Mos. 'Tis a good bargain. Chas. Surf. Careless!-This, now, is a grandfather of my mother's, a learned judge, well known on the western circuit. What do you rate him at, Moses? Mos. Four guineas. Chas. Surf. Four guineas! Gad's life, you don't bid me the price of his wig.-Mr. Premium, you have more respect for the woolsack; 3 do let us knock his lordship down at fifteen. Sir Oliv. By all means. Care. Gone! Chas. Surf. And there are two brothers of his, William and Watler Blunt, Esquires, both members of Parliament, and noted speakers; and, what's very extraordinary, I believe, this is the first time they were ever bought or sold. Sir Oliv. That is very extraordinary, indeed! I'll take them at your own price, for the honour of Parliament. Care. Well said, little Premium! I'll knock them down at forty. Chas. Surf. Here's a jolly fellow-I don't know what relation, but he was mayor of Manchester: take him at eight pounds. Sir Oliv. No, no; six will do for the mayor. Chas. Surf. Come, make it guineas, and I'll throw you the two aldermen there into the bargain. Sir Oliv. They're mine. Chas. Surf. Careless, knock down the mayor and aldermen. But, plague on't! we shall be all day retailing in this manner; do let us deal wholesale: what say you, little Premium? Give me three hundred pounds for the rest of the family in the lump. Care. Ay, ay, that will be the best way. Sir Oliv. Well, well, any thing to accommodate you; they are mine. But there is one portrait which you have always passed over. Care. What, that ill-looking little fellow over the settee? Sir Oliv. Yes, sir, I mean that; though I don't think him so ill-looking a little fellow, by any means. Chas. Surf. What, that? Oh; that's my uncle Oliver! 'twas done before he went to India. Care. Your uncle Oliver! Gad, then you'll never be friends, Charles. That, now, to me, is as stern a looking rogue as ever I saw; an unforgiving eye, and a disinheriting countenance! an inveterate knave, depend on't. Don't you think so, little Premium? Sir Oliv. Upon my soul, sir, I do not; I think it is as honest a looking face as any in the room, dead or alive. But I suppose uncle Oliver goes with the rest of the lumber? Chas. Surf. No hang it! I'll not part with poor Noll. The old fellow has been very good to me, and, egad, I'll keep his picture while I've a room to put it in. Sir Oliv. (Aside) The rogue's my nephew after all!(Aloud) But, sir, I have somehow taken a fancy to that picture. Chas. Surf. I'm sorry for't, for you certainly will not have it. Oons, haven't you got enough of them? Sir Oliv. (Aside) I forgive him every thing!—(Aloud) But, sir, when I take a whim in my head, I don't value money. I'll give you as much for that as for all the rest. Chas. Surf. Don't tease me, master broker; I tell you I'll not part with it, and there's an end of it. Sir Oliv. (Aside) How like his father the dog is!(Aloud) Well, well, I have done.-(Aside) I did not perceive it before, but I think I never saw such a striking resemblance. (Aloud) Here is a draft for your sum. Chas. Surf. Why, 'tis for eight hundred pounds! Sir Oliv. You will not let Sir Oliver go? Chas. Surf. Zounds! no I tell you, once more. Sir Oliv. Then never mind the difference, we'll balance that another time. But give me your hand on the bargain; you are an honest fellow, Charles I beg pardon, sir, for being so free. Come, Moses. Chas. Surf. Egad, this is a whimsical old fellow!- But hark'ee, Premium you'll prepare lodgings for these gentle men. Sir Oliv. Yes, yes, I'll send for them in a day or two. Chas. Surf. But hold; do now send a genteel conveyance for them, for, I assure you, they were most of them used to ride in their own carriages. Sir Oliv. I will, I will-for all but Oliver. Chas. Surf. Ay, all but the little nabob. Sir Oliv. You're fixed on that? Chas. Surf. Peremptorily. Sir Oliv. (Aside) A dear extravagant rogue.—(Aloud) Good day!-Come, Moses.-(Aside) Let me hear now who dares call him profligate. From The School for Scandal, Act IV., Scene 1. B ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796) URNS was the most important forerunner of the romantic movement. He turned from the artificiality of the eighteenth century to the reality of humble Scotch life as he knew it. No subject was too insignificant to demand his attention, for he wrote poems To a Mountain Daisy and To a Mouse. He was, however, primarily a singer, who immortalized the songs of Scotland. Auld Lang Syne, Coming through the Rye, Sweet Afton, and John Anderson are universally known, but nearly 300 more bear testimony to his ability as a lyric poet. From childhood Burns knew the severity of poverty. The American war had raised the cost of living so high that many of the Scotch peasants found it necessary to mortgage their crops. At fifteen Burns was the principal laborer on a farm. Farming was to be his chief occupation for most of his life, for he was essentially interested in the common man. A youth of a poetic temperament naturally found this occupation irksome and sought his diversion in the tavern. He also had several love affairs which brought him into disrepute with the church. Later he sought revenge by ridiculing Calvanism in The Holy Friar, Holy Willie's Prayer, and other poems about the church. The publication of his poems in 1786 brought a change in his fortunes. He went to Edinburgh and was at once welcomed by all as "Caledonia's Bard." But Edinburgh was not free from temptation for a peasant of Burns' temperament. So he left it soon after the publication of the First Edinburgh edition of his poems. He referred to this visit as "my late hair-brained ramble into life." His attitude toward poetry he revealed in the preface to his first volume of poems. "To amuse himself with little creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious life; to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breast; to find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of the world, always an alien scene, a task uncouth to the poetical mind; these were his motives for courting the muses, and in these he found poetry to be his reward." When Burns remained true to this creed, he did his finest work, but when he attempted to imitate the English poets, he failed. TO MR. RENTON OF LAMBERTON Your billet, Sir, I grant receipt; Tho' 't were a trip to yon blue warl' R. BURNS. VERSICLES ON SIGN-POSTS I He looked Just as your sign-post Lions do, too. II (Patient Stupidity) So heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, III His face with smile eternal drest Just like the landlord to his guest, High as they hang with creaking din IV A head, pure, sinless quite of brain and soul, Just shews a human face, and wears a wig, |