Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 66, No 405, July 1849

NORTH.

Stand still ten seconds more. He is He – You are You – gentlemen – H. G. Talboys – Seward, my crutch – Buller, your arm —

TALBOYS.

Wonderful feat of agility! Feet up to the ceiling —

NORTH.

Don't say ceiling —

TALBOYS.

Why not? ceiling – cœlum. Feet up to heaven.

NORTH.

An involuntary feat – the fault of Swing – sole fault – but I always forget it when agitated —

BULLER.

Some time or other, sir, you will fly backwards and fracture your skull.

NORTH.

There, we have recovered our equilibrium – now we are in grips, don't fear a fall – I hope you are not displeased with your reception.

TALBOYS.

I wrote last night, sir, to say I was coming – but there being no speedier conveyance – I put the letter in my pocket, and there it is —

NORTH.

(On reading "Dies Boreales.– No. 1.")

A friend returned! spring bursting forth again!The song of other years! which, when we roam,Brings up all sweet and common things of home,And sinks into the thirsty heart like rain!Such the strong influence of the thrilling strainBy human love made sad and musical,Yet full of high philosophy withal,Poured from thy wizard harp o'er land and main!A thousand hearts will waken at its call,And breathe the prayer they breathed in earlier youth, —May o'er thy brow no envious shadow fall!Blaze in thine eye the eloquence of truth!Thy righteous wrath the soul of guilt appal,As lion's streaming hair or dragon's fiery tooth!

TALBOYS.

I blush to think I have given you the wrong paper.

NORTH.

It is the right one. But may I ask what you have on your head?

TALBOYS.

A hat. At least it was so an hour ago.

NORTH.

It never will be a hat again.

TALBOYS.

A patent hat – a waterproof hat – it was swimming, when I purchased it yesterday, in a pail – warranted against Lammas floods —

NORTH.

And in an hour it has come to this! Why, it has no more shape than a coal-heaver's.

TALBOYS.

Oh! then it can be little the worse. For that is its natural artificial shape. It is constructed on that principle – and the patentee prides himself on its affording equal protection to head, shoulders, and back – helmet at once and shield.

NORTH.

But you must immediately put on dry clothes —

TALBOYS.

The clothes I have on are as dry as if they had been taking horse-exercise all morning before a laundry-fire. I am waterproof all over – and I had need to be so – for between Inverary and Cladich there was much moisture in the atmosphere.

NORTH.

Do – do – go and put on dry clothes. Why the spot you stand on is absolutely swimming —

TALBOYS.

My Sporting-jacket, sir, is a new invention – an invention of my own – to the sight silk – to the feel feathers – and of feathers is the texture – but that is a secret, don't blab it – and to rain I am impervious as a plover.

NORTH.

Do – do – go and put on dry clothes.

TALBOYS.

Intended to have been here last night – left Glasgow yesterday morning – and had a most delightful forenoon of it in the Steamer to Tarbert. Loch Lomond fairly outshone herself – never before had I felt the full force of the words – "Fortunate Isles." The Bens were magnificent. At Tarbert – just as I was disembarking – who should be embarking but our friends Outram, M'Culloch, Macnee —

NORTH.

And why are they not here?

TALBOYS.

And I was induced – I could not resist them – to take a trip on to Inverarnan. We returned to Tarbert and had a glorious afternoon till two this morning – thought I might lie down for an hour or two – but, after undressing, it occurred to me that it was advisable to redress – and be off instanter – so, wheeling round the head of Loch Long – never beheld the bay so lovely – I glided up the gentle slope of Glencroe and sat down on "Rest and be thankful" – to hold a minute's colloquy with a hawk – or some sort of eagle or another, who seemed to think nobody at that hour had a right to be there but himself – covered him to a nicety with my rod – and had it been a gun, he was a dead bird. Down the other – that is, this side of the glen, which, so far from being precipitous, is known to be a descent but by the pretty little cataracts playing at leap-frog – from your description I knew that must be Loch Fine – and that St Catherine's. Shall I drop down and signalise the Inverary Steamer? I have not time – so through the woods of Ardkinglass – surely the most beautiful in this world – to Cairndow. Looked at my watch – had forgot to wind her up – set her by the sun – and on nearing the inn door an unaccountable impulse landed me in the parlour to the right. Breakfast on the table for somebody up stairs – whom nobody – so the girl said – could awaken – ate it – and the ten miles were but one to that celebrated Circuit Town. Saluted Dun-nu-quech for your sake – and the Castle for the Duke's – and could have lingered all June among those gorgeous groves.

