SIR WALTER'S METAPHYSICS AT FAULT. 141 the hand, and conveys to the mind a report respecting the size, substance, and the like, of the member touching." Shepherd. That's geyan kittle.' North. It is so only because badly expressed-and indeed the last part of the sentence does not contain the meaning which the Baronet supposes or intends-but let that pass Shepherd. You're no lettin't pass, you savage. North. But hark what follows. "Now, as during sleep the patient is unconscious," quoth Sir Walter, "that both limbs. are his own identical property, his mind is apt to be much disturbed by the complication of sensations arising from two parts of his person being at once acted upon, and from their reciprocal action; and false impressions are thus received, which, accurately inquired into, would afford a clue to many puzzling phenomena in the theory of dreams." Shepherd. What! is a patient in sleep unconscious that baith limbs are his ain identical property?—I canna swallow that. North. But suppose we do swallow it, James, and then consequences the very reverse of those Sir Walter mentions must ensue. For by this unconsciousness, all the complication of sensations which Sir Walter so clumsily explains the cause of, is prevented from taking place. It becomes impossible. Shepherd. Sae it does, sir. I never observed that afore, till you pointed it out. 'Tis anither cut-throat contradiction. North. But, countryman, lend me your ears. As an illustration of the effect of this complication of sensations that may be produced in a dream, Sir Walter tells us a story of a nobleman, who once awoke in horror, still feeling the cold dead grasp of a corpse's hand on his right wrist. It was a minute before he discovered that his own left hand was in a state of numbness, and with it he had accidentally encircled his right arm. Now, James, this story, which Sir Walter tells to illustrate how the "patient's mind was disturbed by the complication of sensations arising from two parts of his person," illustrates the very reverse, namely, how the patient's mind was disturbed, but by one simple sensation, that of a corpse's hand, his own hand being perfectly numb, that is, without sensation at all, and acting therefore precisely as a corpse's 1 Geyan kittle-rather difficult-to follow. 142 ENTER ST AMBROSE AND HIS MONKS. hand, or a piece of lead. So much for Sir Walter's metaphysics. Shepherd. Hurraw-Hurraw!-Hollo! Gurney! [The time-piece strikes Twelve-and enter St Ambrose and his Monks with a roasted goose, son of the celebrated prize-goose who won the stubble-sweepstakes in 1829; and ditto hare, the identical animal killed by Lord Eglinton's goshawk, by which he won the cup at the last meeting of the Ardrossan Coursing Club. GURNEY emerges from the ear of Dionysius, and the Noctes closes. XXVIII. (FEBRUARY 1831.) Scene, The Snuggery. Time,-Nine. Present,-NORTH, SHEPHERD, and TICKLER. Tickler. CENTAUR! No more like a centaur, James, than he is like a whale. Ducrow1 is not "demi-corpsed " -as Shakespeare said of Laertes — with what he bestrides; how could he, with half-a-dozen horses at a time? If the blockheads will but look at a centaur, they will see that he is not six horses and one man, but one manhorse or horseman, galloping on four feet, with one tail, and one face much more humane than either of ours Shepherd. Confine yoursel to your ain face, Mr Tickler. A centaur would hae sma' diffeeculty in ha'in a face mair humane nor yours, sir—for it's mair like the face o' Notus or Eurus nor a Christian's; but as for ma face, sir, it's meeker and milder than that o' Charon himsel North. Chiron, James. Shepherd. Weel, then, Cheeron be't-when he was instillin wisdom, music, and heroism intil the sowl o' Achilles, him that afterwards grew up the maist beautifu' and dreadfu' o' a' the sons o' men. Tickler. The glory of Ducrow lies in his Poetical Impersonations. Why, the horse is but the air, as it were, on which he flies! What godlike grace in that volant motion, fresh from Olympus, ere yet "new-lighted on some heaven-kissing hill!" What seems 66 the feathered Mercury" to care for the horse, whose side his toe but touches, as if it were a cloud in the ether? As the flight accelerates, the animal absolutely 1 See ante, vol. ii. p. 81. 