TICKLER IN JEOPARDY. 5 fish in the Bible, and that's better authority than Buffon. O that I were a whale! Tickler. What think you of a summer of the American SeaSerpent? Shepherd. What? To be constantly cruised upon by the haill American navy, military and mercantile ! No to be able to show your back aboon water without being libelled by the Yankees in a' the newspapers, and pursued even by pleasureparties, playin the hurdy-gurdy and smokin cigars! Besides, although I hae nae objection to a certain degree o' singularity, I sudna just like to be sae very singular as the American SeaSerpent, who is the only ane o' his specie noo extant; and whether he dees in his bed, or is slain by Jonathan, must incur the pain and the opprobrium o' defunckin an auld bachelor. What's the matter wi' you, Mr Tickler? [Dives. Tickler. The calf of my right leg is rather harder than is altogether pleasant. A pretty business if it prove the cramp; and the cramp it is, sure enough-Hallo-James-JamesJames-hallo - I'm seized with the cramp - James - the sinews of the calf of my right leg are gathered up into a knot about the bulk and consistency of a sledge-hammer Shepherd. Nae tricks upon travellers. You've nae cramp. Gin you hae, streek out your richt hind leg, like a horse geein a funk-and then ower on the back o' ye, and keep floatin for a space, and your calf 'ill be as saft's a cushion. Lord safe us! what's this? Deevil tak me if he's no droonin. Mr Tickler, are you droonin? There he's doun ance, and up again-twice, and up again;-but it's time to tak haud o' him by the hair o' the head, or he'll be doun amang the limpets! [SHEPHERD seizes TICKLER by the locks. Oho-oho-oho-ho-ho-ho-hra-hra-hrach Tickler. -hrach. Shepherd. What language is that? Finnish? Noo, sir, dinna rug me doun to the bottom alang wi' you in the dead-thraws. Tickler. Heaven reward you, James-the pain is gonebut keep near me. Shepherd. Whammle yoursel ower on your back, sir. That 'ill do. Hoo are you now, sir? Yonner's the James Watt1 1 The "James Watt" plied between London and Edinburgh, under the command of Captain Bain. 6 HOW THE SHEPHERD LEARNED TO SWIM. steamboat, Captain Bain, within half a league. Lean on my airm, sir, till he comes alangside, and it 'ill be a real happiness to the captain to save your life. But what 'ill a' the leddies do whan they're hoistin us aboard? They maun just use their fans. Tickler. My dear Shepherd, I am again floating like a turtle, but keep within hail, James. Are you to windward or leeward? Shepherd. Right astarn. Did you ever see, sir, in a' your born days, sic a sky? Ane can scarcely say he sees't, for it's maist invisible in its blue beautifu' tenuity, as the waters o' a well! It's just like the ee o' ae lassie I kent lang ago—the langer you gazed intil't, the deep, deep, deeper it grew-the cawmer and the mair cawm-composed o' a smile, as an amythist is composed o' licht-and seeming something impalpable to the touch, till you ventured, wi' fear, joy, and tremmlin to kiss it-just ae hesitatin, pantin, reverential kiss —and then to be sure your verra sowl kent it to be a bonny blue ee, covered wi' a lid o' dark fringes, and drappin aiblins a bit frichtened tear to the lip o' love. Tickler. What is your specific gravity, James? You float like a sedge. Shepherd. Say rather a Nautilus, or a Mew. I'm native to the yelement. Tickler. Where learned you the natatory art, my dear Shepherd ? Shepherd. Do you mean soomin? In St Mary's Loch. For a haill simmer I kept plouterin alang the shore, and pittin ae fit to the grun', knockin the skin aff my knees, and makin nae progress, till ae day, the gravel haein been loosened by a flood, I plowpt in ower head and ears, and in my confusion, turnin my face to the wrang airt, I swom across the loch at the widest, at ae streetch, and ever after that could hae soomed ony man in the Forest for a wager, excep Mr David Ballantyne, that noo leeves ower-by yonner, near the Hermitage Castle. Tickler. Now, James, you are, to use the language of Spenser, the Shepherd of the Sea. Shepherd. O that I had been a sailor! To hae circumnavigated the warld! To hae pitched our tents, or built our bowers, on the shores o' bays sae glitterin wi' league-lang wreaths o' shells, that the billows blushed crimson as they THE SHEPHERD AS A SAILOR. 7 murmured! To hae seen our flags burnin meteor-like, high up amang the primeval woods, while birds bright as ony buntin sat trimmin their plummage amang the cordage, sae tame in that island where ship had haply never touched afore, nor ever might touch again, lying in a latitude by itsel, and far out o' the breath o' the tredd-wunds! Or to hae landed wi' a' the crew, marines and a', excep a guard on shipboard to keep aff the crowd o' canoes, on some warlike isle, tossin wi' the plumes on chieftains' heads, and soun'-soun'-soundin wi' gongs ! What's a man-o'-war's barge, Mr Tickler, beautifu' sicht though it be, to the hundred-oared canoe o' some savage Island-king! The King himsel lyin in state-no dead, but leevin, every inch o' him- on a platform aboon a' his warriors standin wi' war-clubs, and stane-hatchets, and fishbane spears, and twisted mats, and tattooed faces, and ornaments in their noses, and painted een, and feathers on their heads a yard heigh, a' silent, or burstin out o' a sudden intil shootin sangs o' welcome or defiance, in a language made up o' a few lang strang words-maistly gutturals-and