NORTH.

Do – do – go and put on dry clothes.

TALBOYS.

Hitherto it had been cool – shady – breezy – the very day for such a saunter – when all at once it was an oven. I had occasion to note that fine line of the Poet's – "Where not a lime-leaf moves," as I passed under a tree of that species, with an umbrage some hundred feet in circumference, and a presentiment of what was coming whispered "Stop here" – but the Fates tempted me on – and if I am rather wet, sir, there is some excuse for it – for there was thunder and lightning, and a great tempest.

NORTH.

Not to-day? Here all has been hush.

TALBOYS.

It came at once from all points of the compass – and they all met – all the storms – every mother's son of them – at a central point – where I happened to be. Of course, no house. Look for a house on an emergency, and if once in a million times you see one – the door is locked, and the people gone to Australia.

NORTH.

I insist on you putting on dry clothes. Don't try my temper.

TALBOYS.

By-and-by I began to have my suspicions that I had been distracted from the road – and was in the Channel of the Airey. But on looking down I saw the Airey in his own channel – almost as drumly as the mire-burn – vulgarly called road – I was plashing up. Altogether the scene was most animating – and in a moment of intense exhilaration – not to weather-fend, but in defiance – I unfurled my Umbrella.

NORTH.

What, a Plover with a Parapluie?

TALBOYS.

I use it, sir, but as a Parasol. Never but on this one occasion had it affronted rain.

NORTH.

The same we sat under, that dog-day, at Dunoon?

TALBOYS.

The same. Whew! Up into the sky like the incarnation of a whirlwind! No turning outside in – too strong-ribbed for inversion – before the wind he flew – like a creature of the element – and gracefully accomplished the descent on an eminence about a mile off.

NORTH.

Near Orain-imali-chauan-mala-chuilish?

TALBOYS.

I eyed him where he lay – not without anger. It had manifestly been a wilful act – he had torn himself from my grasp – and now he kept looking at me – at safe distance as he thought – like a wild animal suddenly undomesticated – and escaped into his native liberty. If he had sailed before the wind – why might not I? No need to stalk him – so I went at him right in front – but such another flounder! Then, sir, I first knew fatigue.

NORTH.

"So eagerly The FiendO'er bog, or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,With head, hands, wings, or feet pursues his way,And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies."

TALBOYS.

Finally I reached him – closed on him – when Eolus, or Eurus, or Notus, or Favonius – for all the heathen wind-gods were abroad – inflated him, and away he flew – rustling like a dragon-fly – and zig-zagging all fiery-green in the gloom – sat down – as composedly as you would yourself, sir – on a knoll, in another region – engirdled with young birch-groves – as beautiful a resting-place, I must acknowledge as, after a lyrical flight, could have been selected for repose by Mr Wordsworth.

NORTH.

I know it – Arash-alaba-chalin-ora-begota-la-chona-hurie. Archy will go for it in the evening – all safe. But do go and put on dry clothes. What now, Billy?

BILLY BALMER.

Here are Mr Talboys' trunk, sir.

NORTH.

Who brought it?

BILLY.

Nea, Maister – I dan't kna' – I s'pose Carrier. I ken't reet weell – ance at Windermere-watter.

NORTH.

Swiss Giantess – Billy.

BILLY.

Ay – ay – sir.

NORTH.

You will find the Swiss Giantess as complete a dormitory as man can desire, Talboys. I reserve it for myself, in event of rheumatism. Though lined with velvet, it is always cool – ventilated on a new principle – of which I took merely a hint from the Punka. My cot hangs in what used to be the Exhibition-room – and her Retreat is now a commodious Dressing-room. Billy, show Mr Talboys to the Swiss Giantess.

BILLY.

Ay – ay, sir. This way, Mr Talboy – this way, sir.

TALBOYS.

What is your dinner-hour, Mr North?

NORTH.

Sharp seven – seven sharp.

TALBOYS.

And now 'tis but half-past two. Four hours for work. The Cladich – or whatever you call him – is rumbling disorderly in the wood; and I noted, as I crossed the bridge, that he was proud as a piper of being in Spate – but he looks more rational down in yonder meadows – and – heaven have mercy on me! there's Loch Awe!!

NORTH.

I thought it queer that you never looked at it.

TALBOYS.

Looked at it? How could I look at it? I don't believe it was there. If it was – from the hill-top I had eyes but for the Camp – the Tents and the Trees – and "Thee the spirit of them all!" Let me have another eye-full – another soul-full of the Loch. But 'twill never do to be losing time in this way. Where's my creel – where's my creel?

