THE SHEPHERD'S DOGS. North. But not into oblivion. 95 Shepherd. Na, na. Mony a spat exists in the memory-in the regions o' the heart-visible nae mair to man's unregardin een; but hoo saft, hoo bricht, hoo lown they lie there, a' ready to rise up at the biddin o' a thocht, and then to sink waverinly awa back again intil their ain mysterious stillness, till frae our melancholy fancy they utterly melt into mist. 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 wi' 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-Claverse 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 gentleman at Thirlstane, but he's a great freen o' our Guile's, and aften 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 brithers, especially when they're no like ane anither, being indeed in that respect just like us men; for nae twa human beings are mair unlike ither, physically, morally, 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' uselessand 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 knawin, but Mr North's a genteeler man nor you ony day o' the week, and he kens brawly what's guddlin; and what's mair, he was ance himsel the best guddler in the south o' Scotland, if you exceppit Bandy Jock Gray o' Peebles. He couldna guddle wi' Bandy Jock ony mair than loup wi' Watty o' the Pen, the Flyin Tailor o' Ettrick. North (laying down his knife and fork). I'll leap him tomorrow 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 and forward with or without the crutch-let him use sticks if he will Shepherd. Wheesht-wheesht. Watty's deid. Shepherd. And buried. I was at the funeral on Thursday. The folk are talkin o' pittin up a bit moniment to him-indeed 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" HIC JACET WALTER LAIDLAW OF THE PEN, THE CELEBRATED FLYING TAILOR OF ETTRICK, WHO BEAT CHRISTOPHER NORTH AT HOP-STEP-AND-JUMP.” North (resuming his knife and fork). Well-fix your day, and though Tweed should be in flood, I will guddle Bandy Jock. Shepherd. Bandy Jock 'ill guddle nae mair in this warld. He dee'd o' the rheumatiz on May-day-and the same inscription, wi' a little variation-leavin out "hop-step-and-jump," and inserting "guddlin" - will answer for him that will answer for Watty o' the Pen. Tickler. 'Pon honour, my dear sir, I know not guddlin. Tickler. Whew! I'll ginnle Kit for a pair of ponies. Shepherd. I've seen Bandy Jock dook doun heid and shouthers, sae that you saw but the doup o' him facin the sun, aneath a bank, and remain for the better pairt o' 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 Company of Archers? Shepherd. What connection has that? I do; and I'll shoot you ony day. Captain Colley ance backed Bandy Jock again' a famous tame otter o' Squire Lomax's frae Lancashiresomewhere about Preston-that the Squire aye carried wi' HOW THE GROUSE WERE GOT. 97 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 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 sittin, in a' the Forest. As for Rover, he has the nose o' a Spanish pinter, and draws and backs as if he had been regularly 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 without 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 micht 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 hunder—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-though 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 1 Rung-walking-staff. VOL. IV. G 98 THE DOGS AMONG THE FLAPPERS. to turn out a score o' how-towdies on the heather, and ca' them ggem. Tickler. Pheasants. Shepherd. I ken naethin about feesants, excepp that they're 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. But 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 dyuck keept circling round -quack-quack-quacking out o' shot in the sky and I pitied the puir pawrents lookin doun on the death o' their promising progeny. By gude luck I had on the sawmon-creeland lookin round about, I crammed in a' the ten-doun wi' the lid and awa alang the holms o' Yarrow as if I was seleckin a stream for beginnin to try the fishin—when, wha sud I meet but ane o' his Grace's keepers! Afore I kent whare I was, he put his haun aneath the basket, and tried to gie't a hoise-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 fuird. 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 ?1 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, 1 Teuch-tough. 2 Hain the jeel-be sparing of the jelly. ROVER AND THE HARE. 99 in that closet, wi' their mouths cosily covered wi' pages o' some auld lowse Nummers o' Blackwood'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 sittin in her ain kale-yaird—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, turnin round her fud within a yard o' Claversand then sic a brassle 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,1 but Rover, wha had happened to be examining it, in his inquisitive 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 loss 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, shakin her savagely, as if she had been but a ratten, and I had to choke him aff. Forbye thrapplin 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 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 to 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 Expedition o' thae 1 Siver-a covered drain. |