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jesters, and men of like free-andeasy manners and vagabondish life and thought, who could chase the dull cares and depressing temperature from the mind of a sovereign. Then, as now, the Court had to have its amusements; then the attached to the amusers were

Court. A jester was as indispensable as a private secretaryperhaps more so, because of the great scarcity of public amusements in the cold, grey, Scottish capital. The Court had to be amused occasionally of an evening, after severe intrigues and counterfeits. In this service of a hybrid tale-teller and stage-player Lyndsay entered, and was in his humour. Sums were expended by the Court to purchase suits of blue and yellow taffetas for play-coats to the poet.

The following year, 1513, he was the witness of a remarkable scene in the church of Linlithgow. It was immediately before the Battle of Flodden, when the King rashly resolved to invade the north of England. The following graphic sentences from Pitscottie's History have been often quoted; but it has been thought that the apparition was a scheme devised by the Queen for the purpose of working upon the King's superstitious feelings:

"The King came to Lithgow, where he happened to be for the time at the Counsell, verie sad and dolorous, makeand his devotion to God to send him good chance and fortune in his voyage. In this mean time, there came ane man, clad in ane blew gowns, in at the Kirk doores, and belted about him in ane roll of linning cloth, ane pair of brotikins on his feet, to the great of his legs, with all other hose and clothis conforme thereto; but he had nothing on his head, but syde red yellow haire behind, and on his halffets, which went down to his shoulders, but his forehead was beld and bair. He seemed to be a man of two and fiftie

yeeres, with ane great pyke-staffe in his hand, and came first forward among

the Lords, cryand and spearand for the King, sayand he desired to speak with him.' While at the last, he came where the King was sitting in the desk at his prayers; but when he saw the King, he made him little reverence or salutation, but leaned downe grovellings on the dask before him, and said to him in this manner, as after follows:- Sir King, my Mother hath sent me to you desiring you not to passe at this time, where thou art purposed; for if thou does, thou wilt not fair well in thy journey, nor none that passeth with thee. Further, she

bade ye melle with no woman, nor use their Counsell, nor let them touch thy body, nor thou theirs; for, and thou do it, thou wilt be confounded and brought to shame.'

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'Be this man had spoken thir words unto the King's Grace, the Even-song was neere done, and the King paused on thir words, studying to give him an answer; but, in the meane time, before the King's eyes, and in presence of all the Lords that were about him for the time, this man vanished away, and could no wayes be seene nor comprehended, but vanished away as he had

bene ane blink of the sunne, or ane whiss of the whirlwind, and could no more be seene. I heard say, Sir David Lindsay, Lion Herald, and John English, the marshall, who were at that time young men, and speciall servants to the King's Grace, were standand presentlie besyd the King, who thought to have layd hands on this man, that they might have speared further tydings at him but all for nought; they could not 'touch him, for he vanished away betwixt them and was no more seene."

Buchanan gives a similar account, and states that had he not received it from Lyndsay, "a man of unsuspected probity and veracity, attached to literature, and during life invariably opposed to falsehood," he would have accounted it a commonly reported fable. The curious reader will find this incident also related in the fourth canto of "Marmion."

From 1513 to 1522 he had charge of the young prince, being his constant companion, sometimes

styled the "Kingis maister usher" and " Kingis master of houshald," at the salary of £40. Lyndsay possessed considerable common sense, and had a great detestation of abuses; enjoyed a healthy, vigorous mind, and a free, outspoken tongue. Influenced by no prejudices, his counsels were unbiased and honest. This was probably the happiest period of both their lives. Gawin Dunbar was the King's chief instructor, but the poet in his tender years of infancy so endeared himself to the King that the first words he could say were "Pa, Da, Lyn." His principal occupation was that of amusing the King with ancient stories of romance and war, of old and mysterious prophecies, of Scottish fables and horrors. These he had to diversify with scenes of merriment and mimicry, with playing tunes upon the lute, and dressing himself in such fantastic disguises as to excite the interest of the boy's fancy. His amusement was calculated to leave deeper impressions than those of a passing hour-it was directed towards the improvement of his pupil's character as a man and a sovereign, and through him that of the country. To quote his own words,—

"For how should princes govern gret regiōnis

That cannot duly guide their awin persōnis?"

All his various amusements he recalled in his interesting poem "The Dreme,"

"When thou was young I bore thee in my arm

Full tenderly, till thou begouth to gang;

And in thy bed oft happit thee full

warm

With lute in hand syne sweitlie to thee sang;

Sometime in dancing fiercely I flang,

And sometime playing farces on the floor,

And sometime on my office taking cure. And sometime like ane fiend transfigurate,

And sometime like the griesly ghaist of Guy,

In divers forms oft times disfigurate.”

