ΧΡΗ ΔΕΝ ΣΥΜΠΟΣΙΩ ΚΥΛΙΚΩΝ ΠΕΡΙΝΙΣΣΟΜΕΝΑΩΝ [This is a distich by wise old Phocylides, An ancient who wrote crabbed Greek in no silly days; Meaning, ""TIS RIGHT FOR GOOD WINEBIBBING FEOPLE, 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 I. The Octagon.-Time-Ten. NORTH. SHEPHERD. TICKLER. NORTH. Thank heaven, my dear Shepherd, Winter is come again, and Edinburgh is beginning once more to look like herself, like her name and her nature, with rain, mist, sleet, harr, hail, snow I hope, wind, storm-would that we could but add a little thunder and lightning-The Queen of the North. SHEPHERD. Hoo could you, sir, wi' a' your time at your ain command, keep in and about Embro' frae May to December? The city, for three months in the dead o' simmer, is like a tomb. TICKLER, (in a whisper to the SHEPHERD.) The widow-James-the widow. SHEPHERD, (aloud.) The weedow-sir-the weedow! Couldna he hae brocht her out wi' him to the Forest? At their time o' life, surely scandal wud hae held her tongue. TICKLER. Scandal never holds her tongue, James. She drops her poison upon the dew on the virgin's untimely grave-her breath will not let the grey hairs rest in the mould VOL. XXIV. 4 R SHEPHERD. Then, Mr North, marry her at ance, and bring her out in Spring, that you may pass the hinney-moon on the sunny braes o' Mount-Benger. NORTH. Why, James, the moment I begin to press matters, she takes out her pockethandkerchief-and through sighs and sobs, recurs to the old topic-that twenty thousand times told tale-the dear old General. SHEPHERD. Deevil keep the dear old General! Hasna the man been dead these twunty years? And if he had been leevin', wouldna he been aulder than yoursell, and far mair infirm? You're no in the least infirm, sir. NORTH. Ah, James! that's all you know. My infirmities are increasing with years SHEPHERD. Wad you be sae unreasonable as to expect them to decrease with years? Are her infirmities Hush-she has no infirmities. NORTH. SHEPHERD. Nae infirmities! Then she's no worth a brass button. But let me ask you ae interrogatory.-Hae ye ever put the question? Answer me that, sir. NORTH. Why, James, I cannot say that I ever have SHEPHERD. What! and you expeck that she wull put the question to you? That would indeed be puttin' the cart before the horse. If the women were to ask the men there wad be nae leevin' in this warld. Yet, let me tell you, Mr North, that it's a shamefu' thing to keep playin' in the way you hae been doin' for these ten years past on a young woman's feelings— TICKLER. Ha-ha-ha-James !-A young woman! Why, she's sixty, if she's an That's a douss on the chops, Mr Tickler. That's made you as red in the face as a Bubbly-Jock, sir. O the power o' ae wee bit single monosyllabic syllable o' a word to awawken a' the safter and a' the fiercer passions! Dinna keep bitin' your thoomb, Mr Tickler, like an Itawlian. Make an apology to Mr North NORTH. I will accept of no apology. The man who calls a woman old deserves death. SHEPHERD. Did you call her auld, Mr Tickler? TICKLER. To you, sir, I will condescend to reply. I did not. I merely said she was sixty if she was an hour. SHEPHERD. In the first place, dinna "Sir" me-for it's not only ill-bred, but it's stoopit. In the second place, dinna tawk o' " condescendin'" to reply to me-for that's language I'll no thole even frae the King on the throne, and I'm sure the King on the throne wadna mak use o't. In the third place, to ca' a woman saxty, and then manteen that ye didna ca' her auld, is naething short o' a sophism. And, in the fourth place, you shudna hae accompanied your remark wi' a loud haw-haw-haw-for on a tender topic a guffaw's an aggravation-and marryin' a widow, let her age be what it wull, is a tender topic, depend on't -sae that on a calm and dispassionate view o' a' the circumstances o' the case, there can be nae doot that you maun mak an apology; or, if you do not, I leave the room, and there is an end of the Noctes Ambrosianæ. NORTH. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianæ ! TICKLER. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianæ ! SHEPHERD. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianæ. OMNES. