North. A device, James, as natural as it is new.

Shepherd. Nane o' your sneers, you auld satirist. Whether natural or unnatural, new or auld, the device, frae being sae common, canna be far wrang-for a' the warld has been in love at ae time or ither o' its life, and kens best hoo to express its ain passion. What see you ever in love-sangs that's at a' new? Never ae single word. It's just the same thing ower again, like a vernal shower patterin amang the buddin woods. But let the lines come sweetly and saftly, and a wee wildly too, frae the lips o' Genius, and they shall delight a' mankind, and womankind too, without ever wearyin them, whether they be said or sung. But try to be original-to keep aff a' that ever has been said afore, for fear o' plagiarism, or in ambition o' originality, and your poem 'ill be like a bit o' ice that you hae taken into your mouth unawaures for a lump o' white sugar.

North. Now, my dear James, the hour is elapsed, and we must to our toilet. The Gentles will be here in a jiffey,1 and I know not how it is, but intimate as we are, and attached by the kindest ties, I never feel at my ease in their company, in the afternoon, unless my hair be powdered, my ruffles on, and my silver buckles.

Shepherd. Do you mean the buckles on your shoon, or the buckles on your breeks?

North. My shoon, to be sure.

James-James!

Shepherd. I'll tell you a secret, sir-and yet it's nae great secret either; for I'm o' opinion that we a' ken our ain hearts, only we dinna ken what's best for them,-you're in love wi' Mrs Gentle. Na, na-dinna hang doun your head, and blush in that gate; there's nae harm in't-nae sin-only you should marry her, sir; for I never saw a woman sae in love wi' a man in a' my born days.

North. I cannot bring myself to think so, my dear James. Shepherd. Tuts. You canna attempt to walk across the room, that her twa een are no followin you on your crutch, wi' a mixed expression o' love, and fear lest you should fa' and dislocate your knee-pan, or

North. Crutch! Why, you know, James, well enough, that for the last twelve months I have worn it, not for use, but ornament. I am thinking of laying it aside entirely.

1 In a jiffey-immediately.

SOFTLY! SOFTLY! MR NORTH !

271

Shepherd." And capering nimbly in a lady's chamber!" Be persuaded by me, sir, and attempt nae sic thing. Naebody supposes that your constitution's broken in upon, sir, or that you're subject to a general frailty o' natur. The gout's a local complaint wi' you-and what the waur is a man for ha'in an occasional pain in his tae? Besides, sir, there's a great deal in habit-and Mrs Gentle has been sae lang accustomed to look at you on the crutch, that there's nae saying hoo it micht be, were you to gie ower that captivatin hobble, and figure on the floor like a dancing-master. At your time o' life, you could never howp to be an extremely—an uncommonly active man on your legs-and therefore it's better, it's wiser, and it's safer, to continue a sort o' lameter, and keep to the crutch.

North. But does she absolutely follow me with her eyes?

Shepherd. She just reminds me, sir, when you're in the room wi' her, o' a bit image o' a duck soomin about in a bowl o' water at the command o' a loadstane. She's really a bonny body-and no sae auld either. Naebody 'ill laugh at the marriage--and I should not be surprised if you had

North. "The world's dread laugh," as it is called, has no terrors to me, my dear James

Shepherd. Nane whatever-I weel ken that; and I think I see you sittin wi' your pouthered head, aside her in the chay drawn by four blood horses, cavin their heads till the foam flees ower the hedges, a' adorned wi' white ribbons, and the postilions wi' great braid favours on their breasts like roses or stars, smackin their whups, while the crood huzzaws you aff to your honeymoon amang the mountains

North. I will pop the question, this very evening.

Shepherd. Just tak it for granted that the marriage is to be as sune as the settlements can be drawn up,-look to her, and speak to her, and press her haun, whenever she puts her arm intil yours, as if it was a' fixed-and she'll sune return a bit wee saft uncertain squeeze-and then by-and-by

North. I'll begin this very evening

Shepherd. Saftly-saftly-moderate your transports. You maun begin by degrees, and no be ower tender upon her a' at ance, or she'll wunner what's the maitter wi' you—suspeck that you're mad, or hae been takin a drap drink—and are only makin a fule o' her

North. Ha! yonder she is, James. Gentle by name and gentle by nature! To her delicate touch the door seems to open as of itself, and to turn on its hinges

Shepherd. As if they were iled. Wait a wee, and maybe you'll hear her bang't after her like a clap o' thunder.

