confirmed rheumatism, a sure card on such occasions. A gallon of hodgepodge the turkey-cock roasted-five or six dozen of poached eggs-and some chops of rather a problematical character, (though we shrewdly sus pect them to have been pork, in direct opposition to Odoherty, who swore they were bull-beef), assuaged the fames, or rather rabies edendi-and by eight o'clock we were ready to start for the Linn of Dee, near which our Tent had, as we were informed, already been pitched for two days, through the accustomed kindness of the Thane, who had ordered his steward, Mr Harden, to get it up with all suitable accommodations. As, with Wastle's and Morris' servants, we were only eight in all, dogcart and shandrydan took us up, out, and in, very comfortably, and with room to spare; and, as the nags were in high condition, we made the tent under the hour, being received with three hearty cheers, and "the clans are coming," from a pair of bagpipes whose drones were assuredly far from idle ones. We returned the cheers with spirit, and Wastle, who plays the bugle in a way worthy of the late Leander himself, with a sudden blast startled the grouse and the red deer through all the mountains and forests of Mar. We found our Tent pitched on a smooth green sward, that looked as if it had been artificially formed among the tall heather that encircled it. It was placed on the confluence of several vallies, so that on whatever side the canvass was raised, we had before our eyes a long reach of the most magnificent mountain scenery. The clear waters of the Dee murmured not twenty yards off-and one of those little springs, so pleasant to the Shepherd, welled out from its hillock yet closer to the tent. Here we found that excellent fisher Walter Ritchie from Peebles, and that trusty caddy John Mackay, Frederick Street, Edinburgh, who had escorted the Adjutant's tent and many et ceteras, in an old baggage-waggon purchased at Jock's Lodge, on the departure of the Enniskillen Dragoons, and made as good as new at the magical coach-yard of Crichton. With Walter and John we were now ten in number, while the Thane's three kilted gillies and John of Sky, whom the MIGHTY MINSTREL had kindly sent to enliven our festivities, made precisely the devil's dozen. "Its no "Haud mora," there was no delay. The shandrydan and dog-cart were emptied in a trice, and we ourselves were particularly anxious to see "The Contributors' Box" safely stowed away among our own furniture. Busy as we all were, each with his own concerns, none of us could help smiling at the Ettrick Shepherd, who immediately, on entering the Tent, had got astride on a pretty corpulent cask of whisky, and was filling a jug on which he had instinctively laid his hands. canny to sleep here a' nicht for fear of the fairies without saining ourselves, so we'll e'en pit round the jug, and pour out a drappoch to King Lu!" In a short time the Tent was in fair array-while Odoherty proposed that we should see that our pieces were all in good order, and to ascertain their comparative excellence, and the skill of the owners, that we should fire at a mark. We accordingly assembled our forces for that purpose. By some accident or other which will probably never be explained, a copy of the last part of the Transactions of the Royal Society was found lying in the tent. Whether Wastle had brought it in his dog-cart--but the thing is inexplicable, so let it pass. The volume was opened by chance somewhere about the middle, and set up at forty yards distance to be fired at by the contributors. The following scale will shew the result of the trial. Blessing ourselves.-Dr Jamieson. + As our sporting friends must be anxious to know how we were off for Guns and Dogs, we lay before them the following list, which, we believe, will be found to be correct. Wastle. Two handsome brown and white Spanish pointers, Prince and Tory.-Gun double barrel, by Innes of Edinburgh.-Powder by Wakefield.-Shot No 6. Odoherty. No dogs-Double barrel of Damascus steel, with the words "London," and "warranted," punched in gold both on the locks and between the barrels-No maker's name-Ramrod of his own invention-Powder by Tinkler and Mountford-Shot No 4. Trial on the 11th at 40 yards distance, all shooting with No 4, at an expanded volume of the Transactions of the Royal Society. A very remarkable phenomenon, and one well worthy the attention of the Royal Society, was observed on this occasion. While the left hand page, 372, was riddled to pieces-the right hand page did not exhibit a single shot. The cause of this, we who are no philosophers are unable to explain; but such is the fact; and on the page thus miraculously unhurt, were written the following words, "an Essay on the Scope and Tendency of the Philosophical Writings of Lord Bacon, by Macvey Napier, Esq." Such im penetrable stuff was it proved to be. By this time it had become rather darkish, and John of the Isles began playing so sleepy an air, that it reminded us of the house of rest. In about an hour we were all fourteen stretched upon our backs with our feet meeting, in the true campaigne fashion, in the centre of the tent. The last observation that was uttered came from Dr Morris, who lamented much that Kempferhausen had not arrived, as the moon would soon rise, and the