Winter Sketch, A. By T. C. Irwin Yesternight. By John F. Rolph Richardson's Booth. By Hal Lowther Marah," &c. I, 170, 257, 428, 586, 611 75, 215, 328, 385. 563, 750 Not now a very new, or at any time a very consoling, quotation. Nor did the speaker of it think so, as he walked along, dreaming of the adventures of him who was mightily tossed on land and sea, the sport of warring gods and riotous elements. "But," he reflected, "he tholed it all and founded the tall walls of old Rome. It's a bit misty now, but I'll just have to thole that and win through it to the town; it's no that far but what a man will find it by walking far enough. I'm thinking. Alte moenia Roma, ma conscience, look at yon!" This peculiar application of Virgil to present difficulties, in very northern Latin, concluding with an alarmed and totally disconnected remark, took place in the mind of a young man, a lad, in fact, of eighteen, who was walking along a very dull and rather uphill piece of road, on his way to a village where he intended to stop for the night. He was rather short, broad-shouldered and well-built, dressed in rather old, and not very well-cut, clothes, and carried a small portmanteau. His hair was fair, and not far from red, and his skin sunburnt and healthy. His jaw was square, his eyes blue, his nose straight, and his cheek bones rather high. A sort of gravel-coloured down was growing on his cheeks and chin. He carried his portmanteau on his back, by a stout stick passed through the handle. A Kilmarnock bonnet was on his head, and an old plaid protected his shoulders from the weather, which he had mildly described as a bit misty. As a matter of fact a steady, soaking "smurr" had been going on all VOL. XXXIV. b day. "Yon," which caused him so much astonishment, was a young man in the act of falling on his face in the road from the top of a tall bicycle. The machine had apparently shied at a large stone, and found its way into a worse trap, in the form of a sudden cart rut. The result was, a young man, in a tweed suit and knicker-bockers, prone, with a bleeding nose and a lame ankle. The Virgil-quoting portmanteau-bearing plaid-wearer ran to him, and assisted him to stand on his feet. The bicyclist arose, well covered with specimens of the alluvial deposits of the locality, and swore. Then he said to his helper: "Thanks, awfully. I'm afraid I've lamed myself. Beastly nuisance. Do you know how far off we are from the dwellings of men?" "Ye'll be for Edinburgh?" "I'll be for the nearest inn, if you can tell me where there is one." "A'm going to Burranachter. It's a mile and a bit yet. There's a bit public there. Will ye be able to ride-yon?" "I'm afraid I must wheel 'yon,' and use it for a walking stick,” replied the other, rather flippantly. "No, ye'll not. Here, just take this stick o' mine. Tak' it one hand, and put the other on ma back. It's a strong back. A'll put ma bahg on yon, and wheel it with the other hand. lamer than ye think in twa three minutes." Ye'll be "Thanks, awfully. Aren't I taking you out of your way?" "Not a bit. A'm staying to-night at the public at Burranachter, myself, I tell ye." "On a walking tour?" "Ou aye-A'm walking. Maybe ye'll call it a tour. 'A'm from the Purrthshire Highlands, and a'm going"-here native pride overcame native reticence-"to Edinburgh for the winter session.” "Oh, I see. Late in the year for walking, isn't it?" "No as late as it will be when I get there. I take it ye're an Englishman?" "Yes. I've been staying with some friends farther north, and thought I would try my machine part of the way back, where the roads allowed." "I thought ye were English, wi' pardon, by yere accent." "This is cool," thought the injured bicyclist. Aloud, he said: "Curiously enough, I'm going to the University for the first time this autumn, too-Cambridge." "Ou aye? May one ask what is yere faculty? I'm going to start Humanity and Philosophy classes, and then a'm going to do Medicine." "I'm going in for Law, I believe, but I'm not very industrious. Life's not long enough to spend in reading-not too much at least. I like to enjoy myself all I can. Damn this ankle!" "Ye don't seem to be enjoyin' yerself just now,” replied the other, drily. "It's well for them that can afford it to talk of en joyin' life. Are ye no fond of Vurrgil ?" "I've read a good deal. I like it in a sort of way. I don't find those things difficult, but I'm awfully lazy. Curious we should have met, isn't it? Lucky for me, too." "Sic volvere Parcas," sententiously replied the other. haps ye prefer Hohrace now?" "Per "Yes, I like Horace. Jolly old chap. Knew how to enjoy himself when he could, and grin and bear it when he couldn't. How he would have hated a day like this! I suppose you are used to it, in the Highlands? I mean the rain, not Horace." 