"Say, ye red gowns that aften here,
Hae toasted cakes to Katie's beer,
Gin e'er thir days hae had their peer,
Sae blythe, sae daft!
Ye'll ne'er again in life's career,
Sit half sae saft."
_Elegy on John Hogg._
We returned to town; and, after threading a few of the narrower lanes,
entered by a low door into a long dark room, dimly lighted by a fire. A
tall thin woman was employed in skinning a bundle of dried fish at a
table in a corner.
"Where's the guidman, Kate?" said my companion, changing the sweet pure
English in which he had hitherto spoken for his mother tongue.
"John's ben in the spence," replied the woman. "Little Andrew, the
wratch, has been makin' a totum wi' his faither's ae razor, an' the puir
man's trying to shave himsel yonder, an' girnan like a sheep's head on
the tangs."
"Oh, the wratch! the ill-deedie wratch!" said John, stalking into the
room in a towering passion, his face covered with suds and scratches--"I
might as weel shave mysel wi' a mussel shillet. Rob Ferguson, man, is
that you!"
"Wearie warld, John," said the poet, "for a' oor philosophy."
"Philosophy!--it's but a snare, Rob--just vanity an' vexation o'
speerit, as Solomon says. An' isna it clear heterodox besides? Ye study
an' study till your brains gang about like a whirligig; an' then, like
bairns in a boat that see the land sailin', ye think it's the solid
yearth that's turnin' roun'. An' this ye ca' philosophy; as if David
hadna tauld us that the warld sits coshly on the waters, an' canna be
moved."
"Hoot, John," rejoined my companion, "it's no me, but Jamie Brown, that
differs wi' you on these matters. I'm a Hoggonian, ye ken. The auld Jews
were, doubtless, gran' Christians, an' wherefore no guid philosophers
too? But it was cruel o' you to unkennel me this mornin' afore six, an'
I up sae lang at my studies the nicht afore."
"Ah, Rob, Rob!" said John--"studying in _Tam Dun's_ kirk. Ye'll be a
minister, like a' the lave."
"Mendin' fast, John," rejoined the poet. "I was in your kirk on Sabbath
last, hearing worthy Mr. Corkindale; whatever else he may hae to fear,
he's in nae danger o' '_thinking his ain thoughts_,' honest man."
"In oor kirk!" said John; "ye're dune, then, wi' precentin' in yer
ain--an' troth nae wonder. What could hae possessed ye to gie up the
puir chield's name i' the prayer, an' him sittin' at yer lug?"
I was unacquainted with the circumstance to which he alluded, and
requested an explanation. "Oh, ye see," said John, "Rob, amang a' the
ither gifts that he misguides, has the gift o' a sweet voice; an'
naething else would ser' some o' oor Professors than to hae him for
their precentor. They micht as weel hae thocht o' an organ--it wad be
just as devout; but the soun's everything now, laddie, ye ken, an' the
heart naething. Weel, Rob, as ye may think, was less than pleased wi'
the job, an' tauld them he could whistle better than sing; but it wasna
that they wanted, and sae it behoved him to tak his seat in the box. An'
lest the folk should no be pleased wi' ae key to ae tune, he gied them,
for the first twa or three days, a hale bunch to each; an' there was
never sic singing in St. Andrew's afore. Weel, but for a' that it
behoved him still to precent, though he has got rid o' it at last--for
what did he do twa Sabbaths agone, but put up drucken Tarn Moffat's name
in the prayer--the very chield that was sittin' at his elbow, though
the minister couldna see him. An' when the puir stibbler was prayin' for
the reprobate as weel's he could, ae half o' the kirk was needcessitated
to come oot, that they micht keep decent, an' the ither half to swallow
their pocket napkins. But what think ye"----
"Hoot, John, now, leave oot the moral," said the poet. "Here's a' the
lads."
Half a dozen young students entered as he spoke; and, after a hearty
greeting, and when he had introduced me to them one by one, as a choice
fellow of immense reading, the door was barred, and we sat down to half
a dozen of home brewed, and a huge platter of dried fish. There was much
mirth and no little humour. Ferguson sat at the head of the table, and
old John Hogg at the foot. I thought of Eastcheap, and the revels of
Prince Henry; but our Falstaff was an old Scotch Seceder, and our Prince
a gifted young fellow, who owed all his influence over his fellows to
the force of his genius alone.
"Prithee, Hal," I said, "let us drink to Sir John."
"Why, yes," said the poet, "with all my heart. Not quite so fine a
fellow, though, 'bating his Scotch honesty. Half Sir John's genius would
have served for an epic poet--half his courage for a hero."
