HYDROPHOBIA.

Ambrose. There is somebody at the door, sir.

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Shepherd. Let him in. (AMBROSE opens the door, and enter Clavers, Giraffe, Rover, Guile, and Fang). It's the dowgs. Gentlemen, be seated. [The Canine take their seats.

North. "We are seven."

Shepherd. A mystical nummer

North. The Pleiades.

Tickler.

"And lend the Lyre of heaven another string."

Shepherd. I ken, Mr Tickler, ye dinna like dowgs. But ye needna be feared, for nane o' them's got the hydrophobyexcepp it may be Fang. The cretur's been verra snappish sin' the barommator reached ninety, and bat a goslin that began to bark-but though the goslin bat him again, he hasna yet been heard to quack ony, sae he's no muckle mad. You're no mad, Fang?

Fang. Buy-wuy-wuy.

Shepherd. His speech's rather affeckit. He used to say— bow-wow-wow.

Tickler (sidling away nearer the Shepherd). I don't much like his looks.

Shepherd. But, dear me! I've forgotten to help you-and hae been eatin and talkin awa wi' a fu' mouth and trencher, while baith o' yours is staunin wide open and empty — and I fear, bein' out a' day, you maun be fent.

Tickler. Say grace, James.

Shepherd. I said it, Timothy, afore I sat doun; and though you twa wasna in, it included you, for I kent you wadna be far aff; sae it's a' richt baith in time and place. Fa' tae.

Tickler. If you have been addressing me, my dear sir, never was there more needless advice. A more delicious duckling

North. Than Fatima I never devoured.

Shepherd. O ye rubiawtors! Twa wild dyucks dune to the verra doups! I intended to hae tasted them mysel—but the twa thegither wadna hae wechted wi' my whaup.

Tickler. Your whaup?

Shepherd. You a Scotchman and no ken a whaup! O you gowk! The English ca't a curly.

Tickler. Oh! a curlew. I have seen it in Bewick.

Shepherd. And never in the muirs? Then ye needna read

94

HOW GURNEY CAME TO ALTRIVE.

Booick. For to be a naturalist you maun begin wi' natur, and then study her wi' the help o' her chosen sons.

North. After duckling I like leveret.

Shepherd. Sae I see.

Tickler. And I grouse.

It's

Shepherd. Now, sirs, I beseech you, dinna 'peach. three weeks yet till the Twalt, and if Finlay at Selkirk heard o' our ha'in ggem to denner-and me, too, no ha'in yet taken out the leesense-I sould be soommoned afore the Exchequer, and perhaps sent to jail. I'm no feared o' your 'peachinbut dinna blab—thank heaven, Gurney's no here

Small Voice. Sir?

Shepherd. Save us! there he is-cheepin like a mouse in the closet. Mum-mum-mum. It's miraclous the cretur bein' here for when you druv up yestreen there was only you twa in the fore pairt o' the gig, and Awmrose sittin ahint. North. 'Twas a dog-cart, my dear sir, and Short-hand was among the pointers.

Shepherd. I wush they had worried him—he haunts every house I visit like a ghaist.

Tickler. And a troublesome guest he is

Shepherd. Haunin doun a' our sillinesses to immortality. But what think ye, sirs, o' thae pecks o' green pease?

North. By the flavour, I know them to be from Cacra Bank. Shepherd. Never kent I a man o' sic great original genius, wi' sic a fine delicate taste. They're really sae. John Grieve kent ye was comin to Altrive, and sent me ower baith them and thae young potatoes. You'll be delichted to see him the morn in Ettrick kirk-for I haena kent him lookin sae strang and fresh for a dizzen years-oh! there's naething for ane ony way invalidish like the air o' ane's native hills! And then sic a season! He's out in the wee gig wi' Wallace, or the close carriage wi' Big Sam, every day; and on Tuesday, when he nodded to me wi' a lauch out o' the window, it did my heart gude to see his face amaist as bricht as it was the day we three first brak breid thegither in my lodgins, in the screw-stair-case, as you used to ca't, aneath the North Brig. Confoun' thae great big starin New Buildings-in spite o' our freen John Anderson's shop-for they hae soopit awa Anne Street frae the face o' the earth

1 See vol. i. p. 238.

THE SHEPHERD'S DOGS.

North. But not into oblivion.

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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.
North. Dead!

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.

Shepherd. In the wast they ca't ginnlin.

Tickler. Whew! I'll ginnle Kit for a pair of ponies.

North (derisively). Ha, ha, ha!

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.

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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