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Oh that he had langer tarriet,
To be wi' us whare we sit;
Or that he had jist been buried,
As he wished, at Waterfit."

Need I tell how the replenish'd
Gill-stoup round the board had flown,
Ere the mist of sorrow vanish'd,
And the sun of pleasure shone ;
How ilk pouch of cash was emptied,
How they lingered, drouthy still-
How wi' promis'd trout they temptit
In the grudg'd and tickit gill?

Need I tell ye Will's connection

Wi' their toasts, though cauld he lay ;
How they plann'd his resurrection,
And his second burial-day ;

How of fishin' feats they swagger'd,
As they drank, and drier grew;
Till at early morn they stagger'd
Homeward, brethren sworn-but fou !

THE DOMINIE'S OE.*

The Dominie's sel',

He was grey, thin, and bel',+

And lang frae his cheek had fled youth's rosy glow ;
A dark sparkling ee,

Like the robin's, had he,

And like him in this was the Dominie's Oe.

But she had saft locks o' the hazel's ain broom,
That ne'er in forc'd ringlets wav'd wantonly roon,
But aye in smooth braids, that fu' brawly could show
How humble and mild was the Dominie's Oe.

The Dominie's voice

Had nae need to sound twice

To lay the air-castles o' schule-callans low,
Sae sonorous and stern-

'Twas the dread o' ilk bairn

Far different frae that o' the Dominie's Oe.

Her voice was as sweet as the lav'rock's at dawn,

That through the grey mist cheers his mate on the lawn; Sae rich when she sang-when she spak aye sae low— Ilk bairn lik'd to crack wi' the Dominie's Oe.

In the Dominie's life

Ups and downs had been rife,

Romance circling round him wi' strange checkering flow; Better times he had seen

And far puirer had been,

Though nane heard the tale but the Dominie's Oe.
She kent in what fancies the auld man took pride,
What memories to harp on, what themes to avoid,

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To chase away sadness and charm away woe;
And sweet was the task to the Dominie's Oe.
In the Dominie's chair,
When at e'en he sat there,

Enjoying the bliss slipper'd ease can bestow,
On the lines of his face

Sober lair had chief place,

As learn'dly and kindly he crack'd wi' his Oe.
How happy was she when a blythe thing he said!

How sweet were the smiles round her dimples that play'd!
But fast fell her tears when he spak o' that woe
That left him alane in the world wi' his Oe.

In the Dominie's heart
Prey'd ae care which nae art,

Nae wiles o' the maiden could soothe or o'erthrow,
"Life's sand's running fast-

When the last grain hath past,

In a' the wide worl' wha'll befriend my sweet Oe?"
Puir man! he ne'er dream'd that a secret she had-
That far owre the sea thrave her ain faithfu' lad—
Until his return brang a love-worthy jo,
Wi' comfort for life, to the Dominie's Oe!

THAT GLOAMIN' LANGSYNE.

The westlin' sky's glowing
With June's parting smile,
The collier is thinking

Of morn's irksome toil :
O'er woodland and meadow

Yon rain-cloud hath pass'd,
And now from its bosom

The bow's fading fast:

Sae faded Hope's bow on that gloamin' langsyne,
When deeply ye lee'd, May, and wadnae be mine.

Since then, oh! how slowly
Time's creepit awa!
How scantly life's joy-gleams
Hae fa'en round us twa!

Ae weary wish wrinkling

Our brows day by day;

And ae regret robing

Our thoughts a' in grey.

Oh! what had we dune to be parted sae lang?

While loving sae fondly, May, what led us wrang?

Away o'er the ocean,

Whare lang I sojourn'd,
Of growing wealth careless,
Our parting I mourn'd.

I fancied ye happy,

Wi' bairns but and ben,
Ae blythe blooming lassie,
And lads growing men:

VOL. XCI.-NO. DLVII.

20

Love-glances I saw that I thocht wad been mine,
But for the cauld words on that gloamin' langsyne.

Ah, May! how I envied

Your love and your smile,
And grudg'd that anither
Should aye for ye toil!
Alas! never dreaming

That, bairnless and lane,
Ye focht your ain battle,

And help socht frae nane;

And nurs'd the sweet hope that ere life ye should tyne, Ye'd richt a' the wrangs o' that gloamin' langsyne.

Oh! had some kind angel

But whisper'd, "She's free,
And wishing and wearying
And waiting for thee!"
Had Hope ever whisper'd

A dream half sae sweet,
How fast o'er the ocean

I'd flown to thy feet!

But how could I think ye for me e'er would pine,
Or fancy ye mourn'd o'er that gloamin' langsyne?

But farewell repining!

