JI10 JO o.
^''11 ^ 19
MISa3AINn 3H1 o
\
J I'
JO Aavaan 3hi <>
\
'■ 5a;)Ta r.ARBARA o
/
THE liPBAliY Of o
o ViNSCJIlVD dO o
o THE UNIVERSITY
;tj
B
0 SANTA BARBARA °^
o OF CAUFORMIA o
u
eD
S^o
o dO A8VI)9n 3Hi
vavaava vinvs
r
o AilSaBAlNn 3H1 o
O OF CAllFO^'-JIA
c. THE UNIVEPSITY o
felf \
■--1
ri
dO ASVaBH 3H1
o OF CAIIFOPNIA
?;:a^
JO Advian 3Hi
kSSai
M£
SANTA BARBARA °
vavgavfl vinv?
J
)ri
THE UBRARY OF
r
c
T
L
h
u±
o vaveave vinvs o
o viNaodnvD dO
o THE LIBBAPy OF
c
AllSaSAINfl 3H1
o THE UNIVERSITY
r.\r
/
i-i+ri?
AllSS3AINn 3H1 °
o viNaodiivD JO »
° SANTA BARBARA
THE LIBPAPY OF
M^5II
mf^
o VINSOJIlvi iO o
o vavaavB vinvs
5H
o All$a3Alt4n 3Hi
OF CAIIFORNIA o
U
0D
B
V^
dO Aavasn 3hi °
o THE UNIVERSITY
o
im:
«> SANTA BARBARA '
/
o
THE liERAPY OF
>
f ,y
\r-
>
>
i^'J
r^
o VINBOJllVD JO o
OF CAIIFORNIA o
L^^
o THE UNIVERSITY
O
Of CAUFORNIA o
ii€
B
" SANTA BARBARA »
c THE UNIVERSITY 0
\JrC
dO Aavaan 3hi
o THE v:Be-.t?v Of
\ /
\
,- i ,
/
:.AIiIA L'.ARl)/. r'.l
\
/
r'-ICOPMIA o
o J,ilS83AINn
L_
\
[ UNIVERSITY o
\
/
o THE LIBRARY OF o
"I 1
o SANTA BARP
/
o viNaodiivD JO °.
« AllS»3AINn 3Hi
° JO *.SWi(9n 3Hl
o THE UBPARV OF
51 f /^.^
o «
0 SANTA BARBARA "^
° JO xav«6ii
o JO Aswaan 3hi
Ltt^^
\ „ /
THE LIBRARY OF o
o v;t.,-!CjnvD
o THE UNIVERSITY o
::no
rPT
o Of CALIFORNIA
o VaV9>IV9 VINVS
"'I I I
« SANTA BARBARA o.
o JO AHVOan 3Hi
o AllSdJAlNn 9H1 <i
L__ -qs
Pot Pourri
,,^"'
Pot Pourri
of
Gifts Literary and Artistic
CONTRIBUTED AS A SOUVENIR OF THE GRAND MASONIC BAZAAR
IN AID OF THE ANNUITY FUND OF SCOTTISH MASONIC
BENEVOLENCE, EDINBURGH 1890
EDITED BY
W. GRANT STEVENSON, A.R.SA.,
R.W.M. OF LODGE DRAMATIC AND ARTS, No. 757
PRINTED FOR LODGE DRAMATIC AND ARTS, No. 757,
BY TURNBULL & SPEARS, THISTLE STREET,
EDINBURGH 1890
\'
P r e f a c e
npHE LODGE DRAMATIC AND ARTS,
-*- No. 757, begs most gratefully to thank those
Authors and Artists who have so generously devoted
their literary and artistic gifts to the production of
this interesting Souvenir of the Grand Masonic
Bazaar. Contributions have been received from
those outside the Craft, — but charity claims us all
in a common brotherhood ; and it will doubtless be
a source of pleasure to all who have contributed
their offerings, that the Annuity Fund of Scottish
Masonic Benevolence will be substantially benefited
by their efforts.
December 1890.
Contents
Pot Pourri (a Prefatory Flourish)
Age .....
The Prince's Quest
Anni Fugaces
Glentirlie ....
A Ballade of Tobacco Smoke
A Sunny Morning in my Garden .
" La Tombe dit a la Rose "
The Truth about Lambs .
The Beautiful
The Gypsy Wooer .
An Old World Matter
Men and Books
The Prayer of the Pompeian Mother
An Easterly Harr
The Poppy Blows .
" The Castled Rhine"
In Ne\v College Chapel, Oxford
Bazaars ....
A Madrigal
The End of It .
page
1 1
Johti Stuart Blackie
15
Jerome K. Jerome
16
Hugh Haliburton
• 27
John Tod
29
Alexander Anderson .
• 52
Annie S. Swan
54
W. H. Mallock
58
W. Grant Stevenson, A.R.S.A
59
Sir Noel Faton
64
Graham K. Tomson
66
James C. Dibdin
68
John Stuart Blackie
73
D. W. Stevenson, R.S.A.
74
Sarah Tytler .
76
H. Bellyse Baildon
82
Robina F. Hardy
84
Sir Nod Faton
94
J. M. Barrie .
95
George A. Feacock
99
IV. E. Henley
100
List of Illustrations
Pot Pourri
St Giles' .
Por Pourri {Initial)
Age
The Prince's Quest {Initial)
Anni Fugaces
Do.
Glentirlie
Do.
Do.
A Ballade of Tobacco Smoke
A Sunny Morning in my
Garden
La To.mbe bit a la Rose
(Initial)
The Truth About Lambs
Do. Do. .
The Beautiful (/w7/^?/)
PAGE
Cover
15
16
W. BURN-MURDOCH
GEORGE REID, R.S.A.
TOM M'EWAN
OTTO T. LEYDE, R.S.A.
G. DENHOLM ARMOUR
H. W. KERR .
GEORGE AIKMAN, A.R.S.A.
G. W. JOHNSTONE, A.R.S.A.
R. B. NISBET .
WILLIAM SMALL
DUNCAN MACKELLAR
T. M. HAY
J. MICHAEL BROWN . . 58
W. GRANT STEVENSON, A.R.S.A. 61
Do. Do. . . 63
64
26
35
42
53
lO
Pot Pourri.
PAGE
Ax Old World Matter
.
71
Do. Do.
. 72
The Prayer of the Pompeian
Mother
J. MICHAEL BROWN
• 75
Ax Easterly Harr
T. M. HAY
. n
Do.
Do. . . •
. 80
The Poppy Blows
JOHN BLAIR .
. 82
Do.
Do. . . .
. 83
"The Castled Rhine"
POLLOCK S. NISBET
. 87
In New College Chapel,
Ox-
FORD .
HARRY MITCHELL .
• 94
The Exd OF It .
SAMUEL REID
ICI
Pot Pourri
A PREFATORY FLOURISH
MEG lifting the lid of the
Pot, an odour was diffused
through the place, which,
if the vapours of a witch's
cauldron could in aught be
trusted, promised something
better than the hell-broth
which such vessels are
usually supposed to con-
tain. It was, in fact, the
savour of a goodly stew,
composed of fowls, hares, partridges and moor game, boiled
in a large mess with vegetables and sweet herbs, and from
the look of the cauldron, appeared to be prepared for a
multitude of people.
" Hae, then," said she, heaving a portion of the mess into
a cream-coloured dish and strewing it savourily with salt and
pepper, " there's what will warm your heart."
"I do not \\MXig^r\—conjuro ^el—thai is, I thank you heartily,
Mrs Merrilees," stammered the Dominie ; for he said to him-
12
Pot Pourri.
self, " The savour is sweet ; but it hath been cooked in the
feob^e ©ramattC ant (^xU. Who knoweth what mystic
passes have been made over the pot ; or with what forbidden
rites the ingredients thereof have been gathered together ; or
what evil purposes they are to serve."
" Awa' wi' ye, ye worricow ! " said the sibyl, impatiently
notino- his hesitation. " Kent ye ever ill ware wi' sae halesome
a reek ? If ye dinna eat instantly, and put some saul in ye,
by the bread and the salt, I'll put it down your throat wi' the
cutty spoon. Gape, sinner, and swallow."
Sampson, afraid of eye of newt, and toe of frog, tigers' chaul-
drons, and so forth, had determined not to venture ; but the
smell of the stew was fast melting his obstinacy. Hunger and
Curiosity are excellent casuists.
"Saul," said Hunger, "feasted with the Witch of Endor."
" And," quoth Curiosity, " the salt which she sprinkled upon
the food shewed plainly it is not a necromantic banquet, in
which that savouring never occurs." " And besides," said
Hunger, after the first spoonful, " it is savoury and refreshing-
viands."
" Eat your fill," said the hostess ; " but an ye kenned
how the meat was gotten, ye ma)'be wadna like it sae week"
Sampson's spoon fell, in the act of conveying its load to his
mouth. " I hae them that will baith write and read and ride
and rin for me," continued Meg. " There's been mony a
midnight watch to bring a' that trade together."
" Is that all," thought Sampson, resuming his spoon, and
shovelling away manfully. " I will not lack my food upon
that argument."
" Now ye maun tak' a dram."
Pot Pourri. 13
" I will," quoth Sampson. And when he had put this
copestone upon Meg's good cheer, he felt, as he said,
" mightily elevated and afraid of no evil that could befall him."
— " Guy Mannering',' adapted.
The first thing that took captive and subdued Sancho's
desire was a Pot, which was never made of the mould of
common pots, and around which were men and women cooks,
all cunning, all zealous, and all content. So without being
able to suffer longer, and having no power for aught else, he
came to one of the busy cooks, and with courteous and hungry
arguments, entreated that he would let him dip a crust of
bread in it.
To which the Cook replied, " Brother, this is not a day
over which hunger rules, thanks to the givers of the feast ;
alight, and look about thee for a ladle, and skim out a pullet
or two, and much good may they do thee."
" I cannot see one," said Sancho.
" Hold on," cried the Cook. " Body o' me ! But what
a dainty do-nothing art thou ! " Saying this, he took a
kettle, and, after a prefatory flourish, plunging it into the pot,
he drew out three fat pullets and two wild fowl, and said to
Sancho, " Eat, friend, and break thy fast with these skimmings
while dinner time is coming."
" I have nothing to put it in," said Sancho.
" Well take it all," said the Cook, " spoon and everything ;
for liberal hearts supply all."
" Brother," said the squire, " to this House I hold me.
And methinks there can be no better Symbol of Brotherhood
than this feasting, where what is given is given with good
14 Pot Pourri.
will, and accepted with thankful heart, and consumed with
lusty appetite. Aught else is idle words, for which they will
demand an account from us in the next world." Saying this
he began anew to assault the contents of the Pot with such
sturdy stomach that it awaked that of Don Quixote.
— ''Don Quixote" sligJitly altered.
Age
PAINT me no lies ! full surely I draw breath
Ten years beyond the proper time to die ;
And if you hail me still not far from death,
Your words are traitor to the truth — you lie.
Autumn hath fruits unknown to merry May,
But May hath bloom, and pledge of fruitage too,
And the delight of growing day by day
More strong in substance and more bright in hue.
Age may not grow ; if in my span of time
God gave me grace with stretch of pious pains,
From pleasant thoughts to weave a tuneful rhyme.
Or preach a needful truth from well-schooled brains.
Enough : I stirred the soil and plucked the weed,
Where happier hands may cast the fruitful seed.
^(fiul Ju^ii.U^Jji
The Prince's Quest
NCE upon a time, in a far-off
country, there lived a Prince who
ought to have been very happy but
wasn't. He reissued in a eoreeous
palace, and was rich, and powerful,
and great, and had everything he
wanted — that is, at least, he had
everything he wanted, except the
one thing that he wanted more than
anything else on earth, and to obtain
which he would have given half his
kingdom. He would have given
the whole for the matter of that,
only he had already promised the
other half to any one who would
tell him what it was he wanted.
Everybody had a guess at it, but nobody seemed able to
hit upon it. Everything that was suggested he had ; every-
thing that wealth could buy, or skill procure, was his already,
So at last he appealed to the wise men of the city, and they
put their heads together, and found out the wrong thing, and
the Prince became more despondent than ever.
