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One tome miscellaneous they 'll add to I've seen the day they would been scaured your store,

Wi' the Tolbooth or wi' the Guard, Resolving next year to print four volumes Or maybe wud hae some regard

For Jamie Laing Four volumes more, my friends, four The Water-hole was right weel wared volumes more;

On sic a gang.
Pay down your subscriptions for four
volumes more.

But whar 's the gude Tolbooth gane now?
Whar 's the auld Claught, wi' red and

blue ?

Whar 's Jamie Laing ? and whar's John

Doo ? From Chapter iv. of Quentin Durward, pub

And whar's the Weigh-house ? lished in 1823.

Deil hae't I see but what is new,

Except the Playhouse !
Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,

Yoursells are changed frae head to heel, The orange flower perfumes the bower, There 's some that gar the causeway The breeze is on the sea.

reel The lark his lay who thrilled all day With clashing hufe and rattling wheel, Sits hushed his partner nigh;

And horses canterin', Breeze, bird, and hower confess the hour, Wha's fathers' daundered hame as weel But where is County Guy ?

Wi' lass and lantern. The village maid steals through the shade, Mysell being in the public line, Her shepherd's suit to hear;

I look for howfs I kenned lang syne, To beauty shy by lattice high,

Whar gentles used to drink gude wine Sings high-born Cavalier.

And eat cheap dinners; The star of Love, all stars above,

But deil a soul gangs there to dine
Now reigns o’er earth and sky;

Of saints or sinners!
And high and low the influence know
But where is County Guy ?

Fortune's and Hunter's gane, alas!
And Bayle's is lost in empty space;

And now if folk would splice a brace

Or crack a bottle,

They gang to a new-fangled place

They ca' a Hottle.

The deevil hottle them for Meg !
This drama appeared in 1824, promptly after

They are sae greedy and sae gleg, the publication of the novel. Lockhart re

That if ye’re served but wi' an eggmarks of thc epilogue, though it caused great

And that's puir picking merriment at the time in Edinburgh, the allusions are so exclusively local and temporary,

In comes a chiel and makes a leg, that I fear no commentary could ever make it

And charges chicken! intelligible elsewhere.'

• And wha may ye be,' gin ye speer, [Enter MEG DODDS, encircled by a crowd of unruly boys, whom a town's-officer is driving off.]

• That brings your auld - warld claver:

here ?' THAT's right, friend drive the gaitlings Troth, if there 's onybody near back,

That kens the roads, And lend yon muckle ane a whack;

I'll haud ye Burgundy to beer
Your Embro' bairns are grown a pack,

He kens Meg Dodds.
Sae proud and saucy,
They scarce will let an auld wife walk I came a piece frae west o' Currie;
Upon your causey.

And, since I see you 're in a hurry,

But when, wbile Scottish hearts and blood

Your patience I'll nae langer worry,

But be sae crouse As speak a word for ane Will Murray

That keeps this house.

you boast,

Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be

lost? O’er Mary's memory the learned quarrel, By Mary's grave the poet plants his laurel Time's echo, old tradition, makes het


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The constant burden of his faltering

theme; In each old ball his gray-haired heralds

tell Of Mary's picture and of Mary's cell, And show - my fingers tingle at the

thought The loads of tapestry which that poor

queen wrought. In vain did fate bestow a double dower Of every ill that waits on rank and power, Of every ill on beauty that attends False ministers, false lovers, and false

friends. Spite of three wedlocks so completely

curst, They rose in ill from bad to worse and

worst, In spite of errors - I dare not say more, For Duncan Targe lays hand on his clay

Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care The bairns mak fun o'Meg nae mair; For gin they do, she tells you fair

And without failzie, As sure as ever ye sit there,

She 'll tell the Bailie.



