SHEPHERD. For dinna tell me that kilts are ae thing and breeks anither-they baith alike appertain to the person, and the same pairt o' the person. A' the causes that affeck the tredd in breeks, affeck nearly or remotely, immediately or after a lang lapse o' years, the tredd in kilts-a' the usefu' arts, and the fine anes too-and a fortiori, them that's at ance usefu' and fine, and aboon a' tailorin'-bein' a' connecket by inveesible threeds-ony feck o' which being cut or run, or runkled or ravelled, the rest feel it like a speeder's wab-and shrink up till the haill commercial system is disordered and deranged, and the social system too-and the political likewise-and the moral also—and if sae, hoo can the religious escape-till the universe itsell seems to be rushin' intil ruins, and it requires nae seer to predick that there is speedily about to be an end o' a' things-and the heavens and the earth reduced back by a grand convulsion o' nature to their original chawos. NORTH. Let us hope there may be some little exaggeration SHEPHERD. No a grain. Did you no listen to the overpoorin' eloquence o' the Maisters? I hae been only usin' some o' their language, subdued doon to Noctes pitch. The een o' a' Britain, Stultz said, was upon them NORTH. "" They read their history in a nation's eyes." SHEPHERD. And they were a' fu' o' tears! The nation grat while it glowered BULLER. And significantly smote its thigh. TICKLER. Methought I met Sir Henry Hardinge in Bond Street without his coatarm in arm with a member who had dispensed with his breeches; in the rear I saw a flaming patriot, not unlike Lord Nugent, with nothing but his shirt-while "A painted vest Prince Vortigern had on, See that chief mourner in red breeches-yellow vest, with long flapping lappets-and coat bright with the purple light of love-a superb dress got up by his great-great-great-grandsire, in honour of the Restoration--and in the 1834 worn by a disconsolate son, but determined anti-Trades-Unionist, strong in filial love and patriotism, following, like the fragment of a weeping rainbow, a Conservative father to the grave! In the midst o' a great national calamity, hoo indifferent, alas! grows the heart to individual distress! At ony other time the thocht o' sic a funeral wou'd hae been affectin'-but noo I can hear o't without a tear. NORTH. The misery was confined to the metropolis. The rural districts at least providentially escaped the infection SHEPHERD. Yet the complaint was fearsomely contawgious-and rinnin' like wildfire through the streets o' Lunnon. Where first did it break out? TICKLER. SHEPHERD. Beneath a sky-licht. It raged awfully in the attics afore it got doon to the other flats-and howp grew sick and dee'd on seein' and hearin't roarin' oot o' the wundows o' the grund-flat. A fine subject for an Epic. NORTH. BULLER. Better fitted, perhaps, sir, for the drama. Yet the nation, I fear, has lost its love for the highest and deepest tragedy-and to rouse it even by such a theme would require more than the genius of another Shakspeare. TICKLER. The Flints flash fire, and the day of the Dungs is gone. SHEPHERD. The rural districts, as you ca' them, Mr North, hae na always escaped sic a calamity. I weel remember, in the year wan, a like visitation in the Forest. It wasna on sae big a scale-for the boonds wou'dna admit o' its bein' sae-but the meesery was nae less-though contrackit within a narrower circle. The tailor at Yarrow-ford, without havin' shewn ony symptoms o' the phoby the nicht afore, ae morning at sax o'clock-strack! NORTH. How dreadful! SHEPHERD. You may weel say that, sir. 'Twas just at the dawn o' the Season o' Tailors, when a' owre the Forest there begins the makin' o' new claes and the repairin' o' auld At sax he strack-and by nine it was kent frae Selkirk to the Grey-Mare's Tail. A' at ance-no ordinar claes only-but_mairrage-shoots and murnins were at a deed staun. A' the fo'k in the Forest saw at ance that it was impossible decently to get either married or buried. For wou'd ye believe't, the mad body was aff owre the hills, and bat Watty o' Ettrick Pen! Of coorse he strack-and in his turn aff by a short cut to the Lochs, and bat Bauldy o' Bourhope, who lowpt frae the boord like a puddock, and flang the guse in the fire, swearin' by the sheers, as he flourished them round his head, and then sent them intil