Elsewhere he tells us that he lay "nichtly by the Kingis cheek," and bore him on his back "as ane chapman bears his pack." Some ten or twelve years of his life thus pleasantly passed. During the King's minority political changes of various kinds occurred through the intrigues of the Dowager Queen. Boldly did Lyndsay complain of the new rulers in their rage "lyk witless fuiles," imprudently taking the prince from the school, or as he plainly said,

"We thynk them very natural fools

That learned ouir mekle at the

schools."

His occupation was gone, and, for the poet's more lasting reputation, he retired from the court to his residence at Garleton. There he devoted his leisure to literary pursuits, meditated over the scenes and changes he had witnessed, and threw his thoughts into graphic verse. It was not until he reached the ripe years of thirty-seven that he first ventured to publish. His retirement was soon broken in upon.

When the young King escaped from Falkland Palace, and freed himself of the restraint imposed by several nobles, and became his own master, he conferred on Lyndsay the honour of knighthood, and reinstated him in his position at Court. Lyndsay now became Lyon King of Arms, an appointment which brought him into active life. He was the official that delivered in person the royal messages to foreign princes; he also accompanied

the ambassadors to the Continent to conclude treaties. At home, on great public occasions, it fell to him to superintend the pageants and marshal the processions, and his genius was peculiarly fitted to frame. the necessary speeches and addresses. Several of his poems or plays were between 1535-54, exhibited or acted in the cities of Edinburgh and Perth, and the towns of Cupar and Linlithgow. Such exhibitions generally took place, like those of the ancient drama, in the open air, and in situations where the ground naturally formed an amphitheatre. The ground whereon. they were acted was popularly known as the "play-field." The King frequently attended these exhibitions, surrounded by all classesbishops and clergy, nobles and burgesses, yeomen and artizans; and it is recorded that one lasted "fra nine hours before noon till six hours at even.'

Lyndsay formed one of the little company who attended King James the Fifth in his last hours at Falkland, the Prince whom he had faithfully attended from nearly the day of his birth, and whose eyes he helped to close as his life went from him. How deeply pathetic and most touching in their plain homely language are the words of the old historian. When the last struggle came upon the King, "he turnit him upon his back, and lookit and beheld all his lords about him that were there for the time, and gave ane little laughter, syne kissed his hand, and gave it to all his lords round about him, and thereafter held up his hands to God, and yieldit the spirit." Deeply charged with the woes and sorrows of life, the hollow pleasures, the sered calamities that surrounded his throne, are these expressive graphic words, "gave ane little laughter." The utter sadness and complete failure of his existence come back to us

with terrible significance when we are told that he turned his back to the lords and his face to the wall. This clear picture receives its finishing touch in these simple words, "and yieldit the spirit." It is a death picture truly Shakspearian.

Lyndsay's subsequent life is unimportant. He retained his office of Lion Herald and was employed again as an ambassador to foreign Crowns; his duties were discharged with dignity and great precision. To literary labours he turned again his attention, writing in rural rhyme. To use his own words, he—

"Stood content

With quiet life and sober rent, And ta'en him in his latter age Unto his simple hermitage."

He died some time previous to 1555, but when or where is uncertain. His last resting-place, as his birthplace, is unknown. We are left to imagine his personal appearance, no description is anywhere given; but from the old wood-cut, with left hand forefinger pointing upwards, one can observe a sly, yet meditative expression, the expression of an acute observer and a straightfor ward man. It is deserving of remark, notwithstanding the interest he took in public affairs, the strong and vigorous rebukes he administered to the loose clergy, his keen wit, his bluntness of speech, and the liberty he used in condemning superstition, that he seemed to have been allowed to live unmaligned, and, we must add, to have died unregretted. Poets then did not attract the same attention as they did at a later period. And it not unfrequently happens that there is meted out to a man great admiration and appreciation of his works after his death, although during his life his work may not have been rewarded as it deserved.

Few finer figures, or more ster

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ling men, full of honest purposes and sound advice, are to be found in early Scottish history than David Lyndsay. It is a great estimate to say that in those troublous times his character is stainless, and no charge is made against his memory. His blunt honesty is pointed by the anecdote that he requested the appointment of "master tailor" in presence of the Court, whereupon the amazed King replied he could neither shape nor Quickly and with great satire Lyndsay rejoined, "Sir, that makes no matter, for you have given bishoprics and benefices to many who can neither teach nor preach; and why may not I as well be your tailor, though I can neither shape nor sew?" And his notions of a literary character were equally straightforward and poignant; he was, in the words of the old national poet, Blind Harry, "a worthy clerk, baith wise and right savage.'

