THE CLOCK PUT BACK. 273 sang or twa afore we part, Mr North; but, even without music, hasna this been a pleasant nicht? I sall begin noo wi' pepper, vinegar, and mustard, for the oysters by theirsels are getting a wee saut. By the tramping on the stairs I jalouse the playhouse is scalin. Whisht, Mr North! keep a calm sugh, or ODoherty will be in on us, and gar us break the Sabbath morning. Noo, let's draw in our chairs to the fireside, and, when a's settled in the tither parlours, I'll sing you a sang. [Curtain falls. S (JANUARY 1827.) Scene,-Ambrose's Hotel, Picardy Place-Paper Parlour. NORTH and the SHEPHERD. Shepherd. What a fire! That mixtur o' English and Scotch coal makes a winter nicht glorious. Staun yont, Mr North, sir, till wi' this twa-haunded poker I smash the centre lump, as Mordecai Mullion has smashed the os frontis o' M'Culloch.' North. James, you cannot imagine what a noble figure you reflect in the mirror. I should like vastly to have your portrait taken in that very attitude. Shepherd. Mercy on us! there's a tongue o' flame loupt out upon the carpet. Whare's the shool? Nae shool-nae shool! Let's up wi't in wi't in my twa loofs. Whew, whew, whew! That's gude for frost-bitten fingers. There the Turkey's no a whit singed. Do you fin' the smell o' burnin, sir? North. Look at your right hand, my dear Shepherd! Shepherd. It's a' lowin. Whew-whew-whew!-That comes o' haein hairy hauns. Belyve2 the blisters 'll be risin like foam-bells; but deil may care. Oh, sir! but I'm real happy to see you out again; and to think that we're to hae a twahanded crack, without Tickler or ony o' the rest kennin that 1 Under the name of "Mordecai Mullion" Professor Wilson published s pamphlet, in which the eminent political economist referred to in the text was attacked, chiefly on the ground that, in his different publications, he was in the habit of repeating the same opinions, disguised in a slightly varied phrase ology. Mr M'Culloch might perhaps have found a sufficient defence in the plea that the topics of which he treated rendered such iteration almost unavoidable. 2 Belyve-soon. A RECEIPT FOR TODDY.-SHEPHERD'S REGIMEN. we're at Awmrose's. Noo, what shall we hae ? 275 Gie's your haun again, my dear sir. North. A single jug, James, of Glenlivet-not very strong, if you please; for Shepherd. A single jug o' Glenleevit-no very strang! My dear sir, hae you lost your judgment? You ken my reçate for toddy, and ye never saw't fail yet. In wi' a' the sugar, and a' the whusky, whatever they chance to be, intil the jug about half fu' o' water-just say three minutes to get aff the boil-and then the King's health in a bumper. North. You can twist the old man, like a silk thread, round your finger, James. But remember, I'm on a regimen. Shepherd. Sae am I-five shaves o' toasted butter and bread-twa eggs-a pound o' kipper sea-trout or saumon, be it mair or less-and three o' the big cups o' tea to breakfast; ae platefu' o' corned beef, and potatoes and greens-the leg and the wing o' a how-towdy-wi' some tongue or ham-a cut o' ploom-puddin, and cheese and bread, to denner-and ony wee trifle afore bedtime. That's the regimen, sir, that I'm on the noo, as far as regards the victualling department; and I canna but say, that, moderate as it is, I thrive on't decently aneuch, and haena fun' mysel stouter or stranger, either in mind or body, sin' the King's visit to Scotland. I hae made nae change on my lickor sin' the Queen's Wake, and the time you first dined wi' me in Anne Street-only I hae gien up porter, which is swallin drink, and lays on naething but fat and foziness. North. I forget if you are a great dreamer, James? North. Sleeping-and on a heavy supper. Shepherd. Oh! sir, I not only pity but despise the coof, that aff wi' his claes, on wi' his nichtcap, into the sheets, doun wi' his head on the bowster, and then afore anither man could hae weel taken aff his breeks, snorin awa wi' a great open mouth, without a single dream ever travellin through his fancy! What wad be the harm o' pittin him to death? North. What! murder a man for not dreaming, James? Shepherd. Na-but for no dreaming, and for snorin at the same time. What for blaw a trumpet through the haill house at the dead o' nicht, just to tell that you've lost your soul 276 SNORING.