The Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich

Front matter

THE

BOTHIE

OF

1

I.

Socii cratera coronant.

IT was the afternoon; and the sports were all but over. Long had the stone been put, tree cast, and thrown the hammer; Up the perpendicular hill, Sir Hector so called it, Eight stout shepherds and gillies had run, two wondrous quickly; Run too the course on the level had been; the leaping was over: Last in the show of dress, a novelty recently added, Noble ladies their prizes adjudged for costume that was perfect, Turning the clansmen about, who stood with upraised elbows; Bowing their eye—glassed brows, and fingering kilt and sporran. It was four of the clock, and the sports were all but over, Therefore the Oxford party went off to adorn for the dinner. Be it recorded in song who was first, who last, in dressing. Hope was the first, black-tied, white-waistcoated, simple, His Honour; For the postman made out he was son to the Earl of Ilay, (As indeed he was, to the younger brother, the Colonel,) Treated him therefore with special respect; doffed bonnet, and ever Called him his Honour: his Honour he therefore was at the cottage. Always his Honour at least, sometimes the Viscount of Ilay. Hope was first, his Honour, and next to his Honour the Tutor. Still more plain the Tutor, the grave man, nicknamed Adam, White-tied, clerical, silent, with antique square-cut waistcoat Formal, unchanged, of black cloth, but with sense and feeling beneath it; Skilful in Ethics and Logic, in Pindar and Poets unrivalled; Shady in Latin, said Lindsay, but topping in Plays and Aldrich. Somewhat more splendid in dress, in a waistcoat work of a lady, Lindsay succeeded; the lively, the cheery, cigar-loving Lindsay, Lindsay the ready of Speech, the Piper, the Dialectician, This was his title from Adam because of the words he invented, Who in three weeks had created a dialect new for the party, Master in all that was new, of whate'er was recherché and racy, Master of newest inventions, and ready deviser of newer;

This was his title from Adam, but mostly they called him the Piper. Lindsay succeeded, the lively, the cheery, cigar-loving Lindsay. Hewson and Hobbes were down at the matutine bathing; of course too Arthur Audley, the bather par excellence, glory of headers, Arthur they called him for love and for euphony; so were they bathing, There where in mornings was custom, where over a ledge of granite Into a granite bason descended the amber torrent. There were they bathing and dressing; it was but a step from the cottage, Only the road and larches and ruinous millstead between. Hewson and Hobbes followed quick upon Adam; on them followed Arthur. Airlie descended the last, splendescent as god of Olympus; Blue, half-doubtfully blue, was the coat that had white silk facings, Waistcoat blue, coral-buttoned, the white-tie finely adjusted, Coral moreover the studs on a shirt as of crochet of women: When for ten minutes already the fourwheel had stood at the gateway, He, like a god, came leaving his ample Olympian chamber. And in the fourwheel they drove to the place of the clansmen's meeting. So in the fourwheel they came; and Donald the innkeeper showed them Up to the barn where the dinner should be. Four tables were in it; Two at the top and the bottom, a little upraised from the level, These for Chairman and Croupier, and gentry fit to be with them, Two lengthways in the midst for keeper and gillie and peasant. Here were clansmen many in kilt and bonnet assembled; Keepers a dozen at least; the Marquis's targeted gillies; Pipers five or six, among them the young one, the drunkard; Many with silver brooches, and some with those brilliant crystals Found amid granite-dust on the frosty scalp of the Cairn-Gorm; But with snuff-boxes all, and all their boxes using. Here too were Catholic Priest, and Established Minister standing, One to say grace before, the other after the dinner; Catholic Priest; for many still clung to the Ancient Worship, And Sir Hector's father himself had built them a chapel; So stood Priest and Minister, near to each other, but silent, One to say grace before, the other after the dinner. Hither anon too came the shrewd, ever-ciphering Factor, Hither anon the Attaché, the Guardsman mute and stately, Hither from lodge and bothie in all the adjoining shootings Members of Parliament many, forgetful of votes and blue books, Here, amid heathery hills, upon beast and bird of the forest,

