CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET. never yet saw we a fighter like thee. Up on thy hind legs in a moment, like a growling Polar monster, with thy fore-paws round thy foeman's neck, bull-dog, colly, mastiff, or greyhound, and down with him in a moment, with as much ease as Cass, in the wrestling-ring at Carlisle, would throw a Bagman, and then wo to the throat of the downfallen, for thy jaws were shark-like as they opened and shut with their terrific tusks, grinding through skin and sinew to the spine. 21 the bloody place, uncertain whether or not his "Heu quantum mutatus ab illo The huge wagon moves away "The Prince of Mearns stept forth before the crowd, Bob Howie, who never yet feared the face of Once, and once only-bullied out of all endurance by a half-drunken carrier-did we consent to let thee engage in a pitched battle with a mastiff victorious in fifty fights-a famous shanker and a throttler beyond all compare. It was indeed a bloody business-now growling along the glawr of the road-a hairy hurricane-now snorting in the suffocating ditchnow fair play on the clean and clear crown of the causey-now rolling over and over through a chance-open white little gate, into a cottagegarden-now separated by choking them both with a chord now brought out again with savage and fiery eyes to the scratch on a green plat round the sign-board-swinging tree in the middle of the village-auld women in their mutches crying out, "Shame! whare's the minister?"-young women, with combs in their pretty heads, blinking with pale and almost weeping faces from low-lintelled doors-children crowding for sight and safety on the louping-on-stone-and loud cries ever and anon at each turn and eddy of the fight. of "Well done, Fro, well done, Fro-see how he worries "An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;" his windpipe-well done, Fro!" for Fro was the delight and glory of the whole parish, and the honour of all its inhabitants, male and fe- shoulders like Atlas-breast like Herculesmale, was felt to be staked on the issue- and arms like Vulcan. The heart of Benjawhile at intervals was heard the harsh hoarse min the wagoner dies within him-he accepts voice of the carriers and his compeers, cursing the challenge for a future day-and retreating The other carters and swearing in triumph in a many-oathed backwards to his clothes, receives a rightlanguage peculiar to the race that drive the hander as from a sledge-hammer on the temple, broad-wheeled wagons with the high canvas that fells him like an ox. roofs, as the might of Teeger prevailed, and all close in, but are sent spinning in all directhe indomitable Fro seemed to be on his last tions as from the sails of a windmill. Ever legs beneath a grip of the jugular, and then as each successive lout seeks the earth, we stretched motionless and passive-in defeat or savage school-boys rush in upon him in twos, death. A mere ruse to recover wind. Like and threes, and fours, basting and battering unshorn Samson starting from his sleep, and him as he bawls; at this very crisis-so fate snapping like fired flax the vain bands of the ordained-are seen hurrying down the hill Philistines, Fro whawmled Teeger off, and from the south, leaving their wives, sweettwisting round his head in spite of the grip on hearts, and asses in the rear, with coal-black the jugular, the skin stretching and giving way hair and sparkling eyes, brown brawny legs, in a ghastly but unfelt wound, he suddenly and clenched iron fists at the end of long arms, seized with all his tusks his antagonist's eye, swinging flail-like at all times, and more than and bit it clean out of the socket. A yowl of now, ready for the fray, a gang of Gipsies! unendurable pain-spouting of blood-sick-while-beautiful coincidence!-up the hill ness-swooning-tumbling over-and death. from the north come on, at double-quick time, His last fight is over! His remaining eye an awkward squad of as grim Milesians as glazed-his protruded tongue bitten in anguish ever buried a pike in a Protestant. Nor quesby his own grinding teeth-his massy hind tion nor reply; but in a moment a general legs stretched out with a kick like a horse-mêlée. Men at work in the hay-fields, who his short tail stiffens-he is laid out a grim would not leave their work for a dog-fight, fling the high-road, a stalwart reinforcement. Weav corpse-flung into a cart tied behind the down scythe and rake, and over hedges into wagon-and off to the tan-yard. No shouts of victory-but stern, sullen, half-ers leap from their treddles-doff their blue The but her ashamed silence-as of guilty things after aprons, and out into the air. The red-cowled the perpetration of a misdeed. Still glaring tailor pops his head through a skylight, and savagely, ere yet the wrath of fight has sub- next moment is in the street. sided in his heart, and going and returning to strips his long light-blue linen coat, to engage