HOW SWEET THE SNUGGERY! As the nauseous Gander of Glasgow, The rank-smelling Goose of the West! And now he's cut up, and his breast is laid bare, The hideous Goose of the West! Now with conduct and carcass so much of a piece, The King of the Geese of the West! 'Tis hard to believe, in this sceptical age, In migration of souls, like the Samian sage; But the soul of some Whig, in corruption's last stage, The unfortunate Goose of the West! 223 Shepherd. Haw! haw! haw! was that really, sir, an extemporawneous imprompty? North. Sung on the spur of the instant, I assure you, James. Indeed, how would it be otherwise? For Ambrose had provided for me an after-piece, which he thought would be "The Agreeable Surprise ". Tickler. To follow "The Cock of the North," a mellow dram in three caulkers Shepherd. No that unwutty, Tickler. North. Nor could my prophetic soul anticipate the Gander. But next Noctes, I promise you a more regular and finished performance. Tickler. Some epigrams. North. And epitaphs, Tickler; epithalamia and epicedia— different kinds of composition-though old Pirie of the Morning Chronicle thought them one and the same Tickler. And sung commonly at christenings. North. But now, gentlemen, we must be toddling- "Roun' as a neep1 we'll gang toddlin hame." Hoo sweet the Snuggery! Nae noxious air can lang pol 1 Neep-turnip. lute its pure privacy, ventilated, at a' seasons, wi' the breath o' humanest merriment. North. Yes, James, again "the air smells wooingly." North. Lo, a red-deer! [North bounds over the circular like a Stag-of-Ten. Shepherd (holding up his hands). Wonnerfu' auld man! [TICKLER leaps upon the SHEPHERD's shoulders, and the scene shifts to the street. XXX. (APRIL 1831.) Scene, The Snuggery. Time,-Nine o'clock. Present, NORTH, TICKLER, and SHEPHERD.-Tea, Coffee, Caulkers, &c. &c. &c. Shepherd. Receet the passage again, sir - for oh! but it's beautifu', and I couldna hae believed that it was Milton's. Tickler. Milton is worth all your modern poets in a lump, were you to multiply them by Shepherd. But we shanna put them a' into a lump, Mr Tickler -nor multiply their multiplicand by any multiplicawtor whatsomever; for I hae nae notion o' slumpin inspiration in that gate, a sair injustice to a' individual Genie. Let ilka poet, great and sma', staun' on his ain feet, and no be afeared o' the takin o' his altitude, by quadrants in the hauns o' geometrical critics -excepp them that sits on ane anither's knees, and they may just keep sittin there; and them that tries to owertap their betters, by getting theirsels hoisted up upon stools or tables -to say little or naething o' twa-three mair wha shall be nameless, that speels up the backs o' the brither-bards, and look proudly alang the heads o' the crood, seemingly higher by head and shouthers than their supporters and elevators, but wha are sure to get a fa' at last-and then, wae's me! they're trampled aneath hoofs, and never mair recover either their hats or their laurels. But receet the passage again, Mr North. (NORTH recites.) "Now came still evening on, and twilight grey VOL. III. They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, P 226 MILTON'S DESCRIPTION OF EVENING. Were slunk-all but the wakeful nightingale— Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, Shepherd. How beautifully progressive, sir, up to the tapmost pitch o' nocturnal beauty! North. Seemingly most simple, James, yet, believe me, steeped, every syllable and sentence, in imagination. Had it not been so, be assured, the "divine Milton" had never introduced so long a description into Paradise Lost. Natural it might have been, without being imaginative; but, in that case, it would have disfigured instead of improving the poem. Shepherd. It may be sae. I ken naething, for my ain pairt, about imagination-that's to say, the secret o' its power. For I'm a poet and nae metaphysician; whereas the late Dr Thomas Brown-wha, by the by, was aye unco kind to mewas a metaphysician, but nae poet. North. Coleridge is both-so is Wordsworth-so is Bowles -and so was Byron. For my own part, James, I am neither Shepherd. That's true. North. What's true, sir? Do you dare to say that I am not sup Shepherd. I'm wullin, Mr North, to alloo ye the possession o' a' the powers that ever glorified humanity, gin you would but gie ower layin traps for compliments to your genius and tawlents-fishin for flatteries, no only frae the likes o' me for that I can understaun' and sympatheese wi'—but frae fules and sumphs o' a' ages and sexes-sometimes wi' the flea, and sometimes wi' the worm and sometimes wi' the baggymennon-and sometimes wi' the sawmon-rae—and, when nae bait 'ill catch them, wi' the very naked hyuck, or a girn!2 North. I acknowledge-I confess-I glory in that impeachWithout sympathy, James, there is ment. "A craving void left aching at my heart." 1 Paradise Lost, iv. 598-609. 2 Girn a snare. THREE INCIPIENT IMPERSONATIONS. 227 'Tis like the air I breathe-without it I die. That's the secret of my seeming love of Shepherd. Weel, weel-I believe you-judging by myselbut what o' the passage? North. The imagination, therein, my dear Shepherd, is conceivable to be, either in the successive objects or portions of description, that is, severally, in each; or not in each singly, but in the conjunction of them in the whole. Shepherd. Or baith ways at ance. North. True. What then may be the Imagination of the successive members of the whole? Rather, is there any, and what is it, in them, in this example? For it may be whatever it is in real objects. Shepherd. I'm perplexed already-what's your wull? North. There appears to be much of that kind of Imagination which consists in infused animation and undefined incipient impersonation. "Now came still evening on," and Twilight grey had in her sober livery all things clad." "Silence accompanied." 66 Shepherd. You say richt, sir—three impersonifications. North. If I could suppose that here were meant to be introduced three distinct figured personages, taken out of Italian poetry, and all sorts of poetical writing, for some hundreds of years, I should be sorry. I hope and confide that Milton meant no more than that degree of alteration of things from their reality which forces itself irresistibly upon us, in certain proper moods of contemplating them. Shepherd. Imaginative moods. North. Try to consider each expression as literally as you can, and suppose that Milton meant to represent the objects as nearly what they are, to the simple understanding, as poetical feeling, predominant, would suffer him. Try how much the word Evening is forced from meaning the mere season or hour. "Came on" seems to mean more than that the Evening succeeded to the day. In the first place, it severs the hour, as having a unity in itself; in the next, it attributes to the season a power of advancing, an energy of progress of its own. Tickler. Come, be clear, North-no mysticism. North. What are you listening? Detur, that the proper idea of Evening to the understanding, is of a certain state of |