young poet might have had an opportunity of addressing a sonnet to her in High Dutch. Wastle indistinctly muttered something in reply, for the hand of Morpheus was passing over his mouth. For our own part, we were unable to close an eye thinking of the Magazine, for, when we left Edinburgh, only two halfsheets had gone to press, and Mr 20 0 90 Blackwood looked unutterable things. While considering what ought to be the opening article, such a noise arose as might have passed in America for a frog concert. What a snore! not one of the fourteen noses, Lowland or Highland, Scotch, Irish, or Welsh, lay idle. The sum total was tremendous. By degrees our ears got somewhat accustomed to the sound, and we could distin guish the characteristic snore of every sleeper. Above all the menial and plebeian rhoncus rose the clear silver-nosed trumpet of Tickler, playing its bold reveille-there was heard the equable, but not monotonous, and most gentlemanly snore of WastleDr Morris snored in such a manner as he did mock himself, and ever and anon ceased, as if he were listening, and then after a little uncertain sniffling as if tuning his instrument to concert-pitch, broke out again into full possession of his powers-Odoherty betrayed a good deal of the nasal brogue of his country, for sleeping or waking the Adjutant is a true Milesian, snoring by fits and starts in a hurried and impassioned manner like a man dreaming of Fuentes D'Honore or Donnybrook Fair-while, from the breast, neck, shoulders, head and nose of the Ettrick Shepherd came a deep, hollow, grunting-growl, like that of the royal tiger, so admirably described by Lady H. in the last number of the Literary and Scientific Journal. When Dr Morris.-Dogs, two white setters, Urien and Sir David Gam-Gun, double barrel, by young Wilkinson of Edinburgh, 31 inches-with a spare pair of barrels of 24 inches by Kinnear of Buckhaven-Powder by Pigou and Andrews-Shot No 5. The Ettrick Shepherd.-Dog, Hector, kind doubtful-Gun, single barrel of 46 inches, by Johnson of Dumfries-Powder by Kitchener and Hunter-Shot No 4 and 1 mixed. Tickler. No dog-Gun, musket formerly belonging to first regiment of Edinburgh Volunteers, also bayonet-Swan shot. Editor. Dog, Phyllis, an old fat bitch, the gift of Mr Constable-Gun, double barrel, by the late Fenton of Shoemaker Row, the gift of Dr Morris-Battle Powder-Shot, No 6. Kempferhausen (as he afterwards appeared).-Dogs, Blucher, a large black setter, and Markoff, a Russian pointer. Gun by Egg of London, 30 inches-Powder by Barker of Lowood-Shot No 7 in right, and 5 in left barrel. this had lasted for a couple of hours, sometimes one performer leading the band, and sometimes another, we felt that the drum of our ear could bear it no longer-so we picked our way out of the tent over limbs of Celt and Saxon, and retired from the concertroom, to hear the music" by distance made more sweet."-Nearly half a mile off, we heard the "Solemn hum, Voice of the desert never dumb," and through its multitudinous murmur were distinctly audible the majestic base of the author of the above lines, and the pure tenor of Tickler-the first resembling a subterranean grumble, and the latter striking on the ear like the sound of iron against rock in a frost. During all this time, the moon was sitting in Heaven, apparent queen," not with a stoical indifference, as Mr Southey reports of her on the night after Prince Madoc had defeated the Mexicans, but evidently much pleased with the scene below herboth with what she saw and what she heard. We shortly after returned to the Tent; and joining at last the general troop of sleep," we no doubt added one instrumental performer more to the grand chorus of this Musical Festival. We do not pretend to conceal the fact, that we felt ourselves carried in a dream to the back shop, the sanctum sanctorum of No 17, Prince's Street; and that we never thought Mr Blackwood so beautiful as in that vision. But just as he had given us a proof to correct, it seemed as if the roof had fallen in and crushed us in the ruins. We awoke and found that Odoherty had fired the morning gun, as a signal. We buckled on our armour in less than no time, and the adjutant was pleased to say, that he had never seen men sharper at an alarm through the whole course of the Peninsular war. "No fear lest breakfast cool"-for in ten minutes each man had housed half a pound at least of mutton-ham, and a dash of the dew. Early as the hour was, there was nothing like squeamishness—and it must not be omitted, that each Contributor, like good soldier and good citizen, after an appropriate address by Odoherty, emptied his quech to the health of the Prince Regent. Dr Morris, Wastle, and Odoherty, each attended by a Highland guide, provided for them, as we have said, by the munificence of the Thane, took their departure to the mountains; the Dr ascending the pass of the Geonly Water, with a view to the ground towards the head of Glen Tilt,-Wastle taking up the glen of the source of the Dee, and the Adjutant meditating a cast or two with our own favourite bitch, over the ground behind MarLodge. Tickler, who had never seen a red Deer, went to the forest with John of the Isles, and small Donald Dhu of Invercauld, having, ere he parted, fixed his bayonet at the mouth of the tent. The