NORTH.

On your shoulders —

TALBOYS.

And my Book? Lost – lost – lost! Not in any one of all my pockets. I shall go mad.

NORTH.

Not far to go. Why your Book's in your hand.

TALBOYS.

At eight?

NORTH.

Seven. Archy, follow him – In that state of excitement he will be walking with his spectacles on over some precipice. Keep your eye on him, Archy —

ARCHY.

I can pretend to be carrying the landing-net, sir.

NORTH.

There's a specimen of a Scottish Lawyer, gentlemen. What do you think of him?

BULLER.

That he is without exception the most agreeable fellow, at first sight, I ever met in my life.

NORTH.

And so you would continue to think him, were you to see him twice a-week for twenty years. But he is far more than that – though, as the world goes, that is much: his mind is steel to the back-bone – his heart is sound as his lungs – his talents great – in literature, had he liked it, he might have excelled; but he has wisely chosen a better Profession – and his character now stands high as a Lawyer and a Judge. Yonder he goes! As fresh as a kitten after a score and three quarter miles at the least.

BULLER.

Seward – let's after him. Billy – the minnows.

BILLY.

Here's the Can, sirs.

Scene closes.

Scene II.

Interior of Deeside.– Time – Seven p. m.

North – Talboys – Buller – Seward.

NORTH.

Seward, face Buller. Talboys, face North. Fall too, gentlemen; to-day we dispense with regular service. Each man has his own distinct dinner before him, or in the immediate vicinity – soup, fish, flesh, fowl – and with all necessary accompaniments and sequences. How do you like the arrangement of the table, Talboys?

TALBOYS.

The principle shows a profound knowledge of human nature, sir. In theory, self-love and social are the same – but in practice, self-love looks to your own plate – social to your neighbours. By this felicitous multiplication of dinners – this One in Four – this Four in One – the harmony of the moral system is preserved – and all works together for the general good. Looked at artistically, we have here what the Germans and others say is essential to the beautiful and the sublime – Unity.

NORTH.

I believe the Four Dinners – if weighed separately – would be found not to differ by a pound. This man's fish might prove in the scale a few ounces heavier than that man's – but in such case, his fowl would be found just so many ounces lighter. And so on. The Puddings are cast in the same mould – and things equal to the same thing, are equal to one another.

TALBOYS.

The weight of each repast?

NORTH.

Calculated at twenty-five pounds.

TALBOYS.

Grand total, one hundred. The golden mean.

NORTH.

From these general views, to descend to particulars. Soup (turtle) two pounds – Hotch, ditto – Fish (Trout) two pounds – Flesh, (Jigot – black face five-year-old,) six pounds – Fowl (Howtowdie boiled) five pounds – Duck, (wild) three pounds – Tart (gooseberry) one pound – Pud (Variorum Edition) two pounds.

BULLER.

That is but twenty-three, sir! I have taken down the gentleman's words.

NORTH.

Polite – and grateful. But you have omitted sauces and creams, breads and cheeses. Did you ever know me incorrect in my figures, in any affirmation or denial, private or public?

BULLER.

Never. Beg pardon.

NORTH.

Now that the soups and fishes seem disposed of, I boldly ask you, one and all, gentlemen, if you ever beheld Four more tempting Jigots?

TALBOYS.

I am still at my Fish. No fish so sweet as of one's own catching – so I have the advantage of you all. This one here – the one I am eating at this blessed moment – I killed in what the man with the Landing-net called the Birk Pool. I know him by his peculiar physiognomy – an odd cast in his eye – which has not left him on the gridiron. That Trout of my killing on your plate, Mr Seward, made the fatal plunge at the tail of the stream so overhung with Alders that you can take it successfully only by the tail – and I know him by his colour, almost as silvery as a whitling. Yours, Mr Buller, was the third I killed – just where the river – for a river he is to-day, whatever he may be to-morrow – goes whirling into the Loch – and I can swear to him from his leopard spots. Illustrious sir, of him whom you have now disposed of – the finest of the Four – I remember saying inwardly, as with difficulty I encreeled him – for his shoulders were like a hog's – this for the King.

NORTH.

Your perfect Pounder, Talboys, is the beau-ideal of a Scottish Trout. How he cuts up! If much heavier – you are frustrated in your attempts to eat him thoroughly – have to search – probably in vain – for what in a perfect Pounder lies patent to the day – he is to back-bone comeatable – from gill to fork, Seward, you are an artist. Good creel?

