250 SUBURBAN RETIREMENT. day, comin out suddenly frae amang the breakin clouds, and changing at ance earth into heaven. O, sir, but the Lodge is a bonny place noo. North. I love suburban retirement, James, even more than the remotest rural solitude. In old age, one needs to have the neighbourhood of human beings to lean upon-and in the stillness of awakening morn or hushing eve, my spirit yearns towards the hum of the city, and finds a relief from all o'ermastering thoughts, in its fellowship with the busy multitudes sailing along the many streams of life, too near to be wholly forgotten, and yet far enough off not to harass or disturb. In my most world-sick dreams I never longed to be a hermit in his cave. Mine eyes have still loved the smoke of human dwellings-and when my infirmities keep me from church, sitting here in this arbour, with Jeremy Taylor's Holy Living and Dying, perhaps on the table before me, how solemn, how sublime, the sound of the Sabbath-bells! Whether the towers and spires of the houses of worship are shining in the sunlight, or heard each in its own region of the consecrated city, through a softening weight of mist or clouds from the windy sea! Shepherd. For my ain pairt, Mr North, though I loe1 the lochs, and moors, and mountains, as well as do the wild swans, the whaups, and the red-deer; yet could I, were there a necessity for't, be every bit as happy in a flat in ony timmer tenement in the darkest lane o' Auld Reekie, as in Mount Benger itsel, that blinks sae bonnily on its ain green knowe on the broad bosom o' natur. Wherever duty ca's him, and binds him doun, there may a man be happy-ay, even at the bottom o' a coal-pit, sir, that rins a mile aneath the sea, wi’ waves and ships roarin and rowin a thousan' fathom ower the shaft. North. The Philosophy of Human Life. Shepherd. Better still-it's Religion. Woe for us were there not great happiness and great virtue in toons and cities? Let but the faculties o' the mind be occupied for sake o' the affections o' the heart, and your ee may shine as cheerfully on a smoky dead brick wa', within three yards o' your nose, as on a ledge o' livin rock formin an amphitheatre roun' a loch or an arm o' the sea. Wad I loe my wife and my weans the less in the Grassmarket2 than in the Forest? Wad I be affected itherwise by burying ane o' them—should it so please God2 In Edinburgh. 1 Loe-love. HAPPINESS INDEPENDENT OF PLACE. 1 251 in Yarrow kirkyard than in the Greyfriars? If my sons and my daughters turn out weel in life, what matters it to me if they leeve by the silver streams or the dry Nor-loch?2 Vice and misery as readily—as inevitably-befa' mortal creturs in the sprinkled domiciles, that frae the green earth look up through amang trees to the blue heavens, as in the dungeonlike dwallins, crooded ane aboon anither, in closes whare it's aye a sort o' glimmerin nicht. And Death visits them a' alike wi' as sure a foot and as pitiless an ee. And whenever, and wherever, he comes, there's an end o' a' distinctions-o' a' differences o' outward and material things. Then we maun a' alike look for comfort to ae source-and that's no the skies theirsels, beautifu' though they may be, canopyin the dewy earth wi' a curtain wrought into endless figures, a' bricht wi' the rainbow hues, or amaist hidden by houses frae the sicht o' them that are weepin amang the dim city-lanes-for what is't in either case but a mere congregation o' vapours? But the mourner maun be able, wi' the eyes o' Faith, to pierce through it a', or else of his mournin there will be no end,nay, nay, sir, the mair beautifu' may be the tent in which he tabernacles, the mair hideous the hell within his heart! The contrast atween the strife o' his ain distracted spirit, and the calm o' the peacefu' earth, may itherwise drive him mad, or, if not, make him curse the hour when he was born into a warld in vain so beautifu'. North. I love to hear you discourse, James, "On man and nature, and on human life, Musing in solitude." Methinks that Poetry, of late years, has dwelt too much on external nature. The worship of poets, if not idolatry, has been idolatrous. Shepherd. What's the difference ? North. Nay, ask the Bishop of Oxford. Shepherd. Whew!-Not so with the poetry of Burns, and other great peasants. They pored not perpetually, sir, into streams and lochs that they might see there their ain reflec 1 A church and churchyard in Edinburgh. 2 The hollow which divides the old town of Edinburgh from the new, and along which the railway now runs. 3 Dr Lloyd, Bishop of Oxford in 1829 (in which year he died), is reported to have said of the Roman Catholic religion, that it was idolatrous, and yet not idolatry. 252 O INSTINCT! INSTINCT! tion. Believe me, sir, that Narcissus1 was nae poet.—Preserve me, what a sicht! Chucky, chucky-chucky, chucky. Oh, sir! but that's a bonny clockin hen! An' what'n a cleckin' she's gotten! Nearer a score nor a dizzen, and a' white as snaw! North. Yes, James, Lancashire Ladylegs. Shepherd. Mufties too, I declare;-are they ggem? 3 [Flings a piece of meat towards the brood. The raven hops Shepherd. That beats cock-fechtin! O instinck! instinck! but for thy mysterious fever hoo cauldrife the haill warld o' life! North. 'Tis but a mere pullet, James-her first familyShepherd. See hoo she cuffs Sooty's chafts, till the feathers flee frae him like stour!