MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE AND ART. 



THE FORGET-ME-NOT. ACKERMANN & Co. 



THE eldest-born of annuals has always been a welcome guest at 

 our Christmas fire-sides, and from the pains taken to keep pace with 

 the fresh attraction offered by other adventurers in the most inter- 

 esting of literary competition, we have no doubt it will long continue 

 so. There are many very interesting articles in the present volume, 

 of which we shall extract the following : the view from an hitherto 

 unpublished sketch by the late Sir Walter Scott, and the tale by our 

 friend the Ettrick Shepherd : 



SCOTTISH HAYMAKERS. 



THERE is no employment in Scotland so sweet as working in a hay-field on 

 a fine summer day. Indeed it is only on a fine summerday that the youths 

 and maidens of this northern clime can work at the hay. But then the scent 

 of the new hay, which of all others in the world is the most delicious and 

 healthful, the handsome dress of the girls, which is uniformly the same, con- 

 sisting of a snow-white bedgown and white or red striped petticoat the dress 

 that Wilkie is so fond of, and certainly the most lovely and becoming dress 

 that ever was or will be worn by woman ; and then the rosy flush of health- 

 ful exercise on the cheeks of the maidens, with their merry jibes and smiles 

 of innocent delight ! Well do I know, from long and well tried experience, 

 that it is impossible for any man with the true feelings of a man to work with 

 them or even to stand and look on both of which I have done a thousand 

 times, first as a servant, and afterwards as a master I say it is impossible 

 to be among them and not be in love with some one or other of them. 



But this simple prologue was merely meant to introduce a singular adven- 

 ture I met with a good many years ago. Mr. Terry, the player, his father 

 and brother-in-law, the two celebrated Naesmiths, and some others, among 

 whom was Monsieur Alexandre, the most wonderful ventriloquist that I be- 

 lieve ever was born, and I think Grieve and Scott, but at this distance of time 

 I am uncertain, were of the party. However, we met by appointment ; and, 

 as the weather was remarkably fine, agreed to take a walk into the country 

 and dine at " The Hunter's Tryste," a little, neat, cleanly, well-kept inn, 

 about two miles to the southward of Edinburgh. We left the city by the hills 

 of Braid, and there went into a hay-field. The scene certainly was quite de- 

 lightful, what with the scent of the hay, the beauty of the day, and the rural 

 group of haymakers. Some were working hard, some wooing, and some 

 towzling, as we call it, when Alexander Naesmith, who was always on the 

 look-out for any striking scene of nature, called to his son " Come here, 

 Peter, and look at this scene. Did you ever see aught equal to this ? Look 

 at those happy haymakers on the foreground ; that fine old ash tree, and the 

 castle between us and the clear blue sky. I declare I have hardly ever seen 

 such a landscape ! And if you had not been a perfect stump as you are, you 

 would have noticed it before me. If you had I would have set ten times more 

 value on it." 



" Oh, I saw it well enough," said Peter, " and have been taking a peep at it 

 this while past, but I hae some other thing to think of and look at just now. 

 Do you see that girl standing there with the hay-rake in her hand ?" 



' Ay, now, Peter, that's some sense," said the veteran artist. " I excuse 

 you for not looking at the scene I was sketching. Do you know, man, that is 

 the only sensible speech I ever heard you make in my life." 