SEWARD.

I gave Mr Talboys the first of the water, and followed him – a mere caprice – with the Archimedean Minnow. I had a run – but just as the monster opened his jaws to absorb – he suddenly eschewed the scentless phenomenon, and with a sullen plunge, sunk into the deep.

BULLER.

I tried the natural minnow after Seward – but I wished Archimedes at Syracuse – for the Screw had spread a panic – and in a panic the scaly people lose all power of discrimination, and fear to touch a minnow, lest it turn up a bit of tin or some other precious metal.

NORTH.

I have often been lost in conjecturing how you always manage to fill your creel, Talboys; for the truth is – and it must be spoken – you are no angler.

TALBOYS.

I can afford to smile! I was no angler, sir, ten years ago – now I am. But how did I become one? By attending you, sir – for seven seasons – along the Tweed and the Yarrow, the Clyde and the Daer, the Tay and the Tummel, the Don and the Dee – and treasuring up lessons from the Great Master of the Art.

NORTH.

You surprise me! Why, you never put a single question to me about the art – always declined taking rod in hand – seemed reading some book or other, held close to your eyes – or lying on banks a-dose or poetising – or facetious with the Old Man – or with the Old Man serious – and sometimes more than serious, as, sauntering along our winding way, we conversed of man, of nature, and of human life.

TALBOYS.

I never lost a single word you said, sir, during those days, breathing in every sense "vernal delight and joy," yet all the while I was taking lessons in the art. The flexure of your shoulder – the sweep of your arm – the twist of your wrist – your Delivery, and your Recover – that union of grace and power – the utmost delicacy, with the most perfect precision – All these qualities of a heaven-born Angler, by which you might be known from all other men on the banks of the Whittadder on a Fast-day —

NORTH.

I never angled on a Fast-day.

TALBOYS.

A lapsus linguæ– From a hundred anglers on the Daer, on the Queen's Birthday —

NORTH.

My dear Friend, you ex —

TALBOYS.

All those qualities of a heaven-born Angler I learned first to admire – then to understand – and then to imitate. For three years I practised on the carpet – for three I essayed on a pond – for three I strove by the running waters – and still the Image of Christopher North was before me – till emboldened by conscious acquisition and constant success, I came forth and took my place among the Anglers of my country.

BULLER.

To-day I saw you fast in a tree.

TALBOYS.

You mean my Fly.

BULLER.

First your Fly, and then, I think, yourself.

TALBOYS.

I have seen Il Maestro himself in Timber, and in brushwood too. From him I learned to disentangle knots, intricate and perplexed far beyond the Gordian – "with frizzled hair implicit" – round twig, branch, or bole. Not more than half-a-dozen times of the forty that I may have been fast aloft – I speak mainly of my noviciate – have I had to effect liberation by sacrifice.

SEWARD.

Pardon me, Mr Talboys, for hinting that you smacked off your tail-fly to-day – I knew it by the sound.

TALBOYS.

The sound! No trusting to an uncertain sound, Mr Seward. Oh! I did so once – but intentionally – the hook had lost the barb – not a fish would it hold – so I whipped it off, and on with a Professor.

BULLER.

You lost one good fish in rather an awkward manner, Mr Talboys.

TALBOYS.

I did – that metal minnow of yours came with a splash within an inch of his nose – and no wonder he broke me – nay, I believe it was the minnow that broke me – and yet you can speak of my losing a good fish in rather an awkward manner!

NORTH.

It is melancholy to think that I have taught young Scotland to excel myself in all the Arts that adorn and dignify life. Till I rose, Scotland was a barbarous country —

TALBOYS.

Do say, my dear sir, semi-civilised.

NORTH.

Now it heads the Nations – and I may set.

TALBOYS.

And why should that be a melancholy thought, sir?

NORTH.

Oh, Talboys – National Ingratitude! They are fast forgetting the man who made them what they are – in a few fleeting centuries the name of Christopher North will be in oblivion! Would you believe it possible, gentlemen, that even now, there are Scotsmen who never heard of the Fly that bears the name of me, its Inventor – Killing Kit!

BULLER.

In Cornwall it is a household word.

SEWARD.

And in all the Devons.

BULLER.

Men in Scotland who never heard the name of North!

NORTH.

Christopher North – who is he? Who do you mean by the Man of the Crutch? – The Knight of the Knout? Better never to have been born than thus to be virtually dead.

SEWARD.

Sir, be comforted – you are under a delusion – Britain is ringing with your name.

