A STRIKE IN THE FOREST. 83 rural districts at least providentially escaped the infection Shepherd. Yet the complaint was fearsomely contagiousand rinnin like wildfire through the streets o' Lunnon. Tickler. Where first did it break out? Shepherd. Beneath a sky-licht. It raged awfully in the attics afore it got doun to the other flats-and howp grew seik and dee'd on seein and hearin't roarin out o' the wundows o' the grund-flat. North. A fine subject for an Epic. Buller. Better fitted, perhaps, sir, for the drama. Yet the nation, I fear, has lost its love for the highest and deepest tragedy—and to rouse it even by such a theme would require more than the genius of another Shakespeare. Tickler. The Flints flash fire, and the day of the Dungs is gone.1 1 Shepherd. The rural districts, as you ca' them, Mr North, haena aye escaped sic a calamity. I weel remember, in the year wan,2 a like visitation in the Forest. It wasna on sae big a scale - for the boonds wadna admit o' its bein' sae —but the meesery was nae less-though contrackit within a narrower circle. Tickler. Diffused over a wider sphere. North. When? Tickler. And how? Shepherd. The Tailor at Yarrow Ford, without havin shown ony symptoms o' the phoby the nicht afore, ae morning at sax o' clock-strack! North. How dreadful! Shepherd. You may weel say that, sir. 'Twas just at the dawn o' the Season o' Tailors, when a' ower the Forest there begins the makin o' new claes and the repairin o' auldNorth. Making-as Bobby says "The auld claes look amaist as weel's the new." Shepherd. The maist critical time o' the haill year. 1 "The tailors who held out for the advance were honoured with the name of Flints, while those who continued to work at the former prices were called Dungs."-American Editor. 2 Wan-one. "The year wan"-an ellipsis for the year 1801. 84 SPREAD OF THE STRIKE. Shepherd. At sax he strack- and by nine it was kent frae Selkirk to the Grey-Mare's Tail. A' at ance—no ordinar claes only - but mairrage-shoots and murnins were at a deid staun. A' the folk in the Forest saw at ance that it was impossible decently to get either married or buried. For, wad ye believe't, the mad body was aff ower the hills, and bat' Watty o' Ettrick Pen! Of coorse he strack-and in his turn aff by a short cut to the Lochs, and bat Bauldy o' Bourhope, wha loupt frae the buird like a puddock, and flang the guse in the fire, swearin by the shears, as he flourished them round his head, and then sent them intil the ass-hole, that a' mankind micht thenceforth gang nakit for him up to the airmpits in snaw! North. We are all listening to you, James, with the most intense interest. Shepherd. The Three Tailors formed themsels intil a union -and boond themsels by an aith-the words o' which hae never transpired—but nae dout they were fearsome; and they ratified it—it has been said—wi' three draps each o' their ain bluid, let out wi' the prick o' a needle-no to shue anither steek gin the Forest were to fa' doun afore them on its knees! North. Impious! Shepherd. But the Forest had nae sic intention and bauldly stood up again' the Rebellion. Auld Mr Laidlaw-the faither o' your freens, Watty, George, and James-took the lead-and there was a gatherin on Mount Benger-the same farm that, by a wonnerfu' coincidence, I afterwards came to hauld at which resolutions were sworn by the Forest no to yield, while there was breath in its body, though back and side micht gang bare. I there made ma maiden speech; for it wasna ma maiden speech-though it passed for such, as often happens-the ane ye heard, sir—ma first in the Forum. North. I confess I had my suspicions at the time, James. I thought I saw the arts of the sophist in those affected hesitations and that I frequently heard, breaking through the skilful pauses, the powers, omnipotent in self-possession, of the practised orator. Shepherd. Never was there sic a terrible treeo as them o' Yarrow Ford, Ettrick Pen, and Bourhope! Three decenter tailor lads, a week afore, ye micht hae searched for in vain 1 Bat-bit. THE DEVIL AMONG THE TAILORS. 85 ower the wide warld. The streck changed them into demons. They cursed, they swore, they drank, they danced, they focht-first wi' whatever folk happened to fa' in wi' them on the stravaig and then, castin out amang theirsels, wi' ane anither, till they had a' three black een—and siccan noses! - Tickler. 