Shepherd — What
language
is that?
Warner - World's Best Literature - v27 - Wat to Zor
When they
have been kept alive, and fed for some time on corn and buck-
wheat, their flesh acquires great superiority; but in their common
state they are dry and blackish, and far inferior to the full-grown
young ones or squabs.
The nest of the wild pigeon is formed of a few dry slender
twigs carelessly put together, and with so little concavity that
the young one, when half grown, can easily be seen from below.
The eggs are pure white. Great numbers of hawks, and some-
times the bald eagle himself, hover about those breeding-places,
and seize the old or the young from the nest amidst the rising
multitudes, and with the most daring effrontery. The young,
when beginning to fly, confine themselves to the under part
of the tall woods, where there is no brush, and where nuts and
acorns are abundant, searching among the leaves for mast; and
appear like a prodigious torrent rolling along through the woods,
every one striving to be in the front. Vast numbers of them
are shot while in this situation. A person told me that he once
rode furiously into one of these rolling multitudes, and picked up
thirteen pigeons which had been trampled to death by his horse's
feet. In a few minutes they will beat the whole nuts from a
tree with their wings, while all is a scramble both above and
## p. 16029 (#375) ##########################################
ALEXANDER WILSON
16029
below for the same. They have the same cooing notes common
to domestic pigeons, but much less of their gesticulations. In
some flocks you will find nothing but young ones, which are
easily distinguishable by their motley dress. In others they will
be mostly females; and again great multitudes of males with
few or no females. I cannot account for this in any other way
than that, during the time of incubation, the males are exclusively
engaged in procuring food, both for themselves and their mates;
and the young, being unable yet to undertake these extensive
excursions, associate together accordingly. But even in winter I
know of several species of birds who separate in this manner;
particularly the red-winged starling, among whom thousands of
old males may be found, with few or no young or females along
with them.
Stragglers from these immense armies settle in almost every
part of the country, particularly among the beech woods, and in
the pine and hemlock woods of the eastern and northern parts
of the continent. Mr. Pennant informs us that they breed near
Moose Fort at Hudson's Bay, in N. lat. 51°; and I myself have
seen the remains of a large breeding-place as far south as the
country of the Chactaws, in lat. 32°. In the former of these
places they are said to remain until December: from which cir-
cumstance it is evident that they are not regular in their migra-
tions, like many other species, but rove about, as scarcity of food
urges them. Every spring, however, as well as fall, more
less of them are seen in the neighborhood of Philadelphia; but
it is only once in several years that they appear in such formida-
ble bodies; and this commonly when the snows are heavy to the
north, the winter here more than usually mild, and acorns, etc. ,
abundant.
The passenger pigeon is sixteen inches long, and twenty-four
inches in extent; bill, black; nostril, covered by a high rounding
protuberance; eye, brilliant fiery orange; orbit, or space sur-
rounding it, purplish flesh-colored skin; head, upper part of the
neck, and chin, a fine slate-blue, lightest on the chin; throat,
breast, and sides, as far as the thighs, a reddish hazel; lower
part of the neck, and sides of the same, resplendent changeable
gold, green, and purplish crimson,- the latter most predominant;
the ground color slate; the plumage of this part is of a peculiar
structure, ragged at the ends; belly and vent, white; lower part
or
## p. 16030 (#376) ##########################################
16030
ALEXANDER WILSON
of the breast, fading into a pale vinaceous red; thighs, the same;
legs and feet, lake, seamed with white; back, rump, and tail
coverts, dark slate, spotted on the shoulders with a few scattered
marks of black; the scapulars, tinged with brown; greater cov-
erts, light slate; primaries and secondaries, dull black, the former
tipped and edged with brownish white; tail, long, and greatly
cuneiform, all the feathers tapering towards the point, the two
middle ones plain deep black, the other five on each side hoary
white, lightest near the tips, deepening into bluish near the
bases, where each is crossed on the inner vane with a broad
spot of black, and nearer the root with another of ferruginous;
primaries, edged with white; bastard wing, black.
The female is about half an inch shorter, and an inch less in
extent; breast, cinereous brown; upper part of the neck, inclining
to ash; the spot of changeable gold, green, and carmine, much
less, and not so brilliant; tail coverts, brownish slate; naked
orbits, slate-colored; in all other respects like the male in color,
but less vivid, and more tinged with brown; the eye not so brill-
iant an orange. In both, the tail has only twelve feathers.
THE FISH-HAWK, OR OSPREY
T**
He regular arrival of this noted bird at the vernal equinox,
when the busy season of fishing commences, adds peculiar
interest to its first appearance, and
procures it
many a
benediction from the fishermen. With the following lines, illus-
trative of these circumstances, I shall conclude its history:-
Soon as the sun, great ruler of the year,
Bends to our northern clime his bright career,
And from the caves of ocean calls from sleep
The finny shoals and myriads of the deep;
When freezing tempests back to Greenland ride,
And day and night the equal hours divide:
True to the season, o'er our sea-beat shore,
The sailing osprey high is seen to soar,
With broad unmoving wing, and circling slow,
Marks each loose straggler in the deep below;
Sweeps down like lightning, plunges with a roar,
And bears his struggling victim to the shore.
.
## p. 16031 (#377) ##########################################
ALEXANDER WILSON
16031
The long-housed fisherman beholds with joy,
The well-known signals of his rough employ;
And as he bears his nets and oars along,
Thus hails the welcome season with a song:-
THE FISHERMAN'S HYMN
The osprey sails above the Sound,
The geese are gone, the gulls are flying;
The herring-shoals swarm thick around,
The nets are launched, the boats are plying.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Raise high the song, and cheerly wish her,
Still as the bending net we sweep, -
«God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! »
Şhe brings us fish — she brings us spring,
Good times, fair weather, warmth and plenty;
Fine store of shad, trout, herring, ling,
Sheep's-head and drum, and old-wives dainty.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
Still as the bending net we sweep, —
«God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! »
»
She rears her young on yonder tree,
She leaves her faithful mate to mind 'em;
Like us, for fish she sails the sea,
And plunging, shows us where to find 'em.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
While slow the bending net we sweep,-
“God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher! )
## p. 16032 (#378) ##########################################
16032
JOHN WILSON
(1785-1854)
OHN WILSON was one of those men whose attractive and
striking personality makes it difficult to disassociate them
from their work. Of marked individuality and leonine pres-
ence, he was a large figure in the social and intellectual circles of
Edinburgh, a power in the life as well as literature of his period.
His faults were those of a big-souled man, who gave himself prodi-
gally and covered too wide an area. As one of his editors, Mr. John
Skelton, remarks, he needed concentration. Had the tree been thor-
oughly pruned, the fruit would have been
larger and richer. » His merits, weighed
now in the more impartial scales of a
later day, are felt to be distinct. To ex-
press Christopher North in metaphor, one
would call him a literary "Jupiter tonans. ”
He possessed a sort of dynamic energy,
and breathed out a wholesome atmosphere,
as of the sea or hills. This influence was
noticeable whether in the intercourse of so-
ciety, the class-room lecture, or the breezy
deliverances of the Noctes Ambrosianæ
as they appeared in Blackwood. The sheer
John Wilson animal spirits of those famous papers would
alone carry them into favor; and they pos-
sess besides, abundance of wit and humor, of felicitous description
and keen characterization, of wisdom and poetry. They constitute a
solid monument to their writer, independent, in the main lines, of
much that is local and temporary in the construction.
John Wilson was the son of a rich manufacturer in Paisley,
Scotland, where John was born May 18th, 1785. He was educated at
the University of Glasgow, and at Oxford, winning the Newdigate
Prize for poetry there. His degree was secured in 1807. He bought
soon thereafter an estate on Lake Windermere in the Westmoreland
country, so rich in literary associations; and for some years was an
intimate of Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge. It was in this
## p. 16033 (#379) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16033
environment that his poem “The Isle of Palms) was published, in
1812. He removed to Edinburgh in 1815, and was admitted to the
bar. The next year appeared the dramatic poem “The City of the
Plague. ' Blackwood's Magazine was founded in 1812, and Wilson
became at once a valued contributor. The fact that he was elected
in 1820 Professor of Morals at the university — defeating Sir William
Hamilton, who was also a candidate — testifies to the high rating of
him as man and scholar. From this throne Professor Wilson spoke
or used his pen for many years.
A number of tales and sketches are aside from what brought him
his more permanent reputation. Such are - Lights and Shadows of
Scottish Life' (1822), «The Trials of Margaret Lindsay' (1823), “The
Foresters) (1825), and the 'Essay on the Genius of Burns) (1841).
More characteristic and hence more lasting are the Noctes Ambro-
sianæ,' contributed to the magazine froin 1822 to 1835; the later series
(Dies Boreales, or Christopher Under Canvas) (1849-1852) not equal-
ing the earlier in spontaneity or charm. It is not hard to understand
the immediate popularity of the Noctes,' when at Ambrose's Edin-
burgh tavern, Mr. Tickler, the Ettrick Shepherd, Christopher North,
and other rare good spirits drank their toddy into the wee small
hours, and exchanged all manner of talk upon all manner of things.