Venting the murderous spleen of the endless Railway Committee. Hither the Marquis of Ayr, and Dalgarnish Earl and Croupier, And at their side, amid murmurs of welcome, long-looked for, himself too Eager, the gray, but boy-hearted Sir Hector, the Chief and the Chairman. Then was the dinner served, and the Minister asked a blessing, And to the viands before them with knife and with fork they beset them; Venison, the red and the roe, with mutton; and grouse succeeding; Such was the feast, with whiskey of course, and at top and bottom Small decanters of Sherry, not overchoice, for the gentry. So to the viands before them with laughter and chat they beset them. And, when on flesh and on fowl had appetite duly been sated, Up rose the Catholic Priest and returned God thanks for the dinner. Then on all tables were set black bottles of well-mixed toddy, And, with the bottles and glasses before them, they sat digesting, Talking, enjoying, but chiefly awaiting the toasts and speeches.

Spare me, O mighty Remembrance! for words to the task were unequal, Spare me, O mistress of Song! nor bid me recount minutely All that was said and done o'er the well-mixed tempting toddy, Bid me not show in detail, grimace and gesture painting, How were healths proposed and drunk with all the honours, Glasses and bonnets waving, and three-times-three thrice over, Queen, and Prince, and Army, and Landlords all, and Keepers; Bid me not, grammar defying, repeat from grammar-defiers Long constructions strange and plusquam-thucydidëan, Tell, how as sudden torrent in time of speat in the mountain Hurries six ways at once, and takes at last to the roughest, Or as the practised rider at Astley's or Franconi's Skilfully, boldly bestrides many steeds at once in the gallop, Crossing from this to that, with one leg here, one yonder, So, less skilful, but equally bold, and wild as the torrent, All through sentences six at a time, unsuspecting of syntax, Hurried the lively good-will and garrulous tale of Sir Hector. Left to oblivion be it, the memory, faithful as ever, How the noble Croupier would wind up his word with a whistle, How the Marquis of Ayr, with quaint gesticulation, Floundering on through game and mess-room recollections, Gossip of neighbouring forest, praise of targeted gillies,

Anticipation of royal visit, skits at pedestrians, Swore he would never abandon his country, nor give up deer-stalking; How, too, more brief, and plainer in spite of Gaelic accent, Highland peasants gave courteous answer to flattering nobles. Two orations alone the memorial song will render; For at the banquet's close spake thus the lively Sir Hector, Somewhat husky with praises exuberant, often repeated, Pleasant to him and to them, of the gallant Highland soldiers Whom he erst led in the fight;-something-husky, but cheery, tho' weary, Up to them rose and spoke the grey but gladsome chieftain: Fill up your glasses once more, my friends—with all the honours, There was a toast which I forgot, which our gallant Highland homes have Always welcomed the stranger, I may say, delighted to see Fine young men at my table—My friends! are you ready? the Strangers. Gentlemen, I drink your healths,—and I wish you—with all the honours! So he said, and the cheers ensued, and all the honours, All our Collegians were bowed to, the Attaché detecting His Honour, The Guardsman moving to Arthur, the Marquis sidling to Airlie, While the little drunken Piper came across to shake hands with Lindsay.— But, while the healths were being drunk, was much tribulation and trouble, Nodding and beckoning across, observed of Attaché and Guardsman: Adam wouldn't speak,—indeed it was known he couldn't; Hewson could, and would if they wished; Philip Hewson the poet, Hewson the radical hot, hating lords and scorning ladies, Silent mostly, but often reviling in fire and fury Feudal tenures, mercantile lords, competition and bishops, Liveries, armorial bearings, amongst other things the Game-laws: He could speak, and was asked-to by Adam, but Lindsay aloud cried (Whiskey was hot in his brain) Confound it, no, not Hewson, A'nt he cock-sure to bring-in his eternal political humbug? However, so it must be, and after due pause of silence, Waving his hand to Lindsay, and smiling queerly to Adam, Up to them rose and spoke the poet and radical Hewson. I am, I think, perhaps the most perfect stranger present. I have not, as two or three of my friends, in my veins some tincture, Some few ounces of Scottish blood; no, nothing like it. I am therefore perhaps the fittest to answer and thank you. So I thank you, sir, for myself and for my companions, Heartily thank you all for this unexpected greeting, All the more welcome as showing you do not account us intruders