In the palace his jovial companions made laugh and jest,
and kept the walls for ever echoing to the tune of their noi y
The Prince's Quest. 17
merriment. All day long they hunted the deer through the
forest glades, or rode a-hawking in gay cavalcade ; and at
night there were feasting, and dancing, and song, and the
wine ran free, and the mirth ran high, and happiness beamed
on every face except the Prince's. In the midst of all the
revelry he sat silent and apart, or shunned the chase to muse
alone on what this thing could be, the want of which, with all
his wealth, made life seem so imflnished.
" Oh, is there no one who can tell me what I want ? "
sighed the Prince aloud, one day, as he threw himself down
on the ground beside a fallen tree.
" I can."
It was a little old man that spoke ; a little bent, withered
old man, with wrinkled face and snow-white hair ; but his
eyes were brighter than a boy's, and his voice was as clear as
a sweet-toned bell, and, as he looked down at the Prince
from his seat on the tree, he laughed a merry, childish laugh.
The Prince looked up at him, and wondered how he got
there, but was too surprised to speak, and only stared in
silence at the merry, twinkling eyes.
" Well," said the little old fellow after a while, " shall I
tell you ? Would you like to know what it is you want, or
have you come to the sensible conclusion that after all it is
not worth the knowing ? I think you had better not know,"
he went on, changing from gay to grave. "It may make
you only more unhappy. It will bring you pain and trouble.
You are young and weak — why seek to know ? Rest with
the happiness you have, child. Joy is only reached through
sorrow."
But the Prince heeded not the warning. All eagerness
i8 Pot Pourri.
and hope, he started up, and caught the old man by the
hand, and would not let him go.
" Tell me, you who are wise, and who know," cried he ;
^'tell me and I will seek for it through fire and water. I am
strong, not weak — strong to dare, to suffer, and to win. I will
iind it, if it take me all my life, and cost me all my treasure."
The old man gently laid his hand upon the Prince's head,
and a look of pity was in the bright, quick eyes.
" Lad," said he, and his voice was grave and tender,
" you shall seek your wish. You shall toil for it, and your
brain shall ache. You shall wait for it, and your heart shall
pant. You shall pass through sorrow and through suffering
•on your search ; but when you are weary and footsore the
thought of it shall strengthen you, when your heart is heaviest
the hope of it shall raise you up, and in your darkest hour it
shall come to you as the touch of a mighty hand. Prince, it
is Love you lack. Go seek it."
So the scales fell from the Prince's eyes, and he stood as
one that has suddenly emerged from darkness into light, half-
bewildered before he understood. Then stretching out his
arms, he called to Love, as though he would draw her down
from heaven, and clasp her to his heart.
" Oh, Love," he cried, " why have I been so blind as not
to know your messenger, who spoke within me ? I might
have wandered lonely all my life, uncaring and uncared for,
and never dreamed of your dear presence, nor ever have
known that it was for need of your sweet voice that all the
world seemed drear."
Full of gratitude, he turned to thank his mysterious guide,
but the little old man was gone.
The Prince's Quest. 19
The Prince's own sentinels scarcely knew their lord when
he returned to the palace, and even the old hall-porter who,
twenty years ago, had rocked him on his knee, looked hard at
him, and seemed inclined to challenge his breathless entrance.
Never was a man so changed in half-an-hour before. Out
into the woods had gone a moody, sorrowful youth, with
wavering steps and dreamy, downcast eyes, while back had
come a gallant Prince, with quick, firm tread, and head thrown
back, and eyes that flashed with high resolve. Small wonder
if the porter was in doubt.
In the banquet-hall his guests already waited his arrival,
and hurrying thither straight, without a word he passed up the
crowded room until he reached the dais at the end, and there
he turned and spoke :
" Friends," said the Prince, "rejoice with me, for to-day
I have learnt the thing that I want. To-day I have found
out what is the only thing on earth that can make me happy
— the only thing on earth I have not got— the only thing I
cannot do without, and that I mean to seek for till I have
found. Let all my true friends join me, and at to-morrow's
dawn we will start to search the world for Love."
Then one and all cheered loud and long, and swore that
each was his loyal friend, and swore that they would follow
him throughout the whole wide world, and they drank a
bumper to success, and another one to Love, and never in
that palace had a banquet been so gay, and never before had
such merry guests feasted in that hall. Long into the night
they drank and sang, and their loud laughter filled the palace
full, and overflowed through open door and window out into
the stillness, and the red deer browsing heard it, and scudded
20
Pot Pourri.
away down the moonlit glens, nor dreamt then of the time
when they would fearlessly crop the grass round the very walls
of the palace, and rest secure and undisturbed upon its weed-
grown terraces.
But no shadow of the coming gloom marred the glitter-
ing pageantry on which the morning sun threw down his glory,
as gay with silk, and flashing steel, and fluttering plumes, and
prancing steeds the gallant train of knights and squires rode
slowly down the hill. And hearts were light and hopes were
high, but no heart so light as the Prince's, no hopes so high
as his, as he rode at the head of that gay throng, the gayest
of them all.
At each place that they came to the Prince enquired for
Love, but found, to his astonishment, that, though people
talked about her a good deal, hardly anyone knew her. Few
spoke of her as a reality. Most folks looked upon her as a
joke ; others, as a popular delusion ; while the one or two
who owned to having known her seemed half ashamed of
the acquaintanceship. There were shams and imitations in
abundance, but the real thing, when acknowledged, was con-
sidered vulgar, and no one knew or cared what had become
of her.
The first place at which they halted was the town of
Common-Sense — a most uncomfortable place, all full of close
and narrow streets that led to nowhere, and inhabited by a
race celebrated for the strength of their lungs, it being
reckoned that one man of Common-Sense was equal to a
dozen poll-parrots, and could talk down fifty men of Intel-
ligence (their natural enemies) in less than half an hour. The
religion of this charming people was touching in its simplicity.
The Prince's Quest. 21
It consisted of a firm and earnest belief that they were infal-
lible, and that everybody else was a fool ; and each man
worshipped himself.
They were quite indignant when the Prince asked them
where Love was.
" We know nothing at all about her," said the men of
Common-Sense. " What have we to do with Love ? What
do you take us for ? "
The Prince was too polite to tell them what he took them
for, so merely bidding them adieu with a pitying smile, rode
off to seek elsewhere for Love.
But he had no better luck at the next place they came to.
This was Tom Tiddler's Land, and the people there were
very busy indeed. So busy were they, picking up the gold
and the silver, that they had not time even to make them-
selves respectable, and their hands were especially dirty — but
then it was rather dirty work.
" Love ! " said the people of Tom Tiddler's Land. " We
don't keep it. Never heard of it. Don't know what it is.
But dare say we could get it for you. What are you willing
to go to for it ? "
" You can't buy it," explained the Prince. " It is given."
" Then you won't get it here, young man," was the curt
reply ; and they went on with their grovelling.
At last the Prince came to the City of Science, where he
was most hospitably received, and where for the first time he
learnt the great truth that everything is just precisely what
one always thought it wasn't, and that nothing is what one
thinks it is. The inhabitants w^ere all philosophers, and their
occupation consisted of finding out things that nobody wanted
22
Pot Pourri.
to know, and in each day proving that what they themselves
had stated the day before was all wrong. They were very
clever people, and knew everything— Love included. She
was there, in the city, they told the delighted Prince, and
they would take him to her.
So, after showing him over the town and explaining to
him what everything wasn't, they took him into their museum,
which was full of the most wonderful things, and in the centre
was Love — the most wonderful of them all. The Prince
couldn't help laughing when he saw it, but the philosophers
were very proud of it. It sat upright and stiff on a straight-
backed chair, and was as cold as ice.
" Made it ourselves," said the philosophers. " Isn't it
beautiful ! Acts by clockwork, and never goes wrong. War-
ranted perfect in every respect."
" It's very charming," answered the Prince, trying to
swallow down his disappointment ; " but I'm afraid it's not the
sort of thing I wanted."
" Why, what's amiss with it ? It's got all the latest
improvements."
"Yes," replied the Prince with a sigh, "that's just it; I
wanted it with all the old faults."
Again the Prince journeyed on, and came to a town where
lived a very knowing people called " Men of the World,"
who had the reputation of " knowing their way about " — a
reputation, the acquirement of which it was difficult to under-
stand, seeing they never, by any chance, went outside their own
town — a remarkably small one, although the inhabitants firmly
believed that it was the biggest and most important place on
earth, and that no other city was worth living in for a day.
The Prince's Quest. 23
A dim oil-lamp burnt night and day in the centre of the
town, and the inhabitants were under the impression that all
light came from that, for as they crawled about on their hands
and knees, and never raised their eyes from the ground, they
knew nothing about the sun. When they had crawled once
forwards and backwards across their little town, they thought
they had seen " life," and would squat in a corner, and yawn,
till they died.
When the Prince mentioned the name of Love to these
creatures, they burst into a coarse, loud laugh. " Is that
what you call it ? " said they. ** Why, wherever do you come
from ? We know what you mean, though. Come along."
And they took him into a dingy room, and showed him a
hideous, painted thing that made him sick to look upon.
" Let us leave this place quickly," said the Prince, turning
to his followers. " I cannot breathe in this foul air. Let us
get out into God's light again." So they mounted in haste
and rode away, leaving the men who " knew their way about "
crawling about the ways they knew so well.
Farther and farther into the weary world wandered the
Prince on his search ; but Love was still no nearer, and
though his heart was ever brave, it beat less hopefully every
day. Time after time he heard of her, and started off, only
to find some worthless sham — a golden image — a dressed-up
doll — a lifeless statue — a giggling fool. Shams wherever he
went, and men and women worshipping, and hugging them
close to their breasts, knowing all the while that they were
shams ; and each time the Prince turned away, more sick at
heart than ever.
And now, not a single one of all who had shouted their
24 Pot Pourri.
loyalty so loudly was left, when weary, baffled, and dis-
heartened, the Prince at last turned back. A ,^reat longing
was upon him to be once more among his own people, and
to see his own land again ; and so, with this last hope, he
still toiled on, and each day pressed on quicker, fearing lest
death might overtake him by the way, and that his tired eyes
never more would rest upon the old grey towers and sweet
green woods of home.
But the dreary road came to an end at length, and one
evening he looked down upon his palace, as it lay before him
bathed in the red of the sinking sun. Restful, now, he stood
for a while, feasting his hungry eyes upon the longed-for
sight, and then his thoughts ebbed slowly back to that morn-
ing, long ago, when he had bidden it adieu, and had ridden
forth into the world upon his quest for Love.
How changed the place ! How changed himself since
then!
He had left it as a gallant Prince with all the pride of
pomp around him, and a gaudy throng of flattering courtiers
at his side. He crept back, broken-hearted and alone. He
had left it standing fair and stately in the morning light, and
bright with life and sound ; now it was ruined, desolate, and
silent ; the bats flew out of the banquet-hall, and the grass
grew on the hearths. Another had usurped his throne ; his
people had forgotten him, and not even a dog was there to
give him a welcome home.
As he passed through the damp, chill rooms a thousand
echoing footsteps started up on every side, as though his
entrance had disturbed some ghostly revel, and when, having
reached a little room that in old times he had been wont to
The Prince's Quest. 25
go to for solitude, he entered, and shut himself in, it seemed
as though the frightened spirits had hurried away, slamming
a thousand doors behind them.
There, in the darkness, he sat himself down, and buried
his face in his hands, and wept ; and sat there long through
the silent hours, lost in his own bitter thoughts. So lost, that
he did not hear a gentle tapping at the door — did not hear
the door open, and a timid voice asking to come in — did not
hear a light step close beside him, nor see a little maiden sit
herself down at his feet — did not know she was there till, at
last, with a sigh, he raised his head and looked into the
gloom. Then his eyes met hers, and he started, and looked
down at the sweet, shy face, amazed, and half in doubt.
" Why, you are Love ! " said the Prince, taking her little
hands in his. "Where have you been, sweet ? I've sought
you everywhere,"
" Not everywhere," said Love, nestling against him with
a little half-sad laugh ; " not everywhere. I've been here all
the time. I was here when you went away, and I've been
waiting for you to come back — so long."
And so the Prince's quest was ended.
JEROME K. JEROME.
i
Anni Fugaces
ALAS ! alas ! my fellow feres,
We may no more deny
The pressure of the speeding years ;
Oor days are driving by.
Already on the downward track
The posting furies fare ;
For virtuous life they will not slack,
For purpose will not spare.
