A' contributors are in a manner fairce—but I canna thole to hear nonsense the nicht. Ye may just as weel tell me that a little siller's a dangerous thing. Sae, doubtless it is, in a puir hard-working chiel's pouch, in a change-house, on a Saturday nicht-but no sae dangerous either as mair o't. A guinea's mair dangerous than a shilling, gin you reason in that gate. It's just perfec sophistry a'thegether. In like manner, you micht say a little licht's a dangerous thing, and therefore shut up the only bit wunnock' in a poor man's house, because the room was ower sma' for a Venetian! Havers! havers ! God's blessings are aye God's blessings, though they come in sma's and driblets. That's my creed, Mr North -and it's Mr Canning's too, I'm glad to see, and that o' a' the lave o' the enlichtened men in civilised Europe.

Mullion. Why, as to Mr Canning-I cannot say that to his opinion on that subject I attach much

ᎩᎾ

Shepherd. Haud your tongue, ye triflin cretur-ye maun hae been drinkin at some o' your caird-clubs afore you cam to Awmrose's the nicht. You're unpleasant aneuch when sleep, and snore, and draw your breath through a wat crinkly cough, wi' the head o' ye nid noddin, first ower your back and syne ower your breast, then on the tae shouther, and then on the tither, but onything's mair preferable than yerk, yerkin at everything said by a wiser man than yoursel-by me, or Mr Canning, or Mr North, when he chooses to illuminate.

Mullion. What will Mr Canning say now about Parliamentary Reform, after that oration of his about Turgot and Galileo?

Shepherd. Turkey and Galilee! What care I about such outlandish realms? Keep to the point at issue, sir,-the edication o' the people; and if Mr Canning does not vote wi' me for the edication o' the people, confoun' me gin he'll be Secretary o' State for the Hame Department anither Session o' Parliament. Mullion. The Foreign Department, if you please, Mr Hogg. Shepherd. O, man, that's just like you. Takin haud o' a word, as if ony rational man would draw a conclusion frae a misnomer o' a word. There's nae distinction atween Foreign and Hame Departments. Gin Mr Canning didna ken the state o' our ain kintra, how the deevil, man, could he conduck the haill range o' international policy?

1 Wunnock-window.

EDUCATION.

Tickler. I confess, Mr Hogg, that

115

Shepherd. Nane o' your confessions, Mr Tickler, to me. I'm no a Roman priest. Howsomever-beg pardon for interrupting you. What's your wull?

Tickler. I confess that I like to see each order in the State keeping in its own place-following its own pursuits-practising its own virtues.

Shepherd. Noo, noo, Mr Tickler, ye ken the unfeigned. respec I hae for a' your opinions and doctrines. But ye maunna come down upon the Shepherd wi' your generaleezin. As for orders in the State, how mony thousan' o' them are there-and wha can tell what is best, to a tittle, for ilka ane o' them a' in a free kintra? I've read in beuks that there are but three orders in the State-the higher, the middle, and the lower orders. Siccan nonsense!

Mullion. The best authorities

Shepherd. I'll no speak anither word the nicht, if that cretur Mullion keeps interruptin folk wi' that nyaffing1 voice o' him in that gate. I say there are at least three thousand orders in the State-ploughmen, shepherds, ministers, squires, lords, ladies, auld women, virgins, weavers, smiths, professors, tailors, sodgers, howdies, bankers, pedlars, tinklers, poets, editors, contributors, manufacturers, annuitants, grocers, drapers, booksellers, innkeepers, advocates, writers to the W.S., grieves, bagmen, and ten hundred thousand million forbye—and wull you, Mr Tickler, presume to tell me the proper modicum o' edication for a' these Pagan and Christian folk?

Tickler. Why, James, you put the subject in a somewhat new point of view. Go on. Mr Mullion, if you please, let us hear James.

Shepherd. I hae little or naething to say upon the subject, Mr North-only that it is not in the power o' ony man to say what quantum o' knowledge ony other man, be his station in life what it may, ought to possess, in order to adorn that station, and discharge its duties. Besides, different degrees o' knowledge must belong to different men even in the same station; and I am sure it's no you, sir, that would haud clever chiels ignorant, that they might be on a level wi' the stupid anes o' their ain class. Raise as high as you can the clever chiels, and the stupid anes will gain a step by their elevation.

1 Nyaffing-small yelping.

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DEBATING SOCIETIES IN ETTRICK.

Tickler. Why, James, no man knows the character of our rural population better than you do, and I may be a little prejudiced, say bigoted if you please, on the subject of education-so let us hear your sentiments at greater length.

Shepherd. I never like to talk lang on ony subject; but the truth is, Mr Tickler, that kintra folk in Scotland hae a', or maistly a', gude education already, and I wush to see gude made better. What wull you think, whan I tell you that in Ettrick there are three debatin societies?

Tickler. What the deuce do you debate about?

Shepherd. I'm no a member o' ony o' them, for I'm past that time o' life. They're a' young chiels; and they debate about doctrinal points o' religion and morals, and subjects interesting to men as members and heads o' families. I believe that nae harm comes o' sic societies. They are a' Calvinistic, and no sceptical-but on the contrar, they haud to the Scriptures, and are a' Bereans' in practice.

Tickler. They don't doubt of the authenticity, then-Tom Paine is not their Coryphæus?

