hae dune naething ava, and that your argument's about as strang's a spider's wab, that keeps flaffin in the wind beside a broken lozen, feckless even to catch flees-for by comes a great bummer, like Mr North or me, and carries it aff on his doup intil the open sunshine.

North. The subject of Mr Moore's elaborate failure, James, deserves discussion

Shepherd. And it's had it.

North. But a few hints

Shepherd. Sparks struck out by your steel and my flint, which hae only to fa' intil the gunpouther o' the thochtfu' reader's mind, in order to set the heaven o' his imagination in a bleeze, and show him a' the Life-region illuminated far and wide roun' the haill horizon.

North. Heaven and earth! my dear Shepherd, what a libel on the Living Illustrious of our own land! Great men are now among us

Shepherd. Ay, Great Poets-born for a' time, sir—and a' married-a' wi' wives and weans that is, the maist feck o' them-an' first-rate husbands and fathers, crouse as ggemcocks on their walks, wi' fierce een, sharp nebs, lang claws, and rainbow tails, crawin till the welkin rings wi' their shrill clarions, and then doun wi' ane o' their wings

North. Stop, James. I suspect Mr Moore, with all his palaver, has been fishing for a compliment

Shepherd. And he shall catch ane-or rather I'll fasten ane on his hyuck-and he may whup it ower his head. A better husband and a better father than Mister Muir-excep, aiblins, it be mysel canna be pictured; and yet, whatever may be the fate o' Lalla Rookh, his sangs 'ill last to a' eternity—that is, as lang's the Eerish nation-and afore it be extinguished, there'll be bluidy wark, for they're deevils for fechtin, and whaever prevails ower them to their utter extermination, wull hae little to brag on- —but the twa nations 'ill be fund lyin stane-dead by ane anither's sides, and the dead 'ill hae to bury the dead.

North. One word more, James, and I have done.

Shepherd. Where's Mister Muir? This moment he was sittin at my elbow-and lo and behold he has vanished!

North. A phantom of your imagination, James.- Would it were a reality, for Mr Moore is a delightful person, and his

132

THEIR MATRIMONIAL TENDERNESS.

genius glances in conversation bright as the diamond-ring on his little finger.

Shepherd. Weel, I could hae taen ma Bible-oath that he was sittin in this chair, nod-noddin, noo at me, and then at you, wi' a sort o' slicht sardonic smile about the silent but expressive mouth o' him, amaist as much as to say that "what is writ is writ," and maun e'en remain in secula seculorum.

North. I hope better things. But if the passages now gently criticised be retained in the octavo edition,' I shall tackle to Mr Moore in a different trim, and, natheless my admiration of his genius, his character, and himself, his sconce shall feel the crutch.

Shepherd. What gin he pu't out o' your haun, and gie ye a clour on the side o' the head wi' your ain weapon? Grasp it furm, sir.

North. No-James. He that is cunning of fence—and I have taken lessons from Francalanza-has a fine, easy, seemingly almost loose hold of the hilt-but out of that hold, sleight or strength has never yet beat or twitched my timber.

Shepherd. But you maunna hurt Mr Muir's head ower sair, although he has libelled us married men "o' the higher order o' genius."

North. Married men? By St Benedict, I am but a bachelor of hearts. Had I been double-instead of single-I might have sung small

Shepherd. Sung sma'? Hae I sung sma' on this theorem? Why, sir, it's in the power o' ony ae man o' the higher order o' genius-say poetical genius-to lavish, in the prodigality o' his sowl, mair love on his wife, during ony ae day—ay, ony ae hour, than it's in the capacity o' a coof to bestow on his during fifty years, beginnin wi' the first blink o' the hinnymoon, and endin wi' the last lower o' the nicht that fa's upon her coffin. O! what a fearfu' heap o' passion can the poet cram intil ae embrace-ae kiss-ae smile-ae look-ae whisper—ae word—towards the partner o' his life—the mither o' his weans-the

North. "You speak to me who never had a wife.”

Shepherd. Puir chiel! I pity you. What although the poet's marriage-life be sometimes stormy-what though sometimes

1 The passages here animadverted on are retained in the subsequent editions. 2 See ante, vol. i. p. 70, note 2.

WHO THE MARRIED MISERABLES ARE.

"Blackness come across it like a squall,
Darkening the sea?"

133

Yet wha can pent the glory and the brichtness o' the celestial calm-when the world o' them twa-o' him and his wifemay be likened till the ocean and a' her isles, in the breezy sunshine-and them twa themsels till consort-ships steering alang wi' a' their sails and a' their streamers-nae fear o' shoals or lee-shore rocks-on, on, on thegither towards the haven o' everlastin rest, amang the regions o' the settin sun! Or when it may be likened—that is, the world o' them twao' him and his wife-till the blue lift, a' a-lilt wi' laverocks

North. Beautiful, James.

Shepherd. Is't? Weel, I'll sing't again-Till the blue lift, a' a-lilt wi' laverocks-and themsels twa, like consort-cloudsnoo a wee way apairt—and noo meltin intil ane anither—purshued by een lookin up frae below-alang their sky-courseo' which the goal is set by God's ain haun far in amang the stars o' heaven!

North. More than beautiful, James-sublime.

