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,1 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 !

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 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.

a

[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.

A WREN'S NEST.-AN ANT-HILL.

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Tickler (kneeling on one knee). Hail! King of the Forest! Shepherd (graciously giving his hand to kiss). Rise!-Let Us-supported on the arms of Our two most illustrious subjects-enter Our Palace.

[Enter the Forest King and the two Lords in Waiting into TIBBIE'S.

Scene II. Interior of TIBBIE's-Grand Hall, or Kitchen

Parlour.

NORTH, TICKLER, and SHEPHERD.

Shepherd. A cosy bield, sirs, this o' Tibbie's-just like a bit wren's nest.

North. Methinks 'tis liker an ant-hill.

Tickler. Bee-hive.

Shepherd. A wren's nest's round and theekit wi' moss

-sae

is Tibbie's; a wren's nest has a wee bit canny hole in the side o't for the birdies to hap in and out o', aiblins wi' a hangin leaf to hide and fend by way o' door-and sae has Tibbie's; a wren's nest's aye dry on the inside, though drappin on the out wi' dew or rain-and sae is Tibbie's; a wren's nest's for ordinar biggit in a retired spat, yet within hearin o' the hum o' men, as weel's o' water, be it linn or lakeand sae is Tibbie's; a wren's nest's no easy fund, yet when you happen to keek on't, you wunner hoo ye never saw the happy housie afore—and sae is't wi' Tibbie's; therefore, sirs, for sic reasons, and a thousand mair, I observed, a cosy bield this o' Tibbie's-just like a bit wren's nest." Sir?

66

North. An ant-hill's like some small natural eminence growing out of the green ground—and so is Tibbie's; an anthill is prettily thatched with tiny straw and grass-blades, and leaves and lichens-and so is Tibbie's; an ant-hill, in worst weather, is impervious to the elements, trembles not in its calm interior, nor-howl till ye split, ye tempests-at any blast doth Tibbie's; an ant-hill, spontaneous birth of the soil though it seems to be, hath its own order of architecture, and was elaborated by its own dwellers-and how wonderfully full of accommodation, when all the rooms at night become the rooms of sleep-just like Tibbie's; an ant-hill, though apparently far from market, never runs out of provisionsnor, when "winter lingering chills the lap of May," ever

VOL. IV.

K

once doth Tibbie's; Solomon, speaking of an ant-hill, said, 'Look at the ant, thou sluggard-consider her ways and be wise,'-and so now saith North, sitting in Tibbie's; so for these, and a thousand other reasons, of which I mention but one-namely, that here, too, as there, is felt the balmy influence of the mountain-dew-I said, "methinks 'tis like an ant-hill." Sir?

Tickler. A bee-hive is a straw-built shed, loving the lownness, without fearing the wind, and standing in a sheltered place, where yet the breezes have leave to come and go at will, wafting away the creatures with whom work all day long is cheerful as play, outward or homeward bound, to or fro among the heathery hills where the wild honey grows—and these are pretty points of resemblance to Tibbie's; a bee-hive is never mute for all that restless noise of industry sinks away with the setting sun into a steady murmur, fit music for the moonlight—and so is it, when all the household are at rest, in Tibbie's; a bee-hive wakens at peep of day-its inmates losing not a glint of the morning, early as the laverocks waukening by the daisy's side-and so, well knows Aurora, does Tibbie's; a bee-hive is the perfection of busy order, where, without knowing it, every worker by instinct obeys the Queen—and even so seemeth it to be in Tibbie's; so for these, and a thousand other reasons, of which I mention but two, that it standeth in a land overflowing with milk and honey, and wanteth but an eke, I said-Bee-hive. Sir?

Shepherd. A wren's nest grows cauld in ae single season, and then's seen stickin cauld and disconsolate in amang the thorns o' the leafless hedge, or to the side o' the mouth o' some solitary cave or cell amang the dreepin rocks; and where the twa pawrent birds and the weel-feathered familyperhaps half a score or a dizzen-hae flown till, wha kens? No me, lookin about and seein nae wing, listenin and hearin nae note in the wilderness-a' mute and motionless in frost and snaw—as if a' singers and chirpers were dead! But, thank God! it's nae sae in Tibbie's; for in the dead o' winter, I've seen't lookin mair gladsomer, if possible, than in the life o' spring; and though ane o' the auld birds be nae mair-yet that happened lang syne-here are the maist feck o' the young anes-(the ithers hae yemigrated to America)—cantier and cantier ilka year. Whisht-hasna the cretur a linty-like

NATURE'S DARLING DUNCES.

147

vice-that's Dolly-as she's cleanin the dishes-no forgettin that she's within ma hearin-singin ane o' the auld Shepherd's sangs! Sir?

North. A drove of cattle tread the myriad-lifed ant-hillthe fairy palace with all its silent people-into the hoofprinted mire of death; but ruin is not like the blind bestial, James-and will spare Tibbie's, James-till with its contemporary trees-now a youthful brotherhood-many human ages hence it fades away with gradual, unperceived, and unpainful decay, while the wayfaring stranger, pausing to eye the scene so still and solitary, shall know not that he is looking on ruins, but suppose them to be but simple scatterings of rocks! Sir?

Tickler. Full to overflowing of honey and happiness, a hideous hound, without the fear of Huber before his eyes, hangs the hive over a pit of sulphur, and twenty thousand faithful subjects perish with their Queen! But no unhallowed hand, James, shall touch the rigging of Tibbie's roof-no stifling vapour shall ever fill these cells-and when he who shall be nameless-the Unavoidable-who never names his day-comes hither on his one visit-his first and his lastmay he be taken by Tibbie for his brother Sleep!

Shepherd. Noo, that's what I ca' poetical eemagery applied to real life.

North. There cannot be a doubt that we three are three men of genius.

Shepherd. Equal to ony ither sax.

Tickler. Hem! How rarely is that endowment united with talent like ours!

North. Stuff. A set of nameless ninnies, at every stumbling step they take, painfully feeling their intellectual impotence, modestly abjure all claim to talent, of which no line is visible on their mild unmeaning mugs, and are satisfied in their humility that nature to them, her favoured blockheads-her own darling dunces-and more especial chosen sumphs-in compensation gave the gift of genius-the fire which old Prometheus had to steal from heaven.

Shepherd. Bits o' Cockney creturs wi' mealy mouths, lookin unco weak and wae-begane, on their recovery frae a painful confinement consequent on the birth o' a pair o'twuns o' rickety sonnets.