Odoherty. Alas! p r Brodie!-To tell you the truth, I wished to hum D'Israeli a little. North. Pleasant, but wrong! For shame upon all humming! Odoherty. Farewell!—a long farewell to all our Noctes. Hogg. Ye mak mair trumpeting about a collector chiel, like D'Israeli, than mony a man of original genius and invention. Ye've never reviewed my "Three Perils of Man" yet. North. The more shame to me, I confess; but wait till the "Three Perils of Woman" appear, and then we'll marry them together in one immortal article. 66 Odoherty. What, then, are The Three Perils of Woman?" I think, “The Three Perils of Man" were, according to our kilted classic, "Women, War, and Witchcraft." Hogg. Aye ware they-but faith, guess for yoursell, my cock. I ance told ane of you the name of a book I was on, and ye had ane wi' the same name out or I had won to my second volume. North. Horrid usage for a man of original genius and invention. But, let's see, I think you should make them, "Man, Malmsey, and Methodism." Mr. Tickler. Or, what say ye to "Ribbons, Rakes, and Ratafie ?” North. “Flattery, Flirting, and Philabegs?" Three F's, Hogg. Hogg. Weel, I thought of some o' thae very anes. I thought of "Kirns, Kirkings, and Christenings," too; and then I thought of "Dreams, Drams, and Dragoons" but I fixed at last on three L's. Odoherty. "Legs, Lace, and Lies ?" Hogg. Na, na, you're a' out. "Love, Learning, and Laziness." Odoherty. O, most lame and impotent conclusion! But no doubt, you'll make it rich enough in the details. Your "Love" will no doubt end in the cutty stool; your "Learning," in Constable's Magazine; and your "Laziness," in Black Stockings. Thus we shall have an imposing and instructive view of life and society. Hogg. If ye say another word, I'll dedicate the buik to you, Captain. Odoherty. In writing the tale of "Learning," (for, if I understand you rightly, there are to be three separate tales,) I beg of you to imitate, above all other novel writers, my illustrious friend, the Viscount D'Arlincourt.* Hogg. Arlincoor, say ye? Wait till I get out my kielevine pen. Od! I never heard tell of him afore. Odoherty. For shame! "Not to know him." (Shakspeare.) In a word, however, my worthy friend, he is the greatest genius of the age. If you doubt what I say, I refer you to Sir Richard Phillips. I think I see him lying there beside the head of North's crutch. * A modern French novelist.-M. 1823.] VISCOUNT D'ARLINCOURT. 277 North. (Handing the Old Monthly to the Ensign.) There is the production. Odoherty. Ay, and here's the puff. "This is the work of a man of genius, and the translation has fallen into very competent hands." Need I read any more of Sir Pythagoras? Hogg. Oh, no. But what is't ye wad have me particularly to keep an ee upon? Troth, I wad be nane the waur of a hint or twa to help me on with the sklate. Odoherty. 'Tis more especially in the tale "Learning," that I venture to solicit your attention to my noble friend's works. He is the most learned novelist of our era. Follow him, and you will please Macvey himself. Hogg. Weel, let's hear a wee bit skreed o' him. I daresay Mr. North will hae him yonder amang the lave, beside his stult. Sauf us! the very table's groaning wi' sae mony new authors. North. You may say so, truly; and I groan as well as my table. Here's "The Renegade," however. Will that do, Odoherty? Odoherty. Yes, yes-any of them will do. You see, Hogg, the noble author plunges us at once into the deepest interest of his tale. An invading army of Saracens carries ruin and horror into the hills of the Cevennes. A Princess, the heroine of the book, is driven from her paternal halls—she flies with her vassals-the black flag of Agobar floats awful on the breeze-all alarm, terror, dismay, desolation Hogg. That's real good. I'll begin my "Laziness," wi' an inva sion too. Odoherty. Certainly-and now attend to this illustrious author's style, for it is that I wish you to copy, my dear Hogg. Hear this passage, and thirst for geology. You understand that the description refers to a moment of the deepest and the most overwhelming emotion—our Princess is in full flight, the hall of her ancestors blazing behind her— "While the Princess, borne on her gentle palfrey, abandoned herself to these sad thoughts, Lutevia, at a turn of the rock, again presented itself to her view. Lighted torches were seen to glance here and there upon the platforms of the castle. These moving lights, the signal of some new event, announced a tumultuous agitation among the soldiery. The fatal bell again was heard. Ezilda could doubt no longer that the Saracens had attacked the fortress. She immediately struck into the depths of the mountains. The bright stars directed her march, as she pursued an unfrequented road across untrod rocks, and by the edges of precipices. At every step Nature presented inexplicable horrors, produced by the various revolutions which had acted upon this region. In one place were seen streams of basaltic lava, thick beds of red pozzolanum, calcareous spars, and gilded pyrites, thrown out by the numerous volcanoes. In another, strange contrast! the ravages of water had succeeded to those of fire; transparent petrifactions, marine shells, sonorous congelations, sparkling scorice, and crystallized prisms, were mixed accidentally with the confused works of different regions. A crater had become a lake; an ancient bed of flames, a cascade; the waves of the ocean had driven back the blazing volcanoes, had placed the peaks of mountains where their bases had been, and had rolled péle méle, zeolites and silices, cinders and crystals, stalactites and tripoli!!! From a reversed cone covered with snow, and which contained freezing springs, boiling waters spouted. In the dark