Spare Hours Part 27

"Sauf us!" quoth Jock, "d'ye see sick e'en?"

Cries Kate, "There's a hole where a nose should ha' been; An' the mouth's like a gash that a horn had ri'en; Wow! keep's frae Aiken-drum!"

The black dog growlin' cow'red his tail, The la.s.sie swarf'd, loot fa' the pail; Rob's lingle brack as he mendit the flail, At the sicht o' Aiken-drum.

His matted head on his breast did rest, A lang blue beard wan'ered down like a vest; But the glare o' his e'e hath nae bard exprest, Nor the skimes o' Aiken-drum.

Roun' his hairy form there was naething seen, But a philabeg o' the rashes green, An' his knotted knees play'd aye knoit between; What a sicht was Aiken-drum!

On his wauchie arms three claws did meet, As they trail'd on the grim' by his taeless feet; E'en the auld gudeman himsel' did sweat, To look at Aiken-drum.

But he drew a score, himsel' did sain, The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane; While the young ane closer clespit her wean, And turn'd frae Aiken-drum.

But the canty auld wife cam till her braith, And she thocht the Bible micht ward aif scaith; Be it benshee, bogle, ghaist, or wraith- But it fear'd na Aiken-drum.

"His presence protect us!" quoth the auld gudeman; "What wad ye, whare won ye,-by sea or by lan'?

I conjure ye-speak-by the Beuk in my han'!"

What a grane gae Aiken-drum!

"I lived in a lan' whare we saw nae sky, I dwalt in a spot whare a burn rins na by; But I'se dwall noo wi' you if ye like to try- Hae ye wark for Aiken drum?

"I'll shiel a' your sheep i' the mornin' sune,[57]

I'll berry your c.r.a.p by the licht o' the moon, An' ba the bairns wi' an unkenn'd tune, If ye'll keep puir Aiken-drum.

"I'll loup the linn when ye canna wade, I'll kirn the kirn, an' I'll turn the bread; An' the wildest fillie that e'er ran rede I'se tame't,' quoth Aiken-drum!

"To wear the tod frae the flock on the fell- To gather the dew frae the heather-bell- An' to look at my face in your clear crystal well, Micht gie pleasure to Aiken-drum.

"I'se seek nae guids, gear, bond, nor mark; I use nae beddin', shoon, nor sark; But a cogfu' o' brose 'tween the licht an' the dark Is the wage o' Aiken-drum."

Quoth the wylie auld wife, "The thing speaks weel; Our workers are scant-we hae routh o' meal; Giff he'll do as he says-be he man, be he de'il, Wow! we'll try this Aiken-drum."

But the wenches skirl'd, "He's no' be here!

His eldritch look gars us swarf wi' fear; An' the feint a ane will the house come near, If they think but o' Aiken-drum.

"For a foul and a stalwart ghaist is he, Despair sits broodin' aboon his e'e-bree, And unchancie to light o' a maiden's e'e, Is the glower o' Aiken-drum."

"Puir clipmalabors! ye hae little wit; Is't na hallowmas noo, an' the c.r.a.p out yet?"

Sae she seelenc'd them a' wi' a stamp o' her fit, "Sit-yer-wa's-down, Aiken-drum."

Roun' a' that side what wark was dune, By the streamer's gleam, or the glance o' the moon; A word, or a wish-an' the Brownie cam sune, Sae helpfu' was Aiken-drum.

But he slade aye awa or the sun was up, He ne'er could look straught on Macmillan's cup;[58]

They watch'd-but nane saw him his brose ever sup Nor a spune sought Aiken-drum.

On Blednoch banks, an' on crystal Cree, For mony a day a toil'd wicht was he; And the bairns they play'd harmless roun' his knee, Sae social was Aiken-drum.

But a new-made wife, fu' o' rippish freaks, Fond o' a things feat for the five first weeks, Laid a mouldy pair o her ain man's breeks By the brose o' Aiken-drum.

Let the learn'd decide when they convene, What spell was him an' the breeks between; For frae that day forth he was nae mair seen, An' sair miss'd was Aiken-drum.

He was heard by a herd gaun by the Thrieve, Crying, "Lang, lang now may I greet an' grieve; For alas! I hae gotten baith fee an' leave, O luckless Aiken-drum!"

Awa! ye wrangling sceptic tribe, Wi' your pro's an' your con's wad ye decide 'Gainst the 'sponsible voice o' a hale country-side On the facts 'bout Aiken-drum?

Tho' the "Brownie o' Blednoch" lang be gane, The mark o' his feet's left on mony a stane; An' mony a wife an' mony a wean Tell the feats o' Aiken-drum.