The three main personages are limned with a clear eye and much
unction; and one of them at least, the Shepherd, is a true master-
piece in comedy creation. Wilson is open to the charge of being
diffuse, and occasionally coarse, in the conductment of these sprightly
dialogues; but these are but flies in the ointment.
In 1851 Professor Wilson resigned his seat in the university, and
died three years afterward, April 3d, 1854. Professor Ferrier, his son-
in-law, has edited his works in twelve volumes; and a Life) has
been written by his daughter, Mrs. Gordon. For purposes of conven-
ience, the general reader is directed to The Comedy of the Noctes
Ambrosianæ); an edition selected and arranged by Mr. John Skelton,
presenting the Noctes) in a much condensed form, whereby that
which is slighter, local, and least happy, is eliminated.
XXVII-1003
## p. 16034 (#380) ##########################################
16034
JOHN WILSON
IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD AND TICKLER TAKE TO THE
WATER
From Noctes Ambrosianæ)
Scene: Two Bathing-machines in the Sea at Portobello. Present : Shep-
herd, Tickler.
HEPHERD
S***
con-
Halloo, Mr. Tickler, are you no ready yet, man ?
I've been a mother-naked man, in my machine here, for
mair than ten minutes. Hae your pantaloons got entangled
amang your heels, or are you saying your prayers afore you
plunge ?
Tickler - Both. These patent long drawers, too, are a
founded nuisance — and this patent short undershirt. There is
no getting out of them without greater agility than is generally
possessed by a man at my time of life.
Shepherd — Confound a' pawtents. As for mysel, I never wear
drawers, but hae my breeks lined wi' flannen a' the year through;
and as for thae wee short corded undershirts, that clasp you
like ivy, I never hae had ane o' them on sin’ last July, when I
was forced to cut it aff my back and breast wi' a pair o'sheep-
shears, after havin' tried in vain to get out o't every morning
for twa months. But are ye no ready, sir ? A man
on the
scaffold wadna be allowed sae lang time for preparation. The
minister or the hangman wad be juggin' him to fling the hand-
kerchief.
Tickler — Hanging, I hold, is a mere flea-bite -
Shepherd — What! tae dookin'? — Here goes.
[The Shepherd plunges into the sea. ]
Tickler – What the devil has become of James ? He is no-
where to be seen. That is but a gull — that only a seal — and
that a mere pellock. James, James, James!
Shepherd [emerging]— Wha's that roarin'? Stop a wee till I
get the saut water out o' my een, and my mouth, and my nose,
and wring my hair a bit. Noo, where are you, Mr. Tickler ?
Tickler — I think I shall put on my clothes again, James. The
air is chill; and I see from your face that the water is as cold
as ice.
Shepherd - Oh, man! but you're a desperate cooart. Think
shame o' yoursel, stannin' naked there at the mouth o the
## p. 16035 (#381) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16035
machine, wi' the haill crew o'yon brig sailin' up the Firth
lookin' at ye, ane after anither, frae cyuck to captain, through
the telescope.
Tickler - James, on the sincerity of a shepherd and the faith
of a Christian, lay your hand on your heart, and tell me, was
not the shock tremendous ? I thought you never would have re-
appeared.
Shepherd — The shock was naethin', nae mair than what a
body feels when waukenin' suddenly durin' a sermon, or fa'in'
ower a staircase in a dream. But I am aff to Inchkeith.
Tickler - Whizz.
>
[Flings a somerset into the sea. ]
sax
seven
-
a
Shepherd — Ane twa three four - five -
aught- But there's nae need o' coontin', for nae pearl diver
in the Straits o' Madagascar, or aff the coast o' Coromandel, can
haud in his breath like Tickler. Weel, that's surprisin'. Yon
chaise has gane about half a mile o' gate towards Portybelly sin'
he gaed fizzin' out ower the lugs like a verra rocket. Safe us!
what's this gruppin' me by the legs ? A sherk—a sherk
sherk!
Tickler (yellowing to the surface] - Blabla — blabla — bla —
Shepherd — He's keept soomin'aneath the water till he's sick;
but every man for himsel', and God for us a'— I'm aff.
[Shepherd stretches away to sea in the direction of Inchkeith, Tickler in
pursuit. ]
Tickler -- Every sinew, my dear James, like so much whip-
cord. I swim like a salmon.
Shepherd-O sir! that Lord Byron had but been alive the
noo, what a sweepstakes!
Tickler - A Liverpool gentleman has undertaken, James, to
swim four-and-twenty miles at a stretch. What are the odds ?
Shepherd — Three to one on Saturn and Neptune. He'll get
numm.
Tickler -- James, I had no idea you were so rough on the
back. You are a perfect otter.
Shepherd — Nae personality, Mr. Tickler, out at sea.
I'll com-
pare carcases wi' you ony day o' the year. Yet you're a gran'
soomer — out o' the water at every stroke, neck, breast, shou-
thers, and half-way doun the back — after the fashion o' the great
- o
## p. 16036 (#382) ##########################################
16036
JOHN WILSON
American serpent. As for me, my style o' soomin's less showy
— laigh and lown — less hurry, but mair speed.
—
Come sir, l'11
dive you for a jug o' toddy.
[Tickler and Shepherd melt away like foam-bells in the sunshine. ]
Shepherd — Mr. Tickler!
Tickler – James!
Shepherd - It's a drawn bate - sae we'll baith pay. O sir!
isna Embro' a glorious city ? Sae clear the air! Yonner you see
a man and a woman stannin' on the tap o' Arthur's Seat! I had
nae notion there were sae mony steeples, and spires, and col-
umns, and pillars, and obelisks, and domes in Embro'! And at
this distance the ee canna distinguish atween them that belangs
to kirks, and them that belangs to naval monuments, and them
that belangs to ile-gas companies, and them that's only chimney-
heids in the auld toun, and the taps o' groves, or single trees, sic
as poplars; and aboon a' and ahint a', craigs and saft-broo'd hills
sprinkled wi' sheep, lichts and shadows, and the blue vapory glim-
mer o' a mid-summer day — het, het, het, wi' the barometer at
ninety: but here, to us twa, bob-bobbin' amang the fresh, cool,
murmurin', and faemy wee waves, temperate as the air within
the mermaid's palace. Anither dive!
Tickler — James, here goes the Fly-Wheel.
Shepherd - That beats a'!
He gangs round in the water like
a jack roastin' beef. I'm thinkin' he canna stop himsel. Safe us!
he's fun' out the perpetual motion.
Tickler — What fish, James, would you incline to be, if put into
-
scales ?
Shepherd — A dolphin — for they hae the speed o' lichtnin'.
They'll dart past and roun' about a ship in full sail before the
wind, just as if she was at anchor. Then the dolphin is a fish o'
peace — he saved the life o' a poet of auld, Arion, wi' his harp -
and oh! they say the cretur's beautifu' in death: Byron, ye ken,
comparin' his hues to those o' the sun settin' ahint the Grecian
Isles. I sud like to be a dolphin.
Tickler — I should choose to sport shark for a season. In
speed he is a match for the dolphin; and then, James, think what
luxury to swallow a well-fed chaplain, or a delicate midshipman,
or a young negro girl, occasionally -
Shepherd -- And feenally to be grupped wi' a hyuck in a
cocked hat and feather,- at which the shark rises as a trout
## p. 16037 (#383) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16037
-
does at a flee, - hauled on board, and hacked to pieces wi' cut-
lasses and pikes by the jolly crew, or left alive on the deck, gut-
ted as clean as a dice-box, and without an inch o’ bowels.
Tickler - Men die at shore, James, of natural deaths as bad as
that —
Shepherd — Let me see — I sud hae nae great objections to be
a whale in the Polar Seas. Gran' fun to fling a boatfu' o' har-
pooners into the air; or wi' ae thud o' your tail, to drive in the
stern-posts o' a Greenlandman.
Tickler — Grander fun still, James, to feel the inextricable
harpoon in your blubber, and to go snoving away beneath an
ice-floe with four mile of line connecting you with your distant
enemies.
Shepherd — But then whales marry but ae wife, and are pas-
sionately attached to their offspring. There, they and I are con-
genial speerits. Nae fish that swims enjoys so large a share of
domestic happiness.
Tickler - A whale, James, is not a fish.
Shepherd — Isna he? Let him alane for that. He's ca'd a fish
in the Bible, and that's better authority than Buffon. Oh that I
were a whale!
Tickler — What think you of a summer of the American sea-
serpent ?
Shepherd - What! To be constantly cruised upon by the haill
American navy, military and mercantile ? No to be able to show
your back aboon water without being libeled by the Yankees in
a' the newspapers, and pursued even by pleasure parties, playin'
the hurdy-gurdy and smokin' cigars! Besides, although I hae
nae objection to a certain degree o' singularity, I sudna just like
to be so very singular as the American sea-serpent, who is the
only ane o' his specie noo extant; and whether he dees in his
bed, or is slain by Jonathan, must incur the pain and the oppro-
brium o' defunckin' an auld bachelor. What's the matter wi' you,
Mr. Tickler?