66 "Ou aye-we don't fash about a bit mist like this. A'm walking in it because a've had enough drivin' the last year or two. Ma father's as gude blood as any Laird within twenty Scots miles, but he is a baker, and a drive the cairt. Whiles, a get time for study. Ye're speerin why I've no come with the train?" "I wasn't, and it's no business of mine." "No. It's just no business of yours, as ye say. But a'm not overproud to tell ye I counted the cost of walking, for my bed, and porridge, and milk, and may be a glass of whisky whiles, and it's seven shillings sterling less than the third class with the train. And ye get gude air and exercise on the rod." "Dampish air, eh? Well, you know best. I suppose I can get a bed here at Burra-what's-its-name?" "Burranachter? I suppose 'ye've as good a chance as ony other body." Here they descended a rather pebbly slope, and the young Highlander, who spoke Lowland English, had to concentrate all his attention on the guiding of the bicycle, a machine he mistrusted deeply. Had he not been a scholar and a reasoner, he would have admitted a certain superstitious awe of this wilful piece of mechanism, which made bolts and shies, buck-jumped, kicked, and was far more trouble to lead than any horse. As it was he ventured to express his uncanny feeling with a sort of joke: "What do you feed it on?" "Oil. I say, this pub, you know, is it much further? You said about a mile, didn't you?" "Aye. May be a bit over. Ye're hirpling badly." "If that means I can't walk much further it's quite true." "Ye must walk further if ye want Burranachter." "Must I? Then I will." And he did. They arrived at the small stone inn, stabled the bicycle, and arranged for their sleeping accommodation. The Englishman washed and examined his ancle, stretched himself on a couple of chairs in the room described as parlour, lit a pipe, and said: "Now I'm comparatively happy. When can we have supper?" "It'll be here before we've done smokkin." The speaker was sucking at a black clay pipe, with beady drops on the outside. The Englishman smoked a briar, silver-banded, amber-mouthed, and bore-now that the traces of his fall had been removed the appearance of an extremely well-to-do good-looking young man, with a knickerbocker suit, shoes and linen excellent in shape and material, coloured silk pocket-handkerchief, a few good cigars and a silver match-box. He was a pretty sort of boy, rather taller than his fellow-guest, and slenderer, but symmetrically constructed, and possessing very well-shaped limbs. His face was beardless and handsome, his hair nearly black, plentiful and curly, his eyes brown and pleasant, his face rather longer than that of the other young man-who could have thrown him out of the window, had he felt so disposed, as far as physical comparisons are concerned. The sturdy, gravelly-haired young son of the Norseman sat down and contemplated the English lad reclining on those wooden chairs with a curious interest, as if he were some rare exotic. "If they are like you in England, they that are sib to you, you have a bonnie family," he reflected. "Cambridge too. He'll just learn to race and rant and row and run loud after horses and wine and lasses. It's well to be able to spend your fill, but it's ill to have spent it. "Are you a Highlander?" asked the cripple. "Just that. My mother was a Macgregor, and sib to Alaster McDiarmid, who was descended from Diarmid nan Ord, who they say forged the sword-blades for the Tay-side before Sheriffmuir. My father is just a McAlpin." "By Jove! Like the sort of thing you read in the Waverley novels. I suppose cattle-reiving is extinct?" he added, laughing. "Yes. An' men-reiving has taken its place. When ye see the ruined cot on the muirland, and the smokeless lum by the waterside, and hear no wives in the gloamin' callin' the children to their beds from the doors ye may know that they have been sent away over the sea to make room for some deer-shooting or sheepfarming laird who cannot speak their tongue, and puts on a Glasgow-made kilt with the forepart hanging on his doup." young man was in earnest, it would appear, from the "High English" he had "gotten unto." This "I suppose, though, emigration's a good thing for a country when it gets over-populated?" "D'ye call Scotland over-populated? D'ye know how many men to a square mile there are in the whole country, including Edinburgh and Glasgow? There are just one quarter as many as there are in England. Now, will ye have a dram before the supper comes?" "Oh, all right," said the other, with visions of sherry and Angostura floating before his palate's eye. "What shall it be?" "What would it be?" said the other, in a surprised and almost reproachful tone, as he left the room, soon returning with two liberal measures of whisky, one of which he gave to his companion. |