140

NORTH MAKING HIS TOILET.

Tickler. That's right, my pretty Dolly, put my pail of water and my portmanteau into the shed.

[NORTH retires into the arbour to make his toilet, and TICK

LER into the opposite shed. The SHEPHERD remains midway between-held there by the counteraction 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 reflection in such pellucid mirror-so am I about to shave. Shepherd. Remember the fable o' the goat and the well. North (within the Arbour). How beautiful the fading year! A month ago, this arbour was all one dusky green-now it glows it burns with gold, and orange, and purple, and crimson! How harmonious the many-coloured glory! How delightful are all the hues in tune!

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 unreluctantly 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 hedgerow, among broom or bracken, the merry minstrelsy is heard no more! Soon as they cease to sing they seem to disappear; 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, homechanging birds of passage? and have they flown ungratefully away with the swallows, to sunny southern isles ?

Shepherd. He's mair poetical nor correck 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' imagination-than to keep scientifically richt amang stuffed specimens sittin for ever in ae attitude wi' bead-een in a glass-case. North. Blessings on thy ruby breast, sweet Robin, for

SHEPHERD KILLING A SALMON.

141

thine own and those poor children's sake! A solitary guest of summer gloom; but at the first frost o' autumn thou seek'st again the dwellings of men-"a household bird" all winter long-till soon-come spring invites thee to build another nuptial nest among the mossy roots of some old foresttree! I see thee sitting there on the top-stone of the gable, as if the domicile were thine own; and thine own it is—for thou holdest it by the tenure of that cheerful song. "No better a musician than a wren!" So said sweet Willieflattering the nightingale. But the wren now answering the Robin-almost echo-like-from the bourtree-bush in the garden—with his still small voice, touches the heart that knoweth how to listen-more tenderly, more profoundly, than Philomela's richly-warbled song!

Tickler (within the Shed). What have you been about with yourself all day, my dear James?

Shepherd. No muckle. I left Altrive after breakfast-about nine-and the Douglas Burn lookin gey temptin, I tried it wi' the black gnat, and sune creeled some fowre or five dizzen -the maist o' them sma'-few exceedin a pund.

Tickler. Hem.1

Shepherd. I fear, sir, you've gotten a sair throat. Ane sune tires o' trooting at ma time o' life, sae I then put on a sawmon flee, and without ony howp daunered down to a favourite 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 doubt 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 meri1 Hem-implying a doubt.

142

TICKLER WITH A SORE THROAT.

dian. The plump o' a stane half a hunderwecht made 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, ewitherin about wadin across, and you may imagine the dear cretur's joy on seein a twuntypund 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 outTickler. What?

Shepherd. A corp.

Tickler. Any more sport?

Shepherd. Returnin to the Loch, I thocht I wad try the otter.1 Sae I launched him on his steady leaden keel—twa yards lang-breadth o' beam three inches-and mountin a hunder and fifty hyucks

Tickler. A first-rate man-of-war.

Shepherd. I've seen me in the season atween spring and summer, secure ten dizzen wi' the otter at a single launch. But in October twa dizzen's no to be despised—the half o' them bein' about the size o' herrins, and the half o' them about the size o' haddocks, and ane - but he's a grey trout

Tickler. Salmo Ferox ?

1 This is an implement with a number of fly-hooks attached to it; and it is worked out into the water from the shore, somewhat after the fashion in which a paper-kite is piqued against the wind.

MONSTRA NATANTIA.-SHEPHERD AS LAOCOON. 143

Shepherd. As big's a cod.

Tickler. Well, James?

Shepherd. I then thocht I would take a look o' some nicht lines I had set twa-three days sin', and began pu'in awa at the langest-wi' some five score o' hyucks, baited for pike and eel, wi' trout and par-tail, frogs, chicken-heads, hen-guts, some mice, some moles, and some water-rats-for there's nae settin boun's to the voracity o' thae sharks and serpents-and it was like drawin a net. At length pike and eel began makin their appearance,―first a pike-then an eel—wi' the maist unerrin regularity o' succession-just as if you had puttin them on sae for a ploy ! "Is there never to be an end o' this?" I cried to mysel; and by the time that, walkin backwards, I had reached the road, that gangs roun' the bay wi' a bend-enclosin atween it and the water-edge a bit bonny grass-meadow and twa-three trees-the same that your accomplished freen, George Moir,' made sae tastefu' a sketch o'there, wull ye believe me-were lyin five-and-twunty eels and five-and-twunty pikes-in all saxty-till I could hae dreamt that the meadow had been pairt o' the bay that moment drained by some sort o' subterraneous suction—and that a' the fishy life the water had contained was noo wallopin and wrigglin in the sudden sunshine o' unexpected day. I brak a branch aff an ash, and ran in amang them wi' my rung, lounderin awa richt and left, and loupin out o' the way o' the pikes, some of which showed fecht, and offered to attack me on my ain element, and I was obliged to wrestle wi' an eel that speeled up me till his faulds were wounded round my legs, theeghs, and body, in ever sae mony plies, and his snake head -och the ugly auld serpent-thrust outower my shoutherand hissin in my face-till I flang him a fair back-fa', and then ruggin him frae me - fauld by fauld strechtened him out a' his length-and treddin on his tail, sent his wicket speerit to soom about on the fiery lake wi' his faither, the great dragon.

North (in the Arbour). Ha! ha! ha! our inimitable pastor has reached his grand climacteric !

1 A distinguished member of the Scottish bar, and the writer of many admirable papers in Blackwood's Magazine; for some time Professor of Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres in the University of Edinburgh, and now (1856) Sheriff of Ross-shire.

Tickler (in the Shed). And where, my dear James, are they all? Did you bring them along with you?

Shepherd. I left the pikes to be fetched forrit by the Moffat carrier.

Tickler. And the eels?

Shepherd. The serpent I overthrew had swallowed up all the rest.

Tickler. We must send a cart for him-dead stomachs do not

digest; and by making a slit in his belly we shall recover the rest-little the worse for wear-and letting them loose in the long grass, have an eel-hunt.

North (in the Arbour). Who can give me a bit of stickingplaster ?

Shepherd. I prophesied you would cut yoursel. There's nae stickin-plaister about the toun; but here's an auld bauchle, and if onybody will lend me a knife, I'se cut aff a bit o' the sole, and when weel soaked wi' bluid, it 'ill stick like a sooker -or I can cut aff a bit waddin frae this auld hat-some tramper's left ahint her baith hat and bauchle—and it may happen to stainch the bludin or best of a', let me rug aff a bit o' this remnant o' an auld sheep-skin that maun hae belanged to the foot-board o' some gig-and wi' the woo neist your skin, your chin will be comfortable a' the nicht-though it should set in a hard frost.

[SHEPHERD advances to the Arbour-but after a single glance into the interior, comes flying back to his stance on the wings of fear.

North (in the Arbour). James? James? James ?

Shepherd. A warlock! A warlock! A warlock! The king o' the warlocks! The king o' the warlocks! The king o' the warlocks!

[From the Arbour issues CHRISTOPHER in the character of LORD NORTH-in a rich court dress-bag and wigchapeau-bras-and sword.

North (kneeling on one knee). Have I the honour to be in presence of Prince Charles Edward Stuart Hogg? My sovereign liege and no Pretender-accept the homage of your humble servant-too proud of his noble king to be a slave. Shepherd (graciously giving his hand to kiss). Rise!

[From the Shed issues TIMOTHY in the regimentals of the Old Edinburgh Volunteers.