Noctes Ambrosianae. No. XXXVIII. ΧΡΗ ΔΕΝ ΣΥΜΠΟΣΙΩ ΚΥΛΙΚΩΝ ΠΕΡΙΝΙΣΣΟΜΕΝΑΩΝ [This is a distich by wise old Phocylides, Σ. PHOC. ap. Ath. An ancient who wrote crabbed Greek in no silly days ; Meaning, ""TIS RIGHT FOR GOOD WINEBIBBING people, "NOT TO LET THE JUG PACE ROUND THE BOARD LIKE A CRIPPLE; "BUT GAILY TO CHAT WHILE DISCUSSING THEIR TIPPLE." An excellent rule of the hearty old cock 'tis And a very fit motto to put to our Noctes,] C. N. ap. Ambr. SCENE-Large Dining-Room.-Time uncertain.—North discovered sitting upright in his easy-chair, with arms a-kimbo on his crutch, asleep.. Enter the SHEPHERD, and MR AMBROSE. SHEPHERD. Lord safe us! only look at him sitting asleep. Whatan a face!-Dinna leave the parlour, Mr Awmrose, for it would be fearsome to be alane wi' the Vision. AMBROSE. The heat of the fire has overcome the dear old gentleman-but he will soon awake; and may I make so bold, Mr Hogg, as to request that you do not disturb SHEPHERD. What! Wad ye be for my takin' aff my shoon, and gliding ower the Turkey carpet on my stocking soles, like a pard or panther on the Lybian sands? AMBROSE. (Suaviter in modo.) I beg pardon, sir, but you have got on your top-boots this evening. SHEPHERD. Eh! sae I hae. And tryin' to rug them aff, tae and heel, aneath the foot o' a chair, wad be sure to wauken him wi' ane o' thae froons o' his, aneuch to dant the deevil. AMBROSE. I never saw Mr North frown, Mr Hogg, since we came to Picardy. I hope, sir, you think him in his usual health? SHEPHERD. That's a gude ane, Awmrose. You think him near his latter end, 'cause he's gi'en up that hellish froon that formerly used sae aften to make his face frichtsome? Ye ne'er saw him froon sin' ye came to Picardy?-Look, there -only look at the creatur's face A darkness comes across it, like a squall AMBROSE. I fear he suffers some inward qualm, sir. His stomach, I fear, sir, is out of order. SHEPHERD. His stamach is ne'er out o' order. It's an ingine that aye works sweetly. But what think you, Mr Awmrose, o' a quawm o' conscience? . AMBROSE. Mr North never, in all his life, I am sure, so much as injured a fly. Oh! dear me! he must be in very great pain. SHEPHERD. So froon'd he aince, when in an angry parle He smote the sliding Pollock on the ice. AMBROSE. You allude, sir, to that day at the curling on Duddingston Loch. But you must allow, Mr Hogg, that the brute of a carter deserved the crutch. It was pretty to see the old gentleman knock him down. The crack on the ice made by the carter's skull was like a star, sir. SHEPHERD. The clud's blawn aff-and noo his countenance is pale and pensive, and no without a kind o' reverend beauty, no very consistent wi' his waukin' character. But the faces o' the most ferocious are a placid in sleep and in death. That is an impressive fizziological and sykological fack. AMBROSE. How can you utter the word death in relation to him, Mr Hogg? Were he dead, the whole world might shut up shop. SHEPHERD. Na, na. Ye micht, but no the warld. There never leev'd a man the warld miss'd, ony mair than a great, green, spreading simmer tree misses a leaf that fa's doon on the moss aneath its shadow. AMBROSE. Were ye looking round for something, sir? SHEPHERD. Ay; gie me that cork aff yon table-I'll burn't on the fire, and then blacken his face wi' coom. AMBROSE. (Placing himself in an imposing attitude between NORTH and the SHEPHERD.) Then it must be through my body, sir. Mr Hogg, I am always proud and happy to see you in my house; but the mere idea of such an outrage-such sacrilege-horrifies me; the roof would fall down-the whole land SHEPHERD. Tuts, man, I'm only jokin'. Oh! but he wad mak a fine pictur! I wish John Watson Gordon were but here to pent his face in iles. What a mass o' forehead! an inch atween every wrinkle, noo scarcely visible in the cawm o' sleep! Frae cebree to croon o' the head a lofty mountain o' snaw-a verra Benlediwi' rich mineral ore aneath the surface, within the bowels o' the skull, copper, silver, and gold! Then what a nose! Like a bridge, along which might be driven cart-loads o' intellect;-neither Roman nor Grecian, hooked nor cockit, a wee thocht inclined to the ae side, the pint being a pairt and pendicle o' the whole, an object in itsell, but at the same time finely smoothed aff and on intil the featur; while his nostrils, small and red, look as they would emit fire, and had the scent o' a jowler or a vultur. AMBROSE. There never were such eyes in a human head SHEPHERD. I like to see them sometimes shut. The instant Mr North leaves the room, after denner or sooper, it's the same thing as if he had carried aff wi' him twa o' the fowre cawnles. AMBROSE. I have often felt that, sir,-exactly that, but never could express it. If at any time he falls asleep, it is just as if the waiter or myself had snuffed out SHEPHERD. Let my image alane, Mr Awmrose, and dinna ride it to death-dooble. But what I admire maist o' a' in the face o' him, is the auld man's mouth. There's a warld's difference, Mr Awmrose, atween