the awse-hole, that a' mankind micht thenceforth gang naket for him up to the airm-pits in snaw! NORTH. We are all listening to you, James, with the most intense interest. SHEPHERD. The Three Tailors formed themsells intil a union-and boond themsells by an aith-the words o' which hae never transpired-but nae doot they were fearsome-and they ratified it-it hes been said-wi' three draps each o' their ain bluid, let oot wi' the prick o' a needle-no to shue anither stitch gin the Forest were to fa' doon afore them on its knees! NORTH. Impious! SHEPHERD. But the Forest had nae sic intention-and bauldly stood up again' the Rebellion. Auld Mr Laidlaw-the father o' your freens, Watty, George, and James-took the leed-and there was a gatherin' on Mount Bengerthe same farm that, by a wonnerfu' coincidence, I afterwards came to hauld -at which resolutions were sworn by the Forest no to yield, while there was breath in its body, though back and side micht gang bare. I there made ma maiden speech; for it was na ma maiden speech-though it passed for such, as often happens the ane ye heard, sir-ma first in the Forum. NORTH. I confess I had my suspicions at the time, James. I thought I saw the arts of the sophist in those affected hesitations-and that I frequently heard, breaking through the skilful pauses, the powers, omnipotent in self-possession, of the practised orator. SHEPHERD. Never was there sic a terrible treeo as them o' Yarrow Ford, Ettrick Pen, and Bourhope! Three decenter tailor lads, a week afore, ye micht hae searched for in vain owre the wide warld. The streck changed them into demons. They cursed, they swore, they drank, they danced, they fought -first wi' whatever folk happened to fa' in wi' them on the stravaig -and then, castin' out amang theirsells, wi' ane anither, till they had a three black een-and siccan noses! TICKLER. 'Tis difficult for an impartial, because unconcerned spectator, to divine the drift of the different parties in a fight of three. SHEPHERD. They cou❜dna hae divined it theirsells-for there was nae drift amang them to divine. There they were a' three lounderin' at hap-hazard, and then gawn heed oure heels on the tap o' ane anither, or collecket in a knot in the glaur; and I cou’dna help sayin' to Mr Bryden-father o' your favourite Watty Bryden, to whom ye gied the tortoise-shell mull-" Saw ye ever, sir, a Tredd's-Union like that?" Why not import? TICKLER. SHEPHERD. As they hae dune since in Lunnon frae Germany? Just because naebody thocht o't. Importin' tailors to insure free tredd!! And how fared the Forest? TICKLER. SHEPHERD. No weel. Some folk began tailorin' for theirsells-but there was a strong prejudice against it and to them that made the attempp the result was baith ridiculous and painfu', and in ae case, indeed, had nearly proved fatal. James, how was that? TICKLER. SHEPHERD. Imagine yoursell, Mr Tickler, in a pair o' breeks, wi' the back pairt afore -the seat o' honour transferred to the front Let us all so imagine, Tickler. NORTH. SHEPHERD. They shaped them sae, without bein' able to help it, for it's a kittle art cuttin' oot. But how fatal ? TICKLER. SHEPHERD. Dandy o' Dryhope, in breeks o' his ain gettin' up, rashly daured to ford the Yarrow-but they grupped him sae tight atween the fork, that he could VOL. XXXVI. NO. CCXXIV. K mak nae head gain the water comin' doon gay strang, and he was swoopit aff his feet, and ta'en out mair like a bundle o' claes than a man. How? TICKLER. SHEPHERD. We lister'd him like a fish. NORTH. "Time and the hour run through the roughest day!" SHEPHERD. And a' things yerthly hae an end. Sae had the streck. To mak a lang story short-the Forest stood it oot-the tailors gied in-and the Tredd's Union fell to pieces. But no before the Season o' Tailors was lang owre, and pairt o' the simmer too-for they didna return to their wark till the Langest Day. It was years afore the rebels recovered frae the want o' wage and the waste o' pose; but atween 1804 and 8, a' three married, and a' three, as you ken, Mr North-for I hae been direckin' myself to Mr Tickler and Mr Buller-hae been ever sin' syne weel-behaved and weel-to-do-and I never see ony o' them without their tellin' me to gie you their compliments, mair especially the tailor o' Yarrow Ford-for Watty o' the Penhim, Mr Buller, that used to be ca'd the Flyin' Tailor