When Scott was collecting his stray poems for a definitive edition, he wrote thus to Constable, October 22, 1824: 'I recovered the above with some difficulty. I believe it was never spoken, but written for some play, afterwards withdrawn, in which Mrs. H. Siddons was to have spoken it in the character of Queen Mary:'

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THE sages


Published in 1824.

- for authority, pray, look Seneca's morals or the copy-bookThe sages to disparage woman's power, Say beauty is a fair but fading flower; – I cannot tell — I've small philosophy Yet if it fades it does not surely die, But, like the violet, when decayed in

bloom, Survives through many a year in rich per

fame. Witness our theme to-night; two ages gone, A third wanes fast, since Mary filled the

throne. Brief was her bloom with scarce one sunny

day Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotherin




From Letter x.

For all our men were very very merry,

And all our men were drinking: There were two men of mine, Three men of thine,

And three that belonged to old Sir Thom

o' Lyne. As they went to the ferry, they were very

very merry, And all our men were drinking.

Jack looked at the sun, and cried, Fire,

fire, fire ! Tom stabled his keffel in Birkendale mire; Jem started a calf, and hallooed for a stag; Will mounted a gate-post instead of his

nag: For all our men were very very merry,

And all our men were drinking; There were two men of mine, Three of thine, And three that belonged to old Sir Thom

o' Lyne. As they went to the ferry, they were very

very merry,
For all our men were drinking.

sort of acknowledgment he should offer; but at length, resolving that it would probably be most agreeable to the young foreigner to be paid in professional coin, if in any, he stepped aside for a few minutes, and, on returning, presented him with this epigram. The reader need hardly be reminded, that Sir Walter Scott held the office of Sheriff of the county of Selkirk.' - Scotch Newspaper, 1830. OF

yore, in old England, it was not

thought good To carry two visages under one hood; What should folk say to you? who have

faces such plenty, That from under one hood, you last night

showed us twenty ! Stand forth, arch-deceiver, and tell us in

truth, Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in

youth? Man, woman,

or child

a dog or mouse ? Or are you, at once, each live thing in the

house? Each live thing, did I ask? each dead im

plement, too, A work-shop in your person,

-saw, chisel, and screw ! Above all, are you one individual ? I know You must be at least Alexandre and Co. But I think you ’re a troop, an assemblage,

a mob, And that I, as the Sheriff, should take up





From Chapter is.

As lords their laborers' hire delay,

Fate quits our toil with hopes to come, Which, if far short of present pay,

Still owns a debt and names a sum.

the job;

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then,

Although a distant date be given; Despair is treason towards man,

And blasphemy to Heaven.

And instead of rehearsing your wonders in

verse, Must read you the Riot-Act, and bid you


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mis ;

The monument kere mentioned,' says Lock Would become better far such a dignified hart, was a leaping-on-stone to which the skill

station. of Scott's master-mason had given the shape of Second, how, in God's name, would my Maida recumbent. It had stood by the gate of

bacon be saved
Abbotsford a year or more before the dog died.'

By not having writ what I clearly en-
The Latin was Lockhart's, the English, Sir
Walter's, but James Ballantyne, who was an
over zealous admirer of his great author, saw

On the contrary, I, on the whole, think it

the inscription, and when he went back to
Edinburgh printed in a newspaper with pride,

pride, To be whipped as the thief, than his lousy the Latin verses as Sir Walter's. It happened

resetter. that Lockhart's inscription had a false quan Thirdly, don't you perceive that I don't tity januam, but Ballantyne not only did not

care a boddle discover this; his memory played him false, Although fifty false metres were flung at and in repeating the inscription he put jaces for dormis. At once the newspaper para

my noddle,

For my back is as broad and as hard as graphist raised a laugh over ‘Sir Walter's

false quantities. Scott, in his generous na-
ture, refused to shield himself behind Lockhart,

And I treat as I please both the Greeks and much pother was made over the matter.

and the Romans; The verses which follow savor, as Lockhart Whereas the said heathens might rather says, of Scott's recent overhauling of Swift

look serious and Sheridan's doggrel epistles.'

