208

SHEPHERD'S DREAM OF BEING BEHEADED.

breeks, and coat short at the cuffs, sae that his thick hairy wrists are visible when he's adjustin the halter, hair red red, yet no sae red as his bleared een, glarin wi' an unaccountable fairceness, for Lord hae mercy upon us, can man o' woman born, think ye, be fairce on a brither, when handlin his wizen' às executioner, and hearin, although he was deaf, the knockin o' his distracted heart that wadna break for a' its meesery, but like a watch stoppin when it gets a fa' on the stanes, in ae minute lies quate, when down wi' a rummle gangs the platform o' the scaffold, and the soul o' the son o' sin and sorrow is instantly in presence of its eternal Judge! North. Pleasant subject-matter for conversation after dinner, gentlemen. In my opinion, hangin

Shepherd. Haud your tongue about hangin: It's discussed. Gin you've got onything to say about beheadin, let's hear you-for I've dreamt o' that too, but it was a mere flee-bite to the other mode o' execution. Last time I was beheaded, it was for a great National Conspiracy, found out just when the mine was gaun to explode, and blaw up the King on his throne, the constitution, as it was ca'd, and the kirk. Do ye want to hear about it?

North. Proceed, you rebel.

Shepherd. A' the city sent out its population into ae michty square, and in the midst thereof was a scaffold forty feet high, a' hung wi' black cloth, and open to a' the airts.2 A block like a great anvil, only made o' wood instead o' airn, was in the centre o' the platform, and there stood the Headsman wi' a mask on, for he was frichtened I wad see his face, sax feet high and some inches, wi' an axe ower his shouther, and his twa naked arms o' a fearsome thickness, a' crawlin wi' sinews, like a yard o' cable to the sheet-anchor o' a man-o'war. A hairy fur-cap towered aboon his broos, and there were neither shoes nor stockings on his braid splay feet, juist as if he were gaun to dance on the boards. But he never mudged-only I saw his een rollin through the vizor, and they were baith bloodshot. He gied a gruesome cough, or something not unlike a lauch, that made ice o' my bluid; and at that verra minute, hands were laid on me, I kentna by whom or whither, and shears began clipping my hair, and fingers like leeches creeped about my neck, and then without 1 Wizen-the throat. 2 Airts-points of the compass.

HIS SPEECH ON THE SCAFFOLD.

209

ony farther violence, but rather as in the freedom o' my ain wull, my head was lying on the block, and I heard a voice praying, till a drum drowned it and the groans o' the multitude together-and then a hissin that, like the sudden east wind, had muved the verra mournins o' the scaffold.

Tickler. North, put about the bottle. Will you never be cured of that custom of detaining the crystals?

North. I am rather squeamish-a little faintish or so. James, your good health. Now proceed.

Shepherd. Damn their drums, thocht I, they're needlessfor had I intended to make a speech, would I not have delivered it afore I laid down my head on the block? As for the hissin, I kent weel aneuch they werena hissin me, but the Man in the mask and the big hairy fur-cap, and the naked feet, wi' the axe in his hands raised up, and then let down again, ance, twice, thrice, measuring the spat on my craig1 to a nicety, that wi' ae stroke my head might roll over into the bloody sawdust.

Tickler. Mr North, Mr North-my dear sir, are you ill? My God, who could have thocht it!—Hogg, Christopher has fainted! Shepherd. Let him faint. The executioner was daunted, for the hiss gaed through his heart; and thae horrid arms o' his, wi' a' their knots o' muscle, waxed weak as the willowwands. The axe fell out o' his hauns, and being sharp, its ain wecht drove it quivering into the block, and close to my ear the verra senseless wud gied a groan. I louped up on to my feet-I cried wi' a loud voice, "Countrymen, I stand here for the sacred cause of Liberty all over the world!"

North (reopening his eyes). "The cause of Liberty all over the world!" Who gave that toast? Hush-hushwhere am I? What is this? Is that you, James? What, music? Bagpipes? No-no-no-a ringing in my poor old ears. I have been ill, I feel very, very ill. Hark you, Tickler,-hark you-no heeltaps, I suppose" The cause of Liberty all over the world!"

Shepherd. The shouting was sublime. Then was the time for a speech-Not a drum dared to murmur-With the bandage still ower my een, and the handkerchief in my hand, which I had forgotten to drap, I burst out into such a torrent of indignant eloquence that the Slaves and Tyrants were all 1 Craig-neck.

VOL. I.

210

BEHOLD THE HEAD OF A TRAITOR!

tongue-tied, lock-jawed, before me; and I knew that my voice would echo to the furthermost regions of the earth, with fear of change perplexing monarchs, and breaking the chains of the shameful bondage by king and priestcraft wound round the Body Politic, that had so long been lying like a heartstricken lunatic under the eyes of his keepers, but that would now issue forth from the dungeon-gloom into the light of day, and in its sacred frenzy immolate its grey oppressors on the very altar of superstition.