North. Hush! impious man.

able matron rings the door-bell!

How meekly the most lov-
What can that lazy fellow,

John, be about, that he does not fly to let the angel in? Shepherd. Perhaps cleanin the shoon, or the knives and forks. Noo, mind you, behave yoursel. Come awa.

[The SHEPHERD takes the crutch, and MR NORTH walks towards the Lodge as fresh as a five-year-old.

1 Iled-oiled.

(DECEMBER 1829.)

The Snuggery.-Time, seven o'clock.

NORTH and SHEPHERD.

Shepherd. O, sir! but there's something delightfu' in coalfire glimmerin and gloomin, breaking out every noo and then into a flickering bleeze; and whenever ane uses the poker into a sudden illumination, vivifyin the pictured paper on the wa's, and settin a' the range o' lookin-glasses a-low, like sae mony beacons kindled on the taps o' hills, burnin awa to ane anither ower a' the kintra-side, on the birthday nicht o' the Duke o' Buccleuch, or that o' his marriage wi' that fair English Leddy1-God bless them baith, and send them in gude time a circle o' bauld sons and bonny dochters, to uphaud the stately an' noble house o' the King o' the Border!

North. Amen. James-a caulker.

Shepherd. That speerit's far aboon proof. There's little difference atween awka veety an' awka fortis. Ay, ma man, that gars your een water. Dicht them wi' the doylez, and then tak a mouthfu' out o' the jug to moderate the intensity o' the pure cretur. Haud, haud! it's no sma' yill, but strong toddy, sir. (Aside)—The body 'ill be fou afore aught o'clock. North. This jug, James, is rather wishy-washy; confound me if I don't suspect it is milk and water!

Shepherd. Plowp in some speerit. Let me try't. It 'ill do noo, sir. That's capital boilin water, and tholes double its ain wecht o' cauld Glenlivet. Let's dook in3 the thermometer.

1 In 1829 the Duke of Buccleuch married Lady Charlotte Anne Thynne, daughter of the Marquess of Bath. 3 Dook in-plunge in.

2 Aqua vitæ and aqua fortis.

274

IN-DOOR COMFORT.-NIGHT-STORM.

Up, you see, to twa hunder and twunty, just the proper toddy pitch. It's mirawculous!

North. What sort of a night out of doors, James?

Shepherd. A fine night, sir, and like the season. The wund's due east, and I'se warrant the ships at anchor in the Roads are a' rather coggly, wi' their nebs doun the Firth, like sae mony rocking-horses. On turnin the corner o' Picardy, a blash o' sleet like a verra snawba' amaist knocked my head aff my shouthers; and as for my hat, if it meet with nae interruption, it maun be weel on to West-Craigs by this time, for it flew aff in a whurlwund. Ye canna see the sleet for the haur;1 the ghastly lamps are amaist entirely overpoored by the whustlin darkness; and as for moon and stars, they're a' dead and buried, and we never mair may wutness their resurrection. Auld-women frae chimley-taps are clytin2 wi' a crash into every area, and the deevil's tirlin3 the kirks outower a' the Synods o' Scotland. Whisht! Is that thunner?

North. I fear scarcely-but the roar in the vent is good, James, and tells of tempest. Would to heaven I were at sea! Shepherd. That's impious. Yet you micht aiblins be safe aneuch in a bit cockle-shell o' an open boat-for some folk are born no to be drooned

North. There goes another old-woman! *

4

Shepherd. O but the Yarrow wull be a' ae red roar the noo, frae the Loch to the Ettrick. Yet wee Jamie's soun' asleep in his crib by this time, and dreamin, it may be, o' paiddlin amang the mennows in the silver sandbanks o' simmer, whare the glassy stream is nae higher than his knee; or o'chasin amang the broom the young linties sent by the sunshine, afore their wings are weel feathered, frae their mossy cradle in the briar-bush, and able to flee just weel aneuch to wile awa on and on, after their chirpin flutter, my dear wee canty callant, chasin first ane and then anither, on wings just like their ain, the wings o' joy, love, and hope; fauldin them, in a disappointment free frae ony taint o' bitterness, when a' the burdies hae disappeared, and his een, as he sits doun on the knowe, fix themselves wi' a new pleasure on the bonny bands o' gowans croodin round his feet.

North. A bumper, my dear Shepherd, to Mount Benger.

1 Haur-flying mist.

3 Tirlin-unroofing.

2 Clytin-falling.

4 Old-woman-chimney-can.