THE THREE HOMES.

73

no that they are a' leevin at hame-for some o' baith lads and lassies are at service-but last time I was there I coonted seven growin anes, twa-three o' them bein' weans, and ane a babby. The couple hae been man and wife twunty year, and death has never ance knocked at their door; no ane o' them a' ever had a fivver. Then they hae a' turned out weel— without vice or folly-what'n a blessin in sic a large family! -are a' weel-mainnered and weel-faured,—indeed, far mair nor that for the twa twuns are the maist beautifu' creturs ever seen, and like as lilies.

Tickler. I should like to go a-maying to the Howe.

Shepherd. You wad get gran' cruds and ream-and the lassies nae lack o' lauchin. The twa twuns wad get prime fun wi' Lang-legs-passin themsels aff on him for ane anither -and first the ane and then the ither declarin it wasna her that had gotten the ribbons.

Tickler. The fairies!

Shepherd. In the neist house-laigher doun beside the linnI remember there bein' born first ae bairn and then anitherlad and lassie time about-till there were nae fewer than ten. You couldna say, when you lookt at them as they were waxin, that they were ony way unhealthy-though rather slenderer and mair delicat than you micht hae wushed your ain bairns. But, waes me! sirs, no ae single ane o' a' the ten ever saw the sun o' their twentieth simmer-few reached saxteen-the rest dwined awa earlier—and noo they're a' dead!

North. And the parents?

Shepherd. Wait a wee and I'll tell you about the pawrents. In the house laighest o' the three-and that you can see peepin by itsel-as if the ither twa werena near't—leeve a pair noo wearin awa—wha married when I was a herd—and they had never ony bairns ava; sae that the freens in the twa ither houses sometimes used to fear the sicht o' their families micht waukin envy in the hearts o' them wha sleepit in a barren bed. Nor would it hae been unnatural if it had; but na-God, they kent, gied—and God withheld-and God took awa—and through a' their lang life childless, yet through a' their lang life hae they been cheerfu' as birds, and industrious as bees. In troth they hae been just a meeracle o' contentment—and though they liked best the cawm o' their ain house, yet they were merry as grigs among ither

74

EFFECTS OF RELIGION.

folk's weans-wha aften ca'd her mammy as weel's their ain mither.

Shepherd. And you, sir. Noo, sir, I dinna fear to say-for I know it to be a truth and a great truth-that thae three couple are at this hour a' equally-but oh! how differently happy! Them that has never kent the blessin o'bairns— them that has enjoyed it in overflowing measure, and without ae drap o' what can be ca'd bitter in the cup-and them that saw a' their bairntime meltin awa till they had to kneel doun by their ain twa sels in prayer. Ae word-or twa wordsand the twa, though ane and the same, soun' sweet and awfu’ thegither explain the mystery,-The Bible-Religion. [There is silence for a time. NORTH rings the silver bell, and appear PETER and AMBROSE with the cold round, ham and fowls and tongues, and the unassuming but not unsubstantial et-ceteras of such a small snug Mid-summer supper as you may suppose suitable at a Noctes on the Leads of the Lodge. NORTH nods, and PETER lets on the gas. Shepherd. Fareweel to the moon and stars.

North. What will you eat, James?

Shepherd. I'll tak some hen. Mr Buller, gie me the twa legs and the twa wings and the breist-and then haun the hen ower to Mr Tickler.

[They settle down into serious eating. The SHEPHERD taking the lead-hard pressed by NORTH. Tickler. How are you getting on, James? Shepherd. But slawly.

your jaw-banes clunkin?

Canna ye sook that back without
Soopin on the leads o' the Lodge

aneath a silk yawnin in a conservatory lichted up with gas!Buller, what are ye about?

Buller. Tucking in a trifle of brawn.

I

Shepherd. Mr North, I've seen naething frae your pen, for years by, comparable to "Christopher on Colonsay."" howp we're to hae anither Fytte.

North. I believe Fytte Second opens the Number. Shepherd. That's richt-and had Gurney no been in the 1 See Blackwood's Magazine, for June and July 1834. "Colonsay" was a pony of remarkable strength and sagacity, presented to Professor Wilson by Mr M'Neill of Colonsay.

CHRISTOPHER ON COLONSAY.

75

Heelans, you micht hae
Noctes.

Shepherd. Gude safe us!

concluded the Nummer wi' this [A still small voice-I'm here.

North. Here's a tribute from an admirer near Cirencester.

Say, who is this with crutch so strong,
With beard so grizzled and so long,
Riding o'er mountain and o'er dell,

Rushing through forest and through fell,

As though he were an imp from hell-
Who is it that thus scours away?

'Tis Christopher on Colonsay.