'Tis difficult for an impartial, because unconcerned, spectator to divine the drift of the different parties in a fight of three. Shepherd. They couldna hae divined it theirsels-for there was nae drift amang them to divine. There they were a' three lounderin at hap-hazard, and then gaun heid-ower-heels on the tap o' ane anither, or colleckit in a knot in the glaur; and I couldna help sayin to Mr Bryden father o' favourite your Watty Bryden, to whom ye gied the tortoise-shell mullSaw ye ever, sir, a Tredd's-Union like that?' Tickler. Why not import? Shepherd. As they hae dune since in Lunnon frae Germany? Just because naebody thocht o't. Importin tailors to insure free tredd!! Tickler. And how fared the Forest? Shepherd. No weel. Some folk began tailorin for theirsels —but there was a strong prejudice against it—and to them that made the attempp the result was baith ridiculous and painfu', and in ae case, indeed, had nearly proved fatal. Tickler. James, how was that? Shepherd. Imagine yoursel, Mr Tickler, in a pair o' breeks, wi' the back pairt afore-the seat o' honour transferred to the front North. Let us all so imagine, Tickler. Shepherd. They shaped them sae, without bein' able to help it, for it's a kittle airt cuttin out. Tickler. But how fatal? Shepherd. Dandy o' Dryhope, in breeks o' his ain gettin up, rashly daured to ford the Yarrow-but they grupped him sae ticht atween the fork, that he could mak nae head gain'1 the water comin doun gey strang, and he was swoopit aff his feet, and taen out mair like a bundle o' claes than a man. Tickler. How? Shepherd. We listered him like a fish. North. "Time and the hour run through the roughest day!" 1 Gain' against. 86 NORTH BEATEN BY THE FLYING TAILOR. Shepherd. And a' things yerthly hae an end. Sae had the streck. To mak a lang story short-the Forest stood it out the tailors gied in and the Tredd's-Union fell to pieces. But no before the Season o' Tailors was lang ower, and pairt o' the simmer too-for they didna return to their wark till the Langest Day. It was years afore the rebels recovered frae the want o' wage and the waste o' pose;1 but atween 1804 and 1808, a' three married, and a' three, as you ken, Mr Northfor I hae been direckin mysel to Mr Tickler and Mr Bullerhae been ever sin' syne weel-behaved and weel-to-do- and I never see ony o' them without their tellin me to gie you their compliments, mair especially the tailor o' Yarrow Ford,- for Watty o' the Pen-him, Mr Buller, that used to be ca'd the Flyin Tailor o' Ettrick sometimes fears that Christopher North hasna got ower yet the beatin he gied him in the ninety-odd-the year Louis XVI. was guillotined—at hapstap-and-loup. North. He never beat me, Mr Buller. Buller. From what I have heard of you in your youth, sir, indeed I can hardly credit it. Pardon my scepticism, Mr Hogg. Shepherd. You may be as great a sceptic as you choosebut Watty bate Kitty a' till sticks. North. You have most unkindly persisted, Hogg, during all these forty years, in refusing to take into account my corns Shepherd. Corns or nae corns, Watty bate you a' till sticks. North. Then I had been fishing all day up to the middle in the water, with a creel forty pound weight on my back Shepherd. Creel or nae creel, Watty bate you a' to sticks. North. And I had a hole in my heel you might have put your hand into Shepherd. Sound heels or sair heels, Watty bate you a' to sticks. North. And I sprained one of my ankles at the first rise. Shepherd. Though you had sprained baith, Watty wad hae bate you a' till sticks. North. And those accursed corduroys cut me Shepherd. Dinna curse the corduroys-for in breeks or out o' breeks, Watty bate ye a' till sticks. 1 Pose-a secret hoard of money; savings. THE LONGEST DAY. North. I will beat him yet for a 87 Shepherd. You shanna be alloo'd to mak sic a fule o' yoursel. You were ance the best louper I ever saw-excepp ane -and that ane was wee Watty o' the Pen-the Flyin Tailor o' Ettrick-and he bate ye a' till sticks. North. Well I have done, sir. All people are mad on some one point or other—and your insanity Shepherd. Mad, or no mad, Watty bate you a' till sticks. North. Peter, let off the gas. (Rising with marked displeasure.) Shepherd. O man! but that's puir spite! Biddin Peter let aff the gas, merely 'cause I tauld Mr Buller what a' the Forest kens to be true, that him the bairns noo ca' the AULD HIRPLIN HURCHEON, half-a-century sin', at hap-stap-and-loup, bate Christopher North a' till sticks! North (with great vehemence). Let off the gas, you stone! Shepherd. That's pitifu'! Ca'in a man a stane! a man that has been sae lang too in his service-and that has gien him nae provocation-for it wasna Peter but me that was obleeged to keep threepin that Watty o' the Pen-by folk o' my time o' life never ca'd onything less than the Flying Tailor o' Ettrick, though by bairns never ca'd onything mair but the Auld Hirplin Hurcheon, at hap-stap-and-loup-on fair level mossy grun'-bate him a' till sticks. North (in a voice of thunder). You son of a sea-gun, let off the gas. Shepherd. Passion's aften figurative, and aye forgetfu'. But I fear he'll be breakin a bluid-veshel-sae I'll remind him o' the siller bell. Peter has orders never to shaw his neb but at soun' o' the siller bell.-Sir, you've forgotten the siller bell. Play tingle-tingle-tingle-ting. North (ringing the silver bell). Too bad, James. Peter, let off the gas. [PETER lets off the gas. Shepherd. Ha! the bleeze o' Morn! Amazin! 'Twas shortly after sunset when the gas was let on—and noo that the gas is let aff, lo! shortly after sunrise! Buller. With us there has been no night. Shepherd. Yesterday was the Twunty-first o' June - the Langest Day. We could hae dune without artificial lichtfor the few hours o' midnicht were but a gloamin—and we could hae seen to read prent. Buller. A deep dew. |