[Dives. ]
Tickler — The calf of my right leg is rather harder than is
altogether pleasant, - a pretty business if it prove the cramp; and
the cramp it is, sure enough. -Hallo - James - James - James-
hallo — I'm seized with the cramp! — James— the sinews of the
## p. 16038 (#384) ##########################################
16038
JOHN WILSON
calf of my right leg are gathered up into a knot about the bulk
and consistency of a sledge-hammer -
Shepherd — Nae tricks upon travelers. You've nae cramp.
Gin you hae, streek out your richt hind leg, like a horse geein a
funk,- and then ower on the back o'ye, and keep floatin' for a
space, and your calf'll be as saft's a cushion. Lord safe us!
what's this? Deevil tak me if he's no droonin'. Mr. Tickler, are
you droonin'? There he's doun ance, and up again — twice, and
up again; but it's time to tak haud o' him by the hair o' the
head, or he'll be doun amang the limpets!
[Shepherd seizes Tickler by the locks. ]
-
Tickler - Oho - oho- oho — ho-ho-ho- hra - hra - hrach
- hrach.
Shepherd — What language is that? Finnish ? Noo, sir, dinna
rug me doun to the bottom alang wi’ you in the dead-thraws.
Tickler — Heaven reward you, James : the pain is gone — but
keep near me.
Shepherd — Whammle yoursel ower on your back, sir. That
’ill do. Hoo are you now, sir ? Yonner's the James Watt steam-
boat, Captain Bain, within half a league. Lean on my airm,
sir, till he comes alangside, and it 'll be a real happiness to the
captain to save your life. But what 'ill a' the leddies do whan
they're hoistin' us aboard ? They maun just use their fans.
Tickler — My dear Shepherd, I am again floating like a turtle,
but keep within hail, James. Are you to windward or lee-
ward ?
Shepherd – Right astarn. Did you ever see, sir, in a' your
born days, sic a sky ? Ane can scarcely say he sees 't, for
it's maist invisible in its blue beautifu' tenuity, as the waters o'
a well! It's just like the ee o' a lassie I kent lang ago: the
langer you gazed intil 't, the deep, deep, deeper it grew — the
cawmer and the mair cawm composed o' a smile, as an ame-
thyst is composed o' licht - and seeming something impalpable to
the touch, till you ventured, wi' fear, joy, and tremmlin', to kiss
it — just ae hesitatin', pantin', reverential kiss — and then, to be
sure, your verra sowl kent it to be a bonny blue ee, covered wi'
a lid o' dark fringes, and drappin' aiblins a bit frichtened tear to
the lip o' love.
## p. 16039 (#385) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16039
Tickler – What is your specific gravity, James ? You float
like a sedge.
Shepherd - Say rather a nautilus, or a mew. I'm native to
the yelement.
Tickler — Where learned you the natatory art, my dear Shep-
herd ?
Shepherd — Do you mean soomin'? In St. Mary's Loch. For
a haill simmer I kept plouterin' alang the shore, and pittin' ae
fit to the grun', knockin' the skin aff my knees, and makin' nae
progress, till ae day, the gravel haein' been loosened by a flood,
I plowpt in ower head and ears, and in my confusion turnin' my
face to the wrang airt, I swom across the loch at the widest at
ae stretch; and ever after that could hae soomed ony man in the
forest for a wager, except Mr. David Ballantyne, that noo leeves
ower-by yonner, near the Hermitage Castle.
Tickler - Now, James, you are, to use the language of Spenser,
the Shepherd of the Sea.
Shepherd - Oh that I had been a sailor! To hae circumnavi-
gated the warld! To hae pitched our tents, or built our bowers,
on the shores o' bays sae glitterin' wi' league-lang wreaths o'
shells, that the billows blushed crimson as they murmured! Το
hae seen our flags burnin' meteor-like, high up amang the pri-
meval woods, while birds bright as ony buntin' sat trimmin'
their plummage amang the cordage, sae tame in that island, where
ship had haply never touched afore, nor ever might touch again,-
lying in a latitude by itsel', and far out o' the breath o' the
tredd-wunds! Or to hae landed wi' a' the crew, marines and a',
excep' a guard on shipboard to keep aff the crowd o' canoes, on
some warlike isle, tossin' wi’ the plumes on chieftains' heads, and
soun’-soun’-soundin' wi' gongs! What's a man-o'-war's barge, Mr.
Tickler, beautifu' sicht though it be, to the hundred-oared canoe
o some savage island-king! The king himsel lying in state –
no dead, but leevin', every inch o' him — on a platform, aboon a'
his warriors standin' wi' war-clubs, and stane hatchets, and fish-
bane spears, and twisted mats, and tattooed faces, and ornaments
in their noses, and painted een, and feathers on their heads a
yard heigh, a' silent, or burstin' out o' a sudden intil shootin' sangs
o'welcome or defiance, in a language made up o' a few lang
strang words — maistly gutturals — and gran' for the naked priests
—
to yell intil the ears o' their victims, when about to cut their
throats on the altar-stane that idolatry had incrusted with blood,
## p. 16040 (#386) ##########################################
16040
JOHN WILSON
shed by stormy moonlicht to glut the maw of their sanguinary
god. Or say rather — oh, rather say that the white-winged Won-
der that has brought the strangers frae afar, frae lands beyond
the setting sun, has been hailed with hymns and dances o' peace
- and that a' the daughters o' the isle, wi' the daughter o' the
king at their head, come a' gracefully windin' alang in a figure
that, wi' a thousan' changes, is aye but ae single dance, wi' un-
sandaled feet true to their ain wild singin', wi' wings fancifully
fastened to their shouthers, and, beautifu' creturs! a' naked to the
waist — But where the Deevil's Mr. Tickler ? Has he sunk dur-
in' my soliloquy? or swum to shore? Mr. Tickler — Mr. Tickler!
-- I wush I had a pistol to fire into the air, that he might be
brought to. - Yonner he is, playin' at porpuss. Let me try if I
can reach him in twenty strokes; it's no aboon hunder yards.
Five yards a stroke no bad soomin' in dead water. -— There,
I've done it in nineteen. Let me on my back for a rest.
Tickler I am not sure that this confounded cramp-
Shepherd— The cramp's just like the hiccup, sir — never think
o't, and it's gane.
I've seen a white lace veil, sic as Queen
Mary's drawn in, lyin' afloat, without stirrin' aboon her snawy
broo, saftenin' the ee-licht — and it's yon braided clouds that re-
mind me o't, motionless, as if they had lain ther a' their lives;
yet wae's me! perhaps in ae single hour to melt away for ever!
Tickler — James, were a mermaid to see and hear you moral-
izing so, afloat on your back, her heart were lost.
Shepherd — I'm nae favorite noo, I suspeck, amang the mer-
maids.
Tickler - Why not, James? You look more irresistible than
you imagine. Never saw I your face and figure to more advan-
tage when lying on the braes o'Yarrow, with your eyes closed
in the sunshine, and the shadows of poetical dreams chasing each
other along cheek and brow. You would make a beautiful corpse,
James.
Shepherd — Think shame o' yoursel, Mr. Tickler, for daurin' to
use that word, and the sinnies o’ the cauf o' your richt leg yet
knotted wi' the cramp. Think shame o' yoursel'! That word's
no canny.
Tickler -- But what ails the mermaids with the Shepherd ?
Shepherd — I was ance lyin' half asleep in a sea-shore cave o'
the Isle o' Skye, wearied out by the verra beauty o' the moon-
licht that had keepit lyin' for hours in ae lang line o' harmless
## p. 16041 (#387) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16041
fire, stretchin' leagues and leagues to the rim o' the ocean. Nae
sound, but a bit faint, dim plash — plash - plash o' the tide -
whether ebbin' or flawin' I ken not — no against, but upon the
weedy sides o' the cave-
Tickler -
“As when some shepherd of the Hebride Isles,
Placed far amid the melancholy main –»
Shepherd — That soun's like Thamson in his Castle o' Indo-
lence. ' A' the haill warld was forgotten – and my ain name
and what I was — and where I had come frae and why I was
lyin' there— nor was I onything but a Leevin' Dream.
Tickler - Are you to windward or leeward, James ?
-
Shepherd - Something like a caulder breath o' moonlicht-
fell on my face and breast, and seemed to touch all my body and
my limbs. But it canna be mere moonlicht, thocht I, for at the
time there was the whisperin'— or say rather the waverin'-o'
the voice, no alang the green cave wa's, but close intil my ear,
and then within my verra breast; sae, at first — for the soun'
was saft and sweet, and wi' a touch o'plaintive wildness in 't
no unlike the strain o' an Æolian harp— I was rather surprised
than feared, and maist thocht that it was but the wark o' my ain
fancy, afore she yielded to the dwawm o' that solitary sleep.
Tickler - James, I hear the steamer.
Shepherd— I opened my een, that had only been half steekit -
and may we never reach the shore again, if there was not I, sir,
in the embrace o' a mermaid !
Tickler — James— remember we are well out to Inchkeith. If
you please, no-
Shepherd — I would scorn to be drooned with a lee in my
mouth, sir. It is quite true that the hair o' the cretur is green
- and it's as slimy as it's green — slimy and sliddery as the sea-
weed that cheats your unsteady footing on the rocks. Then what
een! oh, what een! Like the boiled een o' a cod's head and
shouthers! And yet expression in them — an expression o' love
and fondness, that would hae garred an Eskimaw scunner.