This is the ill beneath the sun
That vexes aging men ;
Our lease of life is half-gate run
Before of lease we ken.
We waste, or wair oor strength of youth
On idols of the ee,
Infidel of the wholesome truth
Of our mortality.
Ye callants, what avails the strife
That twyns ye o' your prime ?
The dearest gift of life is life,
The dearest enemy time.
28
Pot Pourri.
O ne'er can rank or wealth enhance
The gift that ne'er was awn,
The lovely gift, the glorious chance,
Ance offer'd, sune withdrawn !
To them wha on the shaded slope
Are faring doun, like me,
With ever daily dwining hope,
How fair it taks the ee !
What had been oors from hour of birth
We learn to value then ;
Sweet grow the common joys of earth,
And dear the face of men.
H-'iA^C/^ n"g^.''-^^^'Uyi/C:n^
G 1 e n t i r 1 i e
Chapter I.
I HAVE secured quarters at Glentirlie, Charlie; it looks
the very place we want. Any number of burns to fish,
of hills to climb, braes, glens, and nooks for a botanico-
geologist like you to explore or plunder ; five miles from a
railway station, quite out of the world, and altogether the
place for us ; so get your knapsack and tackle ready for
Saturday."
" I will, Frank, I will. Our vacations for some years
back have been all we could wish — for the Continent — scenes
of beauty, grandeur, or historical interest, brightened by
charming fellow-travellers. But I have missed the hills and
heather, the banks and braes of our native land. Oh ! for a
fortnight's browsing in a quiet Scottish valley, to blow away
the cobwebs of this year's spinning, and brace us for the next
stage."
" Ditto, ditto, Charlie. We have earned a holiday ; both
of us can say, in cannie mother-country phrase, we have done
' not badly.' True, there have been hard nuts to crack, and
middling heavy calls on time and brain, but we have made
something out of these, and need a rest : let us resolve to
have a thorough one in Glentirlie."
" Spoken like an oracle, Frank. No man will ever appre-
30 Pot Pourri.
date or enjoy a holiday who has not done his level best to
deserve it. A fellow that shirks his duty, or does it in a
dilly-dallying way has no "spring" in him when on furlough.
He is always yawning or lounging ; finds this place slow, that
' dead and alive ' ; runs down what he cannot appreciate,
growls at everything and nothing, cannot see what any fellow
finds in fishing or climbing, is a bore to others because he is
bored by himself. Give such fellows a wide berth. Change
of scene and association makes up for the waste of the past,
and lays in useful store for the future. Let us rough it in
Glentirlie like ancient Britons, coming as near the Aborigines
as possible."
" So I shall, Charlie. I shall have a tweed suit for Sundays,
for I do like a country kirk with its simple service ; but on
other days I shall ignore all ' meritricious graces,' collars,
cuffs, gloves, razors, and other products of civilisation. My
' rig ' will be the motley one in which I do my home-dabbling
in photography. It betrays its occupation. No Jewish ' Old
Clo' ' would soil his bag with it."
" I will follow suit, Frank. My botanico-geological gar-
ments have seen many years' service. They were originally
roomy and grey, but are now weather-stained enough to grace
a museum. Great in pockets, begrimmed outside and in, and
shapeless through long service in carrying specimens of all
kinds, but of marvellously elastic capacity. Small in buttons
as far as numbers go, but rich in variety of shape and metal,
and with at least half of the holes (holes most emphatically)
marrowless. The hat never was artistic, but, from having
been made useful in a variety of ways, it would take a first
prize in an exhibition of gipsy head-gear. All need the fresh
Glentirlie. 31
air as much as I do, and I will be a " bogle " for six days out
of the seven."
Frank Raeburn and Charles Baillie, whose " crack" we have
recorded, were as fine young fellows as man could wish to
meet. They differed in temperament, for Frank was a bit of
a rattle, and Charlie quieter, but both had the genuine ring
of noble metal. They had been fast friends during and since
their college days, were rising, almost risen young men,
shrewd, painstaking, honourable, and self-respecting ; and
although somewhat under thirty years of age, they were
sought after professionally, and trusted. There was in them
a fine balance of heart, head, and conscience — alike active,
honest, and sterling.
Saturday found the two at the railway station, their knap-
sacks filled with a quaint assortment of old attire, much of
which had been long neglected in odd corners. Their spirits
rose as they left Edinburgh behind them, and were high as
they alighted at the little station of Clearburn. There, mine
host of Glentirlie awaited them ; and his trusty, if rather
clumsy " Dawtie," in a waur-o'-the-wear wagonette stood,
ready to convey them to Glentirlie.
The road, on the right, skirted the base of well-rounded,
green, pastoral hills, not high, but sonsie, and sheep-dotted,
which the driver described as "a grand bite — a gude place
— fine feedin' — prime — wcel at themsels — top lambs — a
by-ordnar gude hirsel." On the left stretched a meadow
laughing in autumn gladness. Here, was a busy group — the
whole inmates of a small holding, stacking the fragrant
meadow hay ; there the rasp of a cottar's scythe was heard,
followed by the whish of the prostrating " victual." Beyond,
32 Pot Pourri.
the Tirlie glinted in the sunHght, and brattled along. On the
road, sometimes a startled, perplexed, miserable, stray lamb
scurried and wheeled dementedly, while its anxious mother
watched and bleated at the fence she could not clear ; or
rabbits hopped across and buried themselves among the
furze ; and, at one corner, a brace of moorfowl raised their
bonnie bodies and plumage from the footpath, stared excitedly,
pattered along the road for a short distance in bewilderment,
then whirred away, chuckling, into the heather.
The sights and sounds of the country delighted the visitors ;
the landlord told them the ancient and modern history of the
valley. Raeburn was loud in his expressions of pleasure.
Baillie rather looked than spoke his feelings. He was taking
it all in, and could only spare " beautiful, lovely, grand,"
as a chorus to his friend's ecstasy, but when they arrived at
Glentirlie he summed up his abundant satisfaction in " This
will do."
Glentirlie was one of those delightful old roadside inns,
which, in the times of mail coaches, post-chaises, and carriers'
carts was a busy scene. Its occupation had largely gone since
the days of railways, but it had become a resort of well-to-
do fishers and sportsmen. There was a fairly-sized farm
attached, but nothing of the modern public house or "bar"
about the place. When the travellers were shown to their
neat bedrooms, where the napery was good old " burn-
bleached," home-spun, snow-white linen, and all was fresh and
homely, redolent of honeysuckle and wild thyme, they were
highly pleased. When they sat down to the substantial
" towzie " tea in the big room, the fare was so plain, yet abun-
dant, suljstantial, and tempting, and Mattie, the servant, so
Glentirlie. 33
couthie and pleasant, that they felt happy, and Frank could not
suppress " three cheers for Glentirlie."
They sauntered out in the evening, first to the burn
where the trouts were leaping freely. " That promises
well," said Charlie, while Frank proposed to get out the
rods and try a "cast." "Let us take in the place first,"
said Baillie, which they did leisurely. They returned and
visited the "steading" " 'twixt the gloamin' and the mirk."
While there, " the kye cam' hame," and they enjoyed the
embodiment of James Hogg's famous song. When the
mirk had settled down, the heavens seemed so much more
star-bespangled than they had ever done before, that they
gazed upwards and around, entranced by the sparkle, ampli-
tude and glory of the firmament, and were awe-struck and
solemn, feeling, as an old writer has expressed, the sense of
c
34 Pot Pourri.
littleness which hills produce on the spirits in the evening.
Charles Baillie quoted many passages appropriate to the
scene, and, just before going in for the night, he repeated with
great feeling —
*• The stars repeat it down the dark
In mystic jewelled light ;
The Urim and the Thummim
In the watches of the night ;
And strong Orion shouts to me
What slumbered in old fable ;
And echoes from eternal night's vaults
Answer — Able — Able.
And comet cresting bending heavens
Waves echo to the word,
Like waving white plume in the crested
Helmet of the Lord."
A walk of about two miles to church on Sabbath morning
proved a delight. The rowans, glancing in scarlet and gold,
waved about like a banner ; the birds repeated the sweet,
ever-fresh, primitive anthem which has delighted all genera-
tions of mankind ; the sun gave light or shade to glen and
corrie, hill and streamlet ; the world was at rest. When they
reached the church, there was the usual " weekly market "
near the gate — some shedding flowers over the grave of their
loved ones — all Sabbath like.
The opening psalm —
" I to the hills will lift mine eyes,"
had to them an anthem's force, and, while they enjoyed the
whole service, they felt a special appropriateness to the season
and autumn surroundings in the closing psalm ; every line
TOLD.
"A WALK OF ABOUT TWO MILES TO CHURCH.
36 Pot Pourri.
" So Thou the year most lib' rally
Dost with Thy goodness crown ;
And all Thy paths abundantly
On us drop fatness down.
They drop upon the pastures wide
That do in deserts lie ;
The little hills on every side
Rejoice right pleasantly.
With flocks the pastures clothed be,
The vales with corn are clad ;
And now they shout and sing to Thee,
For Thou hast made them glad."
We will not intrude upon their Sabbath privacy. They
were wafted backwards to the hallowed associations of well-
conducted homes of early days ; nearly forgotten faces, scenes
and impressions became vivid, and each
" Lonely man went musing in the fields at even tide,"
but encircled by unseen visitants from the realms of memory,
awakening varied thoughts, as if the unseen were real, and
the real visionary. \\^hen they parted for the evening, they
felt that they had spent a day to be remembered.
Chapter II.
This "Sabbath well spent" had the effect of which Sir Matthew
Hale writes as giving " help for the work of the morrow."
Merry sounds were heard coming from each room as the old
garments were being put on, and these got louder when the
young men looked at themselves in the mirrors. The first
sight of each other set both off into c^uizzical laughter, and
Glentirlie. 37
the merriment grew noisier as each surveyed himself or his
neighbour.
" Well," said Charlie, when he could speak, " we are
'guys,' and might pass for 'bogles.' If fishing fails, we shall
start as beggars."
When Mattie saw them she laughed heartily and, in her
blunt honesty said, " My certie, gentlemen, ye have made
frichts o' yersels," and reported, on returning to the kitchen,
" that the gentlemen had on as ill-faured claes as ever she saw
on ony tramp ; but, for a' that, their bonnie, blythe faces an'
gude manners made them, some way, like real gentlemen too.""
The inn and outhouses enclosed a wide courtyard on
three sides, the front being open to the road. Near the
centre stood a primitive wooden pump, the handle of which
was seldom still, and, when in action, it produced quite as
much noise as water.
" That sound awoke me early this morning," said Raeburn.
" I could not make out what the grunting, and squeeling, and
splashing meant."
"Aye," said Mattie; "our pump is like Nannie Henry's
o' Lil's'lie." It has a pitifu' time o't. "We've tried to mak'
it work wi' less noise, but it soon tak's to its auld tune. It's
grand water, an' never rins dry. But I'm sorry it disturbit
you. I'll try and get it sorted."
" Not at all," said Baillie. " It will teach us early hours."
" There's waur lessons," added Mattie. " An' they say
the trouts tak' best in the mornings."
For the first three days the fishers had fair sport in the
near burns, and enjoyed themselves greatly. On Thursday
they tried the " Limpie," a larger stream, about five miles
38 Pot Pourri.
distant, and were overtaken by a terrific thunderstorm. The
sheher of some trees proving useless, they made for an open
door in a garden wall, not far from the river. Once inside
they darted to a summer-house, but found, to their confusion,
two young ladies already there, clinging to each other and
quivering with terror. The intruders started and made as if
they would retreat ; at the same moment an intensely vivid
tlash, followed by a near, crashing peal, drew from one of the
ladies a suppressed scream. The other said, " Don't go.
Take what shelter the place gives ;" the more timid lady
adding, " Oh ! do stay till this fearful storm is past. Ask
them please, Fanny, not to leave us here alone."
