"OH, I'M WAT, WAT." 1 The father of the Rev. Mr. Steven of Largs, was the son of a farmer, who lived next farm to Mossgiel. When a boy of eight, he found "Robbie," who was a great friend of his, and of all the children, engaged digging a large trench in a field, Gilbert, his brother, with him. The boy pausing on the edge of the trench, and looking down upon Burns, said, “Robbie, what's that ye're doin'?" "Howkin' a muckle hole, Tammie." "What for?" "To bury the Deil in, Tammie!" (one can fancy how those eyes would glow.) "A' but, Robbie," said the logical Tammie, "hoo're ye to get him in?" "Ay," said Burns, "that's it, hoo are we to get him in!" and went off into shouts of laughter; and every now and then during that summer day shouts would come from that hole, as the idea came over him. If one could only have daguerreotyped his day's fancies! "WHAT is love, Mary?" said Seventeen to Thirteen, who was busy with her English lessons. "Love! what do you mean, John?" "I mean, what's love?" "Love's just love, I suppose." (Yes, Mary, you are right to keep the concrete; analysis kills love as well as other things. I once asked a useful-information young lady what her mother was. "Oh, mamma's a biped!" I turned in dismay to her younger sister, and said, "What do you say?" "Oh, my mother's just my mother.") "But what part of speech is it?" "It's a substantive or a verb." (Young Horne Tooke didn't ask her if it was an active or passive, an irregular or defective verb; an inceptive, as calesco, I grow warm, or dulcesco, I grow sweet; a frequentative or a desiderative, as nupturio, I desire to marry.) "I think it is a verb," said John, who was deep in other diversions besides those of Purley; "and I think it must have been originally the Perfect of Live, like thrive, throve, strive, strove." "Capital, John!" suddenly growled Uncle Oldbuck, who was supposed to be asleep in his arm-chair by the fireside, and who snubbed and supported the entire household. "It was that originally, and it will be our own faults, children, if it is not that at last, as well as, ay, and more than at first. What does Richardson say, John? read him out." John reads — LOVE, v. s. -LY, ad. av. -LINESS. -ER. -ING. -INGLY. -INGNESS -ABLE.* -SOME. ** Love-locks, To prefer, to desire, as an Love, the s. is app. emph. to locks (of hair) to set off the A. S. Luf-ian; D. Lie-ven; Ger. -ben, amare, diligere. Wach. derives from lieb, bonum, because every one desires that which is good; lieb, it is more probable, is from lieb-en, grateful, and therefore good. It may at least admit a conjecture that A. S. Lufian, to love, has a reason for its application similar to that of L. Di-ligere (legere, to gather), to take up or out (of a number), to choose, sc. one in preference to another, to prefer: and that it is formed upon A. S. Hlif-ian: to lift or take up, to pick up, to select, to prefer. BeOver-Un Uncle impatiently. "Stuff; 'grateful!' 'pick up!' stuff! These word-mongers know nothing about it. Live, love; that is it, the perfect of live."* * They are strange beings, these lexicographers. Richardson, for After this, Uncle sent the cousins to their beds. John's mother was in hers, never to rise from it again. She was a widow, and Mary was her husband's niece. The house quiet, Uncle sat down in his chair, put his feet on the fender, and watched the dying fire; it had a rich central glow, but no flame, and no smoke, it was flashing up fitfully, and bit by bit falling in. He fell asleep watching it, and when he slept, he dreamed. He was young; he was seventeen, he was prowling about the head of North St. David Street, keeping his eye on a certain door, we call them common stairs in Scotland. He was waiting for Mr. White's famous English class for girls coming out. girls, wild and laughing; a roe! Presently out rushed four or five then came one, bounding like "Such eyes were in her head, And so much grace and power!" She was surrounded by the rest, and away they went laughing, she making them always laugh the more. Seventeen followed at a safe distance, studying her small, firm, downright heel. The girls dropped off one by one, and she was away home by herself, swift and reserved. He, impostor as he was, disappeared through Jamaica Street, to reappear and meet her, walking as if on urgent business, and getting a cordial and careless nod. This beautiful girl of thirteen was afterwards the mother of our Mary, and died in giving her birth. She was Uncle Oldbuck's first and only sweetheart; and here was he, the only help our young Horne instance, under the word SNAIL, gives this quotation from Beaumont and Fletcher's Wit at Several Weapons, "Oh, Master Pompey! how is't, man? Clown-SNAILS, I'm almost starved with love and cold, and one thing or other." Any one else knows of course that it is "'s nails" the contraction of the old oath or interjection God's nails. Tooke, and his mother and Mary had. Uncle awoke, the fire dead, and the room cold. He found himself repeating Lady John Scott's lines 66 'When thou art near me, Sorrow seems to fly, And then I think, as well I may, But when thou leav'st me, Where all before was light. The sunshine of my soul Is in those eyes, And when they leave me All the world is night. But when thou art near me, Sorrow seems to fly, And then I feel, as well I may, That on this earth there dwells not one So blest as I."* Then taking down Chambers's Scottish Songs, he read aloud: — Can the gifted author of these lines and of their music not be prevailed on to give them and others to the world, as well as to her friends? Lanely night comes on, A' the lave are sleepin'; Feather beds are saft Pentit rooms are bonnie; O for Friday nicht! Friday at the gloamin'; O for Friday nicht Friday's lang o' comin'!" This love-song, which Mr. Chambers gives from recitation, is, thinks Uncle to himself, all but perfect; Burns, who in almost every instance, not only adorned, but transformed and purified whatever of the old he touched, breathing into it his own tenderness and strength, fails here, as may be seen in reading his version: "Oh, spring's a pleasant time Flowers o' every colour Wakin' aye and wearie; For thinkin' o' my dearie! When I sleep I dream, When I wauk I'm eerie, For thinkin' o' my dearie. Aye wakin', oh! Wakin' aye and weary, "Darksome nicht comes doun A' the lave are sleepin'; my een wi' greetin'. Aye wakin', oh! Wakin' aye and weary; Sae sweet as my dearie!" |