144 DUCROW'S IMPERSONATIONS. disappears, if not from the sight of our bodily eye, certainly from that of our imagination, and we behold but the messenger of Jove, worthy to be joined in marriage with Iris. Shepherd. I'm no just sae poetical's you, Mr Tickler, when I'm at the Circus; and ma bodily een, as ye ca' them, that's to say, the een, ane on ilka side o' ma nose, are far ower gleg ever to lose sicht o' yon bonny din meer. North. A dun mare, worthy indeed to waft Green Turban, "Far descended of the Prophet line," across the sands of the Desert. Shepherd. Ma verra thocht! As she flew round like lichtnin, the sawdust o' the amphitheatre becam the sand-dust o' Arawbia-the heaven-doomed region, for ever and aye, o' the sons o' Ishmael. Tickler. Gentlemen, you are forgetting Ducrow. Shepherd. Na. It's only you that's forgettin the din meer. His Mercury's beautifu'; but his Gladiawtor's shooblime.1 Tickler. Roman soldier you mean, James. Shepherd. Haud your tongue, Tickler. Isna a Roman sodger a Gladiawtor? Doesna the verra word, Gladiawtor, come frae the Latin for swurd? Nae wunner the Romans conquered a' the warld, gin a' their sodgers focht like yon! Sune as Ducraw tyuck his attitude, as steadfast on the steed as on a stane, there ye beheld, staunin afore you, wi' helmet, swurd, and buckler, the eemage o' a warriour-king! The hero looked as gin he were about to engage in single combat wi' some hero o' the tither side some giant Gaul-perhaps himsel a king-in sicht o' baith armies-and by the eaglecrest could ye hae sworn, that sune would the barbaric host be in panic-flicht. What ither man o' woman born could sustain sic strokes, delivered wi' sovereign micht and sovereign majesty, as if Mars himsel had descended in mortal guise, to be the champion o' his ain eternal city. North. Ma verra thocht. Shepherd. Your thocht! you bit puir, useless, trifling cretur! -Ax your pardon, sir for really, in the enthusiasm o' the moment, I had forgotten wha's vice it was, and thocht it was Mr Tickler's. 1 Ducrow's impersonations of ancient statues were as perfect as his horsemanship. Tickler. Whose ? CALEDONIA INVICTA. 145 Shepherd. Sit still, sir. I wunner gin the Romans, in battle, used, like our sodgers, to cry, "Huzzaw, huzzaw, huzzaw !" North. We learned it from them, James. And ere all was done, we became their masters in that martial vociferation. Its echoes frightened them at last among the Grampians; and they set sail from unconquered Caledon. Shepherd. What a bluidy beatin Galgacus gied Agricola ! North. He did so indeed, James-yet see how that fellow, his son-in-law, Tacitus, lies like a bulletin. He swears the Britons lost the battle. Shepherd. Haw, haw, haw! What? I've been at the verra spat-and the tradition's as fresh as if it had been but the verra day after the battle, that the Romans were cut aff till a man. North. Not one escaped? Shepherd. Deevil the ane the hills, whare the chief carnage rotted, are greener nor the lave till this hour. Nae white clover grows there—nae white daisies—wad you believe me, sir, they're a' red. The life-draps seepit1 through the grun'-and were a body to dig doun far aneuch, wha kens but he wouldna come to coagulated gore, strengthening the soil aneath, till it sends up showers o' thae sanguinary gowans and clover, the product o' inextinguishable Roman bluid ?? Tickler. The Living Statues! North. Perfect. The very Prometheus of Eschylus. Oh! James what high and profound Poetry was the Poetry of the world of old! To steal fire from heaven-what a glorious conception of the soul in its consciousness of immortality! Shepherd. And what a glorious conception o' the sowl, in its consciousness o' immortality, o' Divine Justice! O the mercy o' Almichty Jove! To punish the Fire-stealer by fastenin him doun to a rock, and sendin a vultur to prey on his liver-perpetually to keep prey-preyin on his puir liver, sirs-waur even nor the worm that never dees,—or, if no waur, at least as ill-rug-ruggin-gnaw-gnawin—tear 1 Seepit-soaked. 2 As Lotichius sings of the banks of the Neckar VOL. III. "Ripa gerit regum natos e sanguine flores, |