E'en now, licht loons that jibe an' sneer At spiritual guests an' a' sic gear, At the Glasnock mill hae swat wi' fear, An' look'd roun' for Aiken-drum.

An' guidly folks hae gotten a fricht, When the moon was set, an' the stars gaed nac licht, At the roaring linn in the howe o' the nicht, Wi' sughs like Aiken-drum.

[57] On one occasion, Brownie had undertaken to gather the sheep into the bught by an early hour, and so zealously did he perform his task, that not only was there not one sheep left on the hill, but he had also collected a number of hares, which were found fairly penned along with them. Upon being congratulated on his extraordinary success, Brownie exclaimed, "Confound thae wee gray anes! they cost me mair trouble than a' the lave o' them."

[58] A communion cup, belonging to M'Millan, the well-known ousted minister of Balmaghie, and founder of the sect of Covenanters of his name. This cup was treasured by a zealous disciple in the parish of Kirkcowan, and long used as a test by which to ascertain the orthodoxy of suspected persons.

If, on taking it into his hand, the person trembled, or gave other symptoms of agitation, he was denounced as having bowed the knee to Baal, and sacrificed at the altar of idolatry.

We would rather have written these lines than any amount of Aurora Leighs, Festuses, or such like, with all their mighty "somethingness,"

as Mr. Bailey would say. For they, are they not the "native wood-notes wild" of one of nature's darlings? Here is the indescribable, inestimable, unmistakable impress of genius. Chaucer, had he been a Galloway man, might have written it, only he would have been more garrulous, and less compact and stern. It is like Tam o' Shanter, in its living union of the comic, the pathetic, and the terrible. Shrewdness, tenderness, imagination, fancy, humor, word-music, dramatic power, even wit-all are here. I have often read it aloud to children, and it is worth any one's while to do it. You will find them repeating all over the house for days such lines as take their heart and tongue.

The author of this n.o.ble ballad was William Nicholson, the Galloway poet, as he was, and is still called in his own district. He was born at Tanimaus, in the parish of Borgue, in August 1783; he died _circa_ 1848, unseen, like a bird. Being extremely short-sighted, he was unfitted for being a shepherd or ploughman, and began life as a packman, like the hero of "the Excursion;" and is still remembered in that region for his humor, his music, his verse, and his ginghams; and also, alas! for his misery and his sin. After travelling the country for thirty years, he became a packless pedler, and fell into "a way of drinking;" this led from bad to worse, and the grave closed in gloom over the ruins of a man of true genius. Mr. M'Diarmid of Dumfries prefixed a memoir of him to the Second Edition of his _Tales in Verse and Miscellaneous Poems_.

These are scarcely known out of Galloway, but they are worth the knowing; none of them have the concentration and nerve of the Brownie, but they are from the same brain and heart. "The Country La.s.s," a long poem, is excellent; with much of Crabbe's power and compression. This, and the greater part of the volume, is in the Scottish dialect, but there is a Fable-the b.u.t.terfly and Bee-the English and sense, the fine, delicate humor and turn of which might have been Cowper's; and there is a bit of rugged sarcasm called "Siller," which Burns need not have been ashamed of. Poor Nicholson, besides his turn for verse, was an exquisite musician, and sang with a powerful and sweet voice. One may imagine the delight of a lonely town-end, when Willie the packman and the piper made his appearance, with his stories, and jokes, and ballads, his songs, and reels, and "wanton wiles."

There is one story about him which has always appeared to me quite perfect. A farmer, in a remote part of Galloway, one June morning before sunrise, was awakened by music; he had been dreaming of heaven, and when he found himself awake, he still heard the strains. He looked out, and saw no one, but at the corner of a gra.s.s-field he saw his cattle, and young colts and fillies, huddled together, and looking intently down into what he knew was an old quarry. He put on his clothes, and walked across the field, everything but that strange wild melody, still and silent in this the "sweet hour of prime." As he got nearer the "beasts,"

the sound was louder; the colts with their long manes, and the nowt with their wondering stare, took no notice of him, straining their necks forward entranced. There, in the old quarry, the young sun "glintin" on his face, and resting on his pack, which had been his pillow, was our Wandering Willie, playing and singing like an angel-"an Orpheus; an Orpheus." What a picture! When reproved for wasting his health and time by the prosaic farmer, the poor fellow said: "Me and this quarry are lang acquant, and I've mair pleasure in pipin to thae daft cowts, than if the best leddies in the land were figurin away afore me."

_NOTES ON ART._[59]

[59] Originally prefixed to a Criticism on some paintings in the Scottish Academy.