spite at the gipsies; and as for Irishmen, why they were ranting, roving, red-hot, dare-devil boys, just like himself; and after he fight, he would have gone with them to Purgatory, or a few steps further down the hill. All the battle through, we manse-boys had fought, it may be said, behind the shadow of him our hero; and in warding off mischief from us, he received not a few heavy body-blows from King Carew, a descendant of Bamfylde Moore, and some crown-cracks from the shillelas of the Connaught Rangers. a Paddy; and the smith, ready for action-for whisky comes, hands it about at his own ex the huge arms of Burniwind are always bare-pense, caulker after caulker, to the vanquished with a hand-ower-hip delivery, makes the head for Bob was as generous as brave; had no of the king of the gipsies ring like an anvil. There has been no marshalling of forces-yet lo! as if formed in two regular lines by the Adjutant himself after the first tuilzie, stand the carters, the gipsies, and the Irishmen, opposed to Bob Howie, the butcher, the smith, the tailor, the weaver, the hay-makers, and the boys from the manse-the latter drawn up cautiously, but not cowardly, in the rear. What a twinkling of fists and shillelas! what bashed and bloody noses! cut blubber lips-cheekbones out of all proportion to the rest of the face, and, through sudden black and blue tumefactions, inen's changed into pigs' eyes! And now there is also rugging of caps and mutches and hair, "femineo ululatu," for the Egyptian Amazons bear down like furies on the glee'd widow that keeps the change-house, half-witted Shoosy that sells yellow sand, and Davie Donald's dun daughter, commonly called Spunkie. What shrieking and tossing of arms, round the whole length and breadth of the village! Where is Simon Andrew the constable? Where is auld Robert Maxwell the ruling elder? What can have become of Laird Warnock, whose word is law? An what can the Minister be about, can anybody tell, that he does not come flying from the manse to save the lives of his parishioners from cannibals, and gipsies, and Eerish, murdering their way to the gallows? Down comes a sudden thunder-plump, making the road a river-and to the whiff o' lightning, all in the shape of man, woman, and child, are under roof-cover. The afternoon soon clears up, and the haymakers leave the clanking empty gill or half-mutchkin stoup, for the field, to see what the rain has donethe forge begins again to roar-the sound of the flying shuttle tells us that the weaver is again on his treddles; the tailor hoists up his little window in the thatch, in that close confinement, to enjoy the caller air-the tinklers go to encamp on the common-"the air is balm”—insects, dropping from eave and tree, "show to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold”—though the season of bird-singing be over and gone, there is a pleasant chirping hereabouts, thereabouts, everywhere; the old blind beggar, dog-led, goes from door to door, unconscious that such a stramash has ever been-and dancing round our champion, away we schoolboys all fly with him to swim in the Brother Loch, taking our fishing-rods with us, for one clap of thunder will not frighten the trouts; and about the middle or end of July, we have known great labbers, twenty inches long, play wallop between our very feet, in the warm shallow water, within a yard of the edge, to the yellow bodied, tinsey-tailed, black half-heckle, with brown mallard wing, a mere midge, but once fixed in lip or tongue, "inextricable as the gorged lion's bite." How-why-or when-that bloody battle ceased to be, was never distinctly known either then or since; but, like every thing else, it had an end-and even now we have a confused dream of the spot at its termination-naked men lying on their backs in the mire, all drenched in blood-with women, some old and ugly, with shrivelled witch-like hag breasts, others young, and darkly, swarthily, blackly beautiful, with budding or new-blown bosoms unkerchiefed in the colley-shangy-perilous to see-leaning over them: and these were the Egyptians! Men in brown shirts, gore-spotted, with green bandages round their broken heads, laughing, and joking, and jeering, and But ever after that passage in the life of Fro, singing, and shouting, though desperately his were, on the whole, years of peace. Every mauled and mangled-while Scottish wives, season seemed to strengthen his sagacity, and and widows, and maids, could not help crying to unfold his wonderful instincts. Most asout in sympathy, "Oh! but they're bonnie men suredly he knew all the simpler parts of speech -what a pity they should aye be sae fond o'-all the household words in the Scottish lanfechting, and a' manner o' mischief!"