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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 a

mouse?

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"The monument kere mentioned,' says Lockhart, was a leaping-on-stone to which the skill of Scott's master-mason had given the shape of Maida recumbent. It had stood by the gate of Abbotsford a year or more before the dog died.' The Latin was Lockhart's, the English, Sir Walter's, but James Ballantyne, who was an over zealous admirer of his great author, saw the inscription, and when he went back to Edinburgh printed in a newspaper with pride, the Latin verses as Sir Walter's. It happened that Lockhart's inscription had a false quantity januam, but Ballantyne not only did not discover this; his memory played him false, and in repeating the inscription he put jaces for dormis. At once the newspaper paragraphist raised a laugh over 'Sir Walter's false quantities.' Scott, in his generous nature, refused to shield himself behind Lockhart, and much pother was made over the matter. The verses which follow savor, as Lockhart says, of Scott's recent overhauling of Swift and Sheridan's doggrel epistles.'

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Would become better far such a dignified

station.

Second, how, in God's name, would my bacon be saved

By not having writ what I clearly engraved?

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

To be whipped as the thief, than his lousy

resetter.

Thirdly, don't you perceive that I don't care a boddle

Although fifty false metres were flung at my noddle,

For my back is as broad and as hard as Benlomon's,

And I treat as I please both the Greeks and the Romans;

Whereas the said heathens might rather look serious

At a kick on their drum from the scribe of Valerius.

And, fourthly and lastly, it is my good pleasure

To remain the sole source of that murder

ous measure.

So, stet pro ratione voluntas, be tractile, Invade not, I say, my own dear little dactyl;

If you do, you'll occasion a breach in our intercourse.

To-morrow will see me in town for the winter-course,

But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir,

My own pye-house daughter's good prog to devour, sir.

Ergo, peace!-on your duty your squeamishness throttle,

And we 'll soothe Priscian's spleen with a canny third bottle.

A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, A fig for all dunces and Dominie Grundys; A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east,

and west, sir,

Speats and raxes ere five for a famishing guest, sir;

And as Fatsman and I have some topics for haver, he 'll

Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame Peveril,

Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and Anne, you a

Dog shall be deemed if you fasten your Janua.

SONGS FROM THE BETROTHED

Published in 1825.

I

'SOLDIER, WAKE!'

From Chapter xix.

SOLDIER, wake! the day is peeping,
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping;
Never when the sunbeams still
Lay unreflected on the hill:
'Tis 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.

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.

II

"VOMAN'S FAITH

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,

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Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee,

Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see

His ambition is backed by his hie chivalrie.

'Therefore thus speaks my lady,' the fair page he said,

And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head:

'Fling aside the good armor in which thou art clad,

And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead,

For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread: And charge thus attired, in the tournament dread,

And fight, as thy wont is, where most blood is shed,

And bring honor away, or remain with the dead.'

Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast,

The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently hath kissed:

'Now blessed be the moment, the messenger be blest!

Much honored do I hold me in my lady's high behest;

And say unto my lady, in this dear nightweed dressed,

To the best armed champion I will not veil my crest;

But if I live and bear me well, 't is her turn to take the test.'

Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest.

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