Ettrick Shepherd, apparently discouraged by his last night's discomfiture in shooting at the Transactions, accompanied Walter Ritchie to the Dee, to try for a salmon; while we ourselves, along with John Mackay, remained at home in the tent, to overhaul the "Contributors' Box," and if necessary, to write a leading article. Our friends were now all gone, and we were left alone in the silence of the morning. Many years had elapsed, since our health had permitted us to be among the mountains, though in our youth, we could have " trodden the bent," with the best man in Scotland. Our heart leapt within us, as we gazed on the sea of mountains, emerging from the soft mists in which they had been shrouded during the night. The wide and sunny silence was like the bright atmosphere of former days. And when the Eagle sailed away on his broad vans, from that magnificent cliff above the Linn of Dee, we recollected our own strength, which we once thought nothing could have tamed; and which used to carry us, as on wings, unwearied and exulting, over heights that we could now travel only in the dream of fancy. Hereatwinge of the rheumatism made us sensibly feel the truth of these reflections, and we hobbled into our tent with a sigh; but the comfortable arrangement of the interior, and above all the jolly cask of whisky, soon awakened us to a sense of the extreme folly of repining retrospection, and we could not help thinking, that the Editor in his camp, had greatly the advantage over his Contributors, now out in all directions on foraging parties. * * In Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk, we, the Editor, are spoken of as an obscure man, a On opening the Box, it was found to be rich in various matter-and we amused ourselves for a couple of hours with an excellent article on the National Monument-one on Bait-Fishing-and another "on the Mechanism of the Foot and Leg." While reading the last, we heard the noise of wings, and going to the mouth of the tent, saw a numerous pack of grouse sit down close to the little spring already mentioned. We are no poachers but it must not be expected that a martyr, to rheumatism is to be bound by the same rules with sportsmen who have the free use of their limbs. We accordingly took up Hogg's double barrel, and let fly at the pack as they were all sitting together in a snug family-party -and before they could recover from their confusion, we repeated the salutation. John Mackay went leisurely forward-and returned with five brace and a half of as fine young birds as might be looked at-and the old cock. We maintain that no man is entitled to form an opinion of our conduct in this, who has not suffered under confirmed rheumatism for ten years at least, or, which is as well, under the gout for five.† John Mackay had scarcely got the birds hung up by the legs, when we were considerably alarmed by loud shouts or yells from the river side, which we knew to be from the Shep herd-and running down as expeditiously as our knee would permit, we found that the Bard had hook'd a Fish. There was he capering along the somewhat rugged banks of the Dee, with his hair on end, and his eyes sticking out of his head, holding the butt-end of his rod with both hands in perfect desperation, "Fit statue for the court of fear!" Walter Ritchie ever and anon "his soul-subduing voice applied" close to to his ear, instructing him how to act in this unexpected emergency; and above all things, imploring him to get the better of his fright! Unluckily the shepherd's reel-line was too short, so, to prevent the salmon from running it out, he was under the necessity of following him up close at the heels. At every plunge the fish made at every rush he took, the Shepherd was fearfully agitated-and floundered, stumbled, fell and recovered himself again among the large round slippery stones, in a manner wondrous to behold. For a man of his years, his activity is prodigious. "Look there, Mr Editor! There is a LEADING ARTICLE for you!" Scarcely had he spoken, when the fish took a sullen fit, and sinking to the bottom, lay there like a log, "Rolled round in earth's diurnal course With rocks and stones and trees !" martyr to rheumatism, and one who only draws plans, which others execute. That we are not so luminous a body as Dr Morris, we admit-and that we are a martyr to rheumatism, is unfortunately true, in spite of the well-known skill of our townsman, Dr Balfour-but we beg leave to contradict the illustrious Physician of Aberystwith on the last charge.— We both plan and execute-and flatter ourselves that there is a something in our articles that betrays the hand of the Editor. Dr Morris, who had never seen us when he published his "Letters," has since apologised to us in the handsomest manner, both for his unfounded charge of obscurity and incapacity, but we wish also that the world should know it. We hear that several other persons, equally opaque as ourselves, have taken it grievously to heart, that the Doctor has overlooked them altogether, and attempt to carry their heads very high when his name is mentioned. Such persons may be said to belong to the High School.