2

A MAVIS'S NEST.—A SHILFA'S NEST.

sionately cleaveth the loving creature to the nestlings beneath her mottled breast, each morning beautifying from down to plumage, till next Sabbath-sun shall stir them out of their cradle, and scatter them, in their first weak wavering flight, up and down the dewy dawn of their native Paradise.

Shepherd. A bit mavis ! Hushed as a dream—and like a dream to be startled aff intil ether, if you but touch the leafcroon that o'er-canopies her head. What an ee! Shy, yet confidin —as she sits there ready to flee awa wi' a rustle in a moment, yet linked within that rim by the chains o' love, motionless as if she were dead!

North. See-she stirs !

Shepherd. Dinna be disturbed. I could glower at her for hours, musin on the mystery o' instinct, and at times forgettin that my een were fixed but on a silly bird,—for sae united are a' the affections o' sentient Natur that you hae only to keek' intil a bush o' broom, or a sweet-briar, or doun to the green braird aneath your feet, to behold in the lintie, or the lark-or in that mavis-God bless her!—an emblem o' the young Christian mother fauldin up in her nursin bosom the beauty and the blessedness o' her ain First-born!

North. I am now threescore-and-ten, James, and I have suffered and enjoyed much; but I know not, if, during all the confusion of those many-coloured years, diviner delight ever possessed my heart and my imagination, than of old entranced me in solitude, when among the braes, and the moors, and the woods, I followed the verdant footsteps of the Spring, uncompanioned but by my own shadow, and gave names to every nook in nature, from the singing-birds of Scotland discovered, but disturbed not, in their most secret nests.

Tickler. Namby-pamby!

Shepherd. Nae sic thing. A shilfa's nest within the angle made by the slicht, silvery, satiny stem o' a bit birk-tree, and ane o' its young branches glitterin and glimmerin at ance wi’ shade and sunshine and a dowery o' pearls, is a sicht that, when seen for the first time in this life, gars a boy's being loup out o' his verra bosom richt up intil the boundless blue o' heaven!

Tickler. Poo!

Shepherd. Whisht-O whisht. For 'tis felt to be something

1 Mavis-thrush.

2 Keek-peep.

3 Shilfa-chaffinch.

A STRING OF EGGS.

3

far far beyond the beauty o' the maist artfu' contrivances o' mortal man,—and gin he be a thochtfu' callant, which frae wanderin and daunderin by himsel, far awa frae houses, and ayont the loneliest shielin' amang the hills, is surely nae unreasonable hypothesis, but the likeliest thing in natur, thinkna ye that though his mood micht be indistinck even as ony sleepin dream, that nevertheless it maun be sensibly interfused, throughout and throughout, wi' the consciousness that that Nest, wi' sic exquisite delicacy intertwined o' some substance seemingly mair beautifu' than ony moss that ever grew upon this earth, into a finest fabric growin as it were out o' the verra bark o' the tree, and in the verra nook-the only nook where nae winds could touch it, let them blaw a' at ance frae a' the airts,—wadna, sirs, I say, that callant's heart beat wi' awe in its delicht, feelin that that wee, cosy, beautifu', and lovely cradle, chirp-chirpin wi' joyfu' life, was bigged there by the hand o' Him that hung the sun in our heaven, and studded with stars the boundless universe?

Tickler. James, forgive my folly—

Shepherd. That I do, Mr Tickler and that I would do, if for every peck there was a firlot. Yet when a laddie, I was an awfu' herrier !' Sic is the inconsistency, because o' the corruption, o' human natur. Ilka spring, I used to hae halfa-dozen strings o' eggs

Tickler

"Orient pearls at random strung."

Shepherd. Na-no at random-but a' accordin to an innate sense o' the beauty o' the interminglin and interfusin variegation o' manifold colour, which, when a' gathered thegither on a yard o' twine, and dependin frae the laigh roof o' our bit cottie, aneath the cheese-bauk, and aiblins atween a couple o' hangin hams, seemed to ma een sae fu' o' a strange, wild, woodland, wonderfu', and maist unwarldish loveliness, that the verra rainbow hersel lauchin on us laddies no to be feared at the thunner, looked nae mair celestial than thae egg-shells! Ae string especially will I remember to my dying day. It tapered awa frae the middle, made o' the eggs o' the blackbird-doun through a' possible vareeities-lark, lintie, yellow1 Shielin-a shelter for sheep or shepherd among the hills.

2 Herrier-rifler of birds' nests.

4 DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SHEPHERD AND TICKLER.

yite, hedge-sparrow, shilfa, and goldfinch-ay, the verra goldfinch hersel, rare bird in the Forest to the twa ends so dewdrap-like, wi' the wee bit blue pearlins o' the kitty-wren. Damm Wullie Laidlaw for stealin them ae Sabbath when we was a' at the kirk! Yet I'll try to forgie him for sake o' "Lucy's Flittin," and because, notwithstanding that cruel crime, he's turned out a gude husband, a gude faither, and a gude freen.

Tickler. We used, at school, James, to boil and eat them. Shepherd. Gin ye did, then wouldna I, for ony consideration, in a future state be your sowl.

Tickler. Where's the difference?