-and guage. He was, in all our pastimes, as much these were the Irishmen! Retired and apart, one of ourselves, as if, instead of being a Pagar hangs the weaver, with his head over a wall, with four feet, he had been a Christian with dog-sick, and bocking in strong convulsions; two. As for temper, we trace the sweetness some haymakers are washing their cut faces of our own to his; an angry word from one he in the well: the butcher, bloody as a bit of his loved, he forgot in half a minute, offering his own beef, walks silent into the shambles; the lion-like paw; yet there were particular peosmith, whose grimy face hides its pummelling, ple he could not abide, nor from their hands goes off grinning a ghastly smile in the hands would he have accepted a roasted potato out of his scolding, yet not unloving wife; the of the dripping pan, and in this he resembled tailor, gay as a flea, and hot as his own goose, his master. He knew the Sabbath-day as to show how much more he has given than well as the Sexton-and never was known to received, offers to leap any man on the ground, bark till the Monday morning when the cock hop-step-and-jump, for a mutchkin-while Bob crew; and then he would give a long musical Howie walks about, without a visible wound, ex- yowl, as if his breast were relieved from silence. cept the mark of bloody knuckles on his brawny If ever, in this cold, changeful, inconstant world, reast, with arms a-kimbo, seaman fashion-there was a friendship that might be called sinBob had been at sea-and as soon as the cere, it was that which, half a century ago and Sea-eagle, pounces on the mallard, as he mounts from the bulrushes before the wild swans sailing, with all wings hoisted, like a fleet-but osprey nor eagle dares to try his talons on that stately bird-for he is bold in his beauty, and formidable as he is fair; the pinions that swim and soar can also smite; and though the one be a lover of war, the other of peace, yet of them it may be said, upwards, subsisted between Christopher North | in or below their shadow. The great Erne, or and John Fro. We never had a quarrel in all our lives-and within these two months we made a pilgrimage to his grave. He was buried- not by our hands, but by the hands of one whose tender and manly heart loved the old, blind, deaf, staggering creature to the very last-for such in his fourteenth year he truly was a sad and sorry sight to see, to them who remembered the glory of his stately and majestic years. One day he crawled with a moanlike whine to our brother's feet, and expired. Reader, young, bright, and beautiful though thou be remember all flesh is dust! This is an episode-a tale in itself complete, yet growing out of, and appertaining to, the main plot of Epic or Article. You will recollect we were speaking of ducks, teals, and widgeons-and we come now to the next clause of the verse-wild geese and swans. Some people's geese are all swans; but so far from that being the case with ours-sad and sorry are we to say it-now all our swans are geese. But in our buoyant boyhood, all God's creatures were to our eyes just as God made them; and there was ever-especially birds-a tinge of beauty over them all. What an inconceivable difference-distance-to the imagination, between the nature of a tame and a wild goose! Aloft in heaven, themselves in night invisible, the gabble of a cloud of wild geese is sublime. Whence comes it-whither goes it for what end, and by what power impelled? Reason sees not into the darkness of instinct and therefore the awe-struck heart of the night-wandering boy beats to hear the league-long gabble that probably has winged its wedge-like way from the lakes, and marshes, and dreary morasses of Siberia, from Lapland, or Iceland, or the unfrequented and unknown northern regions of America-regions set apart, quoth Bewick we believe, for summer residences and breeding places, and where they are amply provided with a variety of food, a large portion of which must consist of the larvæ of gnats, and myriads of insects, there fostered by the unsetting sun! Now they are all gabbling good Gaelic over a Highland nightmoor. Perhaps in another hour the descending cloud will be covering the wide waters at the head of the wild Loch Maree-or, silent and asleep, the whole host be riding at anchor around Lomond's Isles! But 'tis now mid-day-and lo! in that mediterranean-a flock of wild Swans! Have they dropt down from the ether into the water almost as pure as ether, without having once folded their wings, since they rose aloft to shun the insupportable northern snows hundreds of leagues beyond the storm-swept Orcades? To look at the quiet creatures, you might think that they had never left the circle of that little loch. There they hang on their shadows, ven as if asleep in the sunshine; and now stching out their long wings-how apt for flight from clime to clime!