"_The use of this feigned history" (the Ideal Arts of Poesy, Painting, Music, &c.) "hath been to give_ SOME SHADOW OF SATISFACTION TO THE MIND OF MAN IN THESE POINTS WHEREIN THE NATURE OF THINGS DOTH DENY IT, _the world being in proportion inferior to the soul; by reason whereof, there is, agreeable to the spirit of man_, A MORE AMPLE GREATNESS, A MORE EXACT GOODNESS AND A MORE ABSOLUTE VARIETY, _than can be found in the nature of things. So it appeareth that Poesy" (and the others) "serveth and conferreth to magnanimity, morality, and to delectation. And therefore it was even thought to have some partic.i.p.ation of divineness because_ IT DOTH RAISE AND DIRECT THE MIND, BY SUBMITTING THE SHEWS OF THINGS TO THE DESIRES OF THE MIND; _whereas reason" (science, philosophy) "doth buckle and bow the mind to the nature of things._"-OF THE PROFICIENCE AND ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING.

"_To look on n.o.ble forms Makes n.o.ble through the sensuous organism That which is higher._"-THE PRINCESS.

One evening in the spring of 1846, as my wife and I were sitting at tea, _Parvula_ in bed, and the Sputchard reposing, as was her wont, with her rugged little brown forepaws over the edge of the fender, her eyes shut, toasting, and all but roasting herself at the fire,-a note was brought in, which from its fat, soft look, by a hopeful and not unskilled _palpation_ I diagnosed as that form of lucre which in Scotland may well be called filthy. I gave it across to Madam, who, opening it, discovered four five-pound notes, and a letter addressed to me. She gave _it_ me.

It was from Hugh Miller, editor of the _Witness_ newspaper, asking me to give him a notice of the Exhibition of the Scottish Academy then open, in words I now forget, but which were those of a thorough gentleman, and enclosing the aforesaid fee. I can still remember, or indeed feel the kind of shiver, half of fear and pleasure, on encountering this temptation; but I soon said, "You know I can't take this; I can't write; I never wrote a word for the press." She, with "wifelike government,"

kept the money, and heartened me to write, and write I did but with awful sufferings and difficulty, and much destruction of sleep. I think the only person who suffered still more must have been the compositor.

Had this packet not come in, and come in when it did, and had the _Sine Qua Non_ not been peremptory and retentive, there are many chances to one I might never have plagued any printer with my bad hand and my endless corrections, and general incoherency in all transactions as to proofs.

I tell this small story, partly for my own pleasure, and as a tribute to that remarkable man, who stands alongside of Burns, and Scott, Chalmers, and Carlyle, the foremost Scotsmen of their time,-a rough, almost rugged nature, s.h.a.ggy with strength, clad with zeal as with a cloak, in some things sensitive and shamefaced as a girl; moody and self-involved, but never selfish, full of courage, and of keen insight into nature and men, and the principles of both, but simple as a child in the ways of the world; self-taught and self-directed, argumentative and scientific, as few men of culture have ever been, and yet with more imagination than either logic or knowledge; to the last as shy and _blate_ as when working in the quarries at Cromarty. In his life a n.o.ble example of what our breed can produce, of what energy, honesty, intensity, and genius can achieve; and in his death a terrible example of that revenge which the body takes upon the soul when brought to bay by its inexorable taskmaster. I need say no more. His story is more tragic than any tragedy. Would to G.o.d it may warn those who come after to be wise in time, to take the same-I ask no more-care of their body, which is their servant, their beast of burden, as they would of their horse.

Few men are endowed with such a brain as Hugh Miller-huge, active, concentrated, keen to fierceness; and therefore few men need fear, even if they misuse and overtask theirs as he did, that it will turn, as it did with him, and rend its master. But as a.s.suredly as there is a certain weight, which a bar of iron will bear and no more, so is there a certain weight of work which the organ by which we act, by which we think, and feel, and will-cannot sustain, blazing up into brief and ruinous madness, or sinking into idiocy. At the time he wrote to me, Mr.

Miller and I were strangers, and I don't think I ever spoke to him: but his manner of doing the above act made me feel, that in that formidable and unkempt nature there lay the delicacy, the generosity, the n.o.ble trustfulness of a gentleman born-not made.

Most men have, and almost every man should have a hobby: it is exercise in a mild way, and does not take him away from home; it diverts him; and by having a double line of rails, he can manage to keep the permanent way in good condition. A man who has only one object in life, only one line of rails, who exercises only one set of faculties, and these only in one way, will wear himself out much sooner than a man who shunts himself every now and then, and who has trains coming as well as going; who takes in as well as gives out.