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Just so, sir.

AMBROSE.

NORTH.

Publish no new Poem, Ambrose, till after the burial of the Reform Bill.

AMBROSE.

Just so, sir. You may depend upon it, sir. Politics and Poetry cannot live in the same atmosphere. The one thrives on the foul smoke of cities, the other breathes empyrean air remote from the hum of man, in ruralor_mountain-solitude.

Whew!

NORTH.

AMBROSE (enthusiastically.)

For poetical inspiration, sir, nothing like a jaunt in a gig to Peebles.

NORTH.

With a sleety wind in your face, on the First of June, as you jog through that loveliest pastoral scenery eneircling that "cynosure of neighbouring eyes," the Wellington Arms.

AMBROSE.

A friend of mine is taking in arable land there from the moss

NORTH.

That is rational! He must be a sensible man.

To attempt improving a poor soil, seems to me the last stretch of patriotism-of the love of the natale solum.

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Marked you never, Ambrose, the potatoe crop on those lazy beds? None of your big bushy green shaws, plum-clustering yellow: but they are lean, and lank, and brown, as is the ribbed sea-sand." Woe-begone, they look as if some misbegotten abortion, the untimely produce of a conjunction between an old docken and a middle-aged nettle.

A bad cross.

AMBROSE.

NORTH.

Very. Pull them up, and lo! a parcel of poteightytoes, like marrow-fats, or the waxen cells of the humble bee, that "bigs its byke" in the mossy greensward, or among the roots of a thorn, on which the magpie stills her chatter within her round prickly nest, even by the road-side unafraid of the heedless traveller.

AMBROSE.

Boil them, and, sir, how scabby!

NORTH.

1 21,

Then the barley-patch, pining in green sickness on the bosom of the cold, wet, black moss

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Fuzionless and plashy-in which the unherded stirk sinks up to the knees, for the scanty braird, yellowing long before it is shot, imprudently forsaking the more nutritious heather. Pardon me, sir.

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Living by suction, it contrives to keep soul and body together, sir; but 'tis a mere bunch of feathers, sir, for the very slugs are slender in such poor mud; and shallow water, crisp with ice nine months of the year, is fatal to the race of worms.

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AMBROSE.

Nothing, sir-not even powheads. Few grow into froggies-and of these last, scarce six in a summer become full-sized spangers; yet spangers they must not be called-for they again are so weak, sir, that they cannot hop, and but crawl like toads.

NORTH.

Never saw I such stirks. It is wonderful to see such atomies walk. I presume they are bred merely for the skins.

AMBROSE.

I understand, sir, the tanner gets the bones into the bargain.

NORTH.

They are kept in countenance by the sheep. Never saw I such a spectacle of human misery as that old ram. His body is partially clothed with an extraordinary commodity, neither wool nor hair; but bare, bare, poor fellow, are his hips; and what years of hunger and starvation are wreathed round his indurated horns !

All unfit, sir, for snuff-mulls.

AMBROSE.

NORTH.

Such a seraglio! Ilk ewie but a pound o' tawty woo'-here and there one with a four-legged something staggering at her side, which may be conjectured to be her lamb!

AMBROSE.

Did you ever notice, sir, (pardon me for being so bold,) the bees in that region?

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NORTH..

Less than bummers. The foggies are of a dirty yellow, instead of a bright brown; red-dowp is a misnomer, for the black wretches terminate suddenly in a spot of mud-and what a feeble bizz!

AMBROSE.

And think you, sir, they have stings?

NORTH.

Something of the sort-but they have not power to use them-and the impotents are angrier in their wretchedness than wasps. But in the midst of all this misery, the Wellington Arms is by no means an uncomfortable howf in a sleet-squash. Seldom have I tasted better cheese. They import their own meal on her girdle the gudewife heats into crumpiness a fair farl—and she is famous for her hams. 'Tis a house of call for Ĉarriers, you know, Mr Ambrose; and unpromising as is that bare exterior that knows no other shelter from the storm than sometimes a row of waggons to windward with every inch of canvass set, yet within burns a cheerful fire, and there may be heard the gurgle in which the heart of the weary wayfarer rejoices, the music of the big-bellied bottle vomiting from its short throat the liquid lapse of the clear Barley-bree, whose smack reminds you of Glenlivet, alike, but, oh! how different"-and awakes a passing sigh for the faroff Highlands, whose mountain-tops rise before you in a visionary dream. You know the Wellington Arms, Ambrose ?

AMBROSE.

Yes, sir. I bate alternately there, and at Leadburn-toll. I have generally found, sir, that in the absence of interesting external objects the Fancy is more fertile

NORTH.