Are not unwilling to see the north and south forgather. And, surely, seldom have Scotch and English more joyously mingled; Scarcely with warmer hearts, clearer sense of mutual manhood, Even in tourney, and foray, and fray, and regular battle, Where the life and the strength come out in the tug and tussle, Scarcely, where man confronted man, and soul clasped soul, Close as the bodies and intertwining limbs of athletic wrestlers When for a final bout are a day's two champions mated,— In the grand old times of bows, and bills, and claymores, At the old Flodden-field—Bannockburn—Culloden. —(And he paused a moment, for breath, and because of cheering,) We are the better friends, I fancy, for that old fighting, Better friends, inasmuch as we know each other better, We can now shake hands without subterfuge or shuffling. On this passage followed a great tornado of cheering, Tables were rapped, feet stamped, a glass or two got broken: He, ere the cheers had died wholly away, and while still there was stamping, Added with a smile in an altered voice his sarcastic conclusion. Yet I myself have little claim to this honour of having my health drunk, For I am not a game-keeper, I think, nor a game-preserver. So he said, and sat down, but his satire was not taken. Only the Men, who were all on their legs as concerned in the thanking, Were a trifle confused, but mostly stared without laughing; Lindsay alone, close-facing the chair, shook his fist at the speaker. Only a Liberal member, away at the end of the table, Started, remembering sadly the chance of a coming election, Only the Attaché sneered to the Guardsman, who twirled his moustachio, Only the Marquis faced round, but not quite clear of the meaning Joined with the joyous Sir Hector, who lustily beat on the table. And soon after the chairman arose, and the feast was over: Now should the barn be cleared and forthwith adorned for the dancing, And our friends, retiring to wait for this consummation, Were, as they stood in the doorway uncertain, debating together, By the good chieftain so joyous invited hard-by to the castle. But as the doorway they quitted, a thin man clad as the Saxon, Trouser and cap and jacket of home-spun blue, hand-woven, Singled out, and said with determined accent to Hewson, Resting his hand on his shoulder, while each with eyes dilating Firmly scanned each: Young man, if ye pass through the Braes o' Lochaber, See by the loch-side ye come to the Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich.

2

II.

Et certamen erat, Corydon cum Thyrside, magnum.

MORN, in yellow and white came broadening out from the mountains, Long ere music and reel were hushed in the barn of the dancers. Duly in matutine bathed before eight some two of the party, There where in mornings was custom, where over a ledge of granite Into a granite bason descended the amber torrent Duly there two plunges each took Philip and Arthur, Duly in matutine bathed, and read, and wished for breakfast; Breakfast commencing at nine lingered lazily on to noon-day. Tea and coffee was there; a jug of water for Hewson; Tea and coffee; and four cold grouse upon the sideboard; Cranberry-jam was reserved for tea, and for festive occasions: Gaily they talked, as they sat, some late and lazy at breakfast, Some professing a book, some smoking outside at the window. 'Neath an aurora soft pouring a still sheeny tide to the zenith, Hewson and Arthur, with Adam, had walked and got home by eleven; Hope and the others had staid till the round sun lighted them bedward. They of the lovely aurora, but these of the lovelier women Spoke—of noble ladies and rustic girls, their partners. Turned to them Hewson, the chartist, the poet, the eloquent speaker. Sick of the very names of your Lady Augustas and Floras Am I, as ever I was of the dreary botanical titles Of the exotic plants, their antitypes, in the hothouse: Roses, violets, lilies for me! the out-of-door beauties; Meadow and woodland sweets, forget-me-nots and heartsease! Pausing awhile, he proceeded anon, for none made answer. Oh, if our high-born girls knew only the grace, the attraction, Labour, and labour alone, can add to the beauty of women, Truly the milliner's trade would quickly, I think, be at discount, All the waste and loss in silk and satin be saved us, Saved for purposes truly and widely productive2 That's right, Take off your coat to it, Philip, cried Lindsay, outside in the garden, Lindsay, cigar-loving hero, the Piper, the Dialectician, Take off your coat to it, Philip.