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Professor Craik has very well estimated the value of his work and influence, when he said, "Lyndsay survived to do perhaps as good service as any in the war against the ancient church by the tales, plays, and other products of his abounding satiric vein, with which he fed, and excited, and lashed up the popular contempt for the now crazy and tumbling fragment, once so imposing and so venerating. Perhaps he also did no harm by thus taking off a little of the acrid edge of mere resentment and indignation with the infusion of a dash of merriment, and keeping alive a genial sense of the ludicrous in the midst of such serious work."

It nowhere appears that he, unlike many others of his time, had any ill feelings toward the Catholic Church, but rather the reverse; and in the speculation whether he was or was not actuated in taking the vice and abuses in that Church as materials to display the keen edge

of his wit and satire, we incline to think that he used them very much for a literary purpose, as from his writings there is great reason to doubt if he ever contemplated the downfall of the Catholic Church in his native land. Of the positive effects of his writings there can be no doubt; but many wits satirize institutions they wish reformed and not destroyed. It is beyond question that his works had great effect on the people; he was the Scottish poet of his age, and of his country for some centuries after. His words fired the people with courage, and lifted them into power; for the first time the populace, in a measure, found they had a political voice. He has been with great truth, called the poet of the Scottish Reformation; but the evils which he lashed to scorn, and the abuses which he desired remedied, were social and political rather than doctrinal. His satires admirably cleared the path for more strenuous exertions by more determined men; and very tritely has his earnest "Satire of the Three Estates" been considered as the rough draft of a Scottish Reform Bill.

Lyndsay has his best representative in Allan Ramsay, whose popularity, now fading, never reached the height of the old master's. Ramsay falls far short of Lyndsay, but he is the only modern poet that approaches his imagination, wit, and satire. It is yet within the memory of an old friend, who in his youth heard men and women constantly referring to the poet's works in any dispute about accurate information, and the expression "Ye'll no find that in Davie Lyndsay," was tantamount to the greatest incredulity. An old woman, long resident in the vicinity of Garleton, who died in the present century, having a very great knowledge of the poet, his works, figure, and dress, said that he composed his poems on the top of the

highest of the Garleton hills. Too much reliance cannot be placed on this traditionary story, because similar reports have floated down to us on old wives' gossip concerning Merlin and Thomas the Rhymer; in those days, for some unaccountable reason, a hill-top and a minstrel were always associated.

Lyndsay's poems are now, perhaps, chiefly valuable because of the lights they shed on the history of that time, although they are well worthy of being read for their intrinsic merits, especially for their satiric wealth and broad pokes of striking old-fashioned humour and wit. We could not recommend any one to read the entire contents of the two volumes of the last edition of his works, so ably edited by Mr. David Laing-to whom Scottish literature is greatly indebtedexcept for their historic value. A lover of old poetry or old poets may read them all, but even he will find it dreary work. There are several that are really worth reading; the remainder may be thrown aside. And it may be reasonably doubted if there can anywhere be found so true, vivid, and realistic sketches of the inner and social lives of the Scotch people as are to be met with in his graphic lines. They are crisp with the cares and anxieties peculiar to the time, and bristle with domestic, ecclesiastical, and legal troubles and grievances, one can read them without thinking that he had the making of a splendid historian. Several of his poems are histories. Others are clear, full-drawn pictures, painted with a free hand and considerable dash, and having the colours strangely mixed. Often they are racy with strong mirth, which laughs for a purpose, and beneath the mirth we find cold wisdom, as a firm hand beneath a fancy glove; and often they aloud in the somewhat old and prosai ta cies accompanied

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with biting satire. He is a very good specimen of that extravagant license which poets were wont to take, and seemed to roam in fancy free in Heaven or Hell, with which places he appeared to be on visiting terms. Our modern poets find scope enough on earth, without winging their fancy to such undetermined regions. He had evidently the ancient classics for his models, and in some places it is plain he was trammelled by his plan of imitation. Not only were his models old, but also his imagery as well as his verse. He is best where he is most original, and in his own peculiar narratives and complaints his muse swings along with a delightful freshness and freeness. His own native Scotch wit and Scotch satire is fullest and best in his own personal poems. Whenever he rides Pegasus as the scholar, with the ancients for his guides, his horsemanship is ungainly, and it is with difficulty he holds his seat. Cold, formal, and affected are the former, while warm, plastic, and effective are the latter.

The great majority of Lyndsay's works do not possess any of that rushing, glowing warmth that characterizes our modern poems. Like the poems of his time, his had a stately march music; the unmistakable flashing fire of genius flickered here and there in stray lines. His connection with the Court might account for the formal, lifeless verses which he often penned; and frequently, one observes that his appointment, with slow promotion and inadequate reward, damped his ardour and hampered his poetic skill. Of unequal merit are many of his verses; full often we find a bright, merry line spar ling upon a dull melancholy neighbour, and occasionally we meet a smiling rose-bush in the solitariness of a large forest of rusthing fit-rees.

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