Tickler — James, you are surely romancing.
Shepherd-0 dear, dear me! - hech, sirs! hech, sirs! - the
—
—
fishiness o' that kiss! I had hung up my claes to dry on a
peak o' the cliff — for it was ane o' thae lang midsummer nichts,
a
## p. 16042 (#388) ##########################################
16042
JOHN WILSON
when the sea-air itself fans ye wi' as warm a sugh as that
frae a leddy's fan when you're sittin' side by side wi' her in an
arbor -
Tickler — O James, you fox —
Shepherd — Sae that I was as naked as either you or me, Mr.
Tickler, at this blessed moment; and when I felt mysel' enveloped
in the hauns, paws, fins, scales, tail, and maw o' the mermaid o'
a monster, I grued till the verra roof o' the cave let doun drap,
drap, drap upon us - me and the mermaid -- and I gied mysel' up
—
for lost.
Tickler — Worse than Venus and Adonis, my dear Shepherd.
Shepherd — I began mutterin' the Lord's Prayer, and the Creed,
and the hundred and nineteenth Psalm — but a' wudna do. The
mermaid held the grup; and while I was splutterin' out her kisses,
and convulsed waur than I ever was under the warst nichtmare
that ever sat on my stamach, wi' ae desperate wallop we baith
gaed tapsalteerie - frae ae sliddery ledge to anither - till, wi'
accelerated velocity, like twa stanes, increasin' accordin' to the
squares o' the distances, we played plunge like porpusses into
the sea, a thousan' fadom deep- and hoo I gat rid o' the briny
Beastliness nae man kens till this day: for there was I sittin'
in the cave, chitterin' like a drookit cock, and nae mermaid to be
seen or heard; although, wad ye believe me, the cave had the
smell o' crabs, and labsters, and oysters, and skate, and fish in
general, aneuch to turn the stamach o' a whale or a sea-lion.
Tickler — Ship ahoy! Let us change our position, James.
Shall we board the steamer ?
Shepherd-Only look at the waves, --- hoo they gang welterin'
frae 'her prow and sides, and widen in her wake for miles aff!
Gin venture ony nearer, we'll
wear breeks mair.
Mercy on us! she's bearin' doun upon us. Let us soom fast, and
passing across her bows, we shall bear up to windward out o' a'
the commotion. — Captain Bain! Captain Bain! it's me and Mr.
Tickler, takin' a soom for an appeteet ! — stop the ingine till we
get past the bowsprit!
Tickler — Heavens, James, what a bevy of ladies on deck!
Let us dive.
Shepherd – You may dive — for you swim improperly high;
but as for me, I seem in the water to be a mere Head, like a
cherub on a church. A boat, captain - a boat!
we
never
## p. 16043 (#389) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16043
Tickler – James, you aren't mad, sure? Who ever boarded a
steamer in our plight? There will be fainting from stem to
stern, in cabin and steerage.
Shepherd - I ken that leddy in the straw-bannet and green
veil and ruby sarsnet, wi' the glass at her ee. Ye ho— Miss-
Tickler — James, remember how exceedingly delicate a thing
is a young lady's reputation. See, she turns away in confus-
ion.
Shepherd — Captain, I say, what news frae London ?
Captain Bain [through a speaking-trumpet) - Lord Welling-
ton's amendment on the bonding clause in the Corn Bill again
carried against Ministers by 133 to 122. Sixty-six shillings!
Tickler — What says your friend M'Culloch to that, captain ?
Shepherd — Wha cares a bodle about corn bills in our situa-
tion ? What's the captain routin' about noo o' his speakin'-
trumpet ? But he may just as weel haud his tongue, for I never
understand ae word out o' the mouth o' a trumpet.
Tickler – He says the general opinion in London is that the
Administration will stand - that Canning and Brougham -
Shepherd— Canning and Brougham, indeed! Do you think,
sir, if Canning and Brougham had been soomin' in the sea, and
that Canning had ta’en the cramp in the cauf o' his richt leg,-
as you either did, or said you did, a short while sin' syne, -
that Brougham wad hae safed him as I safed you? Faith, no he
indeed! Hairy wad hae thocht naething o' watchin' till George
showed the croon o' his head aboon water, and then hittin' him
on the temples.
Tickler — No, no, James. They would mutually risk lives for
each other's sake. But no politics at present: we're getting into
the swell, and will have our work to do to beat back into smooth
water. James, that was a facer.
Shepherd — Dog on it, ane wad need to be a sea-maw, or kitty.
wake, or stormy petrel, or some ither ane o' Bewick's birds -
Tickler - Keep your mouth shut, James, till we're out of the
swell.
Sepherd-Em-hem-umph – humph-whoo-whoo-whurr-
whurr - herrachvacherach!
Tickler — Whsy – whsy – whsy — whugh — whugh — shugh -
-
–
shugh-prugh-ptsugh — prgugh!
Shepherd — It's lang sin' I've drank sae muckle saut water
at ae sittin'— at ae soomin', I mean as I hae dune, sir, sin'
## p. 16044 (#390) ##########################################
16044
JOHN WILSON
that steamboat gaed by. She does indeed kick up a deevil o' a
rumpus.
Tickler – Whoo - whoo — whoof -- whro0 — whroo — whroof —
proof — ptroof — sprtf!
Shepherd - Ae thing I maun tell you, sir, and that's, gin you
tak the cramp the noo, you maunna expeck ony assistance frae
me — no, gin you were my ain faither. This bates a' the swalls!
Confoun' the James Watt, quoth I.
Tickler-Nay, nay, James. She is worthy of her name
and a better seaman than Captain Bain never boxed the compass.
He never comes below except at meal-times, and a pleasanter
person cannot be at the foot of the table. All night long he is
on deck looking out for squalls.
Shepherd — I declare to you, sir, that just noo in the trough
o the sea, I didna see the top o' the steamer's chimley. See,
Mr. Tickler - see, Mr. Tickler - only look here - only look here -
HERE'S BRONTE! - Mr. North's GREAT NEWFUNLAN' BRONTE!
Tickler — Capital — capital. He has been paying his father a
visit at the gallant Admiral's, and come across our steps on the
sands.
Shepherd — Puir fallow - gran' fallow — did ye think we
droonin'?
Bronte Bow – bow — bow — bow, wow, wow – bow, wow,
WOW.
Tickler His oratory is like that of Bristol Hunt versus Sir
Thomas Lethbridge.
Shepherd — Sir, you're tired, sir. You had better tak haud o'
his tail.
Tickler - No bad idea, James. But let me just put one arm
round his neck. There we go. Bronte, my boy, you swim strong
as a rhinoceros!
Bronte Bow, wow, wow
bow, wow,
wow.
Tickler — Why, I think, James, he speaks uncommonly well.
Few of our Scotch members speak better. He might lead the
Opposition.
Shepherd — What for will ye aye be introducin' politics, sir ?
But really, I hae fund his tail very useful in that swall; and let's
leave him to himsel' noo, for twa men on ae dowg's a sair doun-
draucht.
Tickler — With what a bold, kind eye the noble animal keeps
swimming between us, like a Christian!
was
## p. 16045 (#391) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16045
.
Shepherd — I hae never been able to persuade my heart and
my understandin' that dowgs haena immortal sowls. See how he
steers himsel', — first a wee towarts me, and then a wee towarts
you, wi' his tail like a rudder. His sowl maun be immortal.
Tickler -- I am sure, James, that if it be, I shall be extremely
happy to meet Bronte in any future society.
Shepherd — The minister wad ca’ that no orthodox. But the
mystery o’life canna gang out like the pluff o' a cawnle. · Per-
haps the verra bit bonny glitterin' insecks that we ca' ephemeral,
because they dance out but ae single day, never dee, but keep for
ever and aye openin' and shuttin' their wings in mony million
atmospheres, and may do sae through a' eternity. The universe
is aiblins wide aneuch.
Tickler - Eyes right! James, a boatful of ladies — with um-
brellas and parasols extended to catch the breeze. Let us lie on
our oars, and they will never observe us.
Bronte — Bow, wow, wow — bow, wow, wow.
(Female alarms heard from the pleasure-boat. A gentleman in the stern
rises with an oar, and stands in a threatening attitude. ]
Tickler - Ease off to the east, James -- Bronte, hush!
Shepherd --I howp they've nae fooling-pieces, for they may
tak us for gulls, and pepper us wi' swan-shot or slugs. I'll dive
at the flash. Yon's no a gun that chiel has in his haun?
Tickler — He lets fall his oar into the water, and the “boatie
- the boatie rows. ” Hark, a song!
rows
(Song from the retiring boat. ]
Shepherd – A very gude sang, and very well sung — jolly com-
panions every one.
Tickler - The fair authors of the Odd Volume'!
Shepherd — What's their names ?
Tickler — They choose to be anonymous, James; and that be-
ing the case, no gentleman is entitled to withdraw the veil.
Shepherd — They're sweet singers, howsomever; and the words
o their sang are capital. Baith Odd Volumes are maist ingen-
ious, well written, and amusing.