Well, well, said Hewson, resuming; Laugh if you please at my novel economy; listen to this, though; As for myself, and apart from economy wholly, believe me, Never I properly felt the relation of man to woman, Though to the dancing-master I went, perforce, for a quarter, Where, in dismal quadrille, were good-looking girls in plenty, Though, too, school-girl cousins were mine—a bevy of beauties,— Never (of course you will laugh, but of course all the same I shall say it,) Never, believe me, revealed itself to me the sexual glory, Till in some village fields in holidays now getting stupid, One day sauntering “long and listless,’ as Tennyson has it, Long and listless strolling, ungainly in hobbadiboyhood, Chanced it my eye fell aside on a capless, bonnetless maiden, Bending with three-pronged fork in a garden uprooting potatoes. Was it the air? who can say? or herself, or the charm of the labour? But a new thing was in me; and longing delicious possessed me, Longing to take her and lift her, and put her away from her slaving: Was it to clasp her in lifting, or was it to lift her by clasping, Was it embracing or aiding was most in my mind; hard question! But a new thing was in me, I too was a youth among maidens: Was it the air, who can say? but in part 'twas the charm of the labour. I was too awkward, too shy, a great deal, be assured, for advances, Shyly I shambled away, stopping oft, but afraid of returning, Shambled obliquely away, with furtive occasional sidelook, Long, though listless no more, in my awkward hobbadiboyhood. Still, though a new thing was in me, though vernal emotion, the secret, Yes, amid prurient talk, the unimparted mysterious secret Long, the growing distress, and celled-up dishonour of boyhood, Recognised now took its place, a relation, oh bliss' unto others; Though now the poets, whom love is the key to, revealed themselves to me, And in my dreams by Miranda, her Ferdinand, sat I unwearied, Though all the fuss about girls, the giggling, and toying, and coying, Were not so strange as they had been, so incomprehensible purely; Still, as before, (and as now) balls, dances, and evening parties, Shooting with bows, going shopping together, and hearing them singing, Dangling beside them, and turning the leaves on the dreary piano, Offering unneeded arms, performing dull farces of escort, Seemed like a sort of unnatural up-in-the-air balloon-work, (Or what to me is as hateful, a riding about in a carriage,) Utter divorcement from work, mother earth, and objects of living,

As mere gratuitous trifling in presence of business and duty, As does the turning aside of the tourist to look at a landscape Seem in the steamer or coach to the merchant in haste for the city. Hungry and fainting for food you ask me to join you in snapping— What but a pink paper comfit, with motto romantic inside it? Wishing to stock me a garden, I'm sent to a table of nosegays; Pretty, I see it, and sweet; but they hardly would grow in my borders. Better a crust of black bread than a mountain of paper-confections, Better a daisy in earth than a dahlia cut and gathered, Better a cowslip with root than a prize carnation without it.

That I allow, said Adam. But he with the bit in his teeth,—scarce Breathed a brief moment, and hurried exultingly on with his rider, Far over hillock, and runnel, and bramble, away in the champaign, Snorting defiance and force, the white foam flecking his quarters, Rein hanging loose to his neck, and head projected before him.