Shepherd. What! atween you and me? Yours was a base fleshly hunger, or hatred, or hard-heartedness, or scathe and scorn o' the quakin griefs o' the bit bonny shriekin burdies around the tuft o' moss, a' that was left o' their herried nests; but mine was the sacred hunger and thirst o' divine silver and gold gleamin amang the diamonds drapt by mornin on the hedgeraws, and rashes, and the broom, and the whins-love o' the lovely-desire conquerin but no killin pity—and joy o' blessed possession that left at times a tear on my cheek for the bereavement o' the heart-broken warblers o' the woods. Yet brak I not mony o' their hearts, after a'; for if the nest had five eggs, I generally took but twa; though I confess that on gaun back again to brae, bank, bush, or tree, I was glad when the nest was deserted, the eggs cauld, and the birds awa to some ither place. After a' I was never cruel, sirs; that's no a sin o' mine, and whenever, either then or since, I hae gien pain to ony leevin cretur, in nae lang time after, o' the twa pairties, mine has been the maist achin heart. As for pyats, and hoodie-craws, and the like, I used to herry them without compunction, and flingin up stanes, to shoot them wi' a gun, as they were flasterin out o' the nest.

English Opium-Eater. Some one of my ancestors-for, even with the deepest sense of my own unworthiness, I cannot believe that my own sins, as a cause, have been adequate to the production of such an effect-must have perpetrated some enormous s—some monstrous crime, punished in me, his descendant, by utter blindness to all bird's nests.

1 66 'Lucy's Flitting," by William Laidlaw, Sir Walter Scott's friend, is one of our simplest and most pathetic melodies.

OPIUM-EATER BIRD-NESTING.

5

Shepherd. Maist likely. The De Quinshys cam ower wi' the Conqueror, and were great criminals.—But did you ever look for them, sir?

English Opium-Eater. From the year 1811-the year in which the Marrs and Williamsons were murdered1-till the year 1821, in which Buonaparte the little-vulgarly called Napoleon the Great-died of a cancer in his stomach

Shepherd. A hereditary disease-accordin to the Doctors. English Opium-Eater. did I exclusively occupy myself during the spring months, from night till morning, in searching for the habitations of these interesting creatures.

Shepherd. Frae nicht till mornin! That comes o' reversin the order o' Natur. You micht see a rookery or a heronry by moonlicht-but no a wren's nest aneath the portal o' some cave lookin out upon a sleepless waterfa' dinnin to the stars. Mr De Quinshy, you and me leeves in twa different warldsand yet it's wonnerfu' hoo we understaun' ane anither sae weel's we do quite a phenomena. When I'm soopin you're breakfastin-when I'm lyin doun, after your coffee you're risin up-as I'm coverin my head wi' the blankets you're pittin on your breeks-as my een are steekin like sunflowers aneath the moon, yours are glowin like twa gas-lamps-and while your mind is masterin poleetical economy and metapheesics, in a desperate fecht wi' Ricawrdo and Kant, I'm heard by the nicht-wanderin fairies snorin trumpet-nosed through the land o' Nod.

2

English Opium-Eater. Though the revolutions of the heavenly bodies have, I admit, a certain natural connection with the ongoings of

Shepherd. Wait awee-nane o' your astrology till after sooper. It canna be true, sir, what folk say about the influence o' the moon on character. I never thocht ye the least mad. Indeed, the only faut I hae to fin' wi' you is, that you're ower wise. Yet we speak what, in the lang-run, would

1 In the second volume of his Miscellanies (1854), Mr De Quincey has described these murders with a power and circumstantiality which excite the most absorbing interest in the mind of the reader.

2 David Ricardo, an eminent member of the London Stock-Exchange, and the profoundest writer on political economy which this country has produced, died in 1823. Immanuel Kant was the great philosopher of Königsberg, his native town, from which he was never farther distant than twenty miles during the whole course of a life, which lasted from 1724 to 1804.

6

NIGHTINGALES AND OWLS.

appear to be ae common langage—I sometimes understaun’ you no that verra indistinctly-and when we tackle in our talk to the great interests of humanity, we re philosophers o' the same school, sir, and see the inner warld by the self-same central licht. We're incomprehensible cretas, are we menthat's beyond a dout;—and let us be born and bred as we may-black, white, red, or a deep bricht, burnished copperin spite o' the division o' tongues, there's nae division o' hearts, for it's the same bluid that gangs circulatin through our mortal tenements, carrying alang on its tide the same freightage o' feelins and thochts, emotions, afections, and passions—though, like the ships o' diferent nations, they a' hoist their ain colours, and prood prood are they o' their leopards, or their crescent-moons, or their stars, or their stripes o' buntin;-but see! when it blaws great guns, hoo they a' fling owerboard their storm-anchors, and when their cables pairt, hoo they a' seek the shelterin lee o' the same michty breakwater, a belief in the being and attributes of the One Living God.—But was ye never out in the daytime, sir? English Opium-Eater. Frequently.

Shepherd. But then it's sae lang sin' syne, that in memory the sunlicht maun seem amaist like the moonlight,—sic, indeed, even wi' us that rise with the laverock, and lie doun wi' the lintie, is the saftenin—the shadin—the darkenin power o' the Past, o' Time the Prime Minister o' Life, wha, in spite o' a' Opposition, carries a' his measures by a silent vote, and aften, wi' a weary wecht o' taxes, bows a' the wide warld doun to the verra dust.

English Opium-Eater. In the South my familiars have been the nightingales, in the North the owls. Both are merry birds the one singing, and the other shouting, in moods of midnight mirth.-Nor in my deepest, darkest fits of meditation or of melancholy, did the one or the other ever want my sympathies, whether piping at the root of the hedgerow, or hooting from the trunk of the sycamore-else all still both on earth and in heaven.

Shepherd. Ye maun hae seen mony a beautifu' and mony a sublime sicht, sir, in the Region, lost to folk like us, wha try to keep oursels awauk a' day, and asleep a' nicht and your sowl, sir, maun hae acquired something o' the serene and olemn character o' the sunleft skies. And true it is, Mr De