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—hush— where 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

Shepherd. Sae he did-sae he did. But it wasna aneath the innate power o' my words. His ain memory armed them with axes and drenched them in bluid. Mony a man can see 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 lugs' 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;

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,"

He had nae ill nor good about him,

He oped his een when day began,

1

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 clink 3
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 mense* the ither.

1 Written by Hogg.

3 Clink-cash.

2 Meltith-victuals.

4 Mense-conciliate.

GREAT OCCASIONS MAKE GREAT CHARACTERS. 213

Tam graned an dee't like ither men ;
O tell me, tell me, you wha know it,
Will that poor donsy1 rise again ?—
O sirs, I canna, winna trow it.

Nae doubt, but he wha made us a'

Can the same form an' feelings gie him,
Without a lack, without a flaw—

But what the deil wad he do wi' him?

He'd make nae scram in cavern vile,
Nor place that ony living kens o',
He's no worth ony devil's while,

Nor upright thing to take amends o'.

If borne aboon the fields o' day,

Where rails o' gowd the valleys border,
He'd aye be standing i' the way,
And pitting a' things out of order.

At psalm, or hymn, or anthem loud,
Tam wadna pass, I sairly doubt it,
He couldna do't-an' if he could

He wadna care a doit about it.

O thou who o'er the land o' peace

Lay'st the cold shroud and moveless fetter,

Let Tam lie still in careless ease,

For d―n him, if he'll e'er be better.

Tickler. What part, James, do ye think Tam Nelson would have played in the French Revolution?

Shepherd. Ha, ha, ha! What a curious thocht! Yet stop a wee—there is nae telling. On great occasions have not Idiots been inspired? Bonny lassie-bairns, that wud hae shrieked at a taed or a speeder, have they not stood silent and smiling at the stake, fearin neither the faggot and the fire, nor the foamy flood, whether in meek martyrdom they died amidst the prayers o' a crowded street, or left alane by themselves, puir things, on the sands o' the sea? Sae, wha kens what Tam Nelson micht hae done had he flourished during the French Revolution?

North. I wish to goodness, my dear James, that you would drop the subject once and for all. I have never changed my political principles.

Shepherd. I ken you never did, ye carle; and ye could mak 1 Donsy-a stupid, lubberly fellow.