Do you understand, Ambrose, the distinction between Fancy and Imagination, as drawn by Coleridge in his Biographia Literaria, and Wordsworth in one of his philosophical prefaces, in which he labours to tell us what poetry is, in despair, I presume, of being able to effect that purpose by his verses?

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I read no philosophical criticism, sir, but in the Magazine. As far as I have been able to master the occasional hints thrown out in that immortal ty by which the human mind work, it seems to me, sir, that Fancy is the faculty by collects round any object of thought a certain conglomeration of corresponding and congenial images, united rather by some accidental and capricious associations, which consequently arparison, feeble and in their g in their evanescent, inasmuch as they are obedient, as coming, to moods moving along the surface of the niind, than by those everlasting links of feeling or of passion, sir, which, though oftentimes invisible, are nevertheless, always felt, when the capacity of emotion is soul is at reproduce, and in the reproduction beautifies the essential and primordial elements of emotion, one of these being, beyond all doubt, intellectual perception, and another intellectual conception, thus gradually growing into new and original forms, which, when intensified into life by the true Probe, even while the mystery of their methean fire, are universally confessed to be, generation remains a se to the minds of those affected by them to very transport, Forms of the Imagination. ART 2 KINADAM 2000WIAJƐ

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NORTH.

Ambrose, we must have you appointed Professor of Poetry in the Univsb-s-dosis bas esi versity of Dumfries.

up proudly.)

AMBROSE (drawingOSTE

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all future Pardon me, sir, my glory were celebrated the famous NO CREA my venerated sir, and more of logues of Plato, the nisgi Montien

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poetry in them,

antions of poetry, than in the Dia

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Blair's Lectures, La Harpe's Course of Literature, and all I all the lucubrations of both the Schlegels, with those of Göthe and Tiecke to boot. A thousand thanks, sir, for your offer -but no, I must not-cannot-will not go Professor of Poetry to Dumfries. Appoint the Editor of Vienne ga the Editor of the Dumfries Courier.

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He is to be Professor of Natural History. at det i 1st 19gosh, "won" He 1159/19199 991 bas 1st 229ullita eti to quic» AMBROSE. you I fear, sir, that I have been allowing my tongue unwarrantable license; (16 Dar898-16 but your condescending affability.

NORTH.

No man is a hero, Ambrose, to his valet-de-chambre.

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But a philosopher is a philosopher, venerated sir, at all times yea even admirers to him who now glories in the name of ayse yismique AutowebTOW BA

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Sit down, my good Ambrose, sit down; and let me pour forth my confeselisa albi 19d) gailis91 719366

sions into your honest heart. .920 HHMA

AMBROSE.

art & distant hirose sits down in Southside's curule

chair

I obey. (Mr Ambrose sits down in sound fud raamit both

The best bred man in Europe since the time of Lord Stair Take an orange. Yes-suck it-and scorn

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Honey-sugar-sweet, sif.de edile) zeynol,stil to ynineve oilt ai es “,9tin entes isobutoiup lemtiniqa doua ro¶

NORTH.

(Lying back with shut eyes on Auchie's patent Sloping-Easy.) I am the most miserable of men.

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to shrovt adt mail sou who make all the world happy by delight and Oh! say not so, sir.

instruction, nico esibita oti grob bitta tasol is su of eidquodt ved WW 9x1.Das 2ou stab yeb a blon

Remember, Ambrose, that this NORTH
confidence is sacred that not a word of

what I am now about to reveal must ever murmur from

from your lips-

or glimpse from your eyes-of head, You must be mum as the

in shadow along that capacious fore

AMBROSE.Us Isɔidqezohnq out £» Loungi Jadi in tuo mwept,Jala BIOL3500 5dt 19128mt of slds as so But then, Mr Gurney, sir? to Junal que ¶ 16,4m of auge dr ̧d NORTH.

2100 to noitsomolyra instrosit Fear not Gurney, He is hocussed. List! Don't you hear him snore? AMBROSE.ngan lab2005 bis „ni time past, sir, have I heard that sound, but I thought it was the water beginning to run again into the water-pipe from the roof after the

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NORTH.

No-'tis fancy. I have drugged his we have given him a potent pos

set. After life's fitful fever he sleeps

will extend not his short

He awakes not till midnight.

hand to tell our secret. He awak

vliseberg end folge
AMBROSE.

A strange awe comes over me, sir. Remember, sir, that I have a wife and children, and that

that any thing

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dreadful

NORTH.

Ambrose! If you have any tears to shed, prepare to weep them now→→ BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE IS THE CURSE OF MY EXISTENCE.

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1 quss the tanned galley-slave is with his oar !” did Jin moh.34 Biodi ai quali vioon to vilno, AMBROSE.