The storm left no alternative. The rain poured as it
ca7i and docs in an upland valley ; flash succeeded flash,
peal answered to peal. Baillie offered to go for wraps, but
the pelting torrent made that unwise, although he said, and
keenly felt, he " had nothing on that would spoil." Indeed,
strange as it may seem, the awe naturally produced by such a
storm seemed to affect the young men less than would have
been expected. When Charlie spoke about " nothing on that
would spoil," Raeburn, sighing, said to himself, " I wish we
had." They sought the darkest corner of the summer-house,
seemed anxious to get behind each other, but somehow could
not hit it — stroked their chins, and winced at their unshaven
roughness — felt " asses " in not bringing their " tweeds " when
coming such a distance — looked ruefully on the garb they
had lately laughed heartily at. The missing buttons, boasted
of a week ago, were sadly missed now. Both felt ill at ease,
but needlessly, for the ladies, huddled closely together, buried
their faces on each other's shoulders, overawed by the ele-
Glentirlic. 39
mental war, and only half conscious that others shared their
shelter and danger.
A lull enabled Charles Baillie to see the mansion-house.
He darted off, saying, "Stay, Frank, I'll fetch wraps." Frank
would have been off too, had not a timid voice said, " Oh !
do stay one of you ! " Before Charlie reached the house the
storm broke out afresh^ but at the door he found an elderly
gentleman in a state of great excitement, who anxiously asked,
" Have you seen two young ladies '*"
** They are in the summer-house, and safe ; my companion
is with them."
" Thank God," was the fervent reply.
" I will gladly take haps and umbrellas."
" Not yet, not now," said a lady from the front room,
"Come in and tell us exactly how they are."
" I am dripping all over," replied Baillie. " They are
quite sheltered from the rain, and as composed as could be ex-
pected. It seems abating;" and, as the servants appeared with
cloaks and umbrellas, he started with a huge armful, saying,
" I will fetch them whenever they dare venture." The lull
continuing, the ladies were hurriedly, and, dare we say,
clumsily muffled up by the young men. They were new to
the business and a little nervous, while the ladies were
excited and flurried. Baillie started for the house with one
under his care ; before they had gone half-way the storm
raged afresh, Fanny clutched him in terror, but walked firmly.
Raeburn followed instantly with the more timid of the two,
who grasped him convulsively ; indeed, he had almost to carry
her. And oft-times, in after years, the two spoke of the cour-
age and thrill with which these terrified grasps inspired them.
40 Pot Pourri.
Hearty tlianks were rained upon the two heroes, which,
they said, were quite uncalled for.
Hospitality was urgently pressed upon them, but they
could not be persuaded to leave the lobby, giving as a reason
their dripping garments. Baillie was honest enough to check
himself, when saying dripping. Dry clothing was offered, but
Frank's fancy pictured how his old " rig " would look at a
stranger's kitchen fire, and what conclusions it might suggest.
They pled the danger of wet clothes, in which the lady of the
house feelingly but reluctantly acquiesced ; that the storm
might break out afresh, swollen rivers, ignorant of the
locality, anxiety about their absence, &c.
They were allowed to depart, not before they had dis-
covered that there was a committee-and-club acquaintanceship
between Mr Melville and themselves ; that, in society phrase,
they knew about, if they did not know each other. The fishers
promised to lunch at Dunlimpie on Saturday, Mr Melville
placing at their disposal his preserved water. Mrs Melville
impressed upon them the necessity of going straight home,
and getting a " dry change ; " and, just as they were leaving,
Miss Melville came tripping down stairs, and thanked them
heartily in her own name, and that of her cousin Lucy (who
desired to be excused owing to a headache), for their presence
and help.
The two started homewards, tramped over soft roads,
staggered through][swollen burns, but the storm had passed
and the sun shone clearly. In the course of their walk, an
artist looked up from his easel as they passed, and hailing
them, offered to give them what would pay their night's
lodgings, if they would stand till he sketched them. They
Glentirlie. 41
winced, thanked him, and moved on, thinking much, but
saying- httle.
When they reached Gentirhe, they quickly carried out Mrs
Melville's motherly suggestions, and each looked ruefully at
the moist heap of old body companions, to which they now
bade farewell, with less regret than they would have thought
possible a week ago. Baillie muttered something like
" childish — a mistake — -a fiasco." Frank put his foot firmly
on the heap, and said " tomfoolery — all very well, but —
' pay night's lodgings.' Mountebanks in earnest."
Each quietly told Mattie to clear out the old clothes and
give them away. Her reply was blunt but telling.
" If I can get ony body to tak them; if no, they'll make
grand scrubbing claiths. I didna like ye wi' them. It's a*
very weel to gang gizzartin' at an odd time, but ye werena
wise-like, and ye may be glad that ye didna get into company
that wad a' made ye think black burnin' shame o' your haveral
fancy. There's a gude midst in a' thing, an' past that's
neither safe nor fendible."
Litde did Mattie think that she was treading heavily on
sore corns, or that her auditors felt that no one could have
expressed their sentiments and experience better. Each re-
collected some important business requiring him to return to
town. Neither said it was as much a matter of wardrobe as
of business, but " Dawtie " and the railway together brought
them to Edinburgh by an early train on Friday.
They did not rush to their chambers, as men on important
business usually do. By different routes they reached the
hairdresser's together, and wanted " not much off but nicely
trimmed." They also met accidentally at a clothier's, each
42 Pot Pourrl.
wishing a knickerbocker suit, certain in the afternoon. Of
course the man of cloth " was afraid," " hardly time," but
suddenly recollected suits, ordered for gentlemen out of town
for some time ; and the extra guinea he charged consoled him
for the " fear of disappointing good customers." They spent
some time in their " apartments " (where they appeared to the
surprise of their landladies), and packed their portmanteaus as
if for a long and special journey. They found " will return
^t 3-3^ " stuck on the door of their " chambers," walked
off as if the iviportant business did not lie there, and reached
Glentirlie in the evening.
At the tea-table they appeared in their new suits, greatly
to Mattie's delight. " Ye're like yoursels now, gentlemen ; I
like ye in thae claes. If I was a man I wad gie ye the
' tailor's nip.' I tried three tramps wi' your auld duds, but
they wadna tak' them, so I got the young shepherd to put
them into the pitatie field at the back o' the house for ' tattie
bogles.' "
In their evening walk they recognised the venerable gar-
ments doing duty as scarecrows, but the hats were exchanged,
and, (this is private), they filled their new pockets with stones,
and put a few marks of wear on their suits, to take away
the fresh look, for which Mattie all but scolded them as
" menseless craturs, spoilin' their new claes a' ready."
!
Glentirlie. 43
Chapter III.
Charles Bah.lie and Frank Raeburn were well-built, muscu-
lar, handsome, young- fellows ; the knickerbockers set off
their sturdy persons and limbs. When they reached Dun-
limpie they were cordially received at the doorstep by Mr
Melville, and in the parlour by the ladies of the household,
where they were warmly thanked by Mrs Melville, and each
by the lady he had " rescued." Fanny making- Baillie blush
by her bright heartiness, and her cousin, Lucy Crawford, set
Frank's heart "a-dunting" as she praised his courage and
kindness, while a tear trembled in her eye. Poor Frank was
struck dumb, Baillie stammered out, "It was nothing at all
— a pleasure — they were the indebted parties for the shelter,"
and, in a very short time, all felt like old friends.
The fishers seemed in no hurry to go to the preserved
water. There was a talk about the storm, and some damage
done by the lightning to an old tree, prized for the odd rea-
son that it bore the name of the "gallows tree" of Dun-
limpie ; and, as the day was fine, the tree was visited, and
Baillie's knowledge of botany incidentally revealed, which
led to a walk through the garden.
Mr Melville and Fanny had many questions to ask him
regarding various shrubs and flowers that had long puzzled
them. Baillie knew these well, and explained each minutely.
Frank, spying his old shelter, and not being interested in
botany, said to Miss Crawford,
" Charlie is on one of his hobby-horses, and off at the
gallop, he is an eminent botanist."
44 Pot Pourri.
"That will delight Uncle and Fanny; they have several
rare plants and varieties they cannot find out about."
" And will equally delight Charlie. It will be something
very unusual if he does not know the name, nature, and
' habitat' of every plant he sees, giving long names to common
weeds. I know him of old. Start him on botany with a good
listener (not my forte), and farewell fishing and everything
else. Would you object to show me our old shelter, the
summer-house ? " And without waiting for a reply, he
walked into it.
No one seemed to have been there since the storm, for on
the floor lay the joint fishing pocket-book of the two fishers.
Frank looked at it, Miss Crawford picked it up, hoping " they
did not miss it yesterday." Frank was tickled at not having
missed it either yesterday or that morning, and said, " We
were not fishing yesterday,"' adding internally, ** for various
ofood reasons."
" See how pleased Uncle and Fanny are," said Lucy,
brightly. " Your friend seems to have solved, or to be
solving, a question that has puzzled every one they have
consulted. Uncle will be delighted." And she told that
he was her mother's brother ; that her father had been an
Admiral in the Royal Navy ; that father and mother were
dead ; that Uncle and Aunt \vere both to her, and if possible
more ; and that Fann\- was so brio^ht and clever, that she
often felt ashamed of herself being so stupid.
" I don't like clever people," said Charlie ; " well, not
quite that, I am sometimes afraid of them, or rather ashamed
of myself before them, which I am sure you need never be.
Yet Frank Raeburn and I are the best of friends, and in his
Glentirlie. 45
absence I have no hesitation in calh'ng him a noble, upright,
clever fellow."
At the close of Charles Baillie's explanation about a rare
and curious plant, Miss Melville, looking about, said,
" Where is your friend ? "
" I saw Frank make for the summer-house, which did him
and me such a good turn the other day. He has not much
patience with the exact sciences, but is as shrewd a fellow on
many other matters as is in Edinburgh, as genuine as ever
breathed — good-heartedness embodied."
The bell for luncheon cut short conversation which had
incidentally led the young men to speak of one another, but
at table each justified the other's words. All found they had
many friends in common, and a distant Scotch cousinship was
partly unravelled between Mrs Melville and Frank Raeburn,
for the three botanists formed one group, and Mrs Melville,
Lucy, and Charlie another.
" There is another plant or two I should like your opinion
about," said Mr Melville, rising, "but I must not keep you
from fishinof."
" I should like to see the plant," said Baillie.
" I am not particular about fishing," added Raeburn.
" Perhaps the gentlemen would like to visit Kilcoungo,"
said Mrs Melville.
" Kilcoungo ? " said Baillie. " Is it a Culdee or a Catholic
foundation ? From the terminology ' oungo ' it seems Culdee,
for they had Mungos and Beugos and Bungos and Cad-
zows. By all means let us go there — is it far ? Can't we
all go ? "
" You seem to have got on yonr hobbyhorse now," said
46 Pot Pourri.
Miss Crawford. "It is little more than a mile distant, but
not in the direction of the best fishing "
" That's no matter. There is an old legend of an early-
saint coming to Scotland from Cong in Ireland, but his cell is
not known. Let us all go ; " and in a few minutes they were
walking up a pretty glen, with sides so steep that the gentle-
men had to assist the ladies in rugged places. On reaching a
broad, open space, Frank's practised eye picked out what
seemed the site of an old chapel or cell, and on examination
he found several interesting evidences of its antiquity, and of
tumuli around it. Baillie also found some rare ferns, mosses,
and ancient medicinal herbs. Mr Melville was delighted,
and proposed that next week the interior should be cleaned
out and examined, which was readily agreed to. The
*' preserved water " was again referred to, but the day was
so bright and the surroundings so tempting, that the party
rambled and climbed, enjoying distant views and fairy nooks.
Dinner-hour had arrived before they got back to Dunlimpie ;
the visitors were easily prevailed on to join the party, and
all went " merry as a marriage bell."
Our heroes reached Glentirlie in high glee, and Mattie
" was glad they had been ' sae weel put on,' for Dunlimpie
was a real gentleman, and the young ladies awfu' nice. It was
a gude thing they found out that young Goldie and Walker
were just gamblers. They stayed here a while, and it was
aye bet-bettin' an' wagerin', an' ither kinds o' bad conduct.
It gied the young leddies a sair heart at the time, but it
was a providential escape. They're owre't noo. Nae
leddies deserve better men, and nae men could get better
wives." The gentlemen quite agreed with her, and thought
Glentirlie. 47
a good deal about Dunlimpie and its denizens ever there-
after.
The ransacking of Kilcoungo took two days. Several
antiquarian treasures were found : old cists, pieces of primitive
pottery, stone or flint weapons, besides broken fonts and
other evidences of ancient saintship. Frank reserved his full
opinion until he had consulted some authorities, and compared
the relics with others in the Antiquarian Museum. Mr
Melville felt sure that the place had been an early church,
for the fathers always selected the cosiest place in the district.
