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NORTH,

SHEPHERD.

Impious !

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.

SHEPHERD.

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.

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' tbree black een--and siccan noses !

TICKLER.

SHEPHERD.

'Tis difficult for an impartial, because unconcerned spectator, to divine the drift of the different parties in a fight of three.

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?!?

TICKLER

Why not import?

SHEPHERD.

As they hae dune since in Lunnon frae Germany? Just because naebody thocht o't. Importin' tailors to insure free tredd!!

TICKLER. And how fared the Forest ?

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.

TICKLER.

James, how was that ?

SHEPHERD. Imagine yoursell, Mr Tickler, in a pair o'breeks, wi' the back pairt afore -the seat o' honour transferred to the front

NORTH.

SHEPHERD.

Let us all so imagine, Tickler.

They shaped them sae, without bein' able to help it, for it's a kittle art cuttin' oot.

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TICKLER.

But how fatal ?

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.

TICKLER.

How?

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-bae 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-ihe 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.

You may be as great a sceptic as you choose-but Watty bate Kitty a' till sticks.

SHEPHERD.

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 (reel, Watty bate you a' to sticks.

NORTH.
And I bad a hole in my heel you might have put your hand into-

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SHEPHERD.

Sound heels or sair beels, 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.

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SHEPHERD.

Dinna curse the corduroys-for in breeks or oot o' breeks, Watty bate ye a' till sticks.

NORTH. I will beat him yet for a

SHEPHERD.

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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.

SHEPHERD.

Peter, let off the gas. (Rising with marked displeasure.)

() 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.

SHEPHERD.

SHEPHERD.

BULLER.

SHEPHERD

BULLER.

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.

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 sbaw 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.

(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 !

With us there has been no night.

Yesterday was the Twunty First o' June-the Langest Day. We cou'd bae 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.

As may be seen by the dry lairs in the wet grass of those cows up and at pasture.

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.

I had no idea there were so many singing birds so near the suburbs of a great city,

Had na ye? In Scotland we ca’ that the skriech o' day.
What bas become of the sea ?

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?

“ Under the opening eyelids of the morn." See ! Specks-like black water-fleeg. The boats o' the Newhaven fish

Their wives are snorin' yet wi' their heads in mutches—but

NORTH.

SHEPHERD.

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BULLER.

SHEPHERD.

NORTH.

NORTH.

SHEPHERD.

ermen,

sune be risin' to fill their creels. Mr Buller, was you ever in our Embro Fish-Market ?

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You said just now it was in the Parliament House.

SHEPHERD.

Either you or me has been dreamin'. But, Mr North, I'm deeperate hungry—are ye no intendin' to gi'e us ony breakfast ?

NORTH (ringing the silver bell.) Lo! and behold! (Enter Peter, Ambrose, King Pepin, Sir David Gam, and Tappietourie,

with trays.]

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SHEPHERD.

Rows het frae the oven! Wheat scones! Barley scones! Wat and dry tost! Cookies! Baps! Muffins ! Loaves and fishes! Rizzars! Finnans ! Kipper! Speldrins! Herring! Marmlet! Jeely! Jam! Ham! Lamb! Tongue ! Beef hung ! Chickens ! Fry! Pigeon pie! Crust and broon aside the Roon'—but sit ye doon-no-freens, let's staun-had up your haun -bless your face-North, gie's a grace-(North says grace.) Noo let's fa' too—but hooly-hooly-hooly—what vision this ! What vision this! An Apparition or a Christian Leddy! I ken, I ken her by her curtshy-did that face no tell her name and her nature.-0 deign, Mem, to sit doon aside the Shepherd.--Pardon me-tak the head o' the table, ma honour'd Mem-and let the Shepherd sit doon aside you- --and may I mak sae bauld as to introduce Mr Buller to you, Mem ? Mr Buller, clear your een—for on the Leads o' the Lodge, in face o heaven, and the risin' sun, I noo introduce you till Mrs GENTLE.

NORTH (starting and looking wildly round). Ha!

SHEPHERD.

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She’s gane!

NORTH (recovering some of his composure). Too bad, James.

SHEPHERD.

Saw you nocht? Saw naebody ocht?

OMNES.

Nothing

SHEPHERD. A cretur o' the element! Like a' the ither loveliest sichts that veesit the een o' us mortals—but the dream o' a dream! But, thank heaven, a's no unsubstantial in this warld o'shadows. Were ony o us to say sae, this breakfast wou'd gie him the lee! Noo, Gurney, mind hoo ye exten' your short haun.

SMALL STILL VOICE.

BULLER.

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NORTH.

Aye, aye, sir.
"O Gurney! shall I call thee bird, or but a wandering voice !"

“O blessed Bird ! the world we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial faery-place,
That is fit home for Thee!”

Printed by Ballantyne and Company, Paul's Work, Edinburgh.

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