"His courage!" exclaimed one of the lads.
"Yes, Willie, his courage, man. Do you think a coward could have run
away with half the coolness? With a tithe of the courage necessary for
such a retreat, a man would have stood and fought till he died. Sir John
must have been a fine fellow in his youth."
"In mony a droll way may a man fa' on the drap drink," remarked John;
"an' meikle ill, dootless, does it do in takin' aff the edge o' the
speerit--the mair if the edge be a fine razor edge, an' no the edge o' a
whittle. I mind about fifty years ago, when I was a slip o' a
callant,"----
"Losh, John!" exclaimed one of the lads, "hae ye been fechtin wi' the
cats? sic a scrapit face!"
"Wheesht," said Ferguson; "we owe the illustration to that, but dinna
interrupt the story."
"Fifty years ago, when I was a slip o' a callant," continued John, "unco
curious, an' fond o' kennin everything, as callants will be,"----
"Hoot, John," said one of the students, interrupting him, "can ye no cut
short, man? Rob promised last Saturday to gie us, 'Fie, let us a' to the
bridal,' an' ye see the ale an' the nicht's baith wearin' dune."
"The song, Rob, the song!" exclaimed half a dozen voices at once; and
John's story was lost in the clamour.
"Nay, now," said the good-natured poet, "that's less than kind; the auld
man's stories are aye worth the hearing, an' he can relish the
auld-warld fisher-sang wi' the best o' ye. But we maun hae the story
yet."
He struck up the old Scotch ditty, "Fie let us a' to the bridal," which
he sung with great power and brilliancy; for his voice was a richly
modulated one, and there was a fulness of meaning imparted to the words
which wonderfully heightened the effect. "How strange it is," he
remarked to me when he had finished, "that our English neighbours deny
us humour! The songs of no country equal our Scotch ones in that
quality. Are you acquainted with 'The Guidwife of Auchtermuchty?'"
"Well," I replied; "but so are not the English. It strikes me that, with
the exception of Smollet's novels, all our Scotch humour is locked up in
our native tongue. No man can employ in works of humour any language of
which he is not a thorough master; and few of our Scotch writers, with
all their elegance, have attained the necessary command of that
colloquial English which Addison and Swift employed when they were
merry."
"A braw redd delivery," said John, addressing me. "Are ye gaun to be a
minister tae?"
"Not quite sure yet," I replied.
"Ah," rejoined the old man, "'twas better for the Kirk when the minister
just made himsel ready for it, an' then waited till he kent whether it
wanted him. There's young Rob Ferguson beside you,"--
"Setting oot for the Kirk," said the young poet, interrupting him, "an'
yet drinkin' ale on Saturday at e'en wi' old John Hogg."
"Weel, weel, laddie, it's easier for the best o' us to find fault wi'
ithers than to mend oorsels. Ye have the head, onyhow; but Jamie Brown
tells me it's a doctor ye're gaun to be, after a'."
"Nonsense, John Hogg--I wonder how a man o' your standing"----
"Nonsense, I grant you," said one of the students; "but true enough for
a' that, Bob. Ye see, John, Bob an' I were at the King's Muirs last
Saturday, an ca'ed at the _pendicle_, in the passing, for a cup o' whey;
when the guidwife tellt us there was ane o' the callants, who had broken
into the milk-house twa nichts afore, lyin' ill o' a surfeit. 'Dangerous
case,' said Bob; 'but let me see him; I have studied to small purpose if
I know nothing o' medicine, my good woman.' Weel, the woman was just
glad enough to bring him to the bedside; an' no wonder--ye never saw a
wiser phiz in your lives--Dr. Dumpie's was naething till't; an', after
he had sucked the head o' his stick for ten minutes, an' fand the loon's
pulse, an' asked mair questions than the guidwife liked to answer, he
prescribed. But, losh! sic a prescription! A day's fasting an' twa
ladles o' nettle kail was the gist o't; but then there went mair Latin
to the tail o' that, than oor neebor the Doctor ever had to lose."
But I dwell too long on the conversation of this evening. I feel,
however, a deep interest in recalling it to memory. The education of
Ferguson was of a twofold character--he studied in the schools and among
the people; but it was in the latter tract alone that he acquired the
materials of all his better poetry; and I feel as if, for at least one
brief evening, I was admitted to the privileges of a class-fellow, and
sat with him on the same form. The company broke up a little after ten;
and I did not again hear of John Hogg till I read his elegy, about four
years after, among the poems of my friend. It is by no means one of the
happiest pieces in the volume, nor, it strikes me, highly
characteristic; but I have often perused it with an interest very
independent of its merits.