o' Ettrick-sometimes fears that Christopher North hasna got owre yet the beatin' he gied him in the_ninety-odd-the year Louis the 16th was guillotined-at hap-stapand-lowp. He never beat me, Mr Buller. NORTH. BULLER. From what I have heard of you in your youth, sir, indeed I can hardly credit it. Pardon my scepticism, Mr Hogg. SHEPHERD. You may be as great a sceptic as you choose--but Watty bate Kitty a' till sticks. NORTH. You have most unkindly persisted, Hogg, during all these forty years, in refusing to take into account my corns SHEPHERD. Corns or nae corns, Watty bate you a' till sticks. NORTH. Then I had been fishing all day up to the middle in the water, with a creel forty pound weight on my back SHEPHERD. Creel or nae creel, Watty bate you a' to sticks. NORTH. And I had a hole in my heel you might have put your hand into SHEPHERD. Sound heels or sair heels, Watty bate you a' to sticks. NORTH. And I sprained one of my ankles at the first rise. SHEPHERD. Though you had sprained baith, Watty wou'd hae bate you a' till sticks. NORTH. And those accursed corduroys cut me SHEPHERD. Dinna curse the corduroys-for in breeks or oot o' breeks, Watty bate ye a' till sticks. I will beat him yet for a NORTH. SHEPHERD. You shanna be alloo'd to mak sic a fule o' yoursell. You were ance the best lowper I ever saw-accepp ane-and that ane was wee Watty o' the Pen-the Flyin' Tailor o' Ettrick-and he bate ye a' till sticks. NORTH. Well-I have done, sir. All people are mad on some one point or other -and your insanity SHEPHERD. Mad or no mad, Watty bate you a' till sticks. NORTH. Peter, let off the gas. (Rising with marked displeasure.) SHEPHERD. O man! but that's puir spite! Biddin' Peter let aff the gas, merely 'cause I tauld Mr Buller what a' the Forest kens to be true, that him the bairns noo ca' the AULD HIRPLIN' HURCHEON, half-a-century sin', at hap-stap-and lowp, bate Christopher North a' till sticks! NORTH (with great vehemence.) Let off the gas, you stone! SHEPHERD. That's pitifu'! Ca'in' a man a stane! a' man that has been sae lang too in his service and that has gien him nae provocation-for it wasna Peter but me that was obleeged to keep threepin' that Watty o' the Pen-by folk o' my time o' life never ca'd ony thing less than the Flying Tailor o' Ettrick, though by bairns never ca'd ony thing mair but the Auld Hirplin' Hurcheon, at hap-stap-and lowp-on fair level mossy grun'-bate him a' till sticks. NORTH (in a voice of thunder.) You son of a sea-gun, let off the gas. SHEPHERD. Passion's aften figurative, and aye forgetfu'. But, I fear, he'll be breakin' a bluid-veshel-sae I'll remind him o' the siller bell. Peter has orders never to shaw his neb but at soun' o' the siller bell.-Sir, you've forgotten the siller bell. Play tingle-tingle-tingle-ting. NORTH (ringing the silver bell.) Too bad, James. Peter, let off the gas. SHEPHERD. [Peter lets off the gas. Ha! the bleeze o' Morn! Amazin'! 'Twas shortly after sunset when the gas was let on-and noo that the gas is let aff, lo! shortly after sunrise ! BULLER. With us there has been no night. SHEPHERD. Yesterday was the Twunty First o' June-the Langest Day. We cou'd hae dune without artificial licht-for the few hours o' midnicht were but a gloamin'-and we cou'd hae seen to read prent. A deep dew. BULLER. NORTH. As may be seen by the dry lairs in the wet grass of those cows up and at pasture. SHEPHERD. Naebody else stirrin'. Luik there's a hare washin' her face like a cat wi' her paw. Eh man! luik at her three leverets, like as mony wee bit bears. BULLER. I had no idea there were so many singing birds so near the suburbs of a great city. SHEPHERD. Had na ye? In Scotland we ca' that the skriech o' day. What has become of the sea? NORTH. SHEPHERD. The sea! somebody has open'd the sluice, and let aff the water. Nathere it's-fasten your een upon yon great green shadow-for that's Inchkeith-and you'll sune come to discern the sea waverin' round it, as if the air grew glass, and the glass water, while the water widens oot intil the Firth, and the Firth awa' intil the Main. Is yon North Berwick Law or the Bass-or baith-or neither-or a cape o' cloodlaun, or a thocht? NORTH. "Under the opening eyelids of the morn." SHEPHERD. See! Specks-like black water-flees. The boats o' the Newhaven fishTheir wives are snorin' yet wi' their heads in mutches-but wull ermen. |