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianæ !!! NORTH. Rather than that should happen I will make a thousand apologies----- And I ten thousand TICKLER. That's behavin' like men and christians. Embrace-embrace. Where were we, James? SHEPHERD. (NORTH and TICKLER embrace.) NORTH. SHEPHERD. NORTH. I was abusin' Embro' in simmer. Why? SHEPHERD. Whey? a' the lumms smokeless! No ae jack turnin' a piece o' roastin' beef afore ae fire in ony ae kitchen in a' the New Toon! Streets and squares a' grass-grown, sae that they micht be mawn! Shops like bee-hives that hae de'ed in wunter! Coaches settin' aff for Stirlin', and Perth, and Glasgow, and no ae passenger either inside or out-only the driver keepin' up his heart wi' flourishin' his whup, and the guard, sittin' in perfect solitude, playin' an eerie spring on his bugle-horn! The shut-up play-house a' covered ower wi' bills that seem to speak o' plays acted in an antediluvian world! Here, perhaps, a leevin' creter, like ane emage, staunin' at the mouth o' a close, or hirplin' alang, like the last relic o' the plague. And oh ! but the stane-statue o' the late Lord Melville, staunin' a' by himsell up in the silent air, a hunder-and-fifty feet high, has then a ghastly seeming in the sky, like some giant condemned to perpetual imprisonment on his pedestal, and mournin' ower the desolation of the city that in life he loved so well, unheeded and unhonoured for a season in the great metropolitan heart o' the country which he ance rejoiced to enrich and beautify, telling and teaching her how to hold up her head bauldly among the nations, and like a true patriot as he was, home and abroad caring for the greatest-and the least of all her sons! NORTH. He was the greatest statesman ever Scotland produced, James; nor is she ungrateful, for the mutterings of Whig malice have died away like so much croaking in the pouchy throats of drought-dried toads, and the cheerful singing and whistling of Industry all over the beautifully cultivated Land, are the hymns perpetually exhaled to heaven along with the morning dews, in praise and commemoration of the Patriots who loved the sacred soil in which their bones lie buried. SHEPHERD. That's weel said, sir. Let there be but a body o' Truth, and nae fear but imagery will crood around it, just like shadows and sunbeams cast frae the blue sky, the white clouds, and the green trees round about the body o' some fair maid, that is some bonnie Scotch lassie, bathin' in a stream as pure as her ain thochts. There again, James! TICKLER. SHEPHERD. But to return to the near approch o' wunter. Mankind hae again putten on worsted stockins, and flannen drawers-white jeans and yellow nankeen troosers hae disappeared-dooble soles hae gotten a secure footen ower pumps-big coats wi' fur, and mantles wi' miniver, gie an agreeable rouchness to the picturesque stream o' life eddyin' alang the channel o' the streets-gloves and mittens are sae general that a red hairy haun' looks rather singular-every third body ye meet, for fear o' a sudden blash, carries an umbrella-a' folk shave noo wi' het water-coal-carts are emptyin' theirsells into ilka area-caddies at the corners o' streets and drivers on coach-boxes are seen warmin' themsells by blawin' on their fingers, or whuskin' themsells wi' their open nieves across the shoothers— skates glitter at shop-wundows prophetic o' frost-Mr Phin may tak' in his rod noo, for nae mair thocht o' anglin' till spring,-and wi' spring hersell, as wi' ither o' our best and bonniest friens, it may be said, out oʼsicht out o' mind,— you see heaps o' bears hung out for sale-horses are a' hairier o' the hide-the bit toon-bantam craws nane, and at breakfast you maun tak tent no to pree an egg afore smellin' at it-you meet hares carryin' about in a' quarters-and ggem-keepers proceedin' out into the kintra wi' strings o' grews-sparrows sit silent and smoky wi' ruffled feathers waitin' for crumbs on the ballustrawdsloud is the cacklin' in the fowl-market o' Christmas geese that come a month at least afore the day, just like thae Annuals the Forget-me-Nots, Amulets, Keepsakes, Beejoos, Gems, Anniversaries, Souvenirs, Friendship's Offerings, and Wunter-Wreaths TICKLER. Stop, James-stop. Such an accumulation of imagery absolutely confounds -perplexes SHEPHERD. Folk o' nae fancy. Then for womankind TICKLER. Oh! James, James! I knew you would not long keep off that theme Oh! ye pawkie auld carle! SHEPHERD. What ither theme in a' this wide weary warld is worth ae single thocht or feelin' in the poet's heart-ae single line frae the poet's pen-ae single NORTH. Song from the Shepherd's lyre-of which, as of the Teian Bard's of old, it may be said Α βάρβιτος δε χορδαίς Do, my dear James, give us John Nicholson's