NORTH.

Not that I care for noisy fame – but I do dearly love the still.

TALBOYS.

And you have it, sir – enjoy it and be thankful.

NORTH.

But it may be too still.

TALBOYS.

My dear sir, what would you have?

NORTH.

I taught you, Talboys, to play Chess – and now you trumpet Staunton.

TALBOYS.

Chess – where's the board? Let us have a game.

NORTH.

Drafts – and you quote Anderson and the Shepherd Laddie.

TALBOYS.

Mr North, why so querulous?

NORTH.

Where was the Art of Criticism? Where Prose? Young Scotland owes all her Composition to me – buries me in the earth – and then claims inspiration from heaven. "How sharper than a Serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless Child!" Peter – Peterkin – Pym – Stretch – where are your lazinesses – clear decks.

"Away with Melancholy —Nor doleful changes ringOn Life and human Folly,But merrily, merrily sing – fal la!"

BULLER.

What a sweet pipe! A single snatch of an old song from you, sir —

NORTH.

Why are you glowering at me, Talboys?

TALBOYS.

It has come into my head, I know not how, to ask you a question.

NORTH.

Let it be an easy one – for I am languid.

TALBOYS.

Pray, sir, what is the precise signification of the word "Classical?"

NORTH.

My dear Talboys, you seem to think that I have the power of answering, off-hand, any and every question a first-rate fellow chooses to ask me. Classical – classical! Why, I should say, in the first place – One and one other Mighty People – Those, the Kings of Thought – These, the Kings of the Earth.

TALBOYS.

The Greeks – and Romans.

NORTH.

In the second place —

TALBOYS.

Attend – do attend, gentlemen. And I hope I am not too much presuming on our not ancient friendship – for I feel that a few hours on Lochawe-side give the privilege of years – in suggesting that you will have the goodness to use the metal nut-crackers; they are more euphonious than ivory with walnuts.

NORTH.

In the second place – let me consider – Mr Talboys – I should say – in the second place – yes, I have it – a Character of Art expressing itself by words: a mode – a mode of Poetry and Eloquence – Fitness and Beauty.

TALBOYS.

Thank you, sir. Fitness and Beauty. Anything more?

NORTH.

Much more. We think of the Greeks and Romans, sir, as those in whom the Human Mind reached Superhuman Power.

TALBOYS.

Superhuman?

NORTH.

We think so – comparing ourselves with them, we cannot help it. In the Hellenic Wit, we suppose Genius and Taste met at their height – the Inspiration Omnipotent – the Instinct unerring! The creations of Greek Poetry! – Ποιησις – a Making! There the soul seems to be free from its chains – happily self-lawed. "The Earth we pace" is there peopled with divine Forms. Sculpture was the human Form glorified – deified. And as in Marble, so in Song. Something common – terrestrial – adheres to our being, and weighs us down. They – the Hellenes – appear to us to have really walked – as we walk in our visions of exaltation – as if the Graces and the Muses held sway over daily and hourly existence, and not alone over work of Art and solemn occasion. No moral stain or imperfection can hinder them from appearing to us as the Light of human kind. Singular, that in Greece we reconcile ourselves to Heathenism.

TALBOYS.

It may be that we are all Heathens at heart.

NORTH.

The enthusiast adores Greece – not knowing that Greece monarchies over him, only because it is a miraculous mirror that resplendently and more beautifully reflects – himself —

"Divisque videbitPermixtos Heroas, et Ipse, videbitur illis."

SEWARD.

Very fine.

NORTH.

O life of old, and long, long ago! In the meek, solemn, soul-stilling hush of Academic Bowers!

SEWARD.

The Isis!

NORTH.

My youth returns. Come, spirits of the world that has been! Throw open the valvules of these your shrines, in which you stand around me, niched side by side, in visible presence, in this cathedral-like Library! I read Historian, Poet, Orator, Voyager – a life that slid silently away in shades, or that bounded like a bark over the billows. I lift up the curtain of all ages – I stand under all skies – on the Capitol – on the Acropolis. Like that magician whose spirit, with a magical word, could leave his own bosom to inhabit another, I take upon myself every mode of existence. I read Thucydides, and I would be a Historian – Demosthenes, and I would be an Orator – Homer, and I dread to believe myself called to be, in some shape or other, a servant of the Muse. Heroes and Hermits of Thought – Seers of the Invisible – Prophets of the Ineffable – Hierophants of profitable mysteries – Oracles of the Nations – Luminaries of that spiritual Heaven! I bid ye, hail!