North. You know the way, James, to the old man's heart. Shepherd. It's like the grave. What for? 'Cause the "paths o' glory lead" till it! Thank ye, Tickler, for the twa spauls. SHEPHERD, with infinite alacrity and address, forks both legs with the same instrument, and leaves TICKLER desolate. Tickler Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare! Robb'd of a goose, I yet may share the feast. Close by the regal chair, Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Ambrose a goose !—a goose !—my kingdom for a goose,and, Tappie! pot o' pota! Shepherd. Gurney! Gurney! Guse, man, guse, ane's gane and anither's comin-guse, man-Gurney-guse, guse, guse! [GURNEY appears, and the Noctes vanish. XXIX. (MARCH 1831.) Scene,-The Snuggery. Time,-Nine o'clock. NORTH, SHEPHERD, TICKLER. Shepherd. The Snuggery, sir, has a power o' contraction an' expansion that never belonged afore to ony room in this sublunary world. Let the pairty be three or thretty, it accommodates its dimensions to the gatherin—still the Snuggery, though the Saloon. North. I hope you approve of the Busts, James ?-among the finest of Macdonald's. Shepherd. Life-in-death Eemages! A' busts, methinks, are solemn-as for thae, they are shooblime. Wha's that aboon your head, sir? North. Socrates. Shepherd. The Christopher North o' the ancient, as you are the Socrates o' the modern Athens. Baith o' you by natur, as may be read in your fizonomies, wi' a strang bias to animalto sensual indulgences; an' baith o' you, by means o' selfstudy and self-government, pure in conduct, in heart, and in haun, as ony philosopher that ever strengthened, by his practice, his theory o' truth. Oh! sir, but the Sophists hate you wi' a malignant hatred-and fain would they condemn you to drink the hemlock, ay, out o' that verra punch-bowl, the dolphin himsel North. I have an antidote against all poison, James- North. Hush. An herb of sovereign virtue, gathered on the Sacred Mountains. THE KNIGHTS OF ST AMBROSE. Shepherd. Wha's the Eemage atower ma pow ? 175 Tickler. Here we are once more, James-the Knights of St Ambrose Shepherd. An admirable, but an indescribable set o' Tickler. Satirists, caricaturists, madcaps, harebrains, beein-the-bonnets, scape-goats, scape-graces, idlers, dreamers, loungers, ramblers, spectators, tatlers, amateurs, cognoscenti, artists, poets, painters, sculptors, novelists, critics, politicians, physicians, theologians, metaphysicians, statesmen, saints, sinners, heroes, patriots, martyrs Shepherd. Mankind's Epitome. North. Our orgies, James, have thrown their share of light on human life. Tickler. That motley masquerade called human life! North. In which, here and elsewhere, we have contrived, not discreditably, to support our characters. I hope, my dear James, that you sometimes think of Ambrose's, when going out to meditate at eventide by the shores of St Mary's Loch, orup away yonder to the Loch of the Lowes, where, when stillness steeps the solitude, you even hear the Grey Mare's Tail Shepherd. Whuskin through the wild, wi' an eerie sugh, till again a' is hushed as death-ay, as the verra grave. Tickler. Think you sometimes of us, then, James ? Shepherd. I hae startled to hear that Time-piece smiting the hour in the wilderness; and a' at ance hae believed mysel in the heart o' Embro'-here in the Snuggery-wi' your twa endless legs, Mr Tickler, emblems o' infinitude and eternity, stretched awa intil the regions ahint the grate, far ayont the bounds o' this "visible diurnal sphere," and creawtin superstitious terrors in the inhabitants o' Sawturn. North. Tickler? Shepherd. Oh, sir! how many tailors are for how many years, night and day employed, without respect to Sabbaths, in gettin up for you ae pair o' leggins?1 Tickler. You are pleased to be facetious, sir. Shepherd. Maist facetious-but it's no in the poo'r o' mortal man to do justice to the subjeck. North. You do, however, my dear Shepherd, sometimes think of us in the Forest? 