-joyously they beat the liquid radiance, till to the loud flapping high rises the mist, and wide spreads the foam, almost sufficient for a rainbow. Safe are they from all birds of prey. The Osprey dashes down on the teal, or sea-trout, swimming with "The eagle he is lord above, The swan is lord below!" To have shot such a creature-so largeso white-so high-soaring-and on the winds of midnight wafted from so far-a creature that seemed not merely a stranger in that loch, but belonging to some mysterious land in another hemisphere, whose coast ships with frozen rigging have been known to visit, driving under bare poles through a month's snow storms-to have shot such a creature was an era in our imagination, from which, had nature been more prodigal, we might have sprung up a poet. Once, and but once, we were involved in the glory of that event. creature had been in a dream of some river or lake in Kamtschatka-or ideally listening, "Across the waves' tumultuous roar, The The wolf's long howl from Oonalashka's shore," when, guided by our good genius and our brightest star, we suddenly saw him sitting asleep in all his state, within gunshot, in a bay of the moonlight Loch! We had nearly fainted died on the very spot-and why were we no entitled to have died as well as any other passionate spirit, whom joy ever divorced from life? We blew his black bill into pieces not a feather on his head but was touched and like a little white-sailed pleasure-boat caught in a whirlwind, the wild swan spun round, and then lay motionless on the water, as if all her masts had gone by the board. We were all alone that night-not even Fro was with us; we had reasons for being alone, for we wished not that there should be any foot-fall but our own round that mountain-hut. Could we swim? Ay, like the wild swan himself, through surge or breaker. But now the loch was still as the sky, and twenty strokes carried us close to the glorious creature, which, grasped by both hands, and supporting us as it was trailed beneath our breast, while we floated rather than swam ashore, we felt to be in verity our-Prey! We trembled with a sort of fear, to behold him lying indeed dead on the sward. The moon-the many stars here and there one wondrously large and lustrous-the hushed glittering loch-the hills, though somewhat dimmed, green all winter through, with here and there a patch of snow on their summits in the blue sky, on which lay a few fleecy clouds-the mighty foreign bird, whose plumage we had never hoped to touch but in a dream, lying like the ghost of something that ought not to have been destroyedthe scene was altogether such as made our wild young heart quake, and almost repent of having killed a creature so surpassingly beautiful. But that was a fleeting fancy-and over the wide moors we went, like an American Indian laden with game, journeying to his wigwam over the wilderness. As we whitened | hills, not a few mountains, some most extra ordinary cliffs, considerable store of woods, and one, indeed, that might well be called The Forest. towards the village in the light of morning, the earlier labourers held up their hands in wonder what and who we might be; and Fro, who had missed his master, and was lying awake for him on the mount, came bounding along, nor could refrain the bark of delighted passion as his nose nuzzled in the soft down of the bosom of the creature whom he remembered to have sometimes seen floating too far off in the lake, or far above our reach cleaving the firmament.-a fate that oft befell thy foes of yore-re FYTTE THIRD. Lift up thy rock-crowned forehead through thy own sweet stormy skies, Auld Scotland! and as sternly and grimly thou look'st far over the hushed or howling seas, remember theetill all thy moors and mosses quake at thy heart, as if swallowing up an invading army member thee, in mist-shrouded dream, and cloud-born vision, of the long line of kings, and heroes, and sages, and bards, whose hal O MUCKLE-MOU'D Meg! and can it be that lowed bones sleep in pine-darkened tombs thou art numbered among forgotten things-among the mountain heather, by the side of unexistences! "Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course, "Wha daur meddle wi' me ?" rivers, and lochs, and arms of ocean-their spirits yet seen in lofty superstition, sailing or sitting on the swift or settled tempest. Lift What would we not now give for a sight-up thy rock-crowned forehead, Auld Scotland! a kiss of thy dear lips! Lips which we re- and sing aloud to all the nations of the earth, member once to have put to our own, even with thy voice of cliffs, and caves, and caverns, when thy beloved barrel was double-loaded! Now we sigh to think on what then made us shudder! Oh! that thy butt were but now What! some small, puny, piteous windpipes resting on our shoulder! Alas! for ever are heard cheeping against thee from the Cockdischarged! Burst and rent asunder, art thou neys-like ragged chickens agape in the pip. now lying buried in a peat-moss? Did some How the feeble and fearful creatures would vulgar villain of a village Vulcan convert thee, crawl on their hands and knees, faint and name and nature, into nails? Some