RECOLLECTIONS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 315 



most of tliose who retained their equilibrium a little longer than their 

 less steady associates in the mirth and follies of the evening, as the 

 wights were sprawling horizontally, were quite astounding, and 

 completely drowned both his Grace's voice and the voices of the few 

 who were still able to join in the chorus. Nay, in several instances, 

 the very violence of the laughter of the first class, soon brought them 

 to a level with the second ; so that, before the Duke got to the end of 

 the song, he had only Sir Walter and one or two others to join him 

 in the chorus. Most of those who had been lying horizontally, 

 having by this time recovered their perpendicular position. Sir 

 Alexander Ferguson, who was one of the guests, insisted they should 

 all show their sense of the good example his Grace had shown them, 

 by an immediate imitation of it under another leader. In this last 

 capacity Sir Alexander volunteered his services. He mounted, 

 putting one foot on the table and the other on the chair. The 

 company put themselves in the same position. Sir Alexander com- 

 menced his song, but had not^finished the third line when all at once 

 one of the tables was upset, and down went men, glasses, wine, &c. 

 all in " glorious confusion." The scene on the floor, which now 

 ensued would have defied the pencil of Hogarth himself. Sir Walter 

 declared that never in his life did he laugh so immoderately. 



It is nothing to read this anecdote as here related ; but to have 

 heard Sir Walter tell the story was, as the reader will readily believe, 

 a somewhat different matter. Mr. James Ballantine, though perhaps 

 more in Sir Walter's company than any other man, mentioned to me 

 the next day that he never saw the illustrious baronet enter with so 

 much spirit or with so much effect into the narration of any story 

 whatever. 



(.To be concluded in our next.) 



A DIRGE. FOR MUSIC. 



BY MRS. G. G. RICHAUDSON. 



IVIy lover lies beneath the wave 



In ocean deep! 

 No tempests that above him rave 



Can harm his sleep ! 

 I thought it sad for him should be 



No funeral knell. 

 That where he lay, no eye could see. 



No marble tell. 



O, idle sorrow ! He is gone — 



Where'er the spot ! 

 I am the desolate, the lone — 



He heeds it not. 

 Wherever flows that trackless sea 



In billowy swell, 

 I see his grave, and Memory 



Repeats his knell. 