At a kick on their drum from the scribe of

Valerius. DEAR JOAN, - I some time ago wrote to And, fourthly and lastly, it is my good inform his

pleasure Fat worship of jaces, misprinted for dor To remain the sole source of that murder

ous measure. But that several Southrons assured me So, stet


ratione voluntas, be tractile, the januam

Invade not, I say, my own dear little Was a twitch to both ears of Ass Priscian's dactyl; cranium.

If you do, you 'll occasion a breach in our You perhaps may observe that one Lionel

intercourse. Berguer,

To-morrow will see me in town for the In defence of our blunder appears a stout

winter-course, arguer.

But not at your door, at the usual hour, But at length I have settled, I hope, all sir, these clatters,

My own pye-house daughter's good prog By a rowt in the papers, fine place for such to devour, sir. matters.

Ergo, peace !

- on your duty your squeamI have therefore to make it for once my ishness throttle, command, sir,

And we 'll soothe Priscian's spleen with a That my gudeson shall leave the whole

canny third bottle. thing in iny hand, sir,

A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, And by no means accomplish what James A fig for all dunces and Dominie Grundys; says you threaten,

A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east, Some banter in Blackwood to claim your and west, sir, dog-Latin.

Speats and raxes ere five for a famishing I have various reasons of weight, on my

guest, sir; word, sir,

And as Fatsman and I have some topics for For pronouncing a step of this sort were haver, he 'll absurd, sir.

Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame
Firstly, erudite sir, 't was against your ad Peveril,

Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and
I adopted lines this monstrosity lies in;
For you modestly hinted my English trans Dog shall be deemed if you fasten your


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From Chapter xix. SOLDIkre, wake ! the day is peeping, Honor ne'er was won in sleeping; Never when the sunbeams still Lay unreflected on the hill: 'T is when they are glinted back From axe and armor, spear and jack, That they promise future story Many a page of deathless glory. Shields that are the foeman's terror, Ever are the morning's mirror.


Arm and up! the morning beam
Hath called the rustic to his team,
Hath called the falc'ner to the lake,
Hath called the huntsman to the brake;
The early student ponders o'er
His dusty tomes of ancient lore.
Soldier, wake ! thy harvest, fame;
Thy study, conquest; war, thy game.
Shield, that would be foeman's terror,
Still should gleam the morning's mirror.

'I ASKED OF MY YARD' From Chapter xxxi. 'A lay, of which we can offer only a few fragments, literally translated from the ancient language in which they were chanted, premising that they are in that excursive symbolical style of poetry, which Taliessin, Llewarch Hen, and other bards, had derived perhaps from the time of the Druids.' I ASKED of my harp, “Who hath injured

thy chords ?' And she replied, The crooked finger, which

I mocked in my tune.'
A blade of silver may be bended

a blade of steel abideth: Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en


Poor hire repays the rustic's pain;
More paltry still the sportsman's gain:
Vainest of all, the student's theme
Ends in some metaphysic dream:
Yet each is up, and each has toiled,
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled:
And each is eagerer in his aim
Than he who barters life for fame.
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror!
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror.

The sweet taste of mead passeth from the

lips, But they are long corroded by the juice of

wormwood; The lamb is brought to the shambles, but

the wolf rangeth the mountain; Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en




I asked the red-hot iron, when it glim

mered on the anvil, Wherefore glowest thou longer than the

fire-brand ?' "I was born in the dark mine, and the

brand in the pleasant greenwood.' Kindness fadeth



vengeance endureth.

From Chapter xx. WOMAN's faith, and woman's trust: Write the characters in dust, Stamp them on the running stream, Print them on the moon's pale beam, And each evanescent letter Shall be clearer, firmer, better,

I asked the green oak of the assembly,

wherefore its boughs were dry and seared like the horns of the stag?

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