1 Leggins-long gaiters, reaching up to the knees. Shepherd. Hoo thochts and feelings, sir, do arise, and follow ane anither in the sowl, like flocks o' birds frae distant regions, and disappearing ahint the lift intil distant regions, flocks after flocks, withouten end, sometimes in wintry weather, when flakes are visibly augmenting the snaw-wreaths, and sometimes in autumn, when the leaves are rustlin to the bit robin-red-breast tak North. What imagery! Shepherd. up preparin, ere lang, to flit doun the glen, and his domicile amang the dwellins o' us Christian creturs, that never grudge our crumbs to the birdie, safe in his scarlet shield frae the verra cats, wha, for fear o' the weans, daurna touch a feather, by love and pity consecrated ever sin' the burial o' the Babes in the Wood North. A story that, in its touching simplicity, would almost seem to have been written, prophetically, for Blackwood's Magazine. Shepherd. It's an out-o'-the-way place, the Forest, sirs, though a great road rins through't; for it's no easy to break the charm o' the seelence and the solitariness o' natur. A great road rins through't; but aften hae I sat on a knowe commanding miles o't, and no ae single speck astir, far as the ee could reach-no a single speck, but aiblins a sheep crossin, or a craw alichtin, or an auld crouchin beggar-woman, that ye thocht was leanin motionless on her stick, till, by-andby, ye discerned the colour o' her red cloak, and a gey while afterwards, saw, rather than heard her, prayin for an awmous, wi' shrivelled hauns faulded on her breast, or in their palsy held up heavenwards, sae beseechingly as to awauken charity in a meeser's heart! North. But no miser, James, art thou-though but a poor man, thou hast "a hand open as day to melting charity." Shepherd. What Heaven has been pleased to give me o' this life's needments, o' that I never grudged a share to ony son or dochter o' affliction. North. True as holy writ. Shepherd. And holy writ it was that taucht me—for our natur, sir, is selfish, and it's my belief that mony and mony a time wad the best o' us neglect the commonest duties o' humanity, if it werena for religion. We hae a', at times, hard cauld hearts; and I dinna scruple to confess that I've felt my SHEPHERD'S CHARITY-MOUNT BENGER-ALTRIVE. 177 anger risin at beggars-even at auld bowed-down widow-beggars-when three or fowre o' them in the course o' a lang simmer day hae come creepin in succession, at a snail's pace, in at the yett, and then taken their station at the verra parlour-window, wi' a sort o' meek obstinacy and wae-begone dourness that wadna understand the repulse o' neglect, or even o' a waff o' the haun to be awa wi' theirsels-when suddenly some holy text has been revivified in my heart, perhaps that ane tellin o' the widow and her mite, and a' at ance, as if an angel had jogged my elbow, I hae ca'd the puir auld body in; and then to be sure the wife hersel wasna slaw, without waitin for a word frae me, to come wi' her ain twa comely hauns fu' o' meal, and empty them tidily intil the wallet, no unobserved, sir, by Him wha taught us to say, "Give us this day our daily bread." Tickler. Yes, my dear James, the blessing of many a wayfaring man and woman Shepherd. Wi' troops o' weans Tickler. -has been on Mount Benger. Shepherd. It needed them a', for it's a gey cauld place staunin yonner on a knowe in a funnel, in the thoroughfare o' a perpetual sugh. Yet 'twas cheerfu' in the sun-glints, and hallowed be the chaumer in which my bairns were born! Howsomever, we're fully as comfortable noo at Altrive Lakea far lowner spat-and yon nyuck o' the garden, wi' the bit bourtree1-bower, oh, sir! but it's an inspirin retreat frae the din and daffin o' the weans, for the inditin o' a bit cheerfu' or pensie sang! Sometimes, indeed, wee Jamie fin's me out, and thrusts the sweet lauchin face o' him through the thornless branches, to frichten me, as he thinks-God bless the bonny bogle !—but I scald him aff wi' a pretended anger, and a froon fu' o' luve, and awa veers he through amang the flowers like a butterfly, while out o' my heart gushes the sang like a showerswollen stream. Tickler. Childless Eld feels as if he were a father, James, at such a picture. Shepherd. You and Mr North should baith marry yet. Indeed Mrs Gentle maun be North. James! (Putting his finger to his lips.) Shepherd. Forgie me, sir. 1 Bourtree-alder-tree. VOL. III. 2 Pensie-pensive. M |