Shepherd. Tom Paine! Na, na. They are gude kirk-goers, and keep a sharp ee on the minister in the poupit. That's ae grand distinction, I suspec, atween kintra readers and thinkers, and town anes. Your artisans and mechanics in towns, I fear, read wi' a different intent, and are no happy except when doubtin and makin holes in the wab o' their faith-and it's that that gars me anticipate less good frae their improve

ment.

North. When religion and worldly knowledge go hand in hand, then indeed will education benefit all classes; but in towns, James, they are divorced-ay, religion is left out of sight-our philanthropists tell us that it must be trusted to every man's own conscience.

Shepherd. And therefore it is forgotten, neglected, droops, and dies. But it's no sae in the kintra; an unbeliever there would be despised and hated, and nobody would trust himnay, he would be hooted down wi' hisses and lauchter, and out-argued by ony auld woman that would yoke till him, till the coof would be tongue-tied like a dumbie.

North. James, I love to hear your voice. An Esquimaux would feel himself getting civilised under it—for there's sense in the very sound. A man's character speaks in his

1 A small sect of Scottish dissenters.

VOICES-NORTH'S VOICE.

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voice, even more than in his words. These he may utter by rote-but his "voice is the man for a' that"—and betrays or divulges his peculiar nature.

Shepherd. I've often thocht and felt that, though I dinna recollect ever coming out wi't. What a weight o' wisdom in some auld men's voices! maist as muckle's in their een, or the shake o' their hoary heads! Years speak in the laigh, quate, solemn sound-you hear experience in a verra whusper -and what a lesson in a sich!1 Ay, Mr North, aften and aften hae I felt a' that, when sittin in a corner o' the room on the same chair wi' a bit lassie, when I hae chanced to hear the gudeman near the ingle speakin lown to the wife or weans, in advice or admonition. O! but the human voice is a mysterious instrument.

North. Do you like my voice, James? I hope you do.

Shepherd. I wad hae kent it, Mr North, on the Tower o' Babel, on the day o' the great hubbub. I think Socrates maun hae had just sic a voice—ye canna weel ca't sweet, for it's ower intellectual for that-ye canna ca't saft, for even in its laigh notes there's a sort o' birr, a sort o' dirl that betokens power-ye canna ca't hairsh, for angry as ye may be at times, it's aye in tune, frae the fineness o' your ear for music-ye canna ca't sherp, for it's aye sae nat'ral-and flett it cud never be, gin you were even gien ower by the doctors. It's maist the only voice I ever heard, that you can say is at ance persuawsive and commanding-you micht fear't, but you maun love't—and there's no a voice in all his Majesty's dominions better framed by nature to hold communion with friend or foe. But arena ye geyan sair cauldit the nicht? for you're hoarse and husky-yet that only gars you jirt out the words wi' additional smeddum, that gies an editorial authority to your verra monosyllables, and prophesies a gran' Number o' the Magazine for April."

North. My son James, you know the weak points of the old man.

Shepherd. Filial piety, father-filial piety. O but some voices are just perfectly detestable. There's your wee bit sma', thin, peepin, cheepin, chirpin, wunnel-strae bit o' a vicey, that'll never be at peace-mouth sma', teeth sma', tongue sma', head sma', brain sma', the cretur himsel sma',

1 Sich-a sigh.

2 This is a good description of Professor Wilson's voice.

sma'-yet heich as Tintock' in his ain estimation, and hauding up the weel-shaved chin o' him in a maist bardy2 and impertinent manner across the table in Mr Blackwood's chop.

North. That contributor, James, is dead.

3

Shepherd. Dead, say ye? The Lord be thanked! Then there's the skraigh. The chiel wi' the skraigh makes a soun', whenever he bursts out a-speakin, like a great big midden pootry fool purshued by a ggem-cock. The pootry keeps quate wi' his came, and wattles in a hole till ggemy gies him a spur or twa on the hurdies, and then he skraighs out fire and murder, and doon the loan as fast's he can fugy, whiles rinnin, and whiles fleein, and whiles atween the twa, but a' the time skraighin till ye may hear him, on a lown* day, at every farm-house in the parish.

North. That contributor, James, is now in Italy.

5

Shepherd. Skraighin in Florence, and Pisa, and Rome, and Napples. But there's a hantle mair o' them besides him in particular. What the deevil sud hinner onybody frae modulating their vice, and no terrifyin Christian people wi' sic fearfu' out-breakin o' inhuman soun's, waur than the nutmeg-graters in Brobdinag?-Shall I go on wi' the gamut o' grievances?

North. Perge, puer.

Shepherd. What think ye o' the penny trumpet?—The penny-trumpeter, ye ken, sir, is aye a Whiglet o' laigh degree-far doon the steps and stairs o' the pairty-just stannin wi' his bare soles on the rug. But the cretur's just perfectly happy-happier than either you or me, Mr Northwi' his musical instrument held to the mouth o' him, wi' an air o' as meikle grandeur as if he were a trumpeter in the Life Guards, and had blawn at Waterloo. The cheeks o' him are puffed up, like twa red apples a wee blistered on the fire, and the watery een o' him are glowering in his head like the last twa oysters left on the board-and then he gives vent to the thochts within him through the penny trumpet! A dry, cracket, fushionless, withered, wooden, timmer, tantarara o' ae single note, that the puir, silly bit Whiglet takes for a tune! North. I know him, James-I know him. He is Wellington's

6

1 A hill in Lanarkshire.

3 Came-comb.

5 Skraighin'-screeching.

2 Bardy-positive.

4 Lown-calm.

6 Fushionless-without vigour.