Oh, if they knew and considered, unhappy ones! oh, could they see, could But for a moment discern, how the blood of true gallantry kindles, How the old knightly religion, the chivalry semi-quixotic Stirs in the veins of a man at seeing some delicate woman Serving him, toiling—for him, and the world; some tenderest girl, now Over-weighted, expectant, of him, is it? who shall, if only Duly her burden be lightened, not wholly removed from her, mind you, Lightened if but by the love, the devotion man only can offer, Grand on her pedestal rise as urn-bearing statue of Hellas;— Oh, could they feel at such moments how man's heart, as into Eden Carried anew, seems to see, like the gardener of earth uncorrupted, Eve from the hand of her Maker advancing, an helpmeet for him, Eve from his own flesh taken, a spirit restored to his spirit, Spirit but not spirit only, himself whatever himself is, Unto the mystery’s end sole helpmate meet to be with him;— Oh if they saw it and knew it; we soon should see them abandon Boudoir, toilette, carriage, drawing-room, and ball-room, Satin for worsted exchange, gros-de-naples for linsey-woolsey, Sandals of silk for clogs, for health lackadaisical fancies! So, feel women, not dolls; so feel the sap of existence Circulate up through their roots from the far-away centre of all things, Circulate up from the depths to the bud on the twig that is topmost!

Yes, we should see them delighted, delighted ourselves in the seeing, Bending with blue cotton gown skirted up over striped linsey-woolsey, Milking the kine in the field, like Rachel, watering cattle, Rachel, when at the well the predestined beheld and kissed her, Or, with pail upon head, like Dora beloved of Alexis, Comely, with well poised pail over neck arching soft to the shoulders, Comely in gracefullest act, one arm uplifted to stay it, Home from the river or pump moving stately and calm to the laundry; Aye, doing household work, as many sweet girls I have looked at, Needful household work, which some one, after all, must do, Needful, graceful therefore, as washing, cooking, scouring, Or, if you please, with the fork in the garden uprooting potatoes.— Or—high-kilted perhaps, cried Lindsay, at last successful, Lindsay, this long time swelling with scorn and pent-up fury, Or high-kilted perhaps, as once at Dundee I saw them, Petticoats up to the knees, or, it might be, a little bit higher Matching their lily-white legs withthe clothes that they trod in the wash-tub! Laughter loud ensued; and seeing the Tutor embarrassed, It was from them, I suppose, said Arthur, smiling sedately, Lindsay learnt the tune we all have learnt from Lindsay, For oh, he was a roguey, the Piper o' Dundee. Laughter ensued again; and the Tutor still slightly embarrassed Picked at the fallen thread, and commenced a reply to Hewson There's truth in what you say, though truly much distorted; These, I think, no less than other agaceries, cloy one; Still there's truth, I own, I perfectly understand you. While the Tutor was gathering his thoughts, continued Arthur, Is not all this just the same that one hears at common-room breakfasts, Or perhaps Trinity wines, about Gothic buildings and Beauty? And with a start from the sofa came Hobbes; with a cry from the sofa, There where he lay, the great Hobbes, contemplative, corpulent, witty, Author forgotten and silent of currentest phrase and fancy, Mute and exuberant by turns, a fountain at intervals playing, Mute and abstracted, or strong and abundant as rain in the tropics; Studious; careless of dress; inobservant; by smooth persuasions Lately decoyed into kilt on example of Hope and the Piper, Hope an Antinous mere, Hyperion of calves the Piper. Beautiful! cried he upleaping, analogy perfect to madness! O inexhaustible source of thought, shall I call it, or fancy! Wonderful spring, at whose touch doors fly, what a vista disclosing!