dark-giddy, and shrieking out for help to the heather visaged Douglas of a henroost-robbing Egyptian, solder thee into a pan? Oh! that our passion could dig down unto thee in the bowels of the earth-and with loud lamenting elegies, and louder hymns of gratulation, restore thee, buttless, lockless, vizyless, burst, rent, torn, and twisted though thou be'st, to the light of day, and of the world-rejoicing Sun! Then would we adorn thee with evergreen wreaths of the laurel and the ivy-and hang "On the uncertain footing of a spar," thee up, in memory and in monument of all on a tree felled where it stood, centuries ago, the bright, dim, still, stormy days of our boy-by steel or storm, into a ledgeless bridge, oft hood-when gloom itself was glory-and when -But stalks, if forced to face one of thy cliffs, and foot its flinty bosom! How would the depths of their long ears, cotton-stuffed in vain, ache to the spray-thunder of thy cataracts! Sick, sick would be their stomachs, storm-swept in a six-oared cutter into the jaws of Staffa! That sight is sufficient to set the most saturnine on the guffaw-the Barry Cornwall himself, crossing a chasm a hundred yards deep, sounding and shaking to the hunter's feet in chase of the red-deer! The Cockneys do not "Be hush'd my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns, like us Scotchmen-because of our high cheekWhen the faint and the feeble deplore." bones. They are sometimes very high indeed, Cassandra-Corinna-Sappho-Lucretia-Cle- very coarse, and very ugly, and give a Scotch opatra-Tighe-De Staël-in their beauty or in their genius, are, with millions on millions of the fair-faced or bright-souled, nothing but dust and ashes; and as they are, so shall Baillie, and Grant, and Hemans, and Landon be-and why vainly yearn" with love and longings infinite," to save from doom of perishable nature -of all created things, but one alone-Mucklemou'd Meg! man a grim and gaunt look, assuredly not to be sneezed at, with any hope of impunity, on a dark day and in a lonesome place, by the most heroic chief of the most heroic clan in all the level land of Lud, travelling all by himself in a horse and gig, and with a black boy in a cockaded glazed hat, through the Heelands o' Scotland, passing of course, at the very least, for a captain of Hussars! Then Scotchmen canna keep their backs straught, it seems, and are always booin' and booin' afore a great man. Cannot they, indeed? Do they, indeed? Ascend with that Scottish shepherd yon mountain's breast-swim with him that mountain loch-a bottle of Glenlivet, who first stands in After a storm comes a calm; and we hasten to give the sporting world the concluding account of our education. In the moorland parish-God bless it-in which we had the inestimable advantage of passing our boyhood there were a good many falcons-of course the kite or glead-the buzzard-the sparrow-shallow water, on the Oak Isle-and whose hawk-the marsh harrier-that imp the merlin and, rare bird and beautiful! there, on a cliff which, alas! a crutched man must climb no more, did the Peregrine build her nest. You must not wonder at this, for the parish was an extensive one even for Scotland-half Highland, half Lowland-and had not only muirs and mosses many o," but numerous back will be straughtest, that of the Caledo nian or the Cockney? The little Luddite will be puking among the heather, about some five hundred feet above the level of the sea-higher for the first time in his life than St. Paul's, and nearer than he will again be, either in the spirit or the flesh, to heaven. The little Luddite will be puking in the hitherto unpollute 1 loch, forgotten tarns, or counting twice over some one of our more darling waters, worthy to aash their waves against the sides of ships-alone wanting to the magnificence of those inland seas! Yes-it was as level, as boggy, as hilly, as mountainous, as woody, as lochy, and as rivery a parish, as ever laughed to scorn Colonel Mudge and his Trigonometrical Survey. Was not that a noble parish for apprenticeship in sports and pastimes of a great master? No need of any teacher. On the wings of joy we were borne over the bosom of nature, and learnt all things worthy and needful to be learned, by instinct first, and afterwards by reason. To look at a wild creature-winged with feathers, or mere feet-and not desire to destroy or capture it-is impossible to passion -to imagination-to fancy. Thus had we longed to feel and handle the glossy plumage of the beaked bird-the wide-winged Birds of Prey-before our finger had ever touched a trigger. Their various flight, in various weather, we had watched and noted with something even of the eye of a naturalist-the wonder of a poet; for among the brood of boys there are hundreds and thousands of poets who never see manhood, the poetry dying away-the boy growing up into mere prose; yet to some even of the paragraphs of these Three Fyttes do we appeal, that