rest beat the quicker for his skill, and faces of old and young light up with harmless pleasure and enjoyment. For he is none of your common street performers. His head has a splendid intellectual contour, and his countenance, rugged though it is, is full of a calm settled spirit of humour, with just that overmuch expression of sensibility, a readiness to quiver and to kindle, which the representative face of a musician ought to have. He is just as ready to play you as sad a tune as "Silence O Moyle" as he is to strike up "Garry Owen," or that fantastic "Rory O'More," which always sounds to me like the tossing of the heads of wild flowers in the wind on the side of a particular hill in Munster. Wilkie's piper would scorn to drive you into frenzy like his degenerate imitator of the kerbstone. He was asked, in the good old time, to the house of his honour the squire, where, if he did not sit down with the family, he was respectfully cared for and cheerfully welcomed by the host himself after dinner, and furnished with a jorum of punch, in the consumption of which the squire bore him company. And when the mild potation was over a servant brought in the pipes, and the children were silent; and without any hint as to the exact thing wanted our piper, rambling over the keys a little, brings into the room at his will a dear plaintive air, wandering and wild, and low and loud and irregular, and yet full of meaning; and the squire and his good dame look at each other and remember when this same piper played the same tune how many many years ago, when they were younger than they are! It is all there, the romance of youth and love, in the piper's performance. And his honour when the tune closes takes a moment to clear his throat before he thanks the piper, who has, however, to amuse the youngsters, suddenly dashed into the "Cows amongst the Barley," or some other piece of imitative musical whim for which he is famous. Later on in the evening a dance will be got up not amongst the servants mind you, our piper plays for the gentle folk; and what band of Tinney, Strauss, or Godfrey could equal for heel-powder the rapid rattling articulations of, our instrument? Pipers of this quality have disappeared. The Irish gentry who encouraged them and welcomed them have gone also. But in Wilkie's picture we have fixed for ever something more than the likeness of an individual of the class; the portrait, without being idealized to a point of improbability, has still a typical expression, thoroughly Celtic and Irish, in its readiness to respond to the most diverse moods of emotion and sentiment.

-"He was a stout carle for the nones,
Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones;
A baggepipe well could he blow and soune."
CHAUCER.

About a century since, in the last "rugging and riving days" of Scotland, before the modern march of intellect had so completely routed the wonderful arts of magic and witchcraft as to leave neither witch nor conjuror in all the broad lands of Britain, there lived a noted fellow called RORY BLARE, who filled the office of town-piper to the prosperous fishing port of Mucklebrowst. He always affirmed his family to be of high antiquity, and as he was disclaimed by the Blairs of that Ilk, and the Blairs of Balthayock, and the Blairs of Lethendie, and the Blairs of Overdurdy, and, in short, by all the other Blairs, he set up at once to be the head of the Blares of Bletherit and Skirlawa', which have furnished Scotland with pipers ever since it was a country. In the course of his life Rory had performed the

various parts of fisherman, sailor, soldier, and pedlar, none of which professions are peculiarly likely to teach a man temperance; and having procured his discharge in consequence of a wound in his head, which carried away a small fraction of his brain-pan, about the sober age of fifty-seven he settled down into a roistering and carousing town-piper. As he had a good deal of those rambling, mischief-loving, satirical characters, called in Scotland hallen-shakers and blether-skytes, and his strangest tricks were played, and his fun was ever the most furious when the malt was over the meal, all who knew him declared that " he certainly had a bee in his bonnet, puir man! ever sin' he gat that sair paik on his pow in the wars." Rory himself, however, was wont to assert that " 'he was as gude a man as ever;" which, perhaps, might be true in one sense, as he never was very celebrated for either his prudence or his sobriety.

So much for his person and character; and for his talents as a piper, he could most merrily "blaw up the chanter," as the old song says, with some skill and "richt gude will," untired, even through a long night of active dancing and loud carousal; which, with his mirth and bold demeanour, made him a special favourite throughout Mucklebrowst and its vicinity. Without at all underrating his own knowledge of music, he was fond of attributing some part of his popularity to his instrument, which, he was accustomed to relate, had been found in one of the holy wells of St. Fillan, in Perthshire; thereby inheriting a finer tone and easier breath than any mere mortal pipes could ever boast of, beside the power of resisting all kinds of glamour or witchcraft. The truth of this was never rightly known, though it was whispered that, if the pipes had belonged even to St. Fillan himself, Rory Blare had employed them so differently, that if they ever possessed any virtue it had long since departed.

As the worthy town-piper was always ready to be foremost in any kind of sport, or to bestow his counsel in any case of courtship, marriage, or witchcraft, which occupied the gossips, that is to say, all the inhabitants of Mucklebrowst-he was everywhere welcome. But, though he distributed his patronage pretty equally, he appeared to be most merry, and to make himself most at home at the Maggie Lauder's Head, a little public kept by one Bauldie Quech, whose jovial and careless disposition matched exactly with his own. They would frequently sit till "the sma' hours, driving away time by glass after glass, rant after rant, and song after song, until the de

VOL. IV.

cease of Katie Quech, Bauldie's contentious spouse; when, though all expected to see him take a younger and more agreeable partner, and had even settled who it was to be, he suddenly sank into a dismal and melancholy mood, under the influence of which he drank twice as much as before, though he never laughed at all. Rory Blare, however, did not desert his old companion; for indeed the warmth of his friendship very frequently led him to sit piping and drinking with him throughout the whole night; and one dark and windy evening in autumn they were thus engaged, with a single sedate-looking stranger habited in pale gray, who had come in about night-fall.