-See Gray's Elegy, "And leave the world to darkness and to me." By the bye, speaking of Peter's Letters, the only mistake of any great consequence which the doctor appears to have committed, is in his character of the Black Bull Inn in this city-which, so far from being either a noisy or disagreeable house, is, to our certain knowledge, an extremely snug and pleasant one, and kept by a most worthy, intelligent, and obliging couple. We are sure that the doctor will make the amende honorable to them on his return next winter to Edinburgh, and that he must have been led into this mistake by his recollection of the house in former times.-Pray, is there an alarm BELL about the house? VERBUM DESIPIENTI. + We have been so long out of the sporting world that we scarcely know what the public feeling is on subjects of this kind. We remember an old gentleman long ago, when we had a shooting box in Northamptonshire, who always shot hares sitting, on the principle that it was more difficult to shoot them in that situation! We despise all such sophistry. The Shepherd seemed truly thankful for this short respite from toil, and help ing himself cautiously to a pinch of snuff, handed over the mull to us with that air of courteous generosity observable on such occasions. At length he became desirous of another heat, but the salmon would not budge, and the shepherd, forgetting how much he stood in awe of the monarch of the flood when he was in motion, began insulting him in the grossest manner in his repose. Finally, he proposed to us to strip and dive down to alarm him, some fifteen or twenty feet-a modest proposal to a man of fifty-an editor-and a martyr to the rheumatism. Here the Fish darted off like lightning, and then threw a somerset many feet in the air. Though this was what the shepherd had wished, it seemed not to be what he had expected, and the rod was twitched out of his grasp, as neatly as at a match of single-stick. Walter Ritchie, however, recovered the weapon, and returned it to its master yet standing in blank discomfiture. His pride did not allow him to decline itthough it was apparent that he would have exchanged situations with Mazeppa or John Gilpin. But why prolong the agitating narrative? Suffice it to say, that after a chase of two miles down the Dee, and from an observation of the sun's altitude of two hours duration, the salmon gave in-and came unexpectedly to shore. There, on the green turf, lay salmon and Shepherd, both quite exhausted, and with scarcely any symptoms of life. They reminded us of one of those interesting scenes in Border History, where two gallant foemen lie side by side-or like one of those no less interesting scenes in coursing, where greyhound and hare are stretched gasping together on the wold. The Fish gave his last convulsive bound from the sod, and the shep herd, with a faint voice, cried, "take care o' yoursel's or he'll lame some o' you"-but his fears were groundless, for Walter Ritchie had already given him the coup de grace, and holding him up by the gills, pronounced his eulogy with a simple pathos, worthy of better times, "a brave fish! de'el tak me ginna he binna twenty pun weight !"* The first thing the shepherd said, on coming to himself, was, "gude safe us, I wou'd gie half a croon for a gill o' whusky!" The sun, however, had dissolved the mountain-dew-so we had to return (a distance of nearly three miles) to our tent, within the coolness of whose shadow we knew some of the "tears of the morning" were to be found. On entering the tent, only judge of our surprise when we found Kempferhausen, Mullion, and Jarvie, tearing away tooth and nail at the "Branxy," and gulping down the aquavitæ as if it had been small beer! The swallow of the young German, in particular, was prodigious; and much must he have astonished the Westmoreland peasantry, when in training to write his celebrated letters from the Lakes. He assured us that he had ate little or nothing for three days, which seemed to us but a partial avowal of the truth, for his present voracity could only have been satisfactorily accounted for on the theory of a fast of three weeks. That excellent actor Jones, in Jeremy Diddler, was a mere joke to him. Mullion made a masterly meal of it; while of Jarvie it is sufficient to say, that he upheld the high character of a citizen of Glasgow. We introduced the Shepherd to Kempferhausen and Jarvie, (Mullion being an old acquaintance,) and nothing could be more amusing than the contrast of the Glasgow and the Hamburgh manner. into such glee, that he absolutely began to "trot" the shepherd round the tent; but James was soon up to him, and played off in his turn upon the bailie, asserting with meritorious gravity of face, that he had shot the salmon with a single ball, at the dis Jarvie got May we venture to suggest this subject to our friends Wilkie or Allan. Branxy is the name given to mutton hams made from the sheep that have died of their own accord, or met with some fatal accident among the mountains. It is quite superior to any other, both in flavour and nutriment. It is a perquisite of the shepherds; and in this instance we had it warranted sound by the head of Lord Fife's pastoral establishment. The best we ever ate was at Dugald Campbell's, Esq. of Achlian, Argyllshire. For the explanation of trotting and gagging, see "Peter's Letters"-also Timo thy Tickler's Letter on Menippus, in No XVI. of this Magazine. VOL. V. 4 H |