Exquisite germ! Ah no, crude fingers shall not soil thee; Rest, lovely pearl, in my brain, and slowly mature in the oyster. While at the exquisite pearl they were laughing and corpulent oyster, Ah, could they only be taught, he resumed, by a Pugin of women, How even churning and washing, the dairy, the scullery duties, Wait but a touch to redeem and convert them to charms and attractions, Scrubbing requires for true grace but frank and artistical handling, And the removal of slops to be ornamentally treated. Philip who speaks like a book, retiring and pausing he added, Philip here, who speaks—like a folio, say'st thou, Piper? Philip shall write us a book, a Treatise upon The Laws of Architectural Beauty in Application to Women; Illustrations, of course, and a Parker's Glossary pendent, Where shall in specimen seen be the sculliony stumpy-columnar (Which to a reverent taste is perhaps the most moving of any,) Rising to grace of true woman in English the Early and Later, Charming us still in fulfilling the Richer and Loftier stages, Lost, ere we end, in the Lady-Debased and the Lady-Flamboyant: Thence why in satire and spite too merciless onward pursue her Hither to hideous close, Modern-Florid, modern-fine-lady? No, I will leave it to you, my Philip, my Pugin of women. Leave it to Arthur, said Adam, to think of, and not to play with. You are young, you know, he said, resuming to Philip, You are young, he proceeded, with something of fervour to Hewson, You are a boy; when you grow a man, you'll find things alter. You will learn to seek the good, to scorn the attractive, Scorn all mere cosmetics, as now of rank and fashion, Delicate hands, and wealth, so then of poverty also, Poverty truly attractive, more truly, I bear you witness. Good, wherever found, you will choose, be it humble or stately, Happy if only you find, and finding do not lose it. Yes, we must seek what is good, it always and it only; Not indeed absolute good, good for us, as is said in the Ethics, That which is good for ourselves, our proper selves, our best selves; This if you find in another, desert not, whatever you call it, Call it a likeness of souls, call it anything else you fancy, Perfect response, if you please, to what would in us be most perfect, Answer most searching to what in ourselves is profoundest and shyest: This if you find in another, desert not, wherever you find it, Happy if only you find, and finding do not lose it!

Ah, you have much to learn, we can't know all at twenty, You are a boy, as I said; when you grow a man, you'll say so. This was the answer he had from the eager impetuous Hewson: Yes, I say it now, I know I'm young; and know, too, How the grown-up man puts-by the youthful instinct, Learns to deal with the good, but what good is, discerns not; Learns to handle the helm, but breaks the compass to steer by; In the intuitive loses far more than his gain discursive; Or, in the lingo you love, the lingo emphatic of Aldrich, Gets up the form syllogistic, ignoring the premise and matter. While he spoke, Adam rose, sat again, and dropping his eyelids Bowed his face in his hands, and rested his hands on the table; So for a minute he sat—the one first minute of silence; Looked up at last, and laughed, and answered, speaking serenely, Speaking serenely, but still with a moisture about the eyelids. Truly, queer fellow is Hewson! for bidding him choose good only Thus to upbraid me with years, chill years that are thick'ning to forty. Nay, never talk! listen now! What I say you can't apprehend— No, you are looking elsewhere. You will not ever, I fancy— Till you ignore your premise, repairing the loss by a new one, Till you discard your compass, if not for instruction in steering, Yet to purchase a better and pay, I suppose, for the purchase. So much in repartee—but let us return to the question. Partly you rest on truth, old truth, the duty of Duty. Partly on error, you long for equality. Aye, cried the Piper, That's the sore place, that confounded Egalité, French manufacture, He is the same as the Chartist who made an address in Ireland, What, and is not one man, fellow-men, as good as another? Faith, replied Pat, and a deal better too! So rattled the Piper: But undisturbed in his tenor, the Tutor. Partly in error Seeking equality, is not one woman as good as another? I with the Irishman answer Yes, better too; the poorer Better full oft than richer, than loftier better the lower. Irrespective of wealth and of poverty, pain and enjoyment, Women all have their duties, the one as well as the other; Are all duties alike? Do all alike fulfil them? It is to these we must look, and in these we are not on a level;