Tickler — The public thinks so; and they sell like wildfire.
have been kept alive, and fed for some time on corn and buck-
wheat, their flesh acquires great superiority; but in their common
state they are dry and blackish, and far inferior to the full-grown
young ones or squabs.
The nest of the wild pigeon is formed of a few dry slender
twigs carelessly put together, and with so little concavity that
the young one, when half grown, can easily be seen from below.
The eggs are pure white. Great numbers of hawks, and some-
times the bald eagle himself, hover about those breeding-places,
and seize the old or the young from the nest amidst the rising
multitudes, and with the most daring effrontery. The young,
when beginning to fly, confine themselves to the under part
of the tall woods, where there is no brush, and where nuts and
acorns are abundant, searching among the leaves for mast; and
appear like a prodigious torrent rolling along through the woods,
every one striving to be in the front. Vast numbers of them
are shot while in this situation. A person told me that he once
rode furiously into one of these rolling multitudes, and picked up
thirteen pigeons which had been trampled to death by his horse's
feet. In a few minutes they will beat the whole nuts from a
tree with their wings, while all is a scramble both above and
## p. 16029 (#375) ##########################################
ALEXANDER WILSON
16029
below for the same. They have the same cooing notes common
to domestic pigeons, but much less of their gesticulations. In
some flocks you will find nothing but young ones, which are
easily distinguishable by their motley dress. In others they will
be mostly females; and again great multitudes of males with
few or no females. I cannot account for this in any other way
than that, during the time of incubation, the males are exclusively
engaged in procuring food, both for themselves and their mates;
and the young, being unable yet to undertake these extensive
excursions, associate together accordingly. But even in winter I
know of several species of birds who separate in this manner;
particularly the red-winged starling, among whom thousands of
old males may be found, with few or no young or females along
with them.
Stragglers from these immense armies settle in almost every
part of the country, particularly among the beech woods, and in
the pine and hemlock woods of the eastern and northern parts
of the continent. Mr. Pennant informs us that they breed near
Moose Fort at Hudson's Bay, in N. lat. 51°; and I myself have
seen the remains of a large breeding-place as far south as the
country of the Chactaws, in lat. 32°. In the former of these
places they are said to remain until December: from which cir-
cumstance it is evident that they are not regular in their migra-
tions, like many other species, but rove about, as scarcity of food
urges them. Every spring, however, as well as fall, more
less of them are seen in the neighborhood of Philadelphia; but
it is only once in several years that they appear in such formida-
ble bodies; and this commonly when the snows are heavy to the
north, the winter here more than usually mild, and acorns, etc. ,
abundant.
The passenger pigeon is sixteen inches long, and twenty-four
inches in extent; bill, black; nostril, covered by a high rounding
protuberance; eye, brilliant fiery orange; orbit, or space sur-
rounding it, purplish flesh-colored skin; head, upper part of the
neck, and chin, a fine slate-blue, lightest on the chin; throat,
breast, and sides, as far as the thighs, a reddish hazel; lower
part of the neck, and sides of the same, resplendent changeable
gold, green, and purplish crimson,- the latter most predominant;
the ground color slate; the plumage of this part is of a peculiar
structure, ragged at the ends; belly and vent, white; lower part
or
## p. 16030 (#376) ##########################################
16030
ALEXANDER WILSON
of the breast, fading into a pale vinaceous red; thighs, the same;
legs and feet, lake, seamed with white; back, rump, and tail
coverts, dark slate, spotted on the shoulders with a few scattered
marks of black; the scapulars, tinged with brown; greater cov-
erts, light slate; primaries and secondaries, dull black, the former
tipped and edged with brownish white; tail, long, and greatly
cuneiform, all the feathers tapering towards the point, the two
middle ones plain deep black, the other five on each side hoary
white, lightest near the tips, deepening into bluish near the
bases, where each is crossed on the inner vane with a broad
spot of black, and nearer the root with another of ferruginous;
primaries, edged with white; bastard wing, black.
The female is about half an inch shorter, and an inch less in
extent; breast, cinereous brown; upper part of the neck, inclining
to ash; the spot of changeable gold, green, and carmine, much
less, and not so brilliant; tail coverts, brownish slate; naked
orbits, slate-colored; in all other respects like the male in color,
but less vivid, and more tinged with brown; the eye not so brill-
iant an orange. In both, the tail has only twelve feathers.
THE FISH-HAWK, OR OSPREY
T**
He regular arrival of this noted bird at the vernal equinox,
when the busy season of fishing commences, adds peculiar
interest to its first appearance, and
procures it
many a
benediction from the fishermen. With the following lines, illus-
trative of these circumstances, I shall conclude its history:-
Soon as the sun, great ruler of the year,
Bends to our northern clime his bright career,
And from the caves of ocean calls from sleep
The finny shoals and myriads of the deep;
When freezing tempests back to Greenland ride,
And day and night the equal hours divide:
True to the season, o'er our sea-beat shore,
The sailing osprey high is seen to soar,
With broad unmoving wing, and circling slow,
Marks each loose straggler in the deep below;
Sweeps down like lightning, plunges with a roar,
And bears his struggling victim to the shore.
.
## p. 16031 (#377) ##########################################
ALEXANDER WILSON
16031
The long-housed fisherman beholds with joy,
The well-known signals of his rough employ;
And as he bears his nets and oars along,
Thus hails the welcome season with a song:-
THE FISHERMAN'S HYMN
The osprey sails above the Sound,
The geese are gone, the gulls are flying;
The herring-shoals swarm thick around,
The nets are launched, the boats are plying.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Raise high the song, and cheerly wish her,
Still as the bending net we sweep, -
«God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! »
Şhe brings us fish — she brings us spring,
Good times, fair weather, warmth and plenty;
Fine store of shad, trout, herring, ling,
Sheep's-head and drum, and old-wives dainty.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
Still as the bending net we sweep, —
«God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher ! »
»
She rears her young on yonder tree,
She leaves her faithful mate to mind 'em;
Like us, for fish she sails the sea,
And plunging, shows us where to find 'em.
Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep,
Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her,
While slow the bending net we sweep,-
“God bless the fish-hawk and the fisher! )
## p. 16032 (#378) ##########################################
16032
JOHN WILSON
(1785-1854)
OHN WILSON was one of those men whose attractive and
striking personality makes it difficult to disassociate them
from their work. Of marked individuality and leonine pres-
ence, he was a large figure in the social and intellectual circles of
Edinburgh, a power in the life as well as literature of his period.
His faults were those of a big-souled man, who gave himself prodi-
gally and covered too wide an area. As one of his editors, Mr. John
Skelton, remarks, he needed concentration. Had the tree been thor-
oughly pruned, the fruit would have been
larger and richer. » His merits, weighed
now in the more impartial scales of a
later day, are felt to be distinct. To ex-
press Christopher North in metaphor, one
would call him a literary "Jupiter tonans. ”
He possessed a sort of dynamic energy,
and breathed out a wholesome atmosphere,
as of the sea or hills. This influence was
noticeable whether in the intercourse of so-
ciety, the class-room lecture, or the breezy
deliverances of the Noctes Ambrosianæ
as they appeared in Blackwood. The sheer
John Wilson animal spirits of those famous papers would
alone carry them into favor; and they pos-
sess besides, abundance of wit and humor, of felicitous description
and keen characterization, of wisdom and poetry. They constitute a
solid monument to their writer, independent, in the main lines, of
much that is local and temporary in the construction.
John Wilson was the son of a rich manufacturer in Paisley,
Scotland, where John was born May 18th, 1785. He was educated at
the University of Glasgow, and at Oxford, winning the Newdigate
Prize for poetry there. His degree was secured in 1807. He bought
soon thereafter an estate on Lake Windermere in the Westmoreland
country, so rich in literary associations; and for some years was an
intimate of Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge. It was in this
## p. 16033 (#379) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16033
environment that his poem “The Isle of Palms) was published, in
1812. He removed to Edinburgh in 1815, and was admitted to the
bar. The next year appeared the dramatic poem “The City of the
Plague. ' Blackwood's Magazine was founded in 1812, and Wilson
became at once a valued contributor. The fact that he was elected
in 1820 Professor of Morals at the university — defeating Sir William
Hamilton, who was also a candidate — testifies to the high rating of
him as man and scholar. From this throne Professor Wilson spoke
or used his pen for many years.
A number of tales and sketches are aside from what brought him
his more permanent reputation. Such are - Lights and Shadows of
Scottish Life' (1822), «The Trials of Margaret Lindsay' (1823), “The
Foresters) (1825), and the 'Essay on the Genius of Burns) (1841).
More characteristic and hence more lasting are the Noctes Ambro-
sianæ,' contributed to the magazine froin 1822 to 1835; the later series
(Dies Boreales, or Christopher Under Canvas) (1849-1852) not equal-
ing the earlier in spontaneity or charm. It is not hard to understand
the immediate popularity of the Noctes,' when at Ambrose's Edin-
burgh tavern, Mr. Tickler, the Ettrick Shepherd, Christopher North,
and other rare good spirits drank their toddy into the wee small
hours, and exchanged all manner of talk upon all manner of things.
