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Mad or no mad, Watty bate you a' till sticks.
Peter, let off the gas. (Rising with marked displeasure.)
() man! but that's puir spite ! Biddin' Peter let aff the gas, merely 'cause I tauld Mr Buller what a' the Forest kens to be true, that him the bairns noo ca’ the Auld HIRPLIN' HURCHEON, half-a-century sin', at hap stap-and lowp, bate Christopher North a' till sticks!
NORTH (with great vehemence.) Let off the gas, you stone !
That's pitifu’! Ca’in' a man a stane! a' man that has been sae lang too in his service—and that has gien him nae provocation-for it wasna Peter but me that was obleeged to keep threepin' that Watty o' the Pen-by folk o' my time o' life never ca'd ony thing less than the Flying Tailor o' Ettrick, though by bairns never ca'd ony thing mair but the Auld Hirplin' Hurcheon, at hap-stap-and lowp-on fair level mossy grun'—bate him a' till sticks.
North (in a voice of thunder.) You son of a sea-gun, let off the gas.
Passion's aften figurative, and aye forgetfu'. But, I fear, he'll be breakin' a bluid-veshel-sae l'll remind him o'the siller bell. Peter has orders never to sbaw his neb but at soun' o' the siller bell.--Sir, you've forgotten the siller bell. Play tingle—tingle_tingle--ting.
NORTH (ringing the silver bell.) Too bad, James. Peter, let off the gas.
(Peter lets off the gas. Ha! the bleeze o' Morn! Amazin'! 'Twas shortly after sunset when the gas was let on—and noo that the gas is let aff, lo ! shortly after sunrise !
With us there has been no night.
Yesterday was the Twunty First o’ June—the Langest Day. We cou'd bae dune without artificial licbt-for the few hours o' midnicht were but a gloamin'—and we cou'd hae seen to read prent.
A deep dew.
As may be seen by the dry lairs in the wet grass of those cows up and at pasture.
Naebody else stirrin'. Luik there's a hare washin' her face like a cat wi’ her paw. Eh man! luik at her three leverets, like as mony wee bit bears.
I had no idea there were so many singing birds so near the suburbs of a
Had na ye? In Scotland we ca' that the skriech o' day.
Wbat has become of the sea ?
SHEPHERD. The sea! somebody has open’d the sluice, and let aff the water. Nathere it's—fasten your een upon yon great green shadow-for that's Inchkeith-and you'll sune come to discern the sea waverin' round it, as if the air grew glass, and the glass water, while the water widens oot intil the Firth, and the Firth awa' intil the Main. Is yon North Berwick Law or the Bass-or baith—or neither—or a cape o'cloodlaun, or a thocht ?
“ Under the opening eyelids of the morn." See ! Specks—like black water-flees. The boats o' the Newhaven fish
Their wives are snorin' yet wi' their heads in mutches--but wull
sune be risin' to fill their creels. Mr Buller, was you ever in our Embro Fish-Market ?
No. Where is it, sir ?
In the Parliament Hoose.
In the Parliament House ?
Are you daft ? Aneath the North Brigg.
NORTH (ringing the silver bell.) Lo! and behold! [Enter Peter, Ambrose, King Pepin, Sir David Gam, and Tappietourie,
with trays.] Rows het frae the oven! Wheat scones! Barley scones! Wat and dry tost! Cookies ! Baps! Muffins ! Loaves and fishes! Rizzars! Finnans ! Kipper! Speldrins! Herring! Marmlet! Jeely! Jam! Ham! Lamb! Tongue ! Beef hung ! Chickens ! Fry! Pigeon pie! Crust and broon aside the Roon'—but sit ye doon-10-freens, let's staun-had up your haun ---bless your face-North, gie's a grace-(North says grace.) Noo let's fa' too-but hooly-hooly-hooly-what vision this ! What vision this! An Apparition or a Christian Leddy! I ken, I ken her by her curtshy-did that face no tell her name and her nature.-0 deign, Mem, to sit doon aside the Shepherd.-Pardon me-tak the head o' the table, ma honour'd Mem-and let the Shepherd sit doon aside you—and may I mak sae bauld as to introduce Mr Buller to you, Mem ? Mr Buller, clear your een—for on the Leads o' the Lodge, in face o heaven, and the risin' sun, I noo introduce you till Mrs GENTLE.
NORTH (starting and looking wildly round). Ha !
NORTH (recovering some of his composure). Too bad, James.
SHEPHERD. A cretur o' the element! Like a’ the ither loveliest sichts that veesit the een o' us mortals—but the dream o' a dream ! But, thank heaven, a's no unsubstantial in this warld o'shadows. Were ony o' us to say sae, this breakfast wou'd gie him the lee! Noo, Gurney, mind hoo ye exten' your short haun.
SMALL STILL VOICE.
Aye, aye, sir.
“O blessed Bird ! the world we pace
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Mes Siddons was the daughter of ced the interest which their veneRoger Kemble, the manager of a rable appearance commanded, yet I theatrical company that performed have been assured by those who chiefly in the midland and the western knew them long before their chiltowns of England, and of Sarah dren became illustrious, that in their Ward, whose father was also a stroll. humblest circumstances they always ing manager: “ I remember,” says sustained an entire respectability. Mr Campbell,“ having seen the pa. There are some individuals whom rents of the great actress in their no circumstances can render vulgar, old age. They were both of them and Mr and Mrs Kemble were of tall and comely personages. The this description. Besides, in spite mother had a somewhat austere of all our prejudices against the stateliness of manner, but it seems players? vocation, irreproachable to have been from ber that the family personal character will always find inherited their genius and force of its level in the general esteem.” character. Her voice had much of Mr Roger Kemble being, like his the emphasis of her daughter's ; and ancestors, a Catholic, whilst his wife her portrait, which long graced Mrs was a Protestant, it was arranged Siddons's drawingroom, had an in that their sons should be bred in the tellectual expression of the strongest Catholic faith, and the daughters in power; she gave you the idea of a that of their mother. They had Roman matron. The father had all the twelve children, of whom four died suavity of the old school of gen- young; but three sons and five tlemen. Persons who cannot for a daughters arrived at adult years moment disjoin the idea of human and they almost all chose the profesdignity from that of station, will per- sion of their parents, though Mr haps be surprised that I should speak Campbell says, “ I bave no doubt of the dignified manners of a pair that Mr and Mrs Roger Kemble were who lived by the humble vocaiion anxious to prevent their children which I have mentioned. It is ne. from becoming actors, and that they vertheless true, that the presence sought out other means of providing and demeanour of this couple might for them; but they made this athave graced a court; and though tempt too late, that is, after their their relationship to Mrs Sidduns offspring had been accustomed to and John Kemble of course enhau- theatrical joyousness. For parents
Life of Mrs Siddons, by Thomas Campbell. Effingham Wilson. London : 18 VOL. XXXVI. NO. CCXXY,