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district of the county. All that I remember of them was the general, yet not unpleasing, intimation of a devotional character impressed on each little party, formally assumed perhaps by some, but sincerely characterising the greater number, which hushed the petulant gaiety of the young into a tone of more quiet, yet more interesting, interchange of sentiments, and suppressed the vehement argument and protracted disputes of those of more advanced age. Notwithstanding the numbers who passed me, no general sound of the human voice was heard; few turned again to take some minutes voluntary exercise, to which the leisure of the evening, and the beauty of the surrounding scenery, seemed to invite them: all hurried to their homes and resting-places. To one accustomed to the mode of spending Sunday evenings abroad, even among the French Calvinists, there seemed something Judaical, yet at the same time striking and affecting, in this mode of keeping the Sabbath holy. Insensibly, I felt my mode of sauntering by the side of the river, and crossing successively the various persons who were passing homeward, and without tarrying or delay, must expose me to observation at least, if not to censure, and I slunk out of the frequented path, and found a trivial occupation for my mind in marshalling my revolving walk in such a manner as should least render me obnoxious to observation. The different alleys lined out through this extensive meadow, and which are planted with trees, like the Park of St. Jamess in London, gave me facilities for carrying into effect these childish manuvres. As I walked down one of these avenues, I heard, to my surprise, the sharp and conceited voice of Andrew Fairservice, raised by a sense of self-consequence to a pitch somewhat higher than others seemed to think consistent with the solemnity of the day. To slip behind the row of trees under which I walked was perhaps no very dignified proceeding; but it was the easiest mode of escaping his observation, and perhaps his impertinent assiduity, and still more intrusive curiosity. As he passed, I heard him communicate to a grave-looking man, in a black coat, a slouched hat, and Geneva cloak, the following sketch of a character, which my self-love, while revolting against it as a caricature, could not, nevertheless, refuse to recognise as a likeness. Ay, ay, Mr. Hammorgaw, its een as I tell ye. Hes no athegether sae void o sense neither; he has a gloaming sight o whats reasonablethat is anes and awaa glisk and nae mairbut hes crack- brained and cockle-headed about his nipperty-tipperty poetry nonsenseHell glower at an auld-warld barkit aik-snag as if it were a queez-maddam in full bearing; and a naked craig, wi a burn jawing owert. is unto him as a garden garnisht with flowering knots and choice pot-herbs; then, he wad rather claver wia daft quean they ca Diana Vernon (weel I wot they might ca her Diana of the Ephesians, for shes little better than a heathenbetter? shes waura Romana mere Roman)hell claver wi her, or ony other idle slut, rather than hear what might do him gude a the days of his life, frae you or me, Mr. Hammorgaw, or ony ither sober and sponsible person. Reason, sir, is what he canna endurehes a for your vanities and volubilities; and he ance telld me (puir blinded creature), that the Psalms of David were excellent poetry! as if the holy Psalmist thought o rattling rhymes in a blether, like his ain silly clinkum-clankum things that he cas verse. Gude help him! twa lines of Davie Lindsay wad ding a he ever clerkit. While listening to this perverted account of my temper and studies, you will not be surprised if I meditated for Mr. Fairservice the unpleasant surprise of a broken pate on the first decent opportunity. His friend only intimated his attention by Ay, ay! and Ist een sae? and such like expressions of interest, at the proper breaks in Mr. Fairservices harangue, until at length, in answer to some observation of greater length, the import of which I only collected from my trusty guides reply, honest Andrew answered, Tell him a bit o my mind, quoth ye?Wha wad be fule then but Andrew?Hes a red-wud deevil, man!Hes like Giles Heathertaps auld boar; ye need but shake a clout at him to make him turn and gore. Bide wi him, say ye?Troth, I kenna what for I bide wi him mysellBut the lads no a bad lad after a; and he needs some carefu body to look after him. He hasna the right grip o his handthe gowd slips throught like water, man; and its no that ill a thing to be near him when his purse is in his hand, and its seldom out ot. And then hes come o guid kith and kinMy heart warms to the puir thought less callant, Mr. Hammorgawand then the penny fee |
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