The three main personages are limned with a clear eye and much
unction; and one of them at least, the Shepherd, is a true master-
piece in comedy creation. Wilson is open to the charge of being
diffuse, and occasionally coarse, in the conductment of these sprightly
dialogues; but these are but flies in the ointment.
In 1851 Professor Wilson resigned his seat in the university, and
died three years afterward, April 3d, 1854. Professor Ferrier, his son-
in-law, has edited his works in twelve volumes; and a Life) has
been written by his daughter, Mrs. Gordon. For purposes of conven-
ience, the general reader is directed to The Comedy of the Noctes
Ambrosianæ); an edition selected and arranged by Mr. John Skelton,
presenting the Noctes) in a much condensed form, whereby that
which is slighter, local, and least happy, is eliminated.
XXVII-1003
## p. 16034 (#380) ##########################################
16034
JOHN WILSON
IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD AND TICKLER TAKE TO THE
WATER
From Noctes Ambrosianæ)
Scene: Two Bathing-machines in the Sea at Portobello. Present : Shep-
herd, Tickler.
HEPHERD
S***
con-
Halloo, Mr. Tickler, are you no ready yet, man ?
I've been a mother-naked man, in my machine here, for
mair than ten minutes. Hae your pantaloons got entangled
amang your heels, or are you saying your prayers afore you
plunge ?
Tickler - Both. These patent long drawers, too, are a
founded nuisance — and this patent short undershirt. There is
no getting out of them without greater agility than is generally
possessed by a man at my time of life.
Shepherd — Confound a' pawtents. As for mysel, I never wear
drawers, but hae my breeks lined wi' flannen a' the year through;
and as for thae wee short corded undershirts, that clasp you
like ivy, I never hae had ane o' them on sin’ last July, when I
was forced to cut it aff my back and breast wi' a pair o'sheep-
shears, after havin' tried in vain to get out o't every morning
for twa months. But are ye no ready, sir ? A man
on the
scaffold wadna be allowed sae lang time for preparation. The
minister or the hangman wad be juggin' him to fling the hand-
kerchief.
Tickler — Hanging, I hold, is a mere flea-bite -
Shepherd — What! tae dookin'? — Here goes.
[The Shepherd plunges into the sea. ]
Tickler – What the devil has become of James ? He is no-
where to be seen. That is but a gull — that only a seal — and
that a mere pellock. James, James, James!
Shepherd [emerging]— Wha's that roarin'? Stop a wee till I
get the saut water out o' my een, and my mouth, and my nose,
and wring my hair a bit. Noo, where are you, Mr. Tickler ?
Tickler — I think I shall put on my clothes again, James. The
air is chill; and I see from your face that the water is as cold
as ice.
Shepherd - Oh, man! but you're a desperate cooart. Think
shame o' yoursel, stannin' naked there at the mouth o the
## p. 16035 (#381) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16035
machine, wi' the haill crew o'yon brig sailin' up the Firth
lookin' at ye, ane after anither, frae cyuck to captain, through
the telescope.
Tickler - James, on the sincerity of a shepherd and the faith
of a Christian, lay your hand on your heart, and tell me, was
not the shock tremendous ? I thought you never would have re-
appeared.
Shepherd — The shock was naethin', nae mair than what a
body feels when waukenin' suddenly durin' a sermon, or fa'in'
ower a staircase in a dream. But I am aff to Inchkeith.
Tickler - Whizz.
>
[Flings a somerset into the sea. ]
sax
seven
-
a
Shepherd — Ane twa three four - five -
aught- But there's nae need o' coontin', for nae pearl diver
in the Straits o' Madagascar, or aff the coast o' Coromandel, can
haud in his breath like Tickler. Weel, that's surprisin'. Yon
chaise has gane about half a mile o' gate towards Portybelly sin'
he gaed fizzin' out ower the lugs like a verra rocket. Safe us!
what's this gruppin' me by the legs ? A sherk—a sherk
sherk!
Tickler (yellowing to the surface] - Blabla — blabla — bla —
Shepherd — He's keept soomin'aneath the water till he's sick;
but every man for himsel', and God for us a'— I'm aff.
[Shepherd stretches away to sea in the direction of Inchkeith, Tickler in
pursuit. ]
Tickler -- Every sinew, my dear James, like so much whip-
cord. I swim like a salmon.
Shepherd-O sir! that Lord Byron had but been alive the
noo, what a sweepstakes!
Tickler - A Liverpool gentleman has undertaken, James, to
swim four-and-twenty miles at a stretch. What are the odds ?
Shepherd — Three to one on Saturn and Neptune. He'll get
numm.
Tickler -- James, I had no idea you were so rough on the
back. You are a perfect otter.
Shepherd — Nae personality, Mr. Tickler, out at sea.
I'll com-
pare carcases wi' you ony day o' the year. Yet you're a gran'
soomer — out o' the water at every stroke, neck, breast, shou-
thers, and half-way doun the back — after the fashion o' the great
- o
## p. 16036 (#382) ##########################################
16036
JOHN WILSON
American serpent. As for me, my style o' soomin's less showy
— laigh and lown — less hurry, but mair speed.
—
Come sir, l'11
dive you for a jug o' toddy.
[Tickler and Shepherd melt away like foam-bells in the sunshine. ]
Shepherd — Mr. Tickler!
Tickler – James!
Shepherd - It's a drawn bate - sae we'll baith pay. O sir!
isna Embro' a glorious city ? Sae clear the air! Yonner you see
a man and a woman stannin' on the tap o' Arthur's Seat! I had
nae notion there were sae mony steeples, and spires, and col-
umns, and pillars, and obelisks, and domes in Embro'! And at
this distance the ee canna distinguish atween them that belangs
to kirks, and them that belangs to naval monuments, and them
that belangs to ile-gas companies, and them that's only chimney-
heids in the auld toun, and the taps o' groves, or single trees, sic
as poplars; and aboon a' and ahint a', craigs and saft-broo'd hills
sprinkled wi' sheep, lichts and shadows, and the blue vapory glim-
mer o' a mid-summer day — het, het, het, wi' the barometer at
ninety: but here, to us twa, bob-bobbin' amang the fresh, cool,
murmurin', and faemy wee waves, temperate as the air within
the mermaid's palace. Anither dive!
Tickler — James, here goes the Fly-Wheel.
Shepherd - That beats a'!
He gangs round in the water like
a jack roastin' beef. I'm thinkin' he canna stop himsel. Safe us!
he's fun' out the perpetual motion.
Tickler — What fish, James, would you incline to be, if put into
-
scales ?
Shepherd — A dolphin — for they hae the speed o' lichtnin'.
They'll dart past and roun' about a ship in full sail before the
wind, just as if she was at anchor. Then the dolphin is a fish o'
peace — he saved the life o' a poet of auld, Arion, wi' his harp -
and oh! they say the cretur's beautifu' in death: Byron, ye ken,
comparin' his hues to those o' the sun settin' ahint the Grecian
Isles. I sud like to be a dolphin.
Tickler — I should choose to sport shark for a season. In
speed he is a match for the dolphin; and then, James, think what
luxury to swallow a well-fed chaplain, or a delicate midshipman,
or a young negro girl, occasionally -
Shepherd -- And feenally to be grupped wi' a hyuck in a
cocked hat and feather,- at which the shark rises as a trout
## p. 16037 (#383) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16037
-
does at a flee, - hauled on board, and hacked to pieces wi' cut-
lasses and pikes by the jolly crew, or left alive on the deck, gut-
ted as clean as a dice-box, and without an inch o’ bowels.
Tickler - Men die at shore, James, of natural deaths as bad as
that —
Shepherd — Let me see — I sud hae nae great objections to be
a whale in the Polar Seas. Gran' fun to fling a boatfu' o' har-
pooners into the air; or wi' ae thud o' your tail, to drive in the
stern-posts o' a Greenlandman.
Tickler — Grander fun still, James, to feel the inextricable
harpoon in your blubber, and to go snoving away beneath an
ice-floe with four mile of line connecting you with your distant
enemies.
Shepherd — But then whales marry but ae wife, and are pas-
sionately attached to their offspring. There, they and I are con-
genial speerits. Nae fish that swims enjoys so large a share of
domestic happiness.
Tickler - A whale, James, is not a fish.
Shepherd — Isna he? Let him alane for that. He's ca'd a fish
in the Bible, and that's better authority than Buffon. Oh that I
were a whale!
Tickler — What think you of a summer of the American sea-
serpent ?
Shepherd - What! To be constantly cruised upon by the haill
American navy, military and mercantile ? No to be able to show
your back aboon water without being libeled by the Yankees in
a' the newspapers, and pursued even by pleasure parties, playin'
the hurdy-gurdy and smokin' cigars! Besides, although I hae
nae objection to a certain degree o' singularity, I sudna just like
to be so very singular as the American sea-serpent, who is the
only ane o' his specie noo extant; and whether he dees in his
bed, or is slain by Jonathan, must incur the pain and the oppro-
brium o' defunckin' an auld bachelor. What's the matter wi' you,
Mr. Tickler?