a few sparks of the sacred light are yet alive within us; and sad to our old ears would be the sound after some seven strokes or so, with a strong Scottish weed twisted like an eel round its thigh, and shrieking out for the nearest resuscitating machine in a country, where, alas! there is no Humane Society. The back of the shepherd-even in presence of that "great man"-will be as straught as-do not tremble, Cockney-this Crutch. Conspicuous from afar like a cairn, from the inn-door at Arrochar, in an hour he will be turning up his little finger so on the Cobbler's head; or, in twenty minutes, gliding like a swan, or shooting like a salmon, his back being still straught-leaving Luss, he will be shaking the dewdrops from his brawny body on the silver sand of Inch Morren. And happy were we, Christopher North, happy were we in the parish in which Fate delivered us up to Nature, that, under her tuition, our destinies might be fulfilled. A parish! Why it was in itself a kingdom-a world. Thirty miles long by twenty at the broadest, and five at the narrowest; and is not that a kingdom-is not that a world worthy of any monarch that ever wore a crown? Was it level? Yes, league-long levels were in it of greensward, hard as the sand of the sea-shore, yet springy and elastic, fit training ground for Childers, or Eclipse, or Hambletonian, or Smolensko, or for a charge of cavalry in some great pitched battle, while artillery might keep playing against artillery from innumerous affronting hills. Was it boggy? Yes, black bogs were there, which extorted a panegyric from the roving Irishman in his richest brogue-of "Put out the light, and then-put out the bogs in which forests had of old been buried, light!" Thus were we impelled, even when a and armies with all their banners. Was it mere child, far away from the manse, for miles, hilly? Ay, there the white sheep nibbled, and into the moors and woods. Once it was feared the back cattle grazed; there they baa'd and that poor wee Kit was lost; for having set off they lowed upon a thousand hills-a crowd of all by himself, at sunrise, to draw a night-line cones, all green as emerald. Was it moun- from the distant Black Loch, and look at a trap tainous? Give answer from afar, ye mist- set for a glead, a mist overtook him on the shrouded summits, and ye clouds cloven by moor on his homeward way, with an eel as the eagle's wing! But whether ye be indeed long as himself hanging over his shoulder, and mountains, or whether ye be clouds, who can held him prisoner for many hours within its tell, bedazzled as are his eyes by that long- shifting walls, frail indeed, and opposing no lingering sunset, that drenches heaven and resistance to the hand, yet impenetrable to the earth in one indistinguishable glory, setting feet of fear as the stone dungeon's thraldom. the West on fire, as if the final conflagration If the mist had remained, that would have were begun! Was it woody? Hush, hush, been nothing; only a still cold wet seat on a and you will hear a pine-cone drop in the stone; but as "a trot becomes a gallop soon, central silence of a forest-a silent and soli- in spite of curb and rein," so a Scotch mist tary wilderness-in which you may wander a becomes a shower-and a shower a floodwhole day long, unaccompanied but by the and a flood a storm-and a storm a tempestcushat, the corby, the falcon, the roe, and they and a tempest thunder and lightning--and are all shy of human feet, and, like thoughts, thunder and lightning heaven-quake and pass away in a moment; so if you long for earth-quake-till the heart of poor wee Kit less fleeting farewells from the native dwellers quaked, and almost died within him in the in the wood, lo! the bright brown queen of the desert. In this age of Confessions, need we butterflies, gay and gaudy in her glancings be ashamed to own, in the face of the whole through the solitude, the dragon-fly whirring world, that we sat us down and cried! The bird-like over the pools in the glade; and if small brown Moorland bird, as dry as a toast, your ear desire music, the robin and the wren hopped out of his heather-hole, and cheerfully may haply trill you a few notes among the cheeped comfort. With crest just a thought briery rocks, or the bold blackbird open wide lowered by the rain, the green-backed, whitehis yellow bill in his holly-ree, and set the breasted pease weep, walked close by us in the squirrels a-leaping all within reach of his mist; and sight of wonder, that made even in ringing roundelay. Any rivers? one-to whom that quandary by the quagmire our heart beat a thousand torrents are tributary-as he him- with joy-lo! never seen before, and seldom self is tributary to the sea. Any lochs? How since, three wee pease weeps, not three days many we know not-for we never counted old, little bigger than shrew-mice, all covered them twice alike-omitting perhaps some with blackish down, interspersed with long |