a lang mouth and a wide ane. 3 T VOL. XXIV. AMBROSE. There is, Mr Hogg, there is-they are two different mouths entirely. I have often felt that, but could not express it SHEPHERD. Mr Awmrose, you're a person that taks notice o' a hantle o' things-and there canna be a stronger proof, or a better illustration, of the effeck o' the conversation o' a man o' genius like me, than its thus seeming to express former feelings and fancies of the awditor-whereas, the truth is, that it disna wauken them for the second time, but communicates them for the first-for believe me, that the idea o' the cawnles, and eke o' the difference wi' a distinction atween wide mouths and lang anes, never entered your mind afore, but are baith, bona feedy, the property o' my ain intellect. AMBROSE. I ask you many pardons, Mr Hogg. They are both your own, I now perceive, and I promise never to make use of them without your permission in writing-or SHEPHERD. 66 Poo-I'm no sae pernickity as that about my original ideas; only when folk do mak use o' my obs, I think it but fair they should add," as Mr Hogg well said," "as the Ettrick Shepherd admirably remarked," as the celebrated author o' the Queen's Wake, wi' his usual felicity, observed"—and so forthand ma faith, if some folk that's reckond yeloquent at roots and petty soopers, were aye to do that, when they're what's ca'd maist brilliant, my name wad be seldom out o' their mouths. Even North himsell AMBROSE. Do not be angry with me, sir-but it's most delightful to hear Mr North and you bandying matters across the table; ye take such different views always of the same subject; yet I find it, when standing behind the Chair, impossible not to agree with you both. SHEPHERD. That's just it, Mr Awmrose. That's the way to exhowst a subject. The ane o' us ploughs down the rig, and the other across, then on wi' the harrows, and the field is like a garden. See, sir, he stirs ! AMBROSE. SHEPHERD. The crutch is like a very tree growin' out o' the earth-so stracht and steddy. I daursay he sleeps wi't in his bed. Noo-ye see his mouth to perfection-just a wee open-shewing the teeth-a smile and no a snarl-the thin lips o' him slightly curled and quiverin', and the corners drawn doon a wee, and then up again wi' a swirl, gien wonderfu' animation to his yet ruddy cheeks-a mouth unitin' in ane, Mr Jaffray's and that o' Canning's and Cicero's busts. AMBROSE. No young lady-no widow-could look at him now, as he sits there, Mr Hogg, God bless him, without thinking of a first or second husband. Many is the offer he must have refused! SHEPHERD. Is that your fashun in Yorkshire, Mr Awmrose, for the women to ask the men to marry? Faith, ye speak Latin as weel's mysell.-Do you ken the Doctrine o' Dreams? AMBROSE. No, sir. Dreaming seems to me a very unintelligible piece of business. SHEPHERD. So thinks Mr Coleridge and Kubla Khan. But the sowl, ye see, is swayed by the senses and it's in my power the noo that Mr North's half-sleepin' and half-waukin', to mak him dream o' a' sorts o' deaths-nay, to dream that he is himsell dreeing a' sorts o' deaths-ane after the ither in ruefu' succes sion, as if he were some great criminal undergcing capital punishments in the wild warld o' sleep. AMBROSE. That would be worse than blacking my dear master's face-for by that name I love to call him. You must not inflict on him the horror of dreams. SHEPHERD. There can be nae such thing as cruelty in a real philosophical experiment. In philosophy, though not in politics, the end justifies the means. Be quiet, Awmrose. There noo, I hae drapped some cauld water on his bald powand its tricklin' doon his haffets to his lugs. Whisht! wait a wee! There na, ye see his mouth openin' and his chest heavin', as if the waters o' the deep sea were gullaring in his throat. He's now droonin'! AMBROSE. I cannot support this-Mr Hogg-I must SHEPHERD. Haud back, sir. Look how he's tryin' to streik out his richt leg, as if it had gotten the cramp. He's tryin' to cry for help. Noo he has risen to the surface for the third and last time. Noo he gies ower strugglin', and sinks doon to the broon-ribbed sand amang the crawling partens ! I must-I shall waken him AMBROSE. SHEPHERD. "The dream'd death-fit is ower, for the water's dried-and he thinks himsell walkin' up Leith Walk, and then stracht intil Mr Blackwood's shop. But noo we'll hang him— AMBROSE. My God! that it should ever have come to this! Yet there is an interest in such philosophical experiments, Mr Hogg, which it is impossible to resist. But do not, I beseech you, keep him long in pain. SHEPHERD. There I just tichten a wee on his wizen his black neck-hankerchief, and in a moment you'll see him get blue in the face. Quick as the "lightning on a collied night," the dream comes athwart his sowl! He's on the scaffold, and the grey-headed, red-eyed, white-faced hangman's lean shrivelled hands are fumblin' about his throat, fixin' the knot on the juglar! See how puir North clutches the cambric, naturally averse to