False pride's left us noo ;
Lang, lang's been the trial,
But safe we've won through.
Though worn and sair shaken
Wi' tempests blawn past,
Our barks in love's haven
Hae anchor'd at last.

My joys shall be yours, May, your cares shall be mine,
And pleasure will spring from that gloamin' langsyne!

Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh.

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A SERIES OF ESSAYS ON LIFE, LITERATURE, AND MANNERS.

By the Author of "The Caxton Family."

PART III,

NO. IV.-ON INTELLECTUAL CONDUCT AS DISTINCT FROM MORAL SUPERIOR MAN."

66 THE

Nor unfrequently we find the world according high position to some man in whom we recognise no merits commensurate with that superiority which we are called upon to confess; no just claims to unwonted deference, whether in majestic genius or heroic virtue; no titles even to that conventional homage which civilised societies have agreed to render to patrician ancestry or to plebeian wealth. The moral character, the mental attributes, of this Superior Man, adorned by no pomp of heraldic blazonry, no profusion of costly gilding, seem to us passably mediocre; yet mediocrity, so wont to be envious, acknowledges his eminence, and sets him up as an authority. He is considered more safe than genius; more practical than virtue. Princes, orators, authors, yield to his mysterious ascendancy. He imposes himself on gods and men, quiet and inexorable as

VOL. XCI.-NO. DLVIII.

the Necessity of the Greek poets. Why or wherefore the Olympians should take for granted his right to the place he assumes, we know not, we humbler mortals; but we yield, where they yield;-idle to contend against Necessity.

Yet there is a cause for every effect; and a cause there must be for the superiority of this Superior Man, in whom there is nothing astonishing except his success.

Examined closely, the cause may be found in this. True that his intellectual stature is no higher than ours, but, whether from art or from nature, it has got a portlier demeanour and a statelier gait. We do not measure its inches-we are so struck by the way it carries itself.

In a word, there is an intellectual conduct as well as a moral conduct; and as a fellow-mortal, in whom the gross proportions of good or evil are much about the average, may so

2 D

conduct himself morally, that somehow or other his faults are always in the shade, and his merits always in the sunlight, so a fellow-mortal may conduct himself intellectually; taking care that such mind as he has is never surprised in unfavourable positions. There are various secrets for that exaltation of mediocrity which is so felicitously illustrated in the repute of "the Superior Man."

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Perhaps the secret most efficacious is to be found in judicious parsimony of speech. The less said the better. "Facunda silentia linguæ,' as Gray expresses it, with all his characteristic happiness of epithet. If the exigencies of social life would allow of rigid silence, I do not doubt that rigid silence, with a practised discipline of countenance, and a significant diplomacy of gesture, would be esteemed the special indication of wisdom. For as every man has a right to be considered innocent till he be proved guilty, so every man has a right to be considered exempt from folly till he be proved foolish. It would be difficult to prove a man foolish who keeps himself to himself, and never commits his tongue to the risk of an opinion.

A certain nobleman, some years ago, was conspicuous for his success in the world. He had been employed in the highest situations at home and abroad, without one discoverable reason for his selection, and without justifying the selection by one proof of administrative ability. Yet at each appointment, the public said "A great gain to the Government! Superior man!" And when from each office he passed away, or rather passed imperceptibly onward towards office still more exalted, the public said—" A great loss to the Government! Superior man!" He was the most silent person I ever met. But when the first reasoners of the age would argue some knotty point in his presence, he would, from time to time, slightly elevate his eyebrows, gently shake his head, or, by a dexterous smile of significant complacency,

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"Good heavens," cried Lord Durham, "how did you find that out? Is it possible that he could havetalked?"

The Pythagorean example set by the fortunate peer I have referred to, few can emulate to an equal abnegation of the hazardous faculty of speech. But the more a man, desirous to pass at a value above his worth, can contrast by dignified silence the garrulity of trivial minds, the more the world will give him credit for the wealth which he does not possess. When we see a dumb strong-box with its lid braced down in iron clasps, and secured by a jealous padlock, involuntarily we suppose that its contents must be infinitely more precious than the gauds and nicknacks which are unguardedly scattered about a lady's drawing-room. Who could believe that a box so rigidly locked had nothing in it but odds and ends, which would be just as safe in a bandbox? When we analyse the virtue of a prudent silence, we gain a clue to other valuable secrets in the mystery of intellectual conduct. The main reason why silence is so efficacious an element of repute, is1st, because of that magnification which proverbially belongs to the unknown; and, 2dly, because silence provokes no man's envy, and wounds no man's self-love. Hence the gifts congruous to, and concomitant with, the genius of taciturnity are—1st, that general gravity of demeanour which Rochefoucauld happily terms "the mystery of the body;" and, 2dly, an abstinence from all the shows and pretences by which one

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