FURTHER EXPOSURE OF MOORE'S HERESIES. I've ae advice to gie my King, An' that I'll gie wi' right good-will, North. Spirited. Who is Adie Laidlaw ? 117 Shepherd. Queen Adelaide—a familiar title o' endearment the Queen enjoys in the Forest. North. But what say you to the last stanza-now, James? Shepherd. Wait a while-sir. North. I am delighted to hear that Mr Blackwood is about to publish a volume of your inimitable Songs.1 "Twill be universally popular, my dear James-and must be followed by a second in spring. The wing of your lyrical muse never flags, whether she skim the gowans or brush the clouds. The shade of Burns himself might say to the Shepherd, “Then gie's your haund, my trusty feer," for, of all the songwriters of Scotland, you two are the best-though Allan Cunningham treads close upon your heels-and often is privileged to form a trio-such a trio of peasant bards as may challenge the whole world. Shepherd. Your haun, sir. I could amaist greet. North. But it is the "cultivation and exercise of the imaginative faculty," quoth Mr Moore, “that, more than anything else, tends to wean the man of genius from actual life, and by substituting the sensibilities of the imagination for those of the heart, to render, at last, the medium through which he feels no less unreal than that through which he thinks. Those images of ideal good and beauty that surround him in his musings, soon accustom him to consider all that is beneath this high standard unworthy of his care; till, at length, the heart becoming chilled, in proportion as he has refined and elevated his theory of all the social affections, he has unfitted himself for the practice of them." Such are the ipsissima verba of Mr Moore, James. 1 Shepherd. I'm nae great reader o' byucks, sir, as you weel Hogg's songs were published in 1831, and very admirable many of them are. 118 GENIUS FEELS THROUGH A REAL MEDIUM. ken, and, I believe, dinna disapprove, yet mony's the time. and aft that I've lauched to peruse that apothegm. North. If not a "wise saw," perhaps 'tis a "modern instance." Shepherd. Mr North, if Mr Muir was sittin on that empty chair there, wi' the laddie kissin the lassie embroidered on the inside o' the back o't— Patie and Roger, I jalouse — I would just say till him, wi' a pleesant vice, and kind een, and a lauch about my mouth, Mister Muir, you're under a great mistak. Nae man o' a high order o' mind, either thinks or feels through an unreal medium." But I'll tell you, sir, what he does he thinks and feels through a fine medium. He breathes the pure air o' the mountain-tap-and he sees through the clear air a' the dwallins o' man - and richt through their roofs intil their hearths and their hearts. Did Burns feel and think through an unreal medium, Mister Muir, when "In glory and in joy, Following his plough upon the mountain-side," his soul saw the Cottar's Saturday Night, and in words gave the vision imperishable life? North. James "You are attired With sudden brightness, like a man inspired." Shepherd. Na, na -'tis but the glow o' the fire on ma face. Yet ma heart's a' on a low - for as sure as God is in heaven, and that he has gien us his word on earth, that Picture is a Picture of the Truth, and Burns, in drawing it, saw, felt, and thocht through that real medium, in which alone all that is fairest, loveliest, brichtest, best in creation, is made apparent to the eyes o' genius, or permanent in its immortal works. North. Ca' ye that pitchin your talk on a laigh key? 'Tis at the tap o' the gawmut. Shepherd. Hoo can you, Mister Muir, sit there and tell me that men o' a high order o' mind sune get sae enamoured o' the eemages o' ideal good and beauty, that they consider all that is beneath that standard unworthy o' their care? Let me come ower and sit beside you for a few minutes. There, STERNE. 119 It is dinna be feared- I'm no a grain angry - and I'm sittin, you see, my dear sir, wi' my airm ower the back o' your chair. North. Don't press so close upon Mr Moore, JamesShepherd. Mister Muir's makin nae complents, sir. "men o' a laigh' order o' genius," ma freen, that is subject to sic degeneracy and adulteration. A puny, sickly, sensibility there is, which is averse frae all the realities of life; and Byron or somebody else spoke well when he said that Sterne preferred whining ower a dead ass to relieving a living mother! But wha was Sterne ? As shallow a sentimentalist as ever grat or rather tried to greet. O, sir! but it's a degrawdin sicht to humanity, yon-to see the shufflin sinner tryin to bring the tears intil his een, by rubbin the lids wi' the pint o' his pen, or wi' the feathers on the shank, and when it a' winna do, takin refuge in a blank, sae or hidin his head amang a set o' asterisks, sae **** ; or boltin aff the printed page a'thegither, and disappearin in ae black blotch! North. Sterne had genius, James. Shepherd. No ae grain, sir. North. Some-not a little Shepherd. Weel, weel - be it sae a' that I mean to aver is, that had he been "o' the first order o' minds," he would not hae preferred whining ower a dead ass to relieving a living mother; but if news had been suddenly brocht to him that his mother was ill, he wad hae hired a livin horse, and aff to her house like a flash o' lichtnin, flingin himsel out o' the saiddle to the danger o' his neck, up-stairs to her bedside, and doun upon his knees, beseeching God for her recovery, and willing to die for her sake, so that she who gave him birth micht yet live, nor be taken from the licht of day and buried amang the tombs ! North. Don't press, my dear James, so heavily on Mr Moore's shoulder. Shepherd. Mister Muir's makin nae complents.