Tickler. You knew the late Malcolm Gillespie1 of Crombie Cottage, I think, James? He died game.

Shepherd. Only middlin. He had a cross o' the dunghill in him-which is the case wi' a' the cruel.

North. He should not have got faint in the Court-House. On the scaffold his behaviour was firm enough-and

Shepherd. He was an infamous ruffian-and mony a prime worm he broke - mony a sweet-workin stell, and much he bragged of his duty and his daring-but a' the while the fearless reprobate was livin on forgery; and feenally, naething wad satisfy him but to burn the house o' sin by the hauns o' his abandoned limmers. Yet he declared before God, that he died-innocent.

North. It is said that high interest was used to procure a commutation of his punishment. I hope not. No man who knew right from wrong would have dared to put his hand to a petition for mercy to such a profligate and hardened villain. Pardon would, in his case, have been defiance of justice-the triumph of vice, crime, and iniquity, over the laws. But there are people who will petition for the forfeited life of a felon, a forger and an incendiary, who will be shy of subscribing a pound for the relief of the blind aged widow, who, industrious as long as she saw Heaven's light, is now a palsied but uncomplaining pauper.

Tickler. Nothing seems much clearer to me, sir, than the natural direction of charity. Would we all but relieve, according to the measure of our means, those objects immediately within the range of our personal knowledge, how much of the worst evil of poverty might be alleviated! Very poor people, who are known to us to have been honest, decent, and industrious, when industry was in their power, have a claim on us, founded on that our knowledge, and on vicinity and neighbourhood, which have in themselves something sacred and endearing to every good heart. One cannot, surely, always pass by, in his walks for health, restoration, or delight, the lone wayside beggar, without occasionally giving him an alms. Old, careworn, pale, drooping, and emaciated creatures,

1 Malcolm Gillespie was a supervisor in the excise. He was tried at Aberdeen, 28th September 1827, and executed 16th November following, for forgery, and uttering false money. He was also charged with fire-raising, to cheat the insurance.

76

SUBSCRIPTION-PAPER-MONGERS.

who pass us by without looking beseechingly at us, or even lifting their eyes from the ground-cannot often be met with, without exciting an interest in us for their silent and unobtrusive sufferings or privations. A hovel, here and there, round and about our own comfortable dwelling, attracts our eyes by some peculiar appearance of penury-and we look in, now and then, upon its inmates, cheering their cold gloom with some small benefaction. These are duties all men owe to distress; they are easily discharged, and even such tender mercies as these are twice blessed.

Shepherd. Oh, sir, you speak weel. I like you when you're wutty-I admire you when you're wise-I love and venerate you when you're good—and what greater goodness can there be in a world like this than charity?

ous;

Tickler. But then, my worthy friend, for one man to interfere with another's charities is always delicate-nay, dangerfor how can the benevolent stranger, who comes to me to solicit my aid to some poor family, whose necessities he wishes to relieve, know either my means, or the claims that already lie upon me, and which I am doing my best to discharge? He asks me for a guinea-a small sum, as he thinks —the hour after I have given two to a bed-ridden father of a large family, to save his bed and bed-clothes from being sold at the Cross.

Shepherd. But you maunna be angry at him-unless he's impident and duns you for your donation. That's hard to thole.

Tickler. Yet, am I to apologise to him-uninformed, or misinformed, as he is about me and mine-for not drawing my purse-strings at his solicitation? Am I to explain how it happens that I cannot comply-to tell him that, in fact, I am at that moment poor? He is not entitled to hold such a colloquy with me yet, if I simply say, "Sir, I must refuse your petition," he probably condemns me as a heartless hunks —an unmerciful miser—and, among his friends, does not abstain from hints on my selfish character.

Shepherd. There's, for the maist part, I am willing to believe, a spice o' goodness about the greater number even o' the gadders-about wi' subscription papers.

Tickler. But a spice, James, is not enough. Their motives are of too mixed a kind. Vanity, idleness, mere desire to

escape ennui, curiosity even, and a habit of busy-bodyism, which is apt to grow on persons who have no very strong ties of affection binding them to home, do sadly impair the beauty of beneficence.

Shepherd. They do that-yet in a great populous city like Embro', much good must often be done by charitable people formin themselves into associations findin out the deservin puir, gettin siller subscribed for them, visitin them in their ain houses, especially in the winter time, sir, geein them a cart o' coals, or a pair o' blankets, or some worsted stockins, and so on-for a sma' thing is aften a great help to them just hangin on the edge o' want; and a meal o' meat set afore a hungry family, wha hadna expeckit to break their fast that day, not only fills their stamacks, puir sowls, but warms their verra hearts, banishin despair, as by a God-gift, and awaukenin Hope, that had expired alang wi' the last spark on the ashy hearth.

Tickler. Give me your hand, James. James, your healthGod bless you. Certainly a young lady—or a middle-aged one either—never looks better-so well-as when in prudence and meekness she seeks to cheer with charity the hovels of the poor. I know several such-and though they may too often be cheated and imposed on-that is not their fault,—and the discharge of a Christian duty cannot fail of being accompanied by a great overbalance of good.

