Shepherd. There again Dr Paris speaks great nonsense, for Shakespeare meant no affront to a good denner—and too many great folk quote and allude to him with ignorance and presumption. Macbeth's cauldron, indeed! Had the Doctor been right, wha wadna be a witch or a warlock? But the truth is, he has written down the starvation system by the mere simple statement of that of generous repletion. I wish it were now about a quarter of an hour or ten minutes before denner, instead of twa hours after it; but I will try and put off till supper; and meanwhile here goes a sort o' nonsensical sang:

There's some souls 'll yammer and cheep 1
If a win'le-strae lie in their way;

And some through this bright world 'ill creep,
As if fear'd for the light o' God's day.

And some would not lend ye a boddle,
Although they would borrow a crown ;
And some folk 'ill ne'er fash their noddle
Wha's waukin, if they can sleep soun'.
And some wi' big scars on their face,
Point out a prin scart on a frien';
And some black as sweeps wi' disgrace,
Cry out the whole world's unclean.

Some wha on the best o't can cram,
Think a'body else maun be fu';
Some wouldna gie misery a dram,

Though they swattle themsels till they spew.
Sure's death! there can be but sma' pleasure
In livin 'mang sic a cursed crew,
An't werena the soul's sacred treasure,
The friendship that's found in a few.

That treasure, let's hoord it thegither,
Enjoy my gude luck or thole ill,
Nor grudge though wine's sent to a brither
In hoggits, when I've but a gill.

Then here's to the chiel wha's sae bauld
As to trust his ain thought to his tongue,
Wha e'en, though his trunk's growin auld,
Has a soul and a heart that are young.

1 Written by Hogg.

A CAT-CONCERT.

Before I an auld frien' forget,

My memory first I maun tine

Here's a glass for anither health yet,

Need'st thou guess, angel woman!—it's thine.

225

North. Thanks-a queer, bold, independent, soul-speaking thing

Shepherd. Mercy on us! what a deevil o' a noise! heard ye ever the like o' that?

Tickler. A cat-concert, James. The Toms and Tabbies have overheard your song, and are striking up in return an imitation of the Hunter's Chorus in the "Freischutz."

Shepherd. I've often thocht it aneuch to sicken ane o' love a' their days, just to reflec that all that hissing and spitting, and snuffing and squeaking, and squealing and howling, and growling and groaning, a' mixed up into ae infernal gallemaufry o' din, unlike onything else even in this noisy world, was, wi' these gentle domestic creatures, the saftest, sweetest expression o' the same tender passion that from Adam's lips whispered persuasion into Eve's ear in the bowers of Paradise! But it's no possible to thole this ony langer-out wi' the musket, Mr Tickler, and let drive at them —and when a's silent again, I'll gie ye anither sang.

Tickler. Take advantage of that pause, James, and begin. Shepherd. Up wi' the fiddle, then, and let's hae an accompaniment o' baith vocal and instrumental music.

North. Stop, James! Your mine is inexhaustible. But did you ever hear Irish Johnstone sing-my dear crony of the olden time, Jack Johnstone? Here goes an attempt at his style of chaunt.

226

THE HUMOURS OF DONNYBROOK FAIR.

When he came to the midst of the fair,
He was all in a paugh for fresh air,
For the fair very soon

Was as full as the moon,

Such mobs upon mobs as were there,

Oh rare!

So more luck to sweet Donnybrook fair!

The souls they came pouring in fast,
To dance while the leather would last,
For the Thomas Street brogue,
Was there in much vogue,

And oft with the brogue the joke pass'd,
Quite fast,

While the cash and the whisky did last !

But Dermot, his mind on love bent,
In search of his sweetheart he went,
Peep'd in here, peep'd in there,
As he walk'd through the fair,
And took a small taste in each tent
As he went,
Och! on whisky and love he was bent.

When, who should he spy in a jig,
With a meal-man, so tall and so big,
But his own darling Kate,
So gay and so neat-

Faith, her partner he hit him a dig,

The pig,
He beat the meal out of his wig.

The piper, to keep him in tune,
Struck up a gay lilt very soon,
Until an arch wag

Cut a hole in his bag,

And at once put an end to the tune

As ever at mother's breast smiled!

And maybe you don't know Jane Brown,
Who served goats' whey in Dundrum's sweet town.
'Twas her uncle's half brother

That married my mother,

And brought me this new yellow gown,

To go down,

When the marriage was held at Miltown.

By the powers! then, says Dermot, 'tis plain,
Like a son of that rapscallion Cain,

My best friend I have kilt,

Though no blood there is spilt,

And the devil a harm did I mane,

That's plain;

But by me he'll be ne'er kilt again!

Then the meal-man forgave him the blow
That laid him a sprawling so low,

And, being quite gay,

Asked them both to the play,

But Katty being bashful, said "No,

Oh No-No!"

Yet he treated them all to the show.

227

Shepherd. The like o' that was never heard in this warld afore. The brogue as perfec as if you had been born and bred in the bog o' Allen! How muckle better this kind o' weel-timed daffin that aye gangs on here at Southside, than literary and philosophical conversation, and criticism on the fine arts, and polemical discussion wi' red faces and fiery een

228

SHEPHERD IN THE SHOWER-BATH.

on international policy, and the corn laws, and surplus popu lation, and havers about free Tread! Was ye in the showerbath the day, Mr Tickler?

Tickler. Yes, James-do you take it?

Shepherd. I hae never yet had courage to pu' the string. In I gang and shut the door on mysel-and tak haud o' the string very gently, for the least rug 'ill bring down the squash like the Falls of the Clyde; and I look up to the machine, a' pierced wi' so many water-holes, and then I shut my een and my mouth like grim death, and then I let gae the string, and, gruin a' the time, try to whistle; and then I agree to allow myself a respite till I count fifty; and neist begin to argue wi' my ain conscience, that the promise I had made to mysel to whumle the splash-cask was only between it and me, and that the warld will ken naething about the matter if I come out again re infectâ ; and, feenally, I step out as cautiously as a thief frae a closet, and set myself down in the arm-chair, beside the towel warming at the fire, and tak up the Magazine, and peruse, perhaps, ane o' the "Noctes Ambrosianæ," till I'm like to split wi' lauchin at my ain wut, forgettin a' the time that the door's no locked, and what a figure I wud present to ony o' the servant-lasses that micht happen to come in lookin for naething, or to some collegian or contributor, come out frae Embro' during the vacance to see the Ettrick Shepherd. But I canna help thinkin, Mr Tickler, for a' your lauchin, that in a like predicament you would be a mair ridiculous mortal than mysel—But what are ye thinking on, Mr North? I dinna believe ye hae heard a word o' what I've been saying,-but it's your ain loss.

North. You were speaking of the Greek loan?
Shepherd. I was, sir. Yon's a bonny business!1

1 The details respecting the Greek loan and its gross mismanagement are to be found in the Annual Register for 1826, p. 370-376. The following extract is amusing, as showing that, just as charity begins at home, so the exertions of a great reformer, straining every nerve in behalf of an oppressed people, may end in nothing, except tightening the strings of his own purse, at the expense of those whom he is befriending. The facility of the administrators of the fund in yielding to Joseph Hume's claim is even more astounding than his audacity in advancing it. "In the first loan Mr Hume had assigned to him £10,000 stock, at the rate of £59 per hundred, the original price at which the contract was made. Some time afterwards, the bonds having fallen to 16 per cent discount, Mr Hume became alarmed, and applied to the deputies and contractors to relieve him from his loss. The deputies at first refused,-intimating that, if the