-There's mysel, sirs-I shanna pretend to say whether I'm a man o' the higher order o' genius or no; but North. Yes, James, you are; for you wrote Kilmeny. Shepherd. But if I haena ten thousand times the quantity o' genius that ever Sterne had, may this be the last jug, sirs, that ever we three drink thegither 1 Laigh-low. 120 THE SHEPHERD'S FILIAL PIETY. North. Shades of my Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim! North. Why, James, your voice trembles with emotion. You are not the man, my boy, to whine over a dead ass; but you are the man, my boy, to be pensive over the very fear, however unfounded, of an empty jug-so I may replenish? Shepherd. Do sae. - I am surrounded in my musings - to use your ain words, Mister Muir-wi' images o' ideal good and beauty; and at times, when lyin on the greensward in the heart o' the Forest, a sweet strange perplexity has it been to the Shepherd, sirs, to determine within the consciousness o' his ain sowl, whether the bonny creturs that seemed to come to him in solitude, were creturs o' this earth or no—and if o' this earth, then whether they were all but Fancy's phantoms, or beings that had their abiding-place in heaven, and cam o' their ain accord; or were sent to wave peace into my wearied spirit frae the white motions o' their arms celestial in their whiteness as the blue lights of love and pity, that bathed in ineffable beautifulness the steadfast expression of their angelic eyes! North. My dear James! Shepherd. But did these visitations accustom me, sir,—I'm speakin to you, Mister Muir,—to consider a' else unworthy o' my care? Na, na, na. I appeal to you, Mr North, for you hae seen me and the auld man thegither there, gin I didna return back to my ain hut, anxious as ever about my father, wha used then to sit warmin himsel at the bit ingle, stricken in years, though far frae frail yet, and aften glowerin at me wi' that gash kind o' face that somehoo or ither in verra auld folk carries ane's thochts at ance to their coffin and their grave—as anxious about him as if the breathins o' genie had never visited the Shepherd on the hill, and I had been only a mere common ordinar prose-hash o' a chiel, whase heichest explite in leeteratur had been a rejected agricultural report to the Kelso Mail, on the fly in turnips, or the smut in wheat. North. You tended the old man most filially, James, till the last sugh- 1 A stronger protest than North's must here be entered against the heterodoxy of the Shepherd. Whatever may have been the infamy of Sterne's life and character, his Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim are, beyond all question, two of the most exquisite creations that genius ever sent forth to gladden the hearts of mankind. Shepherd. Nor did I forget ma mither either, sir; though, thank God, she never needed but sma' assistance frae me, for "poortith cauld was never her lot, sir, though the necessaries o' life were a' she ever had;-and as for its luxuries— gin you except a dish o' strang tea, and noo and than a whiff o' bacca for she was nae regular smoker-she had a speerit aboon them a', sir; and had the deevil tempted her even in a dream, when sometimes ane's sowl seems to lose its nature, wi' the shadows o' a' the eatables and drinkables that his wild warlockry could hae conjured up, hoo she would hae strauchened hersel up to her haill hicht, and, wi' a smile far prooder and sterner than his ain froon, hae sent Satan and a' his visionary viands awa back to the regions o' everlastin dolour and despair. North. She was a stately old lady. Shepherd. Wha was? North. Your mother. Shepherd. Wha was speakin about ma mither? Shepherd. Ou ay, sae I was. But my imagination, sir, a' at ance wafted me awa intil the laneliest spat amang a' the hills whare my childhood played-and amang the broom-bushes and the brackens there, I was beginnin, when you reca'd me by that rap on the table, to sink awa back again intil the dream o' dreams! North. The dream o' dreams? Shepherd. Ay, sir-The dream, sir, in which I saw Kilmeny! For though I wrote doun the poem on the sclate in the prime o' manhood, anither being than mysel did in verity compose or creawte it, sir, ae day when I was lyin a' by mysel in that laneliest spat, wi' but twa-three sheep aside me, ae linty and nae mair; but oh! how sweetly the glad cretur sang! and after that some other cretur nor me had composed or creawted it, she keepit whisper, whisperin the words far within my ears, till memory learned them a' off by heart as easy as the names o' Christian creturs that we meet wi' on Sabbaths at the kirk; and frae that genie-haunted hour, known now through a' braid Scotland is the Ettrick Shepherd North. Britain and America- Shepherd. But for many obscure years a nameless man, or kent but by the name o' Jamie amang my simple compeers, I |