Neither in these, nor in gifts, nor attainments, nor requirements. However noble the dream of equality, mark you, Philip, Nowhere equality reigns in God's sublime creations, Star is not equal to star, nor blossom the same as blossom; Herb is not equal to herb, any more than planet to planet. True, that the plant should be rooted in earth, I granted you wholly, And that the daisy in earth surpasses the cut carnation, Only, the rooted carnation surpasses the rooted daisy: There is one glory of daisies, another of carnations; Foolish were budding carnation, in gay parterre by greenhouse, Should it decline to accept the nurture the gardener gives it, Should it refuse to expand to sun and genial summer, Simply because the field-daisy, that grows in the grass-plat beside it, Cannot, for some cause or other, develope and be a carnation. Would not the daisy itself petition its scrupulous neighbour? Up, grow, bloom, and forget me; be beautiful even to proudness, E'en for the sake of myself and other poor daisies like me. Rooted in earth should it be, carnation alike or daisy, That I grant, and refer you to Shakespeare on gillyflowers, Where in the Winter's Tale Leontes Perdita questions. Education and manners, accomplishments, refinements, Waltz, pandventure, and polka, the knowledge of music and drawing, All these things are Nature's, to Nature dear and precious. We must all do something, man, woman alike, I own it; Yes, but woman-and-man in lady-and-gentleman is not Lost, extinct; it lives; if not, God help them, change them! We must all do something, and in my judgment do it In our station; independent of it, but not regardless; Holding it, not for enjoyment, but because we cannot change it. All! replied Philip, Alas! the noted phrase of the prayer book, Doing our duty in that state of life to which God has called us, Seems to me always to mean, when the little rich boys say it, Standing in velvet frock by mama's brocaded flounces, Eying her gold-fastened book and the chain and watch at her bosom, Seems to me always to mean, Eat, drink, and never mind others. Nay, replied Adam, smiling, so far your economy leads me, Velvet and gold and brocade are unwise to my fancy; Benefit of trade, I see, is mockery vile and delusion. Nay, he added, believe me, I like luxurious living Even as little as you, and grieve in my soul not seldom,

More fer the rich indeed than the poor, who are not so guilty. Ah! replied Philip again, But as for the rest of the story, Truly I see a good deal in the daisy-carnation fable; Though I should like to be clear what standing in the earth means. But, as you said to me when this long discussion started, There's truth in what you say, though I don't quite understand you. So the discussion ended; and Arthur rose up smiling, Now, quoth he, that Philip daren't bully you more, it is my turn. How will my argument please you? To-morrow we start on our travel. And took up Hope the chorus. To-morrow we start on our travel. Lo the weather is golden, the weather-glass, say they, rising; Four weeks here have we read; four weeks will we read hereafter; Three weeks hence will return and revisit our dismal classics, Three weeks hence re-adjust our visions of classes and classics. Fare ye well, meantime, forgotten, unnamed, undreamt of, History, Science, and Poets! lo, deep in dustiest cupboard, Thookydid, Oloros' son, Halimoosian, here lieth buried! Slumber in Liddell-and-Scott, O musical chaff of Old Athens, Dishes, and fishes, bird, beast, and sesquipedalian blackguard! Sleep, weary Ghosts, be at peace, and abide in your lexicon-limbo! Sleep, as in lava for ages your Herculanean kindred, Sleep, and for ought that I care, 'the sleep that knows no waking,' Æschylus, Sophocles, Homer, Herodotus, Pindar, and Plato. Three weeks hence be it time to exhume our dreary classics. And in the chorus joined Lindsay, the Piper, the Dialectician. Three weeks hence we return to the shop and the wash-hand-stand-bason, Three weeks hence unbury Thicksides and hairy Aldrich. But the Tutor enquired, the grave man, nicknamed Adam, Who are they that go, and when do they promise returning? And a silence ensued, and the Tutor himself continued, Airlie remains, I presume, he continued, and Hobbes, and Hewson, Lindsay and Arthur and Hope to verify Black are a quorum. Answer was made him by Philip, the poet, the eloquent speaker. Airlie remains, I presume, was the answer, and Hobbes, peradventure; Terry let Airlie May-fairly, and Hobbes, brief-kilted hero, Tarry let Hobbes in kilt, and Airlie 'abide in his breaches;' Tarry let these, and read, four Pindars apiece an it like them! Weary of reading am I, and weary of walks prescribed us;