Baillie suggested that they should meet Frank at tlie museum,
to which all agreed. Again the "preserved water" was un-
visited, for the garden of Dunlimpie kept Baillie and Miss
Melville fully occupied, while Frank and Miss Crawford pre-
ferred the summer-house, Mr Melville alternately botanizing
with the former and sitting beside the latter, anxious to con-
firm his idea that there was a real, ancient, ecclesiastical edifice
on his estate of Dunlimpie.
The visit to the Antiquarian Museum was duly paid.
Frank's thorough knowledge of its contents surprised Baillie,
and delighted the others. They formerly had thought the
place dry and musty, but now it teemed with interest. They
found ample evidence that Kilcoungo was a real Culdee's cell,
and some of the " finds " indicated its existence for over a
thousand years.
The young men were occasional, almost regular (some
people said frequent) visitors at Mr Melville's town house —
Frank being a special favourite of Mrs Melville's, because he
was always ready to be a fourth at whist, allowing Mr
Melville and Baillie to discuss trees, and plants, and flowers.
48 Pot Pourri.
The young folks often met accidentally (?) in the Royal
Academy's Exhibition, and, for a time, Frank and Miss
Melville studied, at least talked about the pictures, while
Charles and Lucy walked quietly round, but said little.
Fanny told Lucy that Mr Raeburn rattled on so fast she
was confused, Lucy that Mr Baillie was so quiet she felt
awkward. Next time they met in the Academy the ladies
changed partners, to the great delight of all, for Baillie was
carried away by Miss Melville's pat catching of the artistic
hits, while Lucy was charmed with Raeburn's happy knack
of making the bits glow and tell. That night Fanny told
Lucy that she did like Mr Baillie, and Lucy, kissing her
fondly, said, " So do I Mr Raeburn." If the young men had
overheard them it would have saved them many an anxious
thought.
Charles Baillie sedately reasoned the matter out — whether
to ask Miss Melville or her father first ; he thought the
former best, but prepared himself for either. They met,
accidentally really, in a railway carriage — the distance was
short — between Waverley and Haymarket Stations, Edin-
burgh. As the train started a lightning flash, followed by a
terrific peal, made Miss Melville start and involuntarily cling
to Baillie ; when they came out at Haymarket Station he had
her sanction to " ask papa ; " and, at rather a late hour that
evening he burst into Frank Raeburn's apartments, and with-
out preface, said, " Frank, 1 am engaged to Fanny Melville."
Frank all but hugged him : " Bravo ! Bless you ! Bless her !
Bless you both ! ! You are a lucky fellow — again, bless you
both ! ! " Then looking ruefully (a new aspect for him), he
said, " Frank, I have Lucy Crawford on the brain — she's —
Glentirlie. 49
she's — she's — tuts, I'm raving — I don't think I could make
her happy — I do not deserve her."
" Neither do / Fanny," said Bailhe ; *' but she thinks other-
wise. Why don't you try Lucy ? "
" I have schemed, and thought, and wondered, and re-
solved, and wished, but the more I do the more I shrink ;
she's such a — tuts ! — and I am such a — a — a — "
" Excuse slang, Frank — ' a duffer.' You could make
Miss Crawford happier than any man on earth, and she
would make you "
"Stop, Charlie ; don't tantalise me."
" I will not stop, Frank ; you used to be the rattle, and I
the slow coach. Come along with me to-morrow night, and
congratulate Miss Melville (if you can). You may get a
quiet chat with Miss Crawford."
The " chat" proved quiet enough ; for, very shortly after
he had congratulated Miss Melville, she and Charlie with-
drew, not before Fanny had said, " Mr Raeburn, I feel so
happy that I wish Lucy was in a similar position," and Charlie
had said, " Ditto, for my doubting friend Raeburn."
It would be unpardonable to intrude too much on the
perplexed couple. Frank spoke about Kilcoungo and Dun-
limpie, and the summer-house — Miss Crawford added in joke,
"and the preserved fishings."
Frank laughed almost sadly, and abrupdy said, " Miss
Crawford " — then he paused, blushed, and jerked out — '' What
a lucky fellow Baillie is, he has fished to purpose. I wish I
could hope for equal luck. Dare I — excuse me, Miss
Crawford, but dare I — ask you to make me as happy — as
Charlie is "
D
50 Pot Pourri.
Lucy hung her head, was silent for a while, then whispered,
" Yes, Frank dear, if aunt and uncle consent."
Baillie was in ecstacies for some time, then the serious
matter of asking aunt and uncle's consent appalled him.
Fanny relieved him of the trying ordeal, and, at the supper
table, Frank sat beside Lucy Crawford as his affianced bride.
Lucy Melville, although only a day in advance, felt quite at
home with Charlie. Mrs Melville made stringent conditions
that she was to have a visit from both after their marriage,
at least once a week, and Mr Melville felt much alone, yet
very highly pleased.
We need not linger over what remains of our stor}-.
Marriage presents flowed in, until Mrs Melville's drawing-room
was like an exhibition. One, however, must have honourable
mention. About a fortnight before the marriage, Captain
Webber and Lieutenant O'Hara were announced as wishing
to see Miss Crawford, and, following the servant who an-
nounced them, right into the dining-room, they bowed all
round, then, addressing Miss Crawford, presented her, in the
name of those who had served under her father, the dear, old
Admiral, with a gold anchor, glittering in diamonds and
emeralds, and with a superabundance of gold chain.
Captain Webber, a thorough English tar, hoped "that her
joys would be as deep as the ocean, and her sorrows as light
as its spray."
Lieutenant O'Hara, a genuine Irishman, wished "that
their path would be strewn with roses as they walked, hand in
hand, over the stormy ocean of life." The tars joined the supper
table, and spun yarns about the good old Admiral till a late or
early hour.
Glentirlie. 51
Not infrequently Frank and Charlie met in " houses to
let," once or twice in those to "sell;" but why prolong our
tale further than to tell that they had grand times of it at
Dunlimpie during the season. The summer-house was a
favourite resort, but only two were in it at one time. The
" preserved water " was visited, strolled about, but not fished.
Mattie of Glentirlie was promoted to be housekeeper, almost
companion, to Mrs Melville, after the )'oung couples had
started on the honeymoon ; and often, when they visited either
town or country house, she reminded the gentlemen of the
scarecrows in the potato field at Glentirlie.
A Ballade of Tobacco Smoke
WHAT fretting loads we mortals bear
Through life, whose fading rainbows mock,
And Time who drives a splendid pair
Of steeds he never will unyoke,
Sweeps his lean fingers through our hair,
He scarcely leaves a decent lock,
Yet chide him not, if still he spare
The dreams seen through tobacco smoke.
We each must have our little care
To add by contrast to our joke,
A laugh that spreads in vain its snare
To catch the lips of solemn folk.
Well, let us walk through all the fair.
And watch the crowds that swa)' and shock ;
They follow what we see elsewhere —
The dreams sec7i through tobacco smoke.
Dreamers of dreams in ships of air,
Whose keels have never enter'd dock,
I wish you may have sounder ware
Than did Alnaschar when he woke !
Statesmen, when strife is high, forswear
For half-an-hour the wordy stroke,
1 fain would hint of better fare —
The dreams seen throns'h tobacco smoke !
A Ballade of Tobacco Smoke.
53
Prince, when you weary of the chair
From which you govern reahns and folk,
Your faithful bard would have you share
The dreams seen through tobacco smoke !
(2. Ui^Ju^Hj^
A Sunny Morning in my Garden
HAT dependent creatures we are after
all ! Nature has us in thrall, and in
her chano-inof moods can make of us
what she will !
How briofht the world and all its
uses seems on a morning- such as this,
when it is a perfect gladness to be alive !
The sun has been up for hours, and his pro-
gress is most royal. He brooks no barrier in his
way, there is not even the fleeciest film of summer
cloud to dim his splendour. Matchless and radiant is the
sky, and blue, blue the summer sea. The little waves break
yonder on the pebbl)' shore, with scarcely a murmur or a sigh.
But I am at my south window to-day, and am looking out
upon my garden, to me a pleasant place, although beginning
now to wear the pensive grace of autumn.
You who revel in ancestral parks and walk proudl)- among
your gay parterres, would smile in mild derision at my little
garden, but I question if your lordly pleasaunce is a source of
as real delight to you as this tiny provincial strip is to me. It
is veritably a strip, with a straight and solemn path dividing it.
You can take it all in at one glance, and count the blossoms
without difficulty, but though it is small and narrow, and
altogether beneath your contempt, it is full of friendliness and
A Sunny Morning in my Garden. 55
honesty and good purposes for me. Of course it is not my
ideal ; from the recesses of tenderest memory I will draw you
a picture which represents the garden of my childhood. It
was very long and wide, with a low mossy wall running all round
it, and a little green wicket gate so little used that it creaked
always on its hinges. It was intersected all through by
shady, grassy walks under the shade of gnarled and laden
apple trees ; it had great untidy fantastic flower beds, shut in
by borders of boxwood grown nearly as high as a hedge. Do
^^" " T
you know what grew in these beds ? Perhaps you know some
cottage garden which will furnish the almost forgotten names
— mint and rosemary and thyme, bachelor's buttons and
southernwood and nancy-pretty, Canterbury bells, lupins and
tiger lilies ; nothing fine or rare or conspicuously lovely, yet
we loved them all.
I have not seen that old garden, though it is not very
remote, these many years ; memory is sweeter than the vision
of a change which may be. Strange feet now step across
56 Pot Pourri.
the threshold of the old house, and strange hands perhaps
have made the green wicket swing silently to and fro.
Many were wont to laugh at our old garden, and to say
banteringly it grew splendid weeds, but though it had not the
vestige of respectability about it, the hearts of children, now
scattered far and wide, have memories of it wholly sacred.
Memory is alwa)'s with us, and silentl}', day by day, we add
to her storehouse. Although she has some bitter roots among
her bundle of herbs, what would life be without her sweet
companionship ? How awful if our happy days departed
from us at sunset wholly and utterl)-, as if they had never
been ; how barren and arid then would be the desert of exist-
ence ! Memory, then, we constantly bless and cherish, grow-
ing more anxious as we step on and upward that we should
sow what will give us a harvest such as shall not make us
ashamed.
The heart clings persistently to earliest memory ; how im-
portant then that those who have children to care for should
make these early days conspicuously bright.
Oh ! there is enough awaiting these young hearts, enough
spirit-anguish and heart-weariness to satisfy the grimmest
mentor. Let them at least have sunshine trildino- that child-
hood which is never forgotten.
Am I moralising too seriously in my garden this sunny
morning ? Well, well ; there is nothing incongruous between
the brightness of this sweet day, and my plea for the child-
ren's happy environment. So we come back quite naturally
to where we began, that nature is a great deal to us, and has
something comforting and strengthening for us in our most
wayward moods.
I
A Sunny Morning in my Garden. 57
She is very gentle with us too ; her touch when sorrows
fall thick and fast upon us is divinest healing. She has her
merry moods likewise, but she reveals herself only to those
who love her, and seek to commune with her. And that
communion is not exclusive or difficult of access, but is open
always to the seeking eye and ear, the sympathetic mind, and
the simple, earnest heart. This sympathy with nature brings
to the human heart courage and forbearance and loving-
kindness with an understanding of simple goodness which
makes life a perpetual joy.
"La Tombe dit a la Rose"
From Victor Hugo.
s^HE Tomb said to the Rose,
" Those tears the mornings weep
Into thy petals deep,
What does love's flower with those ? "
^ The Rose said to the Tomb,
" And thou, what dost thou — say !-
With that 'vhich day by day
Drops in Thy gulf of gloom ? "
The Rose said, " I do this: —
Out of those tears I make
A soul of perfume wake —
Honey and ambergris."
'' Poor flower," the Tomb said, " I
Out of each life that slips
Mute through my earthen lips,
Make a winged soul on high."
* AT^ /^ /(L^uz^.
The Truth about I>ambs
IN this matter-of-fact nineteenth century it behoves us to
guard zealously the little of the poetic which has not
been driven away by the demon steam.
