A STRING OF EGGS.

3

far far beyond the beauty o' the maist artfu' contrivances o' mortal man, and gin he be a thochtfu' callant, which frae wanderin and daunderin by himsel, far awa frae houses, and ayont the loneliest shielin' amang the hills, is surely nae unreasonable hypothesis, but the likeliest thing in natur, thinkna ye that though his mood micht be indistinck even as ony sleepin dream, that nevertheless it maun be sensibly interfused, throughout and throughout, wi' the consciousness that that Nest, wi' sic exquisite delicacy intertwined o' some substance seemingly mair beautifu' than ony moss that ever grew upon this earth, into a finest fabric growin as it were out o' the verra bark o' the tree, and in the verra nook-the only nook where nae winds could touch it, let them blaw a' at ance frae a' the airts,-wadna, sirs, I say, that callant's heart beat wi' awe in its delicht, feelin that that wee, cosy, beautifu', and lovely cradle, chirp-chirpin wi' joyfu' life, was bigged there by the hand o' Him that hung the sun in our heaven, and studded with stars the boundless universe?

Tickler. James, forgive my folly——

-

Shepherd. That I do, Mr Tickler and that I would do, if for every peck there was a firlot. Yet when a laddie, I was an awfu' herrier! Sic is the inconsistency, because o' the corruption, o' human natur. Ilka spring, I used to hae halfa-dozen strings o' eggs

Tickler

"Orient pearls at random strung."

Shepherd. Na-no at random-but a' accordin to an innate sense o' the beauty o' the interminglin and interfusin variegation o' manifold colour, which, when a' gathered thegither on a yard o' twine, and dependin frae the laigh roof o' our bit cottie, aneath the cheese-bauk, and aiblins atween a couple o' hangin hams, seemed to ma een sae fu' o' a strange, wild, woodland, wonderfu', and maist unwarldish loveliness, that the verra rainbow hersel lauchin on us laddies no to be feared at the thunner, looked nae mair celestial than thae egg-shells! Ae string especially will I remember to my dying day. It tapered awa frae the middle, made o' the eggs o' the blackbird-doun through a' possible vareeities—lark, lintie, yellow1 Shielin-a shelter for sheep or shepherd among the hills.

2 Herrier-rifler of birds' nests.

4 DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SHEPHERD AND TICKLER.

yite, hedge-sparrow, shilfa, and goldfinch-ay, the verra goldfinch hersel, rare bird in the Forest - to the twa ends so dewdrap-like, wi' the wee bit blue pearlins o' the kitty-wren. Damm Wullie Laidlaw for stealin them ae Sabbath when we was a' at the kirk! Yet I'll try to forgie him for sake o' "Lucy's Flittin," and because, notwithstanding that cruel crime, he's turned out a gude husband, a gude faither, and a gude freen.

Tickler. We used, at school, James, to boil and eat them. Shepherd. Gin ye did, then wouldna I, for ony consideration, in a future state be your sowl.

Tickler. Where's the difference?

Shepherd. What! atween you and me? Yours was a base fleshly hunger, or hatred, or hard-heartedness, or scathe and scorn o' the quakin griefs o' the bit bonny shriekin burdies around the tuft o' moss, a' that was left o' their herried nests; but mine was the sacred hunger and thirst o' divine silver and gold gleamin amang the diamonds drapt by mornin on the hedgeraws, and rashes, and the broom, and the whins-love o' the lovely-desire conquerin but no killin pity—and joy o' blessed possession that left at times a tear on my cheek for the bereavement o' the heart-broken warblers o' the woods. Yet brak I not mony o' their hearts, after a'; for if the nest had five eggs, I generally took but twa; though I confess that on gaun back again to brae, bank, bush, or tree, I was glad when the nest was deserted, the eggs cauld, and the birds awa to some ither place. After a' I was never cruel, sirs; that's no a sin o' mine, and whenever, either then or since, I hae gien pain to ony leevin cretur, in nae lang time after, o' the twa pairties, mine has been the maist achin heart. As for pyats, and hoodie-craws, and the like, I used to herry them without compunction, and flingin up stanes, to shoot them wi' a gun, as they were flasterin out o' the nest.

English Opium-Eater. Some one of my ancestors—for, even with the deepest sense of my own unworthiness, I cannot believe that my own sins, as a cause, have been adequate to the production of such an effect-must have perpetrated some -some monstrous crime, punished in me, his descendant, by utter blindness to all bird's nests.

enormous

1 66 'Lucy's Flitting," by William Laidlaw, Sir Walter Scott's friend, is one of our simplest and most pathetic melodies.

OPIUM-EATER BIRD-NESTING.

5

Shepherd. Maist likely. The De Quinshys cam ower wi' the Conqueror, and were great criminals.—But did you ever look for them, sir?

English Opium-Eater. From the year 1811-the year in which the Marrs and Williamsons were murdered'-till the year 1821, in which Buonaparte the little-vulgarly called Napoleon the Great-died of a cancer in his stomach

Shepherd. A hereditary disease-accordin to the Doctors. English Opium-Eater. -did I exclusively occupy myself during the spring months, from night till morning, in searching for the habitations of these interesting creatures.