"Hout, tout, man!" exclaimed Rory, finding that even St. Fillan's blessed pipes had no effect upon his host, "ye're unco hard to please, I trow; and yet yere lugs used to ken whan they heard gude music: but I daur say the deil's cussen his cloak owre ye, as King Jamie said o' his bairn. Ye'll no think now, honest frien'" continued he, addressing himself to the guest, "that the gudeman was ance ane o' the merriest men o' Mucklebrowst, though ever sin' Luckie Quech died he's no had a word for a dog, let alone a blythe lad or a bonnie lassie."

"Let him look for another Luckie, then, and the sooner the better," answered the stranger, "take heart, man, there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.'

And that's true too, though the deil himsel' spak it," rejoined the piper, "I'm thinkin', Bauldie, that I'll hae to play Fy, let us a' to the bridal,' before ye yet. And wha shall it be, gudeman? wha shall it be? for ye ken there's a hantle o' bonnie lassies in Mucklebrowst, to speak naething o' them o' Leven, or the limmers o' Largo. But ye'll look to the tocher, billie, and see that the lass has a quick lug for the music, and a light fit for the dance."

"They may hae what they will for me," at length answered the host, with a deep sigh, "and they may be as bonnie as they will for me; but they can nane o' them be either less or mair to me."

"Think again, friend," said the guest, "and you will think better of it, for I've often known as broken a ship come to land. What say ye now to Sibbie Carloups, of Gouks-haven, with golden hair on her head, and gold coin in her pouch; I promise you now, that she'd be the girl for me."

"She was no that unsonsie a lassie, but she was nae muckle better than wud, or a witch, when she leevet there," returned the piper,

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it, if your piper-friend be only as stout and fearless as he seems; I promise you that his success is certain, and that the only danger will be in shrinking back when the work is begun."

"Deil doubt me then," said Rory, "there's my thumb on't: and ye ken I'm no vera sune daunted."

"Then," answered the stranger, "the sooner you set out the better, since you may have a long journey before you; so mount my horse, for he knows the way you're going; ride out of the town towards Glammis, and you will meet a number of persons, with whom Sibbie Carloups will certainly be. Ask them for Gossip Paddock; and say to her, that you come from Melchior the comptroller, who commands her to give up Bauldie Quech's token; but take heed that you have no other intercouse with them, and, above all, that you bring nothing else away with you."

With these instructions and his blessed pipes Rory Blare departed, followed by the anxious hopes and good wishes of the host. He was nothing dismayed at the cheerless appearance of the night, which was overclouded; whilst a violent storm of wind roared round him, seeming as if it raged purposely to impede his progress. He rode on at a rapid pace; but the way looked wilder and more lonely than usual, no person appearing of whom he might make his mystic inquiries. The features, too, of that well-known road seemed altogether altered, since the piper missed the little towns and change-houses with which he knew it to be studded; though he failed not to recognize, with increased terror, the spots which had been rendered famous by any fearful circumstances. At length, however, he entered a deep and spacious glen, covered with dark heather, which was wholly unknown to him; so that he was now assured that he had missed his way altogether.

As the wind still continued to blow furiously, and the rain to fall with violence between the gusts, Rory Blare was rejoiced to see the dim outline of a building appear in the glen before him, one part of which was glowing with lights, and resounding with the loudest notes of merriment. He made up to it, if it were only in the hope of getting some information of his way and a temporary shelter; and arriving at a little stone portal, which was half open, beneath the lighted chambers, he rang, and knocked, and shouted for some time, without procuring any reply. Alighting from the stranger's horse, therefore, and fastening him to the door, he went in and ascended a flight

of narrow winding stairs, which terminated in a suite of state-chambers, decorated in the style, however, of three centuries before. The room which he first entered was richly illuminated, and in the centre appeared a table, round which several tall powerful men were seated, playing at cards. They were all habited in the most costly and antique dresses; for there were pall and velvet, steel armour and two-handed swords, and robes of ermine and minever. They swore and stamped at each other, raged and shouted in the most fearful manner, as they won or lost the broad gold pieces which lay on the table before them; but the most furious of all was one old hard-featured baron who sat at the head of the chamber, distinguished from the rest by an immensely long beard. He lost much and repeatedly, tore the cards and dashed his clenched hands passionately on the board, then called for wine, and again engaged in the game, swearing in the wildest manner that he would play on till doomsday.

The terrific features of this scene made even the piper desirous of exchanging it for the stormy night and dark glen without; but upon looking round for the door by which he entered, he found that it had closed, and was covered by hangings similar to the rest of the room, so that it could nowhere be seen. Whilst he was gazing about him for some other passage, he was accosted by the long-bearded nobleman, who demanded of him in a thundering tone "what he wanted, and who sent him there?" Rory felt his blood rather chilled whilst he answered that he had missed his way to Glammis, on the road to which one Master Melchior the comptroller had sent him to inquire for Gossip Paddock, to recover a token from her.

"The fiend take Melchior the comptroller!" exclaimed the ancient baron, "he'll ruin the trade of us a', if he gae on at this rate. And what base carle are ye, whom he has sent on sic a fule's errand?"

"I'm Rory Blare, the town-piper o' Mucklebrowst, if it like your honour," was the reply; "I hae the blessed pipes o' St. Fillan wi' me, and I'll gie ye ane of the Saunt's ain sangs by which he drave awa' the deil on the chanter, an ye wad like to listen till it."

There was something in this proposal not very pleasing to the long-bearded baron, since he ground his teeth and grinned fearfully upon the piper, and roared out fiercely to Nickie Deilstyke to take the canting dog down to the revel in the court-yard, and show him where Cummer Paddock hung her curch whilst she danced. Rory Blare followed the servitor through several winding passages, into what