My regard for poetry and poets is only exceeded by my
love of, and sympathy for, the humid and rheumatic Goddess
of Truth, who has been forced to take up her abode in a well ;
and it is in order to prevent any further waste of sympathy or
love on an unworthy object, that I intend telling the truth
about lambs.
However unworthy the object on which we place our
affection may be, we do not thank those who remove the
scales from our eyes ; we do not like to see our idol broken,
and discover that it is made of clay. I hope, however, that
the reader will defer his judgment on me till he has read my
experience, when I shall have more hope of being excused, or
having my offence palliated.
I can scarcely control myself to speak calmly on the sub-
ject, when I think of, or try to imagine, the amount of sym-
pathy and love which has " from time immemorial " been
wasted on these unworthy objects ; and it is the poets who
are principally to blame for rousing our sympathy and
affection.
6o Pot Pourri.
Poets have chosen lambs as the emblems of innocence and
peace, and they never were further from the truth.
It grieves me to disturb the proverbs of centuries, to strip
the lamb of its false covering, and show up the ignorance of
poets.
What do poets know of nature ? Thomson wrote of the
beauties of a sunrise, when it is well known he usually
had breakfast in bed. They have written of " The
ploughboy's whistle and the milkmaid's song " as some-
thing enchanting, which only shows their utter disregard
for truth, or their entire want of an ear for music. I have
heard both, and they are extremely vulgar, and I hope to
be spared the infliction again. Let a poet sit through a
Harvest Home, and he will change his mind, but " revenons
a nos moutons."
Last spring I spent a good deal of time in the company of
lambs, and my opinion, formed on close observation, is that
they are the most selfish, idiotic, discontented, and combative
animals on the face of the earth, leaving the following to
support my assertion.
When a lamb is about a week old it discovers that its
mother is a lunatic, with one idea, and that is its lamb, and
instead of returning its mother's love, it abuses it. Another
lamb, which we will call B, comes to play with lamb A, when
^'s mother, fearing her offspring will be contaminated by such
company, knocks over B with a box in the ribs. A naturally
thinks it belongs to a superior set, and condescendingly visits
lamb B, only to discover that i^"s mother holds similar
opinions about its lamb, this reflection being made by A
when it is knocked on its back.
The Truth about Lambs.
6i
A gets up and runs bleating to its mother, and gets a
drink, and as the milk gets scarce it digs its mother with its
little horns ; the mother, thinking it is time to stop, lies down
for a rest, when the lamb climbs on her back, planting its sharp
little hoofs between its mother's ribs, till the mother has to
rise, when the lamb goes for another drink.
A lamb pays no attention to its mother unless it wants a
drink, which it usually does every few minutes.
As soon as a lamb can walk straight on its clumsy legs it
looks about for a smaller lamb to box, when the smaller lamb
62 Pot Pourri.
is not looking. This is the nearest approach to humour in a
lamb's composition,
A lamb's legs look as if they had been made for its big
brother, and it is as proud of them as a boy is of his first
trousers. It tries to gambol, the result being, like a stool
under the influence of spirit rapping, it throws its hind legs
a few inches up into the heavens, and fancies it is fit for a
circus.
I was beside some sheep in a shed where they had more
good turnips and hay than they could eat, and leaving the
gate open, they rushed out and ate ravenously at rotten
turnips which had been thrown aside as useless. This is the
only human trait I have observed in sheep.
After I had been about a week painting a picture of sheep
and lambs, I laid down my pallette on the camp stool, and
walked out of the shed to have a smoke, and a talk with a
young girl who attended to the cows, and was just in the
middle of an interesting conversation when she said,
" I think the sheep have knocked over your picture."
I thought she was only saying it to frighten me, but when
1 did go back I found my easel and canvas flat on the ground,
and a lamb on the top of the picture, smelling if it was painted
in oil or water colour. I drove them back, making some
remarks which I do not remember now, and started to scrape
the canvas, when the head of the lamb's mother came into
violent collision with me, and I don't believe any artist ever
before got through a picture of the size in such a short time,
and it was completely finished. At the same time one cannot
fail to see the want of anything like justice in that sheep
The Truth about Lambs.
63
butting me for trying to prevent the lamb from injurinq- my
property.
I hope I have justified my assertion, and if the reader can
now enjoy his roast lamb and mint sauce without compunction,
I have not lived in vain.
The Beautiful
I.
HE mystery of Loveliness, that lies,
Like light from some diviner heaven than ours.
On visible Nature : mountains, streams and
flowers,
On man's proud front, in depths of woman's eyes ;
The mystery of Loveliness, that is
The Law of Nature's being : moulding all —
The measureless great, the infinitely small —
To its own perfect beauty. What is this
But the translation of God's inmost thought ?
And that is Love ; Nature the mighty scroll
Whereon 'tis writ. Thou readest it, my soul !
Each sacred syllable, yet graspest not,
Save in dim gleams, the message written there.
Though questioning evermore in Work and Prayer.
n.
Yet, O my soul ! thank God that He hath sent.
In loving answer to thy life-long cry,
These shadowings of the holier Mystery
Behind the veil — for rapturous moments rent
As by a still, small voice from highest heaven.
The Beautiful. 65
If thou with feeble hand and care-clogged brain
Through life's grey clouds hast groped — alas ! in vain —
To catch their import, thou at least hast striven ;
And, striving, won the guerdon ne'er denied
To those who battle bravely — though they fail.
For such one day the Angel calm and pale
With tender hand will draw the veil aside,
And they shall stand within the Holy Place,
And read the Secret in The Master's face.
The Gypsy Wooer
THE young lords rade frae east and west,
Sae blithe were they and bonny,
And all to court our lady gay,
For she was best of ony.
The young lords rade to east and west,
Wi' heavy dule and grieving,
Their hearts were wae, for she said them nay,
And bade them cease their deaving.
She looked frae her bower window,
The sun it shone sae brightly,
An' over field and over fell
A gypsy steppit lightly.
The gypsy man cam doun the brae.
An' clear his pipes were singing
An outland sang as wild and fey
As Elfin bridles ringing.
O whiles the sang went wud wi' joy.
And whiles it sorrowed sairly ;
The saut tear stood in our lady's ee,
It rang sae sweet and rarely.
The Gypsy Wooer. 67
" An' are ye come at last ? " she said,
" An' do I see and hear ye ?
If this be no my ain true love
Then nane shall be my dearie.
" An' where hae ye been sae lang ? " quo she,
" An' why cam ye ne'er before, O !
If ye be no my ain true love,
My heart will break for sorrow."
O never a word the gypsy said,
And naething- did he linger,
But his een laughed bright as he turned his head.
And beckoned wi' his finpfer.
She's casten off her silken snood,
And taen her mantle to her,
An' she's awa to Silverwood,
To follow the gypsy wooer.
/Cf^^^
An Old World Matter
IN the old world of Edinburgh, when the High Street,
the Canongate, and the Cowgate. with their adjacent
closes, constituted the royal burgh, it was not often that
anything occurred to disturb the still and tranquil life
of the peace-loving citizens. No visit of royalty had
taken place since the time of Charles I. True, the Royal
Commissioners walked (literally then) on the opening of the
General Assembly ; but at the time of which I write, the
" walking " or procession of Parliament had long since been
discontinued, and Edinburgh, the metropolis of Scotland,
could boast of little excitement or bustle beyond that of any
provincial city in the kingdom. For all that, many of the old
nobility still remained domiciled in the quaint turreted flats
that frowned in the moonlight from either side of the High
Street, and in the gatherings of the select, the " assemblies,"
and the weekly " concerts " of the " Musical Society," much
blue blood as well as youth, beauty, and intellect gathered
together to enliven w^hat must have been, upon the whole, a
dull existence. The Pretender, with his ill-equipped followers,
passed through the town in 1745. The romance attached to
that fatal expedition has already been amply written. What
the following brief narrative has to record is but a small
matter concerning the history of two people of no more impor-
tance than an actress and an actor, who, so far as Edinburgh
An Old World Matter. 69
counted, could certainly boast, after the manner of Caesar,
that they came, were seen, and conquered.
It was in the year 1762 that the Courant newspaper
announced that " a oj-entlewoman will appear for the first time
on the stage of this kingdom in four plays. Particular tickets
(at the usual prices) will be printed, as no money will be
received at the door." Such was the first announcement of
the beautiful and fascinating Mrs Bellamy who, in London,
had secured for herself at once a fame and a notoriety that
have seldom been equalled, even in the annals of the stage.
Fresh from the whirl of London excitement the previous
year, she had visited Dublin, and there she met West Digges,
an actor who, in addition to great personal recommendations,
was possessed of genuine histrionic ability. She had been
warned against Digges' persuasive tongue and insinuating
manners ; but, possibly for that very reason, all the sooner suc-
cumbed to the blandishments of a oentleman who had almost
no equal in the power of persuading. While in Dublin they
lived together happily enough ; but for some strange reason
Mrs Bellamy had a strong dislike to Scotland, and swore
(ladies did swear in those days) she would never act in that
country. This she did, no doubt, knowing that Digges was co-
lessee in the Edinburgh Theatre. He, however, was manager
first and lover second, and so contrived to get her trans-
ported to Edinburgh without her knowing where she was
being taken to. Entering the town she enquired where she
was ? to which the ready response came — " the Grassmarket,"
and in the simpleness of her soul she thought such was the
name of a town. She was driven to a lodging in the Canon-
gate, and while combing her hair a sound ofmusic saluted her
yo Pot Pourri.
ears. " What is that sound ? " she cried. " The theatre," re-
plied her maid. At once seeing she had been trapped, she
seized a pair of scissors and cut all her hair off quite close
to her head, in order that she might be unable to appear.
Such was the impulsive character of the lady, so it is not sur-
prising that Digges soon persuaded her (no doubt after a
stormy interview) to appear in the plays for which she had
already been advertised. A wig supplied the place of the
demolished hair, and a greater or more fashionable event in the
local theatrical world had never been witnessed than her first
appearance. The highest of the land filled the pit, while the
boxes were packed with the first ladies in society, and it is
said the servants in attendance were so many that they could
not find room in the gallery — a portion of the house then
exclusively reserved for such gentry.
During her stay in Edinburgh Mrs Bellamy was /^/^c/ far
beyond any actress who had preceded her. Everything
that she could possibly want was hers if she only expressed a
wish to have it ; yet her old character of improvidence never
forsook her, and when she was on the eve of leaving Edin-
burgh for Glasgow, where a theatre had been specially built
for her to appear in, she found she had no money, and sent
her maid to pawn a beautiful gold repeater which Digges
had presented to her. The maid, luckless woman, took it
to the identical watchmaker from whom it had been pur-
chased not many days previously, but not paid for, and was
immediately taken into custody. Mrs Bellamy remained
sitting in her carriage for over an hour for the return of her
messenger, until guessing what had happened, she drove to
one of the Lords of Session, her friend, who not only gave
her sufficient money, but got the girl instantly released, and
An Old World Matter.
71
so enabled this charming actress, but frail woman, to proceed
to Glasgow, where alas she found that the theatre which had
been specially built for her to appear in, had been burnt to
the ground the previous evening, by some over-zealous
bigots of the Methodist persuasion, in obedience to the desires
of their preacher, who had announced to them that he liad
seen a vision commanding them to commit arson.
The course of true love between Digges and Bellamy did
not long run smooth. The following season they took a house
in Bonnington (still standing), then an oudying village,
■K-f '
--r''-"-^.-^
which had to be reached by way of the Horse Wynd, Low
Calton, and Leith Walk, then a dismal country road or track.
The only mode of conveyance was in chairs, very unsafe in-
deed, considering the roads were of the roughest, the " bearers "
seldom of the soberest, and the chance of meeting footpads
not by any means remote. At Bonnington the twain lived in
great luxury, but family feuds were not uncommon. One
night the argument ran so high that Digges stripped off the
most of his clothes and ran from the house with the intention
of drowning himself in a pond near to the house. Mrs
Bellamy surveyed the proceeding with the utmost coolness,
and when he made his exit, calmly locked the door. The
72
Pot Pourri.
result may be o^uessed, for the cold east wind and snow soon
made the gentleman change his mind and repent his haste ;
but when he returned and found the door barred against him,
it was only by going down on his naked knees on the snow,
and swearing all sorts of repentance, that he gained admittance
at last to the cheerful glow of the fire, perhaps more essential
under the circumstances than even the smiles and caresses of
the authoress of his affliction, which, by the way, he certainly
never deserved and never after secured. Sic transit gloria
imindi.
