Beregonium. Would ye believe it, Tickler, he talks of their having discovered some of the old water-pipes lately, where the streets were: And all this anno five hundredesimo, or so? HOGG (rousing.) Hech-eeaueeooeeyaaahee-hech yaw-aw-aw-ee-what's that you're saying about the water-pipes of Beregonium? ODOHERTY. North was only remarking that you had made a sinall mistake-they turn out to be the gas-pipes, Hogg, that's all. HOGG. Like aneugh. I never saw them mysell. But how can ane tell a gas-pipe frae a water-pipe? ODOHERTY. Smaller in the bore, you know. And, besides, the stink is still quite discernible. Professor Leslie and Dr Brewster are hot as to the question, whether it had been oil-gas, or coal-gas. You must read that controversy ere your second edition come out. HOGG. Certainly, will I. Do they quote Queen Hynde meikle? ODOHERTY. Thumping skreeds of her. Upon my word, Hogg, we are all quite delighted with Queen Hynde. HOGG. Toots, man. Ay, I can make as braw poetry as ony ane o' them a', when I like to tak the fash. I've a far better ane than the Queen on the stocks, out bye yonder. I was just wearied wi' writing sae mony prose novells-it's just a pleasure to me to be skelping awa' at the auld tredd again. TICKLER. ODoherty has been reading us some of your best passages. I am heartily charmed, Hogg ; I wish you joy, with all my soul. HOGG. Wha the mischief set him on reading me? I'm sure he never could read onything in a dacent-like way since he was cleckit-rax me the Queen, and I'll let you hear a bit that will gar your hearts dinnle again-rax me the Queen, I say. Here's to ye a'-o' that's clean pushion-rax me the Queen-wha made that awfu' jug?-I'll read you a real chifdoover noo.-Ay, here's the bit. I see it's marked wi' the keelavine. That's some sense, hooever-oo ay, I see it's Mr North's ain copy-I kent it wad never be yours, Captain; ye have na the discretion to pick out a piece like this. Ye wad neyer ken't by the lave-(reads ore rotundissimo.) "No muse was ever invoked by me, But an uncouth Harp of olden key; And with her have I ranged the Border green, The Grampians stern, and the starry sheen; With my grey plaid flapping around the And ragged coat, with its waving wings; I knew it was no earthly strain, Or tuneful angels passing away When the cloudy curtain pervaded the east, And the sunbeam kiss'd its humid breast, now. They were from thee, thou radiant dame, O'er fancy's region that reign'st supreme; Of foible, of freak, of gambol, and glee, And all that teazes, O come to my bower, here deep in Thou Queen of the land 'twixt heaven and hell; Even now thou seest, and smilest to see, A shepherd kneel on his sward to thee: But sure thou wilt come with thy gleesome train, To assist in his last and lingering strain: O come from thy halls of the emerald bright, Thy bowers of the green and the mellow light, That shrink from the blaze of the summer noon, And ope to the light of the modest moon! Its warp of the moonbeam, and weft of the dew; I have open'd the woodbine's velvet vest, And thought, as I eyed its changing sphere, My fairy Queen might sojourn there. Then would I sigh and turn me around, And lay my ear to the hollow ground, To the little air-springs of central birth, That bring low murmurs out of the earth; And there would I listen, in breathless way, Till I heard the worm creep through the clay, And the little blackamoor pioneer A-grubbing his way in darkness drear; Her smile, where a thousand witcheries Nought cheer'd me on which the day play, And her eye, that steals the soul away; The strains that tell they were never mundane; And the bells of her palfrey's flowing mane; For oft have I heard their tinklings light, And oft have I seen her at noon of the night, light shone, For the children of darkness moved alone! Yet neither in field, nor in flowery heath, In heaven above, nor in earth beneath, In star, nor in moon, nor in midnight wind, His elvish Queen could her minstrel find. But now I have found thee, thou vagrant thing, With her beauteous elves in the pale Though where I neither dare say nor Thou Queen of the land of the gloaming And pure as the star of the western hea -There's a strain for you, lads. What say ye to that ane, Mr Tickler? Did Byron ever come that length, think ye? Deil a foot of him. Deil a foot of ane o' them. ODOHERTY. It certainly can't be denied, that when you please, you outstrip the whole pack of them. HOGG. Every mither's son o' them. Hoots! Hoots!-od, man, if I did but really pit furth my strength! ye wad see something TICKLER, (aside) Preposterous vanity!-ha! ha! ha! ha! hah! NORTH. Come, James, you must not talk thus when you go out into the town. It may pass here, but the public will laugh at you. You have no occasion for this sort of trumpetting neither, no, nor for any sort of trumpetting. Sir, you have produced an unequal, but, on the whole, a most spirited poem. Sir, there are passages in this volume, that will kindle the hearts of our children's children. James Hogg, I tell you honestly, I consider you to be a genuine poet. HOGG, (sobbing.) You're ower gude to me, sir, you're clean ower gude to me-I canna bide to expose mysell this way before ye a'-Gie me your haund, sir,-Gie me your haund too, Mr Tickler-Och, sirs! och, sirs! (weeps.) NORTH. Come, Hogg, you know Old Grizzy has a bed for you, this time. You shall go home with me to James's Court-Come away, James-(aside). What a jewel it is, Timothy (Exeunt.) Printed by James Ballantyne & Co. Edinburgh. THE POLITICAL ECONOMIST. ESSAY III, PART II. NEW SERIES OF SAYINGS AND DOINGS, 131 152 ib. ib. 153 154 ib. ib. 155 167 WORKS PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION, MONTHLY LIST OF NEW PUBLICATIONS, 180 186 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, No. 17, PRINCE'S STREET, EDINBURGH ; AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON; To whom Communications (post paid) may be addressed. SOLD ALSO BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS OF THE UNITED KINGDOM. PRINTED BY JAMES BALLANTYNE & CO. EDINBURGH. Also just Published, BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE, No. XCVIII. for March 1825. CONTENTS. The Roman Catholic Church of Ireland.-The Subaltern, Chap. I. II. III. and IV.-Horæ Germanicæ, No. 20. Schiller's Wilhelm Tell.-ÖDoherty on Irish Songs. The Illiberal, No. I.-Letters from the Continent, No. II.Works of the first Importance, No. I.-Antommarchi's Last Days of Napoleon. The Minuet.-The Narrative of the Death of Blanche of Bourbon.Retsche's Outlines to Fridolin.-Beck's Medical Jurisprudence.-Noctes Ambrosianæ, No, XIX. &c. &c. &c. |