Look! look upon that Tory steed!
With eye and snort that mark his breed ;
Shod too is he with hoofs of brass,
That gleam like lightning as they pass,
To tread down every Whig and ass-
Is it a horse or Demon? Say-

'Tis Christopher on Colonsay.

Tremble, ye traitors, fight or fly;
But if ye fight, then look to die.
No weapon can ye wield that e'er
The weight of that dread crutch can bear,
Which those who feel must ever fear.

When question'd, why ye run, then say—
Here's Christopher on Colonsay.

Though Lords and Commons marshall'd stand,
Though Brougham may jeer, or Grey command,
Should little Johnny stop the way,

Or Durham mingle in the fray,

Or Althorpe mount a bull at bay,

They'll have no time to fight or pray-
Here's Christopher on Colonsay.

No power can check him or his steed,

A centaur of celestial seed;

Smack through the frighten'd host he flies,
Prostrate each smitten Whigling lies.
They who escape may bless their eyes
That they could scamper from the way
Of Christopher on Colonsay.

76

VANITY! VANITY!

Low sprawling in the dust and mire,
And well besmuch't, he leaves the quire.
Io triumphe! on he goes

O'er kicking Lords and prostrate foes;
Graham and Stanley shake their clothes,
And swear they'll never more essay

Dread Christopher on Colonsay.

On! man and steed! On! ride your round
While Radicals or Whigs are found,
Lay on the crutch with heart and hand,
Go, scatter and confound the band,
And prove them but a rope of sand,
That rogues may ever run and say—
Here's Christopher on Colonsay.

Shepherd. Never heard I man receet his ain praises wi' sic an emphasis !

North. You would not have had me mumble such spirited lines, like an old woman without a tooth in her gums, James? Shepherd. I could mention an auld man that hasna mony teeth in his ain gums, though for a' that, his receetation's no that o' a mummler, Kit. Vanity! vanity! a' is vanity!

North. Vanity is one of the most amiable of the large Family of Human Frailties.

Shepherd. I never said ye wasna amiable, sir.

North. Nobody at least can justly accuse me of being proud.

Shepherd. Lucifer's a Moses to you, sir, in pride. You're a singular instance o' pride and vanity-till your time thocht incompatible-meetin in equal proportions in the same character. For an hour I've seen you sae vain, that I couldna help pityin ye-during the neist sae proud, that I couldna help hatin ye--and yet sae strange a thing is human nature, that at the end o' the third hour, the only feelings I had for the anomaly were admiration and love.

North. It is with you as with the rest of mankind, James— I bring you all round to unite in admiration and love of me at last.

Shepherd. Heard ye ever the likes o' that, Mr Buller? Look at the cretur. Vanity in his left ee and pride in his richt! and yet, it maun be confessed, diffused ower the ither features o'

his face something verra delichtfu', and a halo round the head o' him, as if, instead o' a sinner, he were a saint.

Tickler. I have seldom seen you, James, brighter than you have been to-night-you have felt yourself at home on the leads- -on ground-flats I have seen you somewhat dullish-like a luminary in damp.

Shepherd. There's naething in this warld I like waur than to be drawn out by a sumph.

Buller. I beg pardon, sir?

Tickler. Or sumphess.

Shepherd. The she's ill,' but no sae ill's the he. agree wi' me, Mr Buller?

Buller. In what?

Dinna you

Shepherd. In thinkin the she sumph's no sae ill's the he. Buller. I hope the he will soon get better-but I am in outer darkness-pray, what is a sumph?

Shepherd. Anither instance o' that extraordinary ignorance that no that seldom breaks out unexpectedly in weel-edicated Englishmen, and seems sae surprising to us on this side o' the Tweed! But leavin you to construe sumph, I shall simplify the question, sir, by askin ye just "hoo like ye to be drawnout ava?"

Buller. I very much doubt if I should like it. What is the nature of that process?

Shepherd. He's in the dark about that limb o' the query too. The sumph, you see, sir, sits himsel doun richt opposite ye at denner, and afore you hae had time to cool the first spoonfu' o' cocky-leeky, or potawto-soup, by blawin upon't, he selecks ane frae some twa-three dizzen o' topics, that are a' lyin arranged cut and dry, in separate raws on the floor o' that lumber-room, his head.

Buller. Good, good-I have you now, Mr Hogg.

Shepherd. And in which he conceives you to take sic an enthusiastic interest, as to amount on't to the half-mad, whereas the subjecks are lyin so laigh doun amang the dubs o' obscurest dirt, that even in your meaner moments you would despise yoursel for condescending to honour't wi' your contempt. North. What think you, James, of being pitted?

Shepherd. O bein' what?

North. Asked to dinner that you may be pitted by your 1 Ill-that is, insufferable.