daughter. SHEPHERD. Wait a wee. The womankind, I say, sirs, never looks sae bonnie as in wunter, accepp indeed it may be in spring Or summer, or autumn, James TICKLER. SHEPHERD. Haud your tongue. You auld bachelors ken naething o' womankind-and hoo should ye, when they treat you wi' but ae feelin', that o' derision? Oh, sirs! but the dear creters do look weel in muffs-whether they haud them, wi' their invisible hauns clasped thegither in their beauty within the cozy silk linin', close prest to their innicent waists, just aneath the glad beatins o' their first-love-touched hearts There again, James ! TICKLER. SHEPHERD. Or haud them hingin' frae their extended richt arms, leavin' a' the feegur visible, that seems taller and slimmer as the removed muff reveals the clasps o' the pelisse a' the way doon frae neck till feet! NORTH. Look at Tickler-James-how he moves about in his chair. His restless ness SHEPHERD. Is no unnatural. Then, sir, is there, in a' the beautifu' and silent unfauldin's o' natur amang plants and flowers, ony thing sae beautifu' as the white, smooth, saft chafts o' a bit smilin' maiden o' saxteen, aughteen, or twunty, blossomin' out, like some bonnie bud o' snaw-white satin frae a coverin' o' rough leaves, blossom in' out, sirs, frae the edge o' the fur-tippet, that haply a lover's happy haun had delicately hung ower her gracefu' shoothers—oh the dear delightfu' little Laplander! I wush you only heard the way the bonnie croo-din-doos keep murmurin' their jeists to ane anither, as soon as a nest o' them gets rid o' an auld bacheleer on Prince's Street. Gets rid o' an auld bachelor! TICKLER. SHEPHERD. Booin' and scrapin' to them after the formal and stately fashion o' the auld school o' politeness, and thinking himsell the very pink o' coortesy, wi' a goldheaded cane aiblins, nae less, in his haun', and buckles on's shoon-for buckles are no quite out yet a'thegither-a frill like a fan at the shirt neck o' him— and, wad the warld beleeve't, knee-breeks!—then they titter-and then they lauch-and then, as musical as if they were singin' in pairts, the bonnie, bloomin', innicent wicked creters break out into-I maunna say, o' sic rosy lips, and sic snawy breasts, a guffaw-but a guffay, sirs, a guffay-for that's the feminine o' guffaw NORTH. Tickler, we really must not allow ourselves to be insulted in this style any longer SHEPHERD. And then awa they trip, sirs, flingin' an antelope's or gazelle's ee ower their shouther, diverted beyond measure to see their antique beau continuing at a distance to cut capers in his pride-till a' at ance they see a comet in the sky-a young offisher o' dragoons, wi' his helmet a' in a low wi' a flicker o' red feathers-and as he " turns and winds his fiery Pegassus," they are a' mute as death-yet every face at the same time eloquent wi' mantling smiles, and wi' blushes that break through and around the blue heavens of their een, like crimson clouds to sudden sunlight burning beautiful for a moment, and then melting away like a thocht or a dream! NORTH. Why, my dear James, it does one's heart good even to be ridiculed in the language of Poetry. Does it not, Tickler? TICKLER. James, your health, my dear fellow. SHEPHERD. I never ridicule ony body, sirs, that's no fit to bear it. But there's some sense and some satisfaction in makin' a fule o' them, that, when the fiend's in them, can mak fules o' a' body, like North and Tickler. NORTH. You would cackle, my dear James, were I to tell you how the laugh went against me, tother day on the Calton Hill. SHEPHERD. The laugh went against you, sir? That forebodes some evil to the State o' Denmark. NORTH. I had chanced to take a stroll, James, round the Calton Hill, and feeling my toe rather twitchy, I sat down on a bench immediately under Nelson's Monument, and having that clever paper the Observer of the day in my pocket, I began to glance over its columns, when my attention was suddenly attracted to a confused noise of footsteps, whisperings, titterings, and absolutely guffaws, James, circling round the base of that ingenious model of a somewhat clumsy churn, Nelson's Monument. Looking through my specs-lo! a multitude of all sexes-more especially the female-kept congregating round me, some with a stare, others with a simper, some with a full open-mouthed laugh, and others with a half-shut-eye leer, which latter mode of expressing her feelings, is, in a woman, to me peculiarly loathsome,-while ever and anon I |