fling it frae him, as a signal for the drap! It's no aboon a minute since we began the experiment, and yet during that ae minute, has he planned and perpetrated his crime-nae doubt murder, concealed himsell for a month in empty hovels, and tombs, in towns,-in glens, and muirs, and woods, in the kintra,-been apprehended, for a reward o' one hundred guineas, by twa red-coated sheriff's officers-imprisoned till he had nearly run his letters,-stood his trial frae ten in the mornin' till twelve o'clock at nicht-examination o' witnesses, the speech o' the croon coonsel, and that o' the coonsel for the panel too, and the soomin' up o' the Lord Justice Clerk, nane o' the three shorter than twa hours,-been prayed till, frae day-break to breakfast, by three ministers,-O sickenin' breakfast!-Sat'n in a chair on account of his gout-a lang lang time on the scaffold-and then aff he goes with a swing, a swirl, and a general shriek--and a' within the space o' some forty seconds o' the time that passes in the outer air world, which we wauken' creatures inhabit--but which is the true time, and which is the fause, it's no for me to say, for I'm nae metaphysician; and judge o' time, either by the shadows on the hill, or on the stane sun-dial, or by the short and lang haun' o' our aught-day clock. AMBROSE. Mr Hogg, it is high time this were put an end to,-my conscience accuses me of a great crime-and the moment Mr North awakes, I will make a clean bosom of it, and confess the whole. SHEPHERD. What! you'll 'peach, will you? In that case, it is just as weel to proceed to the last extremity. Rax me owre the carvin' knife, and I'll guillotine him Shocking, shocking, Mr Hogg! AMBROSE. (The SHEPHERD and AMBROSE struggle violently for the possession of the carving knife,―amid cries from the latter of “ Thieves-Robbers-FireMurder!"-and in the struggle they fall against the chimney-piece, to the clash of shovel, poker, and tongs. BRONTE, who has been sleeping under NORTH's chair, bursts out with a bull-bellow, a tiger-growl, and a lion-roar-and NORTH awakes-collaring the SHEPHERD.) BRONTE. Bow-wow-wow-WÓW-wow-wow SHEPHERD. 'Ca' aff your doug, Mr North,-ca' aff your doug! He's devoorin' meNORTH. (Undisturbed from his former posture.) Gentlemen, what is the meaning of all this-you seem discomposed? James! engaged in the duello with Mr Ambrose? Mr Ambrose ! (Exit MR AMBROSE, retrogredicns, much confused. SHEPHERD. I'll ca' him out-I'll ca' him out wi' pistols. He was the first aggressor. NORTH. Arrange your dress, James, then sit down, and narrate to me truly these plusquam civilia bella. SHEPHERD. Why, ye see, sir, a gentleman in the hotel, a Russian General, I believe, was anxious to see you sleepin', and to take a sketch o' you in that predicament for the Emperor, and Mr Awmrose insisted on bringin' him in, whether I would or no,-and as I know you have an antipathy against having your head taken aff-as naebody can hit the face, and a' the likenesses yet attempted are mere caricatures-I rose to oppose the entrance o' the General. Mr Ambrose put himself into what I could not but construe a fechting attitude, though I daursay it was only on the defensive; we yokit, and on me tryin' to hough him, we tumbled again' the mantel-piece, and you awoke. This is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. (NORTH rings the bell violently, and MR AMBROSE appears.) NORTH. Shew in the Russian General, sir. AMBROSE. The Russian General, sir! NORTH. How dare you repeat my words? I say, sir, shew in the Russian General. SHEPHERD. Haw-haw-haw-baw-haw-haw-haw-haw!-I'm like to spleet!-haw -haw-haw-haw-haw-haw! NORTH, (with dignity.) These manners, sir, may do in Ettrick-or the Forest-where the breed of wild boars is not wholly extirpated-but in Edinburgh we expect— SHEPHERD. Na-gin that be the way o't, I maun be on my mettle too. As for your wutticism, sir, about the boars, it's just perfectly contemptible, and, indeed, at the best, nae better than a maist meeserable pun. And as to mainners, I'll bet you a ten-gallon cask to a half-mutchkin, that I'll show an elder in Yarrow-Kirk, ony Sabbath atween this and Christmas, that shall outmainner your ainsell, wi' a' your high breedin', in every thing that constitutes true natural dignity-and as for female mainners, seleck the maist yelegant and fashionable leddy that you see walkin' alang Prince's Street, wi' a bonnet bigger than a boyne, atween three and four o' the afternoon, when the street's like a stream, and gin I dinna bring frae the Forest, within a mile's range, wi' Mount Benger the centre o' the circle, a bare-legged lassie, wi' hauns, aiblins, red and hard wi' milkin' the coos, wi' naething on her head but a bit pinch-beck kame, that shall outmainner your city madam, till she blush black through the red pent on her cheeks-my name's no James Hogg-that's all-And whether you tak the wager or no, let me tell you to the face o' you, that you're a damned arrogant, upsettin', impudent fallow, and that I do not care the |