-A SNOW-STORM. and your senses, and become a breathin clod? What a blow it maun be to a man to marry a snorin woman! Think o' her during the haill hinnymoon, resting her head, with a long gurgling snorting snore, on her husband's bosom ! North. Snoring runs in families; and, like other hereditary complaints, occasionally leaps over one generation, and descends on the next. But my son, I have no doubt, will snore like a trooper. Shepherd. Your son?! Try the toddy, sir. Your son?! North. The jug is a most excellent one, James. Edinburgh is supplied with very fine water. Shepherd. Gie me the real Glenleevit-such as Awmrose aye has in the hoose-and I weel believe that I could mak drinkable toddy out o' sea-water. The human mind never tires o' Glenleevit, ony mair than o' cauler1 air. If a body could just find out the exac proper proportion o' quantity that ought to be drank every day, and keep to that, I verily trow that he micht leeve for ever, without dying at a', and that doctors and kirkyards would go out of fashion. North. Have you had any snow yet, James, in the Forest? Shepherd. Only some skirrin2 sleets-no aneuch to track a hare. But, safe us a'! what a storm was yon, thus early in the season too, in the Highlands ! I wush I had been in Tamantowls that nicht. No a wilder region for a snowstorm on a' the yearth. Let the wun' come frae what airt it likes, richt doun Glen Aven, or up frae Grantown, or across frae the woods o' Abernethy, or far aff frae the forests at the Head o' Dee, you wad think that it was the Deevil himsel howlin wi' a' his legions. A black thunder-storm's no half sae fearsome to me as a white snaw ane. There is an ocular grandeur in it, wi' the opening heavens sending forth the flashes o' lichtnin, that brings out the burnished woods frae the distance close upon you where you staun, a' the time the hills rattling like stanes on the roof o' a hoose, and the rain either descending in a universal deluge, or here and there pouring down in straths, till the thunder can scarcely quell the roar o' a thousand cataracts. North. Poussin-Poussin-Poussin! Shepherd. The heart quakes, but the imagination even in its awe is elevated. You still have a hold on the external 1 Cauler-fresh. 2 Skirrin-flying. 3 A village in Banffshire. A BRACE OF BAGMEN. 277 world, and a lurid beauty mixes with the magnificence till there is an austere joy in terror. North. Burke-Burke-Burke-Edmund Burke ! Shepherd. But in a nicht snaw-storm the ragin world o' elements is at war with life. Within twenty yards o' a human dwelling, you may be remote from succour as at the Pole. The drift is the drift of death. Your eyes are extinguished in your head-your ears frozen-your tongue dumb. Mountains and glens are all alike—so is the middle air eddying with flakes and the glimmerin heavens. An army would be stopt on its march-and what then is the tread o' ae puir solitary wretch, man or woman, struggling on by theirsel, or sittin doun, ower despairing even to pray, and fast congealin, in a sort o' dwam1 o' delirious stupefaction, into a lump o' icy and rustling snaw! Wae's me, wae's me! for that auld woman and her wee granddauchter, the bonniest lamb, folk said, in a' the Highlands, that left Tamantowl that nicht, after the merry Strathspeys were over, and were never seen again till after the snaw, lying no five hunder yards out o' the town, the bairn wrapt round and round in the crone's plaid as weel as in her ain, but for a' that, dead as a flower-stalk that has been forgotten to be taken into the house at nicht, and in the mornin brittle as glass in its beauty, although, till you come to touch it, it would seem to be alive! North. With what very different feelings one would read an account of the death of a brace of Bagmen2 in the snow! How is that to be explained, James? Shepherd. You see the imagination pictures the twa Bagmen as Cockneys. As the snaw was getting dour at them, and giein them sair flaffs and dads on their faces, spittin in their verra een, ruggin their noses, and blawin upon their blubbery lips, till they blistered, the Cockneys wad be waxing half feared and half angry, and dammin the "Heelans," as the cursedest kintra that ever was kittled. But wait awee, my gentlemen, and you'll keep a lowner sugh or you get half-way from Dalnacardoch to Dalwhinnie.3 North. A wild district, for ever whirring, even in mist snow, with the gorcock's wing. Shepherd. Whisht-haud your tongue, till I finish the 1 Dwam-swoon. 2 Commercial travellers. 3 In the Highlands of Perthshire. |