of time in which so many curious tales were manufactured, will certainly induce them to lift up their eyes, and pass a fine encomium on the inventive powers of our Scottish peasantry. For my own part, I candidly acknowledge, and without a morsel of egotism, that there is not a fellow in all the dale more capable of covering a sheet of foolscap with literary balderdash than myself, and yet do I most humbly declare, that the Elf-knowe fracas was completely clothed in legendary weeds, and sent into the wide world to shift for itself, before I possibly could have supplied it with that first of requisites-a shirt. But, as Wattie Shaw very judiciously observed, "Most assuredly, he that hath wings revealed the matter' in a state o' primitive simplicity, and it travelled awa, no doubt, without even the semblance o' a fig-leaf, until the women, and more especially the auld anes, spun a coat o' many colours out o' their ain noddles to cover its nakedness. Whatever town I rode through, they were assembled in clusters, a' gabbling at ance about Aggie and the Elf-knowe, and rinning through ither, just like a wheen adders making a bead. The deil a bit o' me can believe," continued Wattie, "that there's a better set o' wives under the canopy o' the heavens than our ain for contriving queer stories." Aye, aye, Walter, the auld wives o' merry auld Scotland are queer auld wives-that's all. But the idea of having their names, and likewise those of their children, transmitted to posterity by means of a ludicrous legend, contributed also to the uneasiness of John Dinwoodie and his wife; and witnessing their friends and neighbours gradually departing from a scene where anxiety and vexation had fully superseded bridal gaiety, tended much to embitter their cup of sorrow. They retired to rest, but sleep was afar from their pillow. Mrs Drummond arose on Wednesday morning_as usual, and set the house in order. Miss Harriet also bestirred herself at an early hour, and, with the assistance of Jenny Dawson, dismissed the kye, clauted the byre, and laid in a supply of peat-fuel for the day's consumption, whilst Wattie Shaw buried himself in the stable and elsewhere. Mr and Mrs Morrison also made their appearance in due time, and accompanied John Dinwoodie and his wife ben the house, where they found Willie Dandison, Jamie Scott, and Hughie Paisley, in close conversation,-Mrs Simpson and her husband having taken their departure for Toddyburn smithy the preceding evening, escorted by Sandy Watt. What the conversation may have |