ages, it would have seemed that the two terrific genii of devastation, fire and flood, had contended; and as the mysteries of Providence put to fault the reason of the philosopher, these mysteries of nature embarrassed all the systems of the learned. "The heayens were covered with clouds, a small rain had begun to fall, and each step had become more perilous; the narrow road cut in the rock seemed to offer only a succession of precipices. "After some hours' journey, the Princess approached a torrent, whose waters thundered between a double colonnade of basaltic pillars. At the bottom of a glen, which seemed almost inaccessible, the road enlarged. Upon a barren flat, surrounded by pointed rocks and enormous calcareous stones, the virgin of Lutevia perceived a sort of wild camp, lighted by scattered fires. Terror was a stranger to her soul, and believing that she was covered by the buckler of the Lord, and that her path through life was to be marked by frightful events, Ezilda was resigned to her stormy destiny!!!" Hogg. Oh man, that's awfu' grand; thae lang words gie siccan an air to the delineation. I dare say some o' the bonny words would suit very well in my "Learning." Will you lend me the buik, Mr. North? North. Say no more. The volumes are thine own. Hogg. Thank ye kindly, sir. Od, I'll gut this chiel or lang be. I wonder what Gray will think of me? But I'll easily bam him, noo he's ower the water.* Odoherty. Ay, here's another prime morceau. 'Tis a description, you are to suppose, of a grotto where a love adventure goes on. "This celebrated grotto was sunk in the base of a misshapen and rugged rock. Its peak had been a volcano; its arid summit, scorched by its eruptions, covered with black lava, green schorl, metallic molliculi,with calcined and vitrified substances, bore in every part the destructive marks of fire; while the sunken earth, the schistous stones, the beds of mud, the irregular mixture of volcanic with marine productions, and the regular piles of basaltic prisms, were evidences of the operation of contending elements." Hogg. "Evidences of the operations of contending elements!" It's perfectly sublime. It dings Kilmeny-na, it clean dings her! North. Nil desperandum! Spout us a bit more, Odoherty. Hogg. Speak weel out, Captain-gie yoursel breath. Odoherty. Read yourself, Hogg; there's a fine place. Hogg. Na, wha ever saw the like o't-Ze-ze-ze-oleet-MontlosGirand-Salaberry-berry. Ay, it's just Salaberry. Od, this is worse than the Eleventh of Nehemiah. Odoherty. Poo! You're at the notes. Let me see the book again. Did you ever describe a handsome fellow, Hogg? Well, hear how * In Canada.-M. this virgin Princess here describes one she saw sleeping in his own bed-room, to which she had penetrated. "His chest," said she, "his chest half-bared, white as the marble of Paros, was like that of the athletic Crotona. As vigorous as the Conqueror of the Minotaur, as colossal as the Grecian Ajax, as beautiful as the Antinous of the Romans North. Stop, stop; fold up the bedclothes again, if you please. Upon my word, this is worse than Sophy Western and Mrs. Honour about Tom Jones's broken arm. Hogg. My gudeness! This is just the book I wanted. Od, I'll come braw speed noo. Odoherty. To be sure you will. But a man of your stamp should not follow with any servile imitation. No-Admire D'Arlincourt, but cease not to be Hogg. Hogg. De'il a fears o' me! Odoherty. If your heroine is to be woo'd about St. Leonards, be sure you turn up Pinkerton, or Jameson, and tip us the Latin or German names of all the different strata in that quarter. It will have a fine, and, in Scotland at least, a novel effect. If she climb Arthur's Seat, tell us how the thermometer stood when she was kissed at the top. If there is a shower on her wedding night, take a note of the cubic inches that fell. If her petticoat be stained with green, tip us the Linnæan description of the grass. And if you are afraid of going wrong in your science, Mr. Leslie will perhaps look over the MS. for you. Hogg. I'll send him a copy of the second edition; but I'll let nae Professors look at my manuscripts. Od! I mind ower weel what cam o' my Waterloo. North. Your Waterloo! God bless me. Simpson,* then? Did you help Mr. Hogg. Ye're a' to seek. It wasna Jamie Simpson's book I had aught to do wi', (although it was a very bonny bit bookie, too.) It was a Waterloo o' mine ain, a poem I had written, and I sent it in to Grieve; and awheen o' them had a denner at Bill Young's, to read it over, forsooth. And od! heard you ever the like o' sic tinkler loons? they brunt it bodily, and sent me a round-robin that it was havers-mere havers. Odoherty. Paltry, envious souls! Insensate jealousy! Despicable spleen! * James Simpson, an Edinburgh lawyer, published an interesting account of his visit to Waterloo, in 1815. In the late editions he gives some delightful recollections of Sir Walter Scott.-M. Hogg. Eh! North. Græcum est. Odoherty. (Sings, accompanying himself on the trombone.) Pour your lava, drop your spar ! With Stalactites, And Pyrites, And Zeolites, Hogg now will make thee stare, prodigious Parr! (bis.) 4. When he prints it out, The French Institute Will enrol one Scotchman more; How we'll caper, When Supplement Napier,* For a physical paper, Bows low, nor bows in vain, by Altrive's shore! (bis.) 5. Grasp your slate, sir, Scratch your pate, sir, You must speak-the world is dumb! Logic, Rhet'ric, Chemic, Metric, Fresh from Ettrick, With glorious roar, and deaf'ning deluge come! (bis.) Hogg (much affected). Gie me your hand, Captain. Oh, dear! Oh, dear me ! North. Enough of this, boys.-What new book have you been reading, Tickler? * Macvey Napier edited the Supplement to the Encyclopædia Britannica.-M. |