MR DIGGES IN THE CHARACTER OF SIR JOHN BRUTE.
" OONS, GEl- YOU GONE UP STAIRS."
Men and Books
" The proper study of mankind is man."— POPK.
TH E gods make living- poems ; what we write
Is photograph, unreal shadowy stuff;
Their words have wings of power and thews of might,
Ours float like mist, and vanish with a puff.
There are who love to pore o'er musty books.
Scholars, who heap up stores of printed breath.
And spell with painful care and peeping looks
The quaint memorial blazonry of death.
But let me read God's best of living books.
The rosy child, with eyes of trustful blue,
The lightfoot youth, the girl with radiant looks,
Or, like thee, Gordon, the brave captain, who
Leaps into danger, and sublimely rash,
Turns panic into victory with a flash !
The Prayer of the Pompeian Mothei
OH ! spare my child, ye Gods who dwell on high !
Ye gave him unto me ; — my only joy,
Oh ! rain not ashes on my darling boy.
Hear me, great Zeus, hear a mother's cry,
For his dead father's sake let him not die ;
Hear from his boyish lips the piteous cries !
Shield us from trembling ground, from falling skies.
Cease but a moment, that we both may fly
This choking sand, these reeling rocks and trees :
Return once more thy sweet and balmy breeze,
So that our parched tongues again may raise
Before thy altar, songs of love and praise :
Send us again the cheering light of heaven.
And to thy service shall his life be given.
C\) * 60 ' o)W^>-Ma/vc-vu
THE POMPEIAN MOTHER
SHIELDING HER CHILD FROM THE SHOWER OF ASHES.
A.D. 79.
l-ROM THE GROUP BY
D. W. STEVENSON, R.S.A.
An Easterly Har
WE who have been dwellers in the East, — not the pic-
turesque East of palm trees, camels and caravans,
but the bleak East of our own little kingdom, — know what an
easterly harr means, and we have been told on good authority
where the visitor comes from. Erom the low lands of Hol-
land the visitor travels to our coast, we are assured ; and we
can believe it. We are not so well informed with regard
to the origin of our enemy's name, though it is a singularly
expressive and suitable name ; for while the thing itself is
dim and misty, soft and fleecy, with a certain impalpability
in its fleeciness, it has a rough edge ; it grates in the throat
and the chest ; it cuts and pricks with a saw-like jaggedness
wliich answers exactly to its strange title, to the two " r's " that
end the word, which we pronounce with an emphatic zest,
as a Northumbrian rattles his bur, "har-r."
The season of the year when the harr was most apt to
descend upon us was " the sweet spring time ; " a time not
quite so sweet in the north and the east as in the south and
the west, yet glad exceedingly in the lengthening daylight,
the budding trees and hedges, the sprouting grass, the first
lamb, the first daisy — a time all the brighter to the young
and hale because it was keenly bracing in its brightness.
Even so late as the month of May, during the General
Assembly of the representatives of its national Churches,
An Easterly Harr. 79
when its streets, old and new, swarm with black coats, the
grey metropolis of the north is not unacquainted with easterly
harrs. But the Dutch invader recurs to our memory
chiefly as it was wont to assail " country sides," when the
young wheat showed a fresh, green braird in fields near
the sea, above which the lark sang long before the bells
of the golden cowslips nodded in the chill breeze over the
pasture, or the primroses did more than lift up their meek,
pale faces in the garden-borders.
The infliction had a habit of presenting itself at any hour.
It started with the sun, and rendered his beams watery and
wan. After a bright morning, it fell upon us at high noon
like a wet blanket, and shrouded the landscape for the
rest of the day. It rose with a ghostly wraith-like appear-
ance, and obscured the full moon. It was always densest
nearest the sea, but it did not disdain to stretch a consider-
able distance inland, creeping on with a stealthy motion, or
suddenly descending after the fashion of the drop-scene of a
theatre. It hid man and beast ; especially beast, — for a dog
rashly running ahead disappeared in it, as if a cloud had
come between the creature and his owner. Birds of the air
were not only invisible, they became mute as fishes in the sea,
under the influence of an easterly harr ; indeed, it was a
singularly muffling, dulling process in nature resembling, so
far, the hush of a snow-storm.
The harr clung in a close, white drapery to trees; it
swallowed up houses ; it obliterated hills. Standing on the
shore, the presence of a boat was only known by the splash
of the oars. Plodding along the Queen's highway, or
stumbling over the deep ruts in a bye-road, the approach of a
8o
Pot Pourri.
cart, or of one of the gigs of the day, or of a man or boy on
horse-back, was not to be detected save by the rattle of the
wheels, and the beat of the horses' feet. Such moving
figures, looming gigantic in the magnifying medium, came in
sight, and vanished with the astonishing celerity of a
dissolving view. The commonest objects borrowed a weird
aspect from an easterly harr.
Dutch courage was wanted to face the " Hollander," for
it froze the marrow in your bones, caused your breath to
labour, hung your garments with drops of moisture, as of the
heaviest night-dews. But it met you straight in the face, and
was even puritanically fair and clean. Who, that has ever
encountered the murky abominations of a London fog, w^ith
the solid vileness of its pea-soup atmosphere, and its effect
as of jaundice on every face exposed to it, would not choose
An Easterly Harr. 8i
a thousand times, in preference, the sharpest bite of an
easterly harr.
Then, as a rule, the reign of the foe did not last long —
it went as unexpectedly as it came. It was gone before
you knew where you were or it was. The winding-sheet,
wrapping all creation in its folds, was transformed in the
twinkling of an eye to a nun's veil, modest and demure. In
another moment it too was changed. The sun's rays flashed
forth and lit it up with silver radiance. It was no longer a
sober vestal's veil, it was the veil of a blushing bride, ready to
be flung back that she might receive the kiss of her eager
bridegroom. For it is true that —
" Old earth is fair, and fruitful and young,
And her bridal-day will come ere long."
^o^uUv T^CU^
The Poppy Blows
TH E careful farmer ploughs and hoes ;
The weeds he slays with ceaseless pains,
And every idle flower that grows.
Broadcast he sows his chosen grains ;
His harvests whiten o'er the plains,
S^i/l in his wheat the poppy bloivs.
Forth to the world the prophet goes ;
Of wrath and sin and grief he plains,
To careless hearts denouncing woes :
He damns the worldling and his shows.
A rich reward for him remains ;
Yet in his wheat the poppy blows.
The Poppy Blows.
83
So He the human heart that sows,
Untiring-, with His golden grains,
Truth, Virtue, Love, with ceaseless pains,
So vainly, often, — well He knows! —
How patient that Great Heart remains,
Though in His wheat the poppy blows !
"The Castled Rhine"
" Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the Castled Rhine."
— Longfellow.
WE are on the Rhine — the beautiful Rhine at last ! All
the freshness of early summer is on the vine-clad
hills and waving forests. The cuckoo still rings his queer
note out from some ravine or leafy glade. If the Rhine
country can ever look less than lovely, it is surely not in
June! And we two islanders, who, free from desk and
drudgery, stand to-day under an awning on board the good
DampfscJiiff " Schiller," as it speeds up the shining river,
are naturally in the very best of humours for appreciating it
all, since this is the crowning holiday we have been looking
forward to for years. What does it matter to us that everybody
else seems to have "done" the Rhine? — that Brown, Jones,
and Robinson, with their respective spouses and families,
declare it to be hackneyed and over- rated ? " A nice enough
run, )ou know ! Pleasant scenery, and no end of old castles ;
all that sort of thing, certainly, but not a bit fresher than the
Clyde ! " Well, perhaps it isn't, but it may be worth seeing
for all that, surely ; so let them say any disagreeable things
that occur to them, by all means ! IVe have no^ seen the
Rhine !
''The Castled Rhine." 85
I have called it a holiday, but it is a holiday with certain
limitations. For what means that pile of books my comrade
lugs along with him at every turn, as if his personal safety
depends on the same ? They mean for me a considerable
amount of work, — steady, absorbing, persevering work ! For
my friend takes out his sketch-book, calmly remarking that
it will take all his valuable time to catch an outline here and
there, and so it will be as well if I take Baedekker in hand,
and also look up the maps as we go along, if I don't mind !
Of course I have to say that "I don't mind," and I bend
cheerfully to my task. But there is not only Baedekker, but
a large selection of minor guide-books that have to be
compared therewith, and a set of huge, unfolding maps that
persist in fluttering wildly in the breeze, whenever you look
them up, in the most exasperating manner. Before the first
hour is over, what a flood of ancient history I have had to
wade through ! From the days of Julius Caesar downwards,
there is not a moment of repose for the earnest and enquir-
ing tourist. He must face the iron legions and the conquer-
ing eagles, crusading armies and marauding bands. No
wonder if he turn sometimes with a sigh of relief to the bit
of love-story, legend, or fairy-lore, Baedekker inserts as a sort
of padding here and there. The student sadly needs some
such refreshment. He finds something life-like and interest-
ing in the two brother-knights who so provokingly fall in
love with the very same lady ! She is a lady, however,
whose beauty and fascinations are sufficient to account
for any number of knights falling in love with her at the
same time.
How vivid, too, is the picture of the rash female who per-
86 Pot Pourrl.
sists in rushing- off to a convent — of the very strictest kind,
of course, from which she can never again emerge — on hear-
ing some maHcious on dit from Syria of her absent lover's
faithlessness or death. No warrior is so safe to turn up
again as that warrior. Don't we feel the most comfortable
assurance that before we turn the page again Roland will be
standing before us on the very ledge of the rock where his
father's castle still stands ? And don't we know for certain
that, however much appearances may have been against him,
the languishing looks of Syrian belles have had no power over
him, his heart having been with his adored Hildegunde all
the time ? Here, however, hope and comfort end. We
know only too well that it is "all up" with Hildegunde.
The lady abbess will never let her out of her clutches in
this world. All that remains for her Roland is to stand
starinof down from that beetlino- cliff overhanorino- the convent
— where, however, he has the prudence to build a neat stone
edifice to shelter him in cold weather — until one mournful
day the tolling of the convent bell shall announce to him
that his beloved Hildecrunde is no more. How he knows
that it is Hildegunde, and not one of the ordinary sisters,
is a question that occurs to me as I read, but to which
Baedekker gives no response. Perhaps he doesn't know
himself!
It is in this species of study that much of my time
has been spent this morning, and pleasant as it sounds,
I don't know that I have worked harder among books,
histor)', and dates in particular since my school-days. Rut
to proceed.
It is said that there were originally sixty-six castles on
" THE CASTLED RHINE.
"The Castled Rhine." 89
the Rhine, and of the residue we have already passed a
goodly number, still perched jauntily enough upon their airy
crags for all that time and warfare have done to destroy
them. And we have gazed on the " Seven Mountains," a
grand unfolding panorama, a blending of the lovely and the
sublime, with the haunted " Drachenfels" as its crowning
glory. Also we have seen Bonn — the old university town
and the pleasant modern residence, and dozens of little
villages dotting the green shores with mountains, rising so
abruptly at their backs that one wonders they don't get
toppled over into the water by these protecting giants.
Each of these minor Dorfejt sends out its wooden jetty, or
its tiny shallop with a flag flying from the stern, to meet the
passing steamers. Ours is one of the slow boats, and we
stop at every such call ; others go right on, only stopping
when Coblentz is reached, then again at Bingen and May-
ence, or such important places.
But here is Coblentz, where we shall stay over night.
The blue Moselle joins the Rhine's brown waters here.
Truth to tell, the latter liquid is not merely brown, but
decidedly " drumly." Yonder is the giant rock of Ehren-
breitstein, with its well-kept fortress — a second Gibraltar —
and also recalline Edinburgh Castle to the faithful denizen of
"Auld Reekie." It is quite a fashionable, busy tourist re-
sort now-a-days, this Coblentz — full of big hotels and noisy
with touters. But there is the queer old church of St
Castor, and a fine fountain, and the new parade along the
river bank, to take up one's attention while we linger here.
Besides, a good deal of pleasant boating may be done on the
Moselle as well as on the Rhine itself.