Shepherd. Frae nicht till mornin! That comes o' reversin the order o' Natur. You micht see a rookery or a heronry by moonlicht—but no a wren's nest aneath the portal o' some cave lookin out upon a sleepless waterfa' dinnin to the stars. Mr De Quinshy, you and me leeves in twa different warldsand yet it's wonnerfu' hoo we understaun' ane anither sae weel's we do quite a phenomena. When I'm soopin you're breakfastin-when I'm lyin doun, after your coffee you're risin up-as I'm coverin my head wi' the blankets you're pittin on your breeks-as my een are steekin like sunflowers aneath the moon, yours are glowin like twa gas-lamps-and while your mind is masterin poleetical economy and metapheesics, in a desperate fecht wi' Ricawrdo and Kant, I'm heard by the nicht-wanderin fairies snorin trumpet-nosed through the land o' Nod.

2

English Opium-Eater. Though the revolutions of the heavenly bodies have, I admit, a certain natural connection with the ongoings of

Shepherd. Wait awee- nane o' your astrology till after sooper. It canna be true, sir, what folk say about the influence o' the moon on character. I never thocht ye the least mad. Indeed, the only faut I hae to fin' wi' you is, that you're ower wise. Yet we speak what, in the lang-run, would

1 In the second volume of his Miscellanies (1854), Mr De Quincey has described these murders with a power and circumstantiality which excite the most absorbing interest in the mind of the reader.

2 David Ricardo, an eminent member of the London Stock-Exchange, and the profoundest writer on political economy which this country has produced, died in 1823. Immanuel Kant was the great philosopher of Königsberg, his native town, from which he was never farther distant than twenty miles during the whole course of a life, which lasted from 1724 to 1804.

6

NIGHTINGALES AND OWLS.

appear to be ae common langage-I sometimes understaun' you no that verra indistinctly-and when we tackle in our talk to the great interests o' humanity, we're philosophers o' the same school, sir, and see the inner warld by the self-same central licht. We're incomprehensible creturs, are we men— that's beyond a dout;-and let us be born and bred as we may-black, white, red, or a deep bricht, burnished copperin spite o' the division o' tongues, there's nae division o' hearts, for it's the same bluid that gangs circulatin through our mortal tenements, carrying alang on its tide the same freightage o' feelins and thochts, emotions, affections, and passions-though, like the ships o' different nations, they a' hoist their ain colours, and prood prood are they o' their leopards, or their crescent-moons, or their stars, or their stripes o' buntin;-but see! when it blaws great guns, hoo they a' fling owerboard their storm-anchors, and when their cables pairt, hoo they a' seek the shelterin lee o' the same michty breakwater, a belief in the being and attributes of the One Living God.-But was ye never out in the daytime, sir?

English Opium-Eater. Frequently.

Shepherd. But then it's sae lang sin' syne, that in memory the sunlicht maun seem amaist like the moonlicht,―sic, indeed, even wi' us that rise with the laverock, and lie doun wi' the lintie, is the saftenin-the shadin—the darkenin power o' the Past, o' Time the Prime Minister o' Life, wha, in spite o' a' Opposition, carries a' his measures by a silent vote, and aften, wi' a weary wecht o' taxes, bows a' the wide warld doun to the verra dust.

English Opium-Eater. In the South my familiars have been the nightingales, in the North the owls. Both are merry birds the one singing, and the other shouting, in moods of midnight mirth.-Nor in my deepest, darkest fits of meditation or of melancholy, did the one or the other ever want my sympathies,—whether piping at the root of the hedgerow, or hooting from the trunk of the sycamore-else all still both on earth and in heaven.

Shepherd. Ye maun hae seen mony a beautifu' and mony a sublime sicht, sir, in the Region, lost to folk like us, wha try to keep oursels awauk a' day, and asleep a' nicht-and your sowl, sir, maun hae acquired something o' the serene and solemn character o' the sunleft skies. And true it is, Mr De

"C SHAKESPEARE'S

SEVEN AGES."

7

Quinshy, that ye hae the voice o' a nicht-wanderin man-laigh and lown-pitched on the key o' a wimplin burn speakin to itsel in the silence, aneath the moon and stars.

Tickler. 'Tis pleasant, James, to hear all us four talking at one time-your bass, my counter, Mr De Quincey's tenor, and North's treble

North. Treble, indeed!

Tickler. Ay, childish treble

Shepherd. Come, nae quarrellin yet. That's a quotation frae Shakespeare, and there's nae insult in a mere quotation. I never could admire Wullie's Seven Ages. They're puir, and professional.

English Opium-Eater. Professional, but not poor, Mr Hogg. Shakespeare intended not in those pictures to show the most secret spirit of the Seasons of Life. In one sense they are superficial, but the sympathies touched thereby may be most profound-for the familiar, when given by a master's hand, awakens the unfamiliar-yea, the grotesque gives birth to the grand-the simple to the sublime-and plain and easy as are the steps of that stair, made of earth's common stone, and without balustrades of cunning or gorgeous carving-yet do they finally conduct us, as we ascend, to the portico, and then into the penetralia, of a solemn temple-even the temple of life. For is not that an oracular line,

"Sans eyes, sans nose, sans teeth, sans everything."

Shepherd. Faith, I believe it is. I was gaun to gie ye prose picturs o' the Seven Ages o' my ain pentin'-but I'll keep them for anither Noctes. And noo, sir, wull ye be sae gude as help yoursel to a glass o' calcavalla-or is't caracalla ?—and then launch awa, as Allan Cunningham says, wi' " a wet sheet and a flowing sail," into the sea of metapheesics.

English Opium-Eater. It is incumbent on every human soul, Mr Hogg, to bear within itself a Fountain of Will. This, Fichte called its I-the Ego of each individual. This should be active and full of all power, endless in the production of desires-only coerced and ruled by knowledge and apprehensions of right and wrong, and sundry tendernesses.

Shepherd. I hear a response to that, sir, in my ain sowlbut no that very distinck.

1 Pentin-painting.