Shepherd. And maun a' thae divine days and nichts be left out o' the estimate made o' the poet's married life? As weel micht a man libel a beautifu' and glorious summer, by talkin o' naething else but a few mountain-spates, or twa-three dreadfu' glooms o' thunner and lichtnin.

North. I give in. I am beat all to sticks. I am but PanShepherd. And I Apollo. Hurraw-hurraw - hurraw!

Your nieve, sir.

North. The misery of marriage lies among the common herd. Shepherd. There you have it, sir-amang the mean, the vile, the coorse, the brutal-where Hymen may be almost said, in the language o' Milton, "amang the bestial herds to range;" for what are men and women, mutually "feeding on garbage," as Shakspeer says, but the bestial? But wi' a' their sins and sorrows, and sometimes baith are sair, "men o' the higher order o' genius" still partake o' an almost divine natur,—the women that marries them are to "radiant angels linked "-Shakspeer again, sir;-nor do they "sate themselves in celestial beds -Wullie ance mair-for, on leevin the eider-down o' the nuptial couch, out walks the poet amang the dewdraps o' the mornin, and as he sings his hymns at the shrine o' Natur, he feels that, lang as he is true to that reli

134

SIR WALTER SCOTT :

gion, there is a perpetual "bridal o' the earth and sky" (auld Herbert) reminding him, as by a divine emblem, o' his ain union wi' her whom he has left in bliss, wi' a loving blossom in her bosom, aiblins the last-born o' the flock, wi' a look o' baith its pawrents mysteriously blended in its sleeping smiles. North. I am mute.

Shepherd. I wush it would only chap twal-for I'm gettin desperate hungry. Ha! there's the warnin-in three minutes we sall see the gaucy1 face o' Awmrose wi' the eisters.

North. "From such celestial colloquy sublime," how can we descend to shell-fish?

Shepherd. Wait a wee, and I'll show you that, sir. But wha sall we abuse neist ?

North. Sir Walter Scott.

Shepherd. Sir Walter! Oh! but that would be wicked. Howsomever, he's but mortal-sae begin the abuse-and though I wunna just say that I'll join in't, yet

North. You'll enjoy it.

Shepherd. Aiblins, sic is human natur. You're fleein at high ggemm the nicht, sir.

North. Reach me over his Demonology.

Shepherd. Where? Ou ay, on the brace-piece.

North. I told you, you may remember, at our last meeting, that

Shepherd. I dinna remember ae single syllable o' what was said, either by you or me, at the last Noctes-nor, indeed, at ony o' the half hunder Nocteses celebrated in Gabriel's Road and Picardy since the Great Year o' the Chaldee. I never remembers naething—but a' that ever occurs to my mind has the appearance o' bein' imagination. A' thae Fifty-Twa Nocteses-what are they noo but dreams about dreams! Sometimes when I read the record o' ane o' them in the Maggazin, I wonner wha's that Shepherd that speaks about the Forest-till a' at ance I begin to jalouse that he's my verra ain sel, and that I really maun hae been carrying on the war bravely that nicht at Ambrose's, though in what year I'm sure aneuch o' the century-it passed by like a sugh, naething is there in the wild words to tell-nor in the guffaws that a' luk sae silent, sir, in prent yellowed by time, aye melancholy and mournfu' amaist as the smilin face o' a dear 1 Gaucy-jolly.

freen in a picture, when ane luks at it, wi' a sigh, years after the original is dead!—But let's cut up Sir Walter-Hark!

[The time-piece strikes Twelve, and enter PICARDY and his Tail, with "The Treasures of the Deep."

North. Let me read aloud to you, my dear James, with suitable emphasis, a few paragraphs from the beginning, and tell me what you think of the composition.

Shepherd. Read awa, sir-read awa. I'm a freen till the deveesion o' labour. Readin's ae department, and eatin's anither, o' the great bizziness o' social life. I'm nae great haun at the firstsae I relinquish it to ane wha's a maister in the airt; but as to the ither, I'll play second knife and fork till nae man o' woman born-settin aside unnatural monsters o' gabiators.'-Dinna mummle.

North. "You have asked of me, my dear friend, that I should assist the Family Library with the history of a dark chapter in human nature, which the increasing civilisation of all wellinstructed countries has now almost blotted out, though the subject attracted no ordinary degree of consideration in the olden times of their history."

Shepherd. What's your wull?

North. The "history of a chapter" is not a very happy expression, James, neither is "a chapter in human nature.' "The increasing civilisation of all well-instructed countries," is very bad indeed, James; and it is not true that it has now almost blotted out "that dark chapter in human nature," for that dark chapter may be read now in the Book of Nature as plainly as before, provided we seek for it in the right place. Shepherd. In Dahomey, Coomassie, Gondar Oh! sic eisters !

North. "Though the subject"-what subject?-"attracted no ordinary degree of consideration" is poor writing; and then mark the cacophonous repetition, James, of the word history at the close of the sentence !

Shepherd. I canna defend it.—Whare's the vinegar cruet? North. "Among much reading of my early days, it is no doubt true that I travelled a good deal in the twilight regions of superstitious disquisition. Many hours have I lost. 'I would their debt were less." "

1 Gabiators-gormandisers. I know of no authority for this word, and suspect that North invented it.