[Dives. ]
Tickler — The calf of my right leg is rather harder than is
altogether pleasant, - a pretty business if it prove the cramp; and
the cramp it is, sure enough. -Hallo - James - James - James-
hallo — I'm seized with the cramp! — James— the sinews of the
## p. 16038 (#384) ##########################################
16038
JOHN WILSON
calf of my right leg are gathered up into a knot about the bulk
and consistency of a sledge-hammer -
Shepherd — Nae tricks upon travelers. You've nae cramp.
Gin you hae, streek out your richt hind leg, like a horse geein a
funk,- and then ower on the back o'ye, and keep floatin' for a
space, and your calf'll be as saft's a cushion. Lord safe us!
what's this? Deevil tak me if he's no droonin'. Mr. Tickler, are
you droonin'? There he's doun ance, and up again — twice, and
up again; but it's time to tak haud o' him by the hair o' the
head, or he'll be doun amang the limpets!
[Shepherd seizes Tickler by the locks. ]
-
Tickler - Oho - oho- oho — ho-ho-ho- hra - hra - hrach
- hrach.
Shepherd — What language is that? Finnish ? Noo, sir, dinna
rug me doun to the bottom alang wi’ you in the dead-thraws.
Tickler — Heaven reward you, James : the pain is gone — but
keep near me.
Shepherd — Whammle yoursel ower on your back, sir. That
’ill do. Hoo are you now, sir ? Yonner's the James Watt steam-
boat, Captain Bain, within half a league. Lean on my airm,
sir, till he comes alangside, and it 'll be a real happiness to the
captain to save your life. But what 'ill a' the leddies do whan
they're hoistin' us aboard ? They maun just use their fans.
Tickler — My dear Shepherd, I am again floating like a turtle,
but keep within hail, James. Are you to windward or lee-
ward ?
Shepherd – Right astarn. Did you ever see, sir, in a' your
born days, sic a sky ? Ane can scarcely say he sees 't, for
it's maist invisible in its blue beautifu' tenuity, as the waters o'
a well! It's just like the ee o' a lassie I kent lang ago: the
langer you gazed intil 't, the deep, deep, deeper it grew — the
cawmer and the mair cawm composed o' a smile, as an ame-
thyst is composed o' licht - and seeming something impalpable to
the touch, till you ventured, wi' fear, joy, and tremmlin', to kiss
it — just ae hesitatin', pantin', reverential kiss — and then, to be
sure, your verra sowl kent it to be a bonny blue ee, covered wi'
a lid o' dark fringes, and drappin' aiblins a bit frichtened tear to
the lip o' love.
## p. 16039 (#385) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16039
Tickler – What is your specific gravity, James ? You float
like a sedge.
Shepherd - Say rather a nautilus, or a mew. I'm native to
the yelement.
Tickler — Where learned you the natatory art, my dear Shep-
herd ?
Shepherd — Do you mean soomin'? In St. Mary's Loch. For
a haill simmer I kept plouterin' alang the shore, and pittin' ae
fit to the grun', knockin' the skin aff my knees, and makin' nae
progress, till ae day, the gravel haein' been loosened by a flood,
I plowpt in ower head and ears, and in my confusion turnin' my
face to the wrang airt, I swom across the loch at the widest at
ae stretch; and ever after that could hae soomed ony man in the
forest for a wager, except Mr. David Ballantyne, that noo leeves
ower-by yonner, near the Hermitage Castle.
Tickler - Now, James, you are, to use the language of Spenser,
the Shepherd of the Sea.
Shepherd - Oh that I had been a sailor! To hae circumnavi-
gated the warld! To hae pitched our tents, or built our bowers,
on the shores o' bays sae glitterin' wi' league-lang wreaths o'
shells, that the billows blushed crimson as they murmured! Το
hae seen our flags burnin' meteor-like, high up amang the pri-
meval woods, while birds bright as ony buntin' sat trimmin'
their plummage amang the cordage, sae tame in that island, where
ship had haply never touched afore, nor ever might touch again,-
lying in a latitude by itsel', and far out o' the breath o' the
tredd-wunds! Or to hae landed wi' a' the crew, marines and a',
excep' a guard on shipboard to keep aff the crowd o' canoes, on
some warlike isle, tossin' wi’ the plumes on chieftains' heads, and
soun’-soun’-soundin' wi' gongs! What's a man-o'-war's barge, Mr.
Tickler, beautifu' sicht though it be, to the hundred-oared canoe
o some savage island-king! The king himsel lying in state –
no dead, but leevin', every inch o' him — on a platform, aboon a'
his warriors standin' wi' war-clubs, and stane hatchets, and fish-
bane spears, and twisted mats, and tattooed faces, and ornaments
in their noses, and painted een, and feathers on their heads a
yard heigh, a' silent, or burstin' out o' a sudden intil shootin' sangs
o'welcome or defiance, in a language made up o' a few lang
strang words — maistly gutturals — and gran' for the naked priests
—
to yell intil the ears o' their victims, when about to cut their
throats on the altar-stane that idolatry had incrusted with blood,
## p. 16040 (#386) ##########################################
16040
JOHN WILSON
shed by stormy moonlicht to glut the maw of their sanguinary
god. Or say rather — oh, rather say that the white-winged Won-
der that has brought the strangers frae afar, frae lands beyond
the setting sun, has been hailed with hymns and dances o' peace
- and that a' the daughters o' the isle, wi' the daughter o' the
king at their head, come a' gracefully windin' alang in a figure
that, wi' a thousan' changes, is aye but ae single dance, wi' un-
sandaled feet true to their ain wild singin', wi' wings fancifully
fastened to their shouthers, and, beautifu' creturs! a' naked to the
waist — But where the Deevil's Mr. Tickler ? Has he sunk dur-
in' my soliloquy? or swum to shore? Mr. Tickler — Mr. Tickler!
-- I wush I had a pistol to fire into the air, that he might be
brought to. - Yonner he is, playin' at porpuss. Let me try if I
can reach him in twenty strokes; it's no aboon hunder yards.
Five yards a stroke no bad soomin' in dead water. -— There,
I've done it in nineteen. Let me on my back for a rest.
Tickler I am not sure that this confounded cramp-
Shepherd— The cramp's just like the hiccup, sir — never think
o't, and it's gane.
I've seen a white lace veil, sic as Queen
Mary's drawn in, lyin' afloat, without stirrin' aboon her snawy
broo, saftenin' the ee-licht — and it's yon braided clouds that re-
mind me o't, motionless, as if they had lain ther a' their lives;
yet wae's me! perhaps in ae single hour to melt away for ever!
Tickler — James, were a mermaid to see and hear you moral-
izing so, afloat on your back, her heart were lost.
Shepherd — I'm nae favorite noo, I suspeck, amang the mer-
maids.
Tickler - Why not, James? You look more irresistible than
you imagine. Never saw I your face and figure to more advan-
tage when lying on the braes o'Yarrow, with your eyes closed
in the sunshine, and the shadows of poetical dreams chasing each
other along cheek and brow. You would make a beautiful corpse,
James.
Shepherd — Think shame o' yoursel, Mr. Tickler, for daurin' to
use that word, and the sinnies o’ the cauf o' your richt leg yet
knotted wi' the cramp. Think shame o' yoursel'! That word's
no canny.
Tickler -- But what ails the mermaids with the Shepherd ?
Shepherd — I was ance lyin' half asleep in a sea-shore cave o'
the Isle o' Skye, wearied out by the verra beauty o' the moon-
licht that had keepit lyin' for hours in ae lang line o' harmless
## p. 16041 (#387) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16041
fire, stretchin' leagues and leagues to the rim o' the ocean. Nae
sound, but a bit faint, dim plash — plash - plash o' the tide -
whether ebbin' or flawin' I ken not — no against, but upon the
weedy sides o' the cave-
Tickler -
“As when some shepherd of the Hebride Isles,
Placed far amid the melancholy main –»
Shepherd — That soun's like Thamson in his Castle o' Indo-
lence. ' A' the haill warld was forgotten – and my ain name
and what I was — and where I had come frae and why I was
lyin' there— nor was I onything but a Leevin' Dream.
Tickler - Are you to windward or leeward, James ?
-
Shepherd - Something like a caulder breath o' moonlicht-
fell on my face and breast, and seemed to touch all my body and
my limbs. But it canna be mere moonlicht, thocht I, for at the
time there was the whisperin'— or say rather the waverin'-o'
the voice, no alang the green cave wa's, but close intil my ear,
and then within my verra breast; sae, at first — for the soun'
was saft and sweet, and wi' a touch o'plaintive wildness in 't
no unlike the strain o' an Æolian harp— I was rather surprised
than feared, and maist thocht that it was but the wark o' my ain
fancy, afore she yielded to the dwawm o' that solitary sleep.
Tickler - James, I hear the steamer.
Shepherd— I opened my een, that had only been half steekit -
and may we never reach the shore again, if there was not I, sir,
in the embrace o' a mermaid !
Tickler — James— remember we are well out to Inchkeith. If
you please, no-
Shepherd — I would scorn to be drooned with a lee in my
mouth, sir. It is quite true that the hair o' the cretur is green
- and it's as slimy as it's green — slimy and sliddery as the sea-
weed that cheats your unsteady footing on the rocks. Then what
een! oh, what een! Like the boiled een o' a cod's head and
shouthers! And yet expression in them — an expression o' love
and fondness, that would hae garred an Eskimaw scunner.