Shepherd. Oh man! Mr Tickler-but you hae a maist pleasant face the noo-you're a real gude cretur-and I wad fling a glass o' het water in the face o' onybody that wad daur to speak ill o' a single letter in your name.-Is't no time, think ye, sir, to be ringin for the eisters ?-I hear them comin!— That cretur Awmrose has the gift o' divination!

[Enter MR AMBROSE, his Brother from Gabriel's Road, the Two STEPHENS, TAPPYTOORIE, and KING PEPIN, each with a Board of Oysters.

Tickler. Fat, fair, and fifty !

Shepherd. What desperate breedy beasts eisters maun be, -for they tell me that Embro' devoors a hunder thousand every day.

North. Why, James, that is only about two oysters to every three mouths. I am happy to see, from their condition, that the oyster population is not pressing too hard on the means

78

A CORE OF RESERVE.-THE CATTLE-SHOW.

of subsistence. They will be spared the Report from the Emigration Committee.

Shepherd. Tak them, richt and left, sir,-this way,-first frae ae brodd, and then frae anither-crossing hauns like a young leddy playin a kittle piece on the Piawno. Tappytoorie-some pots o' porter. I think I see a cauld roun' o' beef ower-by yonner on the sideboard, lowerin amang a fillet o' veal, a pie and a pasty, a how-towdie, and some sma'ish burds, maist likely snipes and wudcocks-for the lang-bills is come ower noo frae Norway-just like a three-decker lying at anchor in the middle o' as mony frigates. Yon's what I ca', sirs, a Core o' Reserve.

North. Were you at the Cattle Show, James, t'other day, in the Court of the Oil-Gas Institution?

Shepherd. Eisters dinna interrupt talkin.-There's a beauty, Mr North,―obleedge me by allooin me to let it doun your throat. Haud back your head a wee-open Sesame—there it goes, without ever a chack,-didna ye hear't play plowp in the stamach?

Tickler. Pleasing picture of piety!-The young cormorant feeding his old father.

Shepherd. I was at the Show. But sic anither prize-bill as yon I never saw-a wee wizzened, waif-and-stray-looking cretur-sic a tawty1 hide—a mere rickle2 o' banes—sae weak that he could hardly staun',-and evidently a martyr to the rheumatism, the asthma, and the consumption.

North. But the breed, James-the breed!

Shepherd. Nae doubt the breed was gude, for it was Mr Rennie's; but sic a specimen! I defy ony judge, since the days o' Gamaliel, to decide on the merits o' a beast in sic a condition as yon. Suppose, sir, by way of argumentative illustration, that a prize was to be given to the finest young man of eighteen that could be produced, and that from among ever so many noble fellows, all instinct with health and vigour, the judge were to single out ae urchin, a lean, lank, yellow, and loose-skinned skeleton, and put a belt round his waist as being the picked man of all England!

North. So might be his framework.

Shepherd. What? Do ye mean his skeleton? But the prize 1 Tawty-matted. 2 Rickle-heap, ridge.

THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY.-JOURNAL OF AGRICULTURE. 79

wasna for skeletons-if it was, a' the competitors should hae been prepared. Or take, sir, a shipwrecked sailor aff a rock in the middle o' the sea, where he has been leevin, puir fallow, on some moothfu's o' tangle, scarted aff the sluddery stanes, for maist pairt o' a fortnicht, and wringin the rain out o' his troosers, to keep doun his ragin thirst-and compare him wi' me-just me mysel sittin here wi' a brodd o' eisters on ilka haun-after a denner the day wi' some freens in the Auld Town-and a December's eating, the month that's allooed to be the verra best in the haill towmont, and wha wad daur to pass judgment on the comparative pints o' sic a Sailor and sic a Shepherd? As for the bit bill, he was leevin thenthough nae doubt he's dead noo—for it was a raw day, and

he keepit shiverin in his pen like an aspen.

North. I confess, James, there is something in what you say—yet a bull bred by Mr Rennie of Linton, and approved by Captain Barclay of Ury, must have been, in spite of his delicate state of health, a rare animal.

Shepherd. There's no twa mair honourable and cleverer chiels in a' Scotland-but it's just perfectly impossible to decide atween ane or twa brute creturs-or human anes either -when the tane's a' that it ought to be, or can be, in health and speerits, and the tither hingin head and tail, little better than an atomy-it's just perfectly impossible.

North. The Highland Society, James, the promoters of these great Cattle Shows, is the most useful one in all Scotland; and you will be glad, I am sure, to hear that, under their auspices, Mr Blackwood is about to publish, quarterly, an Agricultural Magazine,1 for which he has already found an Editor of rare accomplishments.

Shepherd. Oh, man, but I'm real glad o' that!—sic a buik's a great desiderawtum. I'll write for't mysel, and sae will a thousan' ithers;-but still I doubt the possibility o' judgin fairly o' a bill like yon, though, nae doubt, he wad hae been a beauty if in fine ruddy health, like a bailie or a bishop. It

1 The Journal of Agriculture was started by Mr Blackwood in May 1828. Mr Low, Professor of Agriculture in the University of Edinburgh, was its first editor. It was afterwards conducted with great ability, for many years, by Mr Stephens, author of the Book of the Farm, an unrivalled agriculturist, both in theory and in practice.

2 Bill-bull.