90 Pot Pourri.
Another bright summer morning has just dawned upon us,
and here we are breakfasting on the deck of the " Bismarck " —
it seems that all the steamers are called after eminent Germans
— puffing from Coblentz, and rapidly getting to a much more
picturesque bit of the river than any we have yet seen. There
are sterner hills and more rugged rocks, one of which, with a
foaming whirlpool at its feet, is the far-famed Lorlei-berg
itself. Alas ! the fatal syren who sang there so sweetly to
infatuated boatmen has now departed for ever. And no
wonder! The East Rhenish Prussia railway has bored a
tunnel right through the base of her royal seat, and the shrill
shriek of its engines must have proved too much for such a
musical ear as hers !
Then yonder are the " Seven Sisters " just popping up their
dark heads above water — seven huge blocks of stone, said to
be the mortal remains of as many fair maidens who, having
offended the river god by refusing various eligible young men
— favourites of his, it is to be presumed — were thereupon
turned into stone — a severe comment on the petrified condi-
tion of their hearts previously ! Stalwart damsels indeed they
appear to have been, and the gap thus created in the family
circle must have been no slight one.
But turning from these long past troubles we find ourselves
looking v.'ith fresh interest on the Pfalz Castle, rearing its
white walls from a low rock in mid-stream, then the many
towers of Obcr-Wezel and the " Golden City " of Bacharach,
so called from a supposed resemblance to Jerusalem. There
stands the beautiful ruin of St Werner's Church, named after
a boy martyr whose body was miraculously floated up the
river to this spot.
" The Castled Rhine." 91
Another little round fortress rises now from a rocky bed
in the river. It is the celebrated " Mause Thurm," or Mouse-
tower, where a certain unamiable old bishop was devoured by
mice after having" refused corn to his starving" people, and
retired to this wave-guarded castle to enjoy himself in peace.
" Amen," says the devout tourist, " so perish all such grasping
souls!" And here is Bingen — that "calm Bingen on the Rhine,"
beloved of all amateur readers and reciters, rather a busy
little place it seems to us ; and before long we are in Mayence
or Maintz, where our pilgrimage up the river must end. We
have been passing through wonderful ranges of vine-fields
lately, clothing the hills on each side with their trim green
rows and terraces, the Rheingau and Johannisberg being the
largest and most famous. And here at Mayence we find
a sort of emporium ready to receive the fine vintage of
all these, and to disperse it through the world, for it is said
there are more than six hundred wine merchants in that tiny
city alone ! We have just time to run through Mayence
and glance at its great cathedral, rich with golden shrines
and massive sculptures, before returning to our quiet little
retreat down the river, w^hich we had fallen in love w^th
simultaneously, and at once selected for our resting place, — St
Goar.
Does anyone want to know of a sweet, quiet village on
the Rhine, where he may fare well and cheaply, and enjoy
the loveliest scenery, and be w^ithin ten minutes' walk of the
very finest and largest of the sixty-six ruined castles ? By
all means let him go to St Goar. It has the queerest little
streets, and the quaintest old Kirciie, and the sweetest nook
of a /'>/>«'//(?/ imaginable— a very garden of roses which might
92 Pot Pourri.
half disarm the king of terrors, where the gardener offers you
a bunch of his finest Marechal Niel, and points to you the
grave of some soHtary Enghshman, as if he divined at once
what must interest you most. The old saint who gave his
name to the place in the days gone by, is stated to have hung
his cloak on a sunbeam — whether from any deficiency of pegs
in his hermitage or not is left unchronicled — but one can fancy
that something of that gentle power of his that prevailed even
on the flickering sunbeams to wait upon him still lingers about
the place of his dwelling, so attractive did St Goar appear to
our eyes.
And now we are saying good-bye, a long good-bye, to our
queen of rivers. Looking regretfully on the brown waters at
this quiet evening hour as we linger on its banks, we think of
all the old stories and legends they have told us, and once
again as the waves throb and wrestle among the reedy banks,
we seem to hear the plash of long- forgotten oars. Is it the
royal barge of Charlemagne coming slowly up the stream
with floating banners and martial music ? or is it Queen
Frastrada, in her coffin of glass, being silently drifted down
towards Aix ? or is it the saintly Ursula and her many
maidens ? And, yonder on the shore just behind us, may not
that be the hoofs of Roland's palfrey bringing him back from
the Holy Land once more ?
The Rhine has all these visitants, and countless others
for every listening ear, from early morning until dewy eve ; for
she is a haunted river, and keeps her long train of olden-time
spectres as royally as any olden-time castle with bolts and
bars and rattling chains can do !
One recalls readily by her banks Alexander Smith's fine
'' The Castled Rhine." 93
poem about the Tweed at Peebles, making- one slight altera-
tion to suit the name :
" Who knows? but of this I am certain,
That but for the ballads and wails
That make passionate dead things, — stocks and stones,
Make piteous hills and dales ;
The Rliine were as poor as the Amazon,
That for all the years it has rolled,
Can tell but how fair was the morning red,
How sweet the evening gold ! "
//Jdi^a. K /'^oj^du.
■^
USIC, on thy wide i)lumes thou
bear'st me forth
, . Into the Infinite I My spirit
spurns
Her mortal prison-house, and wildly yearns
Towards the empyrean of her birth :
The starry spaces whence in godlike mirth
The Sons of Morning 'Jubilate ' sang,
While from the void abyss Creation sprang.
So this new heaven and diviner earth,
Sprung from thy teeming depths, majestic
Power !
I too would sing ! For on thy thunder-tide
Upborne, in rapture of ecstatic pain
From human weakness washed and jiurified,
1 feel a god — with godhood's boundless
dower ! . . .
The music dies — and I am dust again.
<
•^^/^^'
Bazaars
THEIR OBJECT.
THE object of bazaars is threefold :
I. To give persons of moderate income an oppor-
tunity of furnishing economically.
2. For the encouragement of Art. At bazaars everything
is hand-painted, from cigars to coal-scuttles.
3. To please the men.
woman's true mission.
Most of us must at some time have asked our friends' wives
how they could ever have married such men. The reason is
that they wanted to marry and settle down to bazaar work.
It does not so much matter whom a woman marries, the
oreat thine is to ijet into a o-ood bazaar connection.
If women sat in Parliament matters would be quite different.
They would buy out the Irish landlords with a bazaar.
The Emin Pasha Relief Committee (says a London corre-
spondent) now regret bitterly that they sent no lady explorers
with the Stanley Expedition. It is generally admitted at the
clubs that had a lady been left with the Rear Guard she would
have inaugurated a bazaar, sold hand-painted rice and tapioca
to the natives for fowls, and diddled Tippu Tib out of all his
vast possessions.
96 Pot Pourrl.
PREPARING FOR THE BAZAAR.
Among the proudest moments in a man's life is when he
exclaims to his wife, " What ! another bazaar ? "
He now hurries home every evening from the office, con-
fident that something more has been hand-painted since
morning. It may be a table, or vases, or one dozen tobacco
pouches, or two fire-screens.
The articles are hand-painted in his private den, because it
would be a pity to disarrange the other rooms. He does not
object in the least to having to smoke on the door-step.
If he is not doing anything particular would he mind hold-
ing up this rocking-chair while she hand-paints it ?
There are twelve young ladies coming to-morrow to hand-
paint twelve mantelpiece borders. He will have to see them
home.
She writes twenty letters every day to ladies whose ad-
dresses she finds in the directory, inviting them to co-operate.
This makes many homes happy.
She asks literary characters to write a little thing for the
bazaar, because, though she does not know them personally,
she is sure they are over-working themselves, and change of
work (she has heard) is the best kind of relaxation. They
consent with gratitude.
During the three days prior to the bazaar her husband and
his friends are allowed to carry the hand-painted articles
(which are nearly dry) to cabs. They are also permitted to
help in the decking of the stalls. This is great fun.
B
azaars. 97
THE FIRST DAY OF THE BAZAAR.
It never rains on the first day.
The gentleman who opens the bazaar is a prodigious
success. He never says that they could have got some one
of more eminence than he to discharge these onerous duties,
and then waits for cries of " No, no." He always puts things
in a way they have never been put before, and when he
declares the bazaar open, he never slips away by a side door.
There is no rivalry at the different stalls, for all are
working for the cause (see Prospectus).
The articles are sold at great bargains. Nothing is to be
raffled, as the committee disapprove of raffling.
Now is your chance for a hand-painted writing desk.
Men enter briskly, as if eager to begin buying at once.
There is no hanging back at the doors nor buttoning of
coats.
The ladies who serve are anxious that you should buy
nothing except what you really want. Are you dying for a
hand-painted soup tureen ?
THE SECOND DAY.
There is still the same desire to let you decide for yourself
what you are to buy. Perhaps you have only dropped in to
look round ? You are welcome.
None of the articles have been reduced in price, because
somehow they did not sell yesterday.
Not one of the ladies serving has wakened with a head-
G
98 Pot Pourri.
ache and sent an excuse for her non-appearance. All are as
enthusiastic as ever.
Among the men buying are a great number who were
here yesterday, and have come back because they enjoyed
themselves so much.
No man says that unfortunately he left his purse in his
other coat, nor that he is merely fixing to-day on what he
would like to have that he may come back and buy it
to-morrow.
The hand-painting comes off nothing while in your pocket.
THE LAST DAY.
Ladies do not now arrive in great numbers, because on
the last day things are sold for a mere song.
No contributors are angry because their hand-painted ink
bottles have not sold.
No man is ordered to buy his wife's contributions because
they are still on sale.
No one goes home with dolls in hand-painted pinafores,
and sits on them in the hansom.
There is no desperate raffling of screens at twenty guineas
on the last day.
The committee are still as polite as ever.
The stallholders are quite delighted with the way every-
thing has been managed ; and can you tell them of any
minister who wants a new church, hand-painted or plain .-*
3. h^. 0
c»_A>*t_Aje_
Madrigal
HARK ! the mcrr)- wedding bell
Peals its changing notes of gladness,
Giving holiday to sadness,
Sweet and low its accents swell.
Loud it tells of hearts united :
Low it breathes of love requited.
Where the mortal who says no,
When sly Cupid bends his bow ?
Thus it comes to one and all,
Be they great or be they small.
Love will chain them in his thrall.
Sing fal ! lal ! lal !
Fools who rail at Hymen's bliss
Cease your jealous idle scorning !
Taste the dew of love's fresh morning,
Heave soft sigh and steal sweet kiss.
Swift the flower of life is blowing,
Ripening fast for passions glowing ;
Cull its blossom while you may,
Death to-morrow ! Love to-day.
And 'twill come to you as all,
Be they great or be they small.
Love will chain you in his thrall.
Sing fal ! lal ! lal !
10^1^-^LMa^^
The End of It
I GAVE my heart to a woman —
I eave it her branch and root.
She bruised, she wrung, she tortured,
She cast it under foot.
Under her feet she cast it,
She trampled it where it fell,
She broke it all to pieces,
And each was a clot of hell.
There in the rain and the sunshine,
They lay and smouldered long ;
And each, when again she viewed them,
Had turned to a living song.
VA/. r ^<^M-Jx^
TLKNBULL AND SI'EAKS
PRINTERS
EDINBURGH
u\
mt^
o VINaOJTlVO dC
3fl
o AUsaaMNfi 3H1
MS
o io A»vaan 3Hi °
/
' SANTA BARBARA
o THE 118RARY Of
"^^
C&f^
THE UNIVERSITY
\^
1C
Si
J
fe
o OF CAIIFORNIA
vavasivB vinvs
V
^
3^^
o viNaOiiiv:> JO
JO .i>av8aii 3Hi
A,llSa3AlNn 3H1
o OF CAHfOPNu
1^
THE UNIVERSITY
THB liaf.ARY OF
THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
Santa Barbara
o V!IV9av9 VINVS o
l~;-
V
t
B
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE
STAMPED BELOW.
./
Of
C
JO /■iva'iin 3H1 '^
3f^|j JlSfBjJ i|c^
SANTA BASOAKA
o WINIiOJIlVD JO o
\
SITY o
-^ lo
■i-JS
:i^
^
S 12
3t
o AiisaaAit
/
juu incur;. ..M.iof./^, i_i[iPA,-,
111"..;^..';' L'-'PAny. ABILITY
/
AUlA dmKOmi
3 1205 02126 5770
AA 001252 987
X
/
/
/iNaOiiivJ* 3O "
/
- Allsaj/viN
v_ _
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11