Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

180

GURNEY'S RESUSCITATION.

fuird; sae in he gangs intil what seemed to his ee some saxinch deep o' water, just coverin the green glimmerin graveland at the second step-plump outower head and ears, like a pearl-diver or water-hen.

Tickler. Who saw him dive?

Shepherd. I saw him dive. I had happened to rise early, and was leanin ower the ledge, spittin wafers into the water. My first fear was that he was committin suicide, and I stood switherin for a while whether or no to prevent him effectin his purpose, for he has lang been the plague o' my life, and his death wad be a great riddance. By-and-by, he maks his appearance on the surface, shoutin and gullerin like a hoolet on a dyuck's back, and then doun again, wi' his doup in the air, and up again five or sax times, as if he had been gamesome and was takin a recreation to whet his appeteet for the barley-scones and fresh butter at breakfast. I couldna but wonder at his activity, for it seemed equal to that o' ony otter. This couldna hae lasted aboon some ten minutes or less, when he began to wax weakish, and to stay rather langer at a time aneath than seemed consistent wi' prudence; sae I walked hooly' doun to the bank, and cried on him to come out, unless he was set on felo-de-se. I do not believe that he heard me, for he was now lyin yellow at the bottom, as still as a sawmon. North. You leistered him?

Shepherd. I did.

Tickler. And resuscitated him according to the rules prescribed by the Humane Society?

Shepherd. I hate a' newfangled schemes o' resuscitation, or onything else; and acted as my forefathers o' the Forest hae done for a thousand years. I just took him by the heels, and held him up wi' his heid dounmost, to alloo the water an opportunity o'rinnin out o' his mouth; and I can assure you, sirs, that the opportunity wasna negleckit, for it gushed as if frae the stane mouth o' the image o' a fountain, and ran back into the Yarrow like a wee waterfa'. You can imagine what a relief it was to the cretur's stamack, and he began to spur. But I knew better than to reverse his position, and held him perpendicular to the last drap. I then let him doun a' his length on his back; and the sun comin out frae behint a cloud, rekindled the spark o' life, till it shone on his rather 1 Hooly-leisurely.

NORTH AS HE WAS, AND AS HE IS.

181

insignificant feturs, relaxing into a smile. He then began to bock dry-was convulsed-drew up his legs-streekit them out again-flang about his arms clenched his haunswhammled his-sel ower on his groof-bat the gerse1-opened his een-muttered-and lo! there was my gentleman sittin on his doup, and starin at me as if I had been the deil. We got him carried up into the Gordon Arms—pitten into the blankets—wi' bottles o' het water at his soles-and rubbed him ower wi' saut, till he was as red as a labster. What'n a breakfast didna he devoor!

Voice. A true bill.

North. Ah! Gurney! these were happy days in the Forest. How different now our doom!

Shepherd. You're no like the same man, sir. Oh! but you were a buirdly auld carle in yon Peebles plush sportin-jacket, Galashiels tartan trousers, Moffat hairy waistcoat, Hawick rig-and-fur stockins, and Thirlestane trampers a' studded wi' sparables, that carried destruction amang the clocks. On the firm sward you carried alang wi' you an earthquake-and as ye strode alang the marshes, how the quagmires groaned !

North. I stilted the streams in spate, James, as a heron stilts the shallows in midsummer drought.

Shepherd. And noo ye hirple alang the floor like the shadow o'a hare by moonlicht, and sit on your chair like a ghaist leanin on its crutch. Och-hone-aree!

North. James!

Shepherd. Forgie me, sir, but tenderness will tell the truth: Embro' doesna agree wi' you, sir. Pitch your perennial tent, sir, in the Forest, and you will outlive the crow.

North (showing a toe). Are these spindle-shanks?

Shepherd. Frae the bottom o' my sowl I wuss they werebut, alas! they are but wunnlestraes! The speeder wadna trust himsel to what's sae slender-the butterflee wad fear to sit doun on sic a fragile prap. You're a wee, wizened, wrinkled, crunkled, bilious bit body, that the wund could carry awa wi' a waff. And a' the wark o' ae single month! Come and keep your Christmas at least wi' your freens in the Forest

Tickler. Curse the country in winter.
Shepherd. Wheesht-wheesht-wheesht!

1 Bit the grass.

That's a fear2 Waff-puff.

182

A WHOLE GOLDEN AGE.

some sentiment. Eat in your words, sir-eat in your words; for though I ken you're no serious, and only want to provoke the Shepherd, I canna thole the thocht o' impiety toward the hoary year.

Tickler. I am an idiot. Your hand, my dear James.

Shepherd. There's them baith.

North. This was the Shortest Day-you remember this Year's Longest Day, James?

Shepherd. And wull till I dee!

North. It resembled some one or other of those Longest Days that, half a century ago, used to enshroud us in the imagery of some more celestial sphere than our waning life now inhabits-when, between sunrise and sunset, lingeringly floated by what was felt in its bliss and beauty to be a whole Golden Age!

Shepherd. I shouldna hae been sorry to hae said that mysel, sir, for it's rather-verra-beautifu'; and the expression, while it is rich, is simpler than your usual style, which, I canna help thinkin, has a tendency to the ower ornate.