* Lend me your crutch, sir, that I may separate them, or faith she'll tear him intil pieces. [The SHEPHERD endeavours to separate the combatants— when Ladylegs turns against him, and drives him into the arbour. North. Mark how beautifully-how gracefully she shall soon subside into a calm! Shepherd. For a pullet she has fearfu' lang spurs. Ayyon's bonny-bonny! See till them-the bit chickenies-ane after anither, comin rinnin out frae various pairts o' the shrubbery-just like sae mony white mice-and dartin in aneath her extended wings, as she sits on the sunny gravel, beautifu' as an outlandish bird frae some Polar region, her braid breast expandin in delight as she feels a' her brood hotchin aneath her, and her lang upricht neck, flexible as that o' a serpent's, turnin her red-crested head hither and thither in a' directions, mair in pride than in fear, noo that she hears Ralpho croakin at a distance, and the wee panters beginnin again to twitter amang the feathers, lookin out noos and thens wi' their bit heads frae that cosy bield North. Here is a little bit bookie, which pray put into your pocket for wee Jamie-James. The Library of Entertaining 1 Narcissus fell in love with his own image in the water, and pined away because he could not embrace it.-See Ovid's Metamorphoses. 2 Cleckin-brood. 3 Ggem-game. 4 Stour-flying dust. Knowledge, vol. i. part i., entitled "The Menageries." "Quadrupeds described and drawn from living subjects." Shepherd. Thank ye, sir. He's just perfectly mad about a' mainner o' birds and beasts-and weel I like to look at him lookin at a new pictur! Methinks I see the verra sowl growin within him as he glowers! The study o' natural history, maist assuredly, should be begun when you're a bairn, and when you're a man, you'll be hand and glove wi' a' the beasts o' the field, and birds o' the air- their various names familiar to you as household words—their habits as weel kent, or aiblins better, than your ain sae that you hae acquaintances, and companions, and freens in the maist solitary places—and need never weary for want o' thochts and feelings even in a desert, if but ae feathery or filmy wing cross between you and the horizon. North. There is in London, as perhaps you know, a Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, which has published very widely many admirable treatises-chiefly on Physical, though their plan comprehends Moral, subjects. For all the enlightened labours of that Society have I always prayed for success; for I desire that all men may live in the light of liberty and truth. Shepherd. That's the redeemin trait in your character, sir. O, but you're a glorious auld Tory, Mr North. Your love for the past neither deadens your joy in the present, nor inspires you wi' fear for the future. You venerate the weather-stains on the trunk o' the tree o' knowledge, yet you rejoice to see its branches every year flinging a wider shadow. North. Why, my dear James, the Magazine, with all its faults-which have been neither few nor small Shepherd. And wha ever saw either a book or a man worth praisin, that wasna as weel worth abusin? In a' great gifts there's a mixtur o' gude and evil North. Has spread knowledge among the people of Britain. In Theology, Philosophy, Politics, Literature, Life and Manners, Maga has, on the whole, been sound, and she has been consistent. She may be said to be in herself a Library of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge. Shepherd. But what for ca' they this bookie "The Menagerie,” sir? 1 He-i. e. wee Jamie. 254. BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. North. A well-chosen name, James. There, as in a Menagerie, you behold Shepherd. I see, I see-The woodcuts are capital-but hoo's the letterpress, sir? North. Why, there you have upwards of two hundred closely printed pages, fine paper and type, with nearly a score of admirable representations of animals, for a couple of shillings! The cheapest thing I ever saw;—and so far from being a catchpenny-it is got up, in all its departments, by men of real talent, and knowledge of the subject. Shepherd. It's incredibly cheap; and I fear maun be a losing concern. The con North. No, James, it will be a gaining concern. ductors of the Library of Entertaining Knowledge have resolved that it shall be sold at the lowest possible rate, and are little anxious about profit. But let them go on as they have begun, and I do not doubt that the sale of their monthly parts may soon reach twenty-thirty-why not forty thousand? Shepherd. Na-na. It can never do that. Maga doesna sell that. North. Doesn't she? That shows how little you know of Maga. By the by, James, I have not seen Maga for some months-not since Christmas. I thought her rather dull last time we had a tête-à-tête. I was absolutely so very ungallant as to fall asleep with her in my arms. The wick of the candle got about a foot long-the tail of her gown took fire-and Buchanan Lodge was within an ace of being reduced to ashes. Shepherd. You would hae broken out o' the conflagration in the shape o' a phoenix, sir, "the secular bird of ages." But wha's the veece-yeditor? North. She edits herself, James. She reminds me of an orange-tree in a conservatory-blossom and fruit beautifully blended at all times among the radiant evergreen. The sun forgets her not-and an hour now and then of open window bathes her in morning or evening dew; so gaze on her when you will, and she is bright and balmy in immortal youth. Shepherd. You assuredly are, sir, the idlest auld sinner in a' this warld, yet you never seem weary o' life; and your face aye wears an expression as if some new thocht were visitin |