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Then is the sun miserable, while man and nature bless his orb, as he sheds the seasons all over the variegated e earth, from his rolling car in he otto tuo ? sot, niz edusda busa NORTH, Seek not, my Ambrose, to veil from my soul, in such dazzling imagery, the sense of its own doom! 'Tis the 2899011ỗn pus law of nature, that old age should have rest. Like some mighty seemingly made of ever breathed the

snow, deeper far its hush than of Cloud-range that beautified 1

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spirit of its stillness far and wide sunset that seems to look with love on its stainless sleep, to my imagination, world-wearied, and now sore averse to Passion's strife, rises up the fair idea of Repose!

AMBROSE (apparently much relieved.)

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I too, sir, sometimes delight in indulging myself in a dream of retiring from public into private life of purchasing a small i odgoaoliq a tud to giga sát ni eghola won odw nhou

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As Wordsworth sublimely says To be laid asleep in body, and become a living soul!" Quietism, fathomless as the sea, and as the sea transyou know not, parent, when it is one with heaven, so motionless hang they, single or in fleets, with shade and sunshine alternately revisiting their idle sails!

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dred times, sir; but

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sand yearsis avere he to me, sir, likum-beams and bold dead sour

words. They

NORTH.

100 basi doua-as VOLONTE For such spiritual quietude, nature yearns "with love and longings infinite,” as in the evening of life, longer fall the shadows from the mountains. yan H-priqula treing & says to bar food pulud) 09m te alda19ein: teem o ma I

Sir?

AMBROSE.

NORTH.

enNay, the pushbecks not ke as release from the bonds of this

no more, she expects all world's day-darg her thoughts to be at least settled down into a tideless calm, even like that sweet line of watery light that strews W11520CES P that strews with stars the summer shores of the Mediterranean sea.

AMBROSE...

I could go to sleep, and dream of the ocean.

NORTH,

"O blest retirement! Friend of life's decline!"

AMBROSE.

What more beautiful place about all the suburbs, sir, than Buchanan Lodge.

NORTH,

Oh! the wisdom of old age, serene as simplicity of childhood! the light wandering in the west ere yet it fade in darkness!-as gentle and as gorgeous, too, as in the east the day-spring about to run his race in heaven!

AMBROSE.

Pardon me, sir, for not speaking when you stop; but I hope you will allow me to listen

NORTH.

Instead of all this, there is that INFERNAL MAGAZINE, THE CURSE OF MY EXISTENCE, idiotically called monthly, but, in truth, an annual, a perennial, a perpetual, an everlasting, an eternal CURSE!

AMBROSE.

You make me shudder, sir-indeed, sir, you make me shudder, O, sir, say not another such sentence; or if you must, I beseech you to say it quickly, for this state of fearful excitation is worse than being in a showerbath with the string in one's hand,

NORTH,

With a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether I began in sadness, but I proceed in rage. Maga holds her head too high, Mr Ambrose ; and, would you believe it, has more than once had the audacity to cut Christopher.

AMBROSE.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

NORTH.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! I, her own dearly beloved Editor so, in her wheedling fits of hypocritical fondness, she delights to call me her Kit-her Kit-cat-her Norry Norry-have been-grasp firm hold of= the elbows of your seat, Ambrose A REJECTED CONTRIBUTOR!!!

AMBROSE.

I am sick at heart. (Sinks into a comatose state, between a swoon and a dwawm.)

NORTH.

The slut solicited me for an opening article to Part Second of this very month, and there she had it-in two sheets-The Hindu Drama; as powerful an opening article as ever did honour to the Cock of the North; when, whew! she shoves me and my article aside, for sake of an Irishman, who, with all his blarney, cannot love her as I have loved her-and (here the old man absolutely shed tears) as I will continue to love her, in spite of all her ungrateful cruelty, to the last hour of my life. (He sobs.)

AMBROSE (in a state of somnolency.) Whruhu whruhu-whruhu-whruhu!

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NORTH.

!

I see I hear that I have your sympathy, Ambrose, May then this right hand, laden as it is with chalk-stones formed by toils in her service the Ingrate;-yes, may this right hand wither like a shrivelled leaf-these lacklustre eyes, bedimmed for her sake by many a wakeful midnight, the little vision lose that still is left within their faded orbs-if e'er again-(oh! t hear me now, ye spirits that delight in just revenge!) if e'er again I waste ink in her cause-if e'er

AMBROSE (with astonishing energy.) Whruhu whruhu-whruhu-whruhu-whruhu!

NORTH.

Was that a trumpet? Such air-born warnings are not to be rashly despised by the soul of man, when, troubled by passion, it trembles on the

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