North. What the devil is the meaning of all this, James? Are you spouting a gill of one of Brougham's frothy phials of wrath poured out against the Holy Alliance? Beware of the dregs.

Shepherd. I might have escaped-but I was resolved to cement the cause with my martyred blood. I was not a man --to disappoint the people. They had come there to see me die -not James Hogg the Ettrick Shepherd- but Hogg the Liberator; and from my blood, I felt assured, would arise millions of armed men, under whose tread would sink the thrones of ancient dynasties, and whose hands would unfurl to all the winds the standard of Freedom, never again to encircle the staff, till its dreadful rustling had quailed the kings, even as the mountain sough sends down upon their knees whole herds of cattle, ere rattles from summit to summit the exulting music of the thunder-storm.

Tickler. Isn't he a wonderful creature, North? He beats Brougham all to besoms.

Shepherd. So once more, my head was on the block-the axe came down and I remember nothing more, except that after bouncing several times about the scaffold, it was taken up by that miserable slave of slaves, who muttered, "Behold the head of a traitor!" Not a voice said, Amen—and I had my revenge and my triumph!

North. Strange, so true a Tory should be so revolutionary in his dreams!

Tickler. In France, James would have been Robespierre. Shepherd. Huts! tuts! Dreams gang by the rule o' contraries. Yet I dinna say what I might hae been during the French Revolution. At times and seasons the nature o' the very brute animals is no to be depended on; and how muckle mair changeable is that o' man, wi' his boasted reason looking

before and after-his imagination building up, and his passions pu'in down; ae day a loving angel frae heaven-the next a demon o' destruction let loose frae hell! But wasna ye there yoursel, Mr North? What for no speak? There's naebody here but freens!

Tickler. Remember, James, that our beloved Christopher fainted a few minutes ago

But it wasna aneath memory armed them Mony a man can see

Shepherd. Sae he did-sae he did. the innate power o' my words. His ain with axes and drenched them in bluid. bluid rinnin like water and no faint, and yet lang after it has sunk into the earth, or heaven's sunshine dried it up among the flowers o' the field, or heaven's rain washed it out o' the street pavement, the silly fule, fancy-struck, will coup ower on his chair wi' a lang dismal sich, at that short single syllable, that does by the lugs1 what a glass does by the een—that is, recreawtes the sliddery scaffold and a' its headless trunks! Tickler. Cease your funning, James, and gives us a song.

(SHEPHERD sings.) 2

I lookit east-I lookit west,

I saw the darksome coming even;
The wild bird sought its cosy nest,

The kid was to the hamlet driven;
But house nor hame aneath the heaven,
Except the skeugh of greenwood tree,
To seek a shelter in was given,
To my three little bairns and me.

I had a prayer I couldna pray,

I had a vow I couldna breathe,
For aye they led my words astray,
And aye they were connected baith
Wi' ane wha now was cauld in death.

I lookit round wi' watery ee

Hope wasna there-but I was laith
To see my little babies dee.

Just as the breeze the aspen stirr'd,
And bore aslant the falling dew,
I thought I heard a bonny bird
Singing amid the air sae blue;

1 Lugs-ears.

2 Written by Hogg.

It was a lay that did renew
The hope deep sunk in misery;

It was of one my woes that knew,
And ae kind heart that cared for me.
O, sweet as breaks the rising day,

Or sunbeam through the wavy rain,
Fell on my soul the charming lay!
Was it an angel poured the strain?
Whoe'er has kenn'd a mother's pain,
Bent o'er the child upon her knee,

O they will bless, and bless again,
The generous heart that cares for me!
A cot was rear'd by Mercy's hand
Amid the dreary wilderness,

It rose as if by magic wand,

A shelter to forlorn distress;

And weel I ken that Heaven will bless

The heart that issued the decree,

The widow and the fatherless

Can never pray and slighted be.

North. Very touching, James, indeed.

You are a tragic

poet after Aristotle's own heart-for well you know how to purge the soul by pity and terror.

Shepherd. That I do sir, and by a' sorts o' odd humours too. Snap your thumbs.

Tam Nelson was a queer, queer man,1

He had nae ill nor good about him,

He oped his een when day began,

And dozed ower night, ye needna doubt him.

But many a day, and many a night,

I've tried wi' a' the lights o' nature,
To settle what's come o' the wight,

The soulless, senseless, stupid creature!
Tam lo'ed his meltith 2 and his clink3
As weel as any in the nation,
He took his pipe, he drank his drink,
But that was nought against salvation.
But were a' the sants and slaves o' sin

Opposed in rank an' raw thegither,
Tam ne'er did aught to cross the ane,
And ne'er did aught to mense1 the ither.

1 Written by Hogg.

3 Clink-cash.

2 Meltith-victuals.

4 Mense-conciliate.