gran' for the naked priests to yell intil the ears o' their victims, when about to cut their throats on the altar-stane that Idolatry had incrusted with blood, shed by stormy moonlicht to glut the maw of their sanguinary God. Or say rather-oh, rather say, that the white-winged Wonder that has brought the strangers frae afar, frae lands beyond the setting sun, has been hailed with hymns and dances o' peace-and that a' the daughters of the Isle, wi' the daughter o' the King at their head, come a' gracefully windin alang in a figur, that, wi' a thousan' changes, is aye but ae single dance, wi' unsandalled feet true to their ain wild singin, wi' wings fancifully fastened to their shouthers, and, beautifu' creturs! a' naked to the waist-But whare the deevil's Mr Tickler? Has he sunk during my soliloquy? or swum to shore? Mr Tickler-Mr Tickler-I wush I had a pistol to fire into the air, that he might be brought to. Yonner he is, playin at porpuss. Let me try if I can reach him in twenty strokes-it's no aboon a hunder yards. Five yards a stroke-no bad soomin in dead water. -There, I've done it in nineteen. Let me on my back for a rest. Tickler. I am not sure that this confounded cramp Shepherd. The cramp's just like the hiccup, sir-never think o't, and it's gane. I've seen a white lace veil, sic as 8 SHEPHERD ON MERMAIDS. Queen Mary's drawn in, lyin afloat, without stirrin aboon her snawy broo, saftenin the ee-licht-and it's yon braided clouds that remind me o't, motionless, as if they had lain there a' their lives; yet, wae's me! perhaps in ae single hour to melt. away for ever! Tickler. James, were a Mermaid to see and hear you moralising so, afloat on your back, her heart were lost. Shepherd. I'm nae favourite noo, I suspeck, amang the Mermaids. Tickler. Why not, James? You look more irresistible than you imagine. Never saw I your face and figure to more advantage when lying on the braes o' Yarrow, with your eyes closed in the sunshine, and the shadows of poetical dreams chasing each other along cheek and brow. You would make a beautiful corpse, James. Shepherd. Think shame o' yoursel, Mr Tickler, for daurin to use that word, and the sinnies o' the cauf o' your richt leg yet knotted wi' the cramp. Think shame o' yoursel! That word's no canny. Tickler. But what ail the Mermaids with the Shepherd ? Shepherd: I was ance lyin half asleep in a sea-shore cave o' the Isle o' Sky, wearied out by the verra beauty o' the moonlicht that had keepit lyin for hours in ae lang line o' harmless fire, stretchin leagues and leagues to the rim o' the ocean. Nae sound, but a bit faint, dim plash-plash-plash o' the tide whether ebbin or flawin I ken not-no against, but upon the weedy sides o' the cave Tickler. "As when some shepherd of the Hebride Isles, Shepherd. That soun's like Thamson-in his "Castle o' Indolence." A' the haill warld was forgotten-and my ain name-and what I was-and where I had come frae-and why I was lyin there,-nor was I onything but a Leevin Dream. Tickler. Are you to windward or leeward, James? Shepherd. Something-like a caulder breath o' moonlichtfell on my face and breast, and seemed to touch all my body and my limbs. But it canna be mere moonlicht, thocht I, for, at the same time, there was the whisperin-or say rather, the HIS ADVENTURE WITH ONE. 9 waverin o' the voice-no alang the green cave wa's, but close intil my ear, and then within my verra breast, - sae, at first, for the soun' was saft and sweet, and wi' a touch o' plaintive wildness in't no unlike the strain o' an Eolian harp, I was rather surprised than feared, and maist thocht that it was but the wark o' my ain fancy, afore she yielded to the dwawm o' that solitary sleep. Tickler. James, I hear the Steamer. Shepherd. I opened my een, that had only been half steekit —and may we never reach the shore again, if there was not I, sir, in the embrace o' a Mermaid! Tickler. James If you please, no - remember we are well out to Inchkeith. Shepherd. I would scorn to be drooned with a lee in my mouth, sir. It is quite true that the hair o' the cretur is green-and it's as slimy as it's green-slimy and sliddery as the sea-weed that cheats your unsteady footing on the rocks. Then, what een! — oh, what een! - Like the boiled een o' a cod's head and shouthers!—and yet expression in them—an expression o' love and fondness, that would hae garred an Eskimaw scunner. Tickler. James, you are surely romancing. Shepherd. Oh, dear, dear me !-hech, sirs! hech, sirs!-the fishiness o' that kiss! - I had hung up my claes to dry on a peak o' the cliff-for it was ane o' thae lang midsummer nichts, when the sea-air itself fans ye wi' as warm a sugh as that frae a leddy's fan, when you're sittin side by side wi' her in an arbour Tickler. Oh, James-you fox Shepherd. Sae that I was as naked as either you or me, Mr Tickler, at this blessed moment and whan I felt mysel enveloped in the hauns, paws, fins, scales, tail, and maw o' the Mermaid o' a monster, I grued till the verra roof o' the cave let doun drap, drap, drap upon us-me and the Mermaid -and I gied mysel up for lost. Tickler. Worse than Venus and Adonis, my dear Shepherd. Shepherd. I began mutterin the Lord's Prayer, and the Creed, and the hundred and nineteenth Psalm-but a' wudna do. The Mermaid held the grup-and while I was splutterin out her kisses, and convulsed waur than I ever was under the warst nichtmare that ever sat on my stamach, wi' ae despe |