Tickler — James, you are surely romancing.
Shepherd-0 dear, dear me! - hech, sirs! hech, sirs! - the
—
—
fishiness o' that kiss! I had hung up my claes to dry on a
peak o' the cliff — for it was ane o' thae lang midsummer nichts,
a
## p. 16042 (#388) ##########################################
16042
JOHN WILSON
when the sea-air itself fans ye wi' as warm a sugh as that
frae a leddy's fan when you're sittin' side by side wi' her in an
arbor -
Tickler — O James, you fox —
Shepherd — Sae that I was as naked as either you or me, Mr.
Tickler, at this blessed moment; and when I felt mysel' enveloped
in the hauns, paws, fins, scales, tail, and maw o' the mermaid o'
a monster, I grued till the verra roof o' the cave let doun drap,
drap, drap upon us - me and the mermaid -- and I gied mysel' up
—
for lost.
Tickler — Worse than Venus and Adonis, my dear Shepherd.
Shepherd — I began mutterin' the Lord's Prayer, and the Creed,
and the hundred and nineteenth Psalm — but a' wudna do. The
mermaid held the grup; and while I was splutterin' out her kisses,
and convulsed waur than I ever was under the warst nichtmare
that ever sat on my stamach, wi' ae desperate wallop we baith
gaed tapsalteerie - frae ae sliddery ledge to anither - till, wi'
accelerated velocity, like twa stanes, increasin' accordin' to the
squares o' the distances, we played plunge like porpusses into
the sea, a thousan' fadom deep- and hoo I gat rid o' the briny
Beastliness nae man kens till this day: for there was I sittin'
in the cave, chitterin' like a drookit cock, and nae mermaid to be
seen or heard; although, wad ye believe me, the cave had the
smell o' crabs, and labsters, and oysters, and skate, and fish in
general, aneuch to turn the stamach o' a whale or a sea-lion.
Tickler — Ship ahoy! Let us change our position, James.
Shall we board the steamer ?
Shepherd-Only look at the waves, --- hoo they gang welterin'
frae 'her prow and sides, and widen in her wake for miles aff!
Gin venture ony nearer, we'll
wear breeks mair.
Mercy on us! she's bearin' doun upon us. Let us soom fast, and
passing across her bows, we shall bear up to windward out o' a'
the commotion. — Captain Bain! Captain Bain! it's me and Mr.
Tickler, takin' a soom for an appeteet ! — stop the ingine till we
get past the bowsprit!
Tickler — Heavens, James, what a bevy of ladies on deck!
Let us dive.
Shepherd – You may dive — for you swim improperly high;
but as for me, I seem in the water to be a mere Head, like a
cherub on a church. A boat, captain - a boat!
we
never
## p. 16043 (#389) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16043
Tickler – James, you aren't mad, sure? Who ever boarded a
steamer in our plight? There will be fainting from stem to
stern, in cabin and steerage.
Shepherd - I ken that leddy in the straw-bannet and green
veil and ruby sarsnet, wi' the glass at her ee. Ye ho— Miss-
Tickler — James, remember how exceedingly delicate a thing
is a young lady's reputation. See, she turns away in confus-
ion.
Shepherd — Captain, I say, what news frae London ?
Captain Bain [through a speaking-trumpet) - Lord Welling-
ton's amendment on the bonding clause in the Corn Bill again
carried against Ministers by 133 to 122. Sixty-six shillings!
Tickler — What says your friend M'Culloch to that, captain ?
Shepherd — Wha cares a bodle about corn bills in our situa-
tion ? What's the captain routin' about noo o' his speakin'-
trumpet ? But he may just as weel haud his tongue, for I never
understand ae word out o' the mouth o' a trumpet.
Tickler – He says the general opinion in London is that the
Administration will stand - that Canning and Brougham -
Shepherd— Canning and Brougham, indeed! Do you think,
sir, if Canning and Brougham had been soomin' in the sea, and
that Canning had ta’en the cramp in the cauf o' his richt leg,-
as you either did, or said you did, a short while sin' syne, -
that Brougham wad hae safed him as I safed you? Faith, no he
indeed! Hairy wad hae thocht naething o' watchin' till George
showed the croon o' his head aboon water, and then hittin' him
on the temples.
Tickler — No, no, James. They would mutually risk lives for
each other's sake. But no politics at present: we're getting into
the swell, and will have our work to do to beat back into smooth
water. James, that was a facer.
Shepherd — Dog on it, ane wad need to be a sea-maw, or kitty.
wake, or stormy petrel, or some ither ane o' Bewick's birds -
Tickler - Keep your mouth shut, James, till we're out of the
swell.
Sepherd-Em-hem-umph – humph-whoo-whoo-whurr-
whurr - herrachvacherach!
Tickler — Whsy – whsy – whsy — whugh — whugh — shugh -
-
–
shugh-prugh-ptsugh — prgugh!
Shepherd — It's lang sin' I've drank sae muckle saut water
at ae sittin'— at ae soomin', I mean as I hae dune, sir, sin'
## p. 16044 (#390) ##########################################
16044
JOHN WILSON
that steamboat gaed by. She does indeed kick up a deevil o' a
rumpus.
Tickler – Whoo - whoo — whoof -- whro0 — whroo — whroof —
proof — ptroof — sprtf!
Shepherd - Ae thing I maun tell you, sir, and that's, gin you
tak the cramp the noo, you maunna expeck ony assistance frae
me — no, gin you were my ain faither. This bates a' the swalls!
Confoun' the James Watt, quoth I.
Tickler-Nay, nay, James. She is worthy of her name
and a better seaman than Captain Bain never boxed the compass.
He never comes below except at meal-times, and a pleasanter
person cannot be at the foot of the table. All night long he is
on deck looking out for squalls.
Shepherd — I declare to you, sir, that just noo in the trough
o the sea, I didna see the top o' the steamer's chimley. See,
Mr. Tickler - see, Mr. Tickler - only look here - only look here -
HERE'S BRONTE! - Mr. North's GREAT NEWFUNLAN' BRONTE!
Tickler — Capital — capital. He has been paying his father a
visit at the gallant Admiral's, and come across our steps on the
sands.
Shepherd — Puir fallow - gran' fallow — did ye think we
droonin'?
Bronte Bow – bow — bow — bow, wow, wow – bow, wow,
WOW.
Tickler His oratory is like that of Bristol Hunt versus Sir
Thomas Lethbridge.
Shepherd — Sir, you're tired, sir. You had better tak haud o'
his tail.
Tickler - No bad idea, James. But let me just put one arm
round his neck. There we go. Bronte, my boy, you swim strong
as a rhinoceros!
Bronte Bow, wow, wow
bow, wow,
wow.
Tickler — Why, I think, James, he speaks uncommonly well.
Few of our Scotch members speak better. He might lead the
Opposition.
Shepherd — What for will ye aye be introducin' politics, sir ?
But really, I hae fund his tail very useful in that swall; and let's
leave him to himsel' noo, for twa men on ae dowg's a sair doun-
draucht.
Tickler — With what a bold, kind eye the noble animal keeps
swimming between us, like a Christian!
was
## p. 16045 (#391) ##########################################
JOHN WILSON
16045
.
Shepherd — I hae never been able to persuade my heart and
my understandin' that dowgs haena immortal sowls. See how he
steers himsel', — first a wee towarts me, and then a wee towarts
you, wi' his tail like a rudder. His sowl maun be immortal.
Tickler -- I am sure, James, that if it be, I shall be extremely
happy to meet Bronte in any future society.
Shepherd — The minister wad ca’ that no orthodox. But the
mystery o’life canna gang out like the pluff o' a cawnle. · Per-
haps the verra bit bonny glitterin' insecks that we ca' ephemeral,
because they dance out but ae single day, never dee, but keep for
ever and aye openin' and shuttin' their wings in mony million
atmospheres, and may do sae through a' eternity. The universe
is aiblins wide aneuch.
Tickler - Eyes right! James, a boatful of ladies — with um-
brellas and parasols extended to catch the breeze. Let us lie on
our oars, and they will never observe us.
Bronte — Bow, wow, wow — bow, wow, wow.
(Female alarms heard from the pleasure-boat. A gentleman in the stern
rises with an oar, and stands in a threatening attitude. ]
Tickler - Ease off to the east, James -- Bronte, hush!
Shepherd --I howp they've nae fooling-pieces, for they may
tak us for gulls, and pepper us wi' swan-shot or slugs. I'll dive
at the flash. Yon's no a gun that chiel has in his haun?
Tickler — He lets fall his oar into the water, and the “boatie
- the boatie rows. ” Hark, a song!
rows
(Song from the retiring boat. ]
Shepherd – A very gude sang, and very well sung — jolly com-
panions every one.
Tickler - The fair authors of the Odd Volume'!
Shepherd — What's their names ?
Tickler — They choose to be anonymous, James; and that be-
ing the case, no gentleman is entitled to withdraw the veil.
Shepherd — They're sweet singers, howsomever; and the words
o their sang are capital. Baith Odd Volumes are maist ingen-
ious, well written, and amusing.
Tickler — The public thinks so; and they sell like wildfire.