North. You think no such thing, James. But let the foolish world persist in the utterance of any bit of nonsense, and even men of genius, in spite of their hearts, will begin to repeat the cry.

Shepherd. I daursay you're richt. Tak time, and stretch't out till it becomes an invisible line, and then is felt to break, yet shall ye not be able to lengthen out a day now into the endurance o' an hour,

"In life's morning march when the spirit was young."

North. I recoil from the very imagination of those interminable day-dargs1 of delight, when earth's realities were all splendid as dreams; and yet dreams there were that extinguished even those lustrous realities, in which we took our seats upon thrones among the Sons of the Morning, and felt privileged in our pride to walk through the Courts of Heaven. Shepherd. But our verra dreams, sir, are dulled noo;—on their breakin, we dinna feel noo as we used to do then, as if fallen to earth frae sky! The warld o' sleep is noo but different frae the wauken warld in being somewhat sadder, and somewhat mair confused; and ane cares but little noo, sir, 1 Day-darg-day's work.

PEASANT'S LOVE OF NATURE.

183

about either lying doun or rising up, for some great change has been wrocht within the mysterious chambers o' the brain and cells o' the heart, and life's like a faded flower, scentless and shrivelled, yet are we loth to part with it, and even howp against a' howp that baith colour and brichtness may revive. But inexorable is the law o' the Dust.

North. Cheer up-cheer up, James !

Shepherd. But you'll no let me—for your face is as wintrylike as if it had never known a simmer smile. Lauch, sirlauch and I'll do my best to be happy.

North (smiling). Time and place are as nothing to a wise man. My mind my kingdom is—and there I am monarch of all I survey.

Shepherd. Weel quoted. But isna the Forest exceedin fair? And mayna the joy o' imagination, broodin open-eyed on its saft silent hills-ilka range in itsel like a ready-made dream-blend even wi' that o' conscience-till the sense o' beauty is felt to be almost ane wi' the sense o' duty, sae peacefu' is all around in nature, and all within the Shepherd's heart! I felt sae last Sabbath, as we were comin frae the kirk; for though the second Sabbath o' November—a season when I've kent the weather wild-sae still was the air, and in the mild sun sae warm, that but I missed the murmur o' the bee, I could hae thocht it simmer, or the glimpsin spring.

North. I have heard it said, my dear James, that shepherds, and herdsmen, and woodsmen, and peasants in general, have little or no feeling of the beauty of Nature. Is that true?

Shepherd. It canna weel be true, sir, seein that it's a lee. They hae een and ears in their heids, and a' the rest o' the seven senses-and is't denied that they hae hearts and sowls? Only grant that they're no a' born blin' and deaf-and that there's a correspondency atween the outward and the inward warlds-and then believe if you can, that the sang o' a bird, and the scent o' a flower, or the smell o't, if it hae nae scent, isna felt to be delichtfu' by the simplest, ay, rudest heart, especially after a shower, and at the comin out o' the rainbow.

North. Help yourself, my dear James.

Shepherd. They dinna flee into raptures at rocks, like toun folks, for that's a' folly or affectation; nor weary ye wi' nonsense about sunrise and sunset, and clouds and thunder, and

184

WHAT IS BEAUTY?

mist stealin up the hills, and siclike clishmaclavers1-but they notice a' the changes on nature's face, and are spiritually touched-believe me, sir-by the sweeter and the mair solemn -the milder or the mair magnificent-for they never forget that nature is the wark o' an Almighty hand—and there is nae poetry like that o' religion.

North. Go on, James.

Shepherd. Is there nae description o' the beauty o' nature in the Bible? All the Christian world mair dearly loves the lily o' the field, for sake of a few divine words. None but poor men now read the New Testament. By none-I mean too few-they who do chiefly live in rural places-and how can they be insensible to the spirit breathing around them from the bosom of the happy earth?

North. Go on, my dear James.

Shepherd. Wha wrote a' our auld sangs? Wha wrote a' the best o' our ain day? In them is there nae love o'nature ? Wha sing them? Wha get them by heart that canna sing? Lads and lassies o' laigh degree-but what signifies talkinonly think on that ae line,

"The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede awa!" North. You need say no more, James.

Shepherd. Simple folk, sir, never think o' expatiatin on the beauties o' natur. A few touches suffice for them; and the mair hamely and familiar and common, the dearer to their hearts. The images they think of are never far-fetched, but seem to be lying about their very feet. But it is affection or passion that gives them unwonted beauty in their eyes, and that beauty is often immortalised by Genius that knows not it is Genius-believing itself to be but Love-in one happy word.

North. James, what is Beauty?

[ocr errors]

Shepherd. The feeling o' Pure Perfection as in a drap o' dew, a diamond, or a tear. There the feeling is simple; but it is complex as you gaze on a sweet-brier arrayed by Morn in millions o' dew-draps - or on a woman's head, dark as nicht, adorned wi' diamonds as wi' stars-or on a woman's cheek, where the smile canna conceal the tear that has just fallen, in love or pity, frae her misty een, but the moment afore brichtblue as the heavenliest spot o' a' the vernal skies.

1 Clishmaclavers-senseless jargon.

« ПредишнаНапред »