NIMRO&S NORTHERN TOUR. 269 



lent master (tu quoque Philip !) because he would get drunk. " Did 

 he, indeed, sir?" said Philip ; " dear me, how surprising !" But 

 this is human nature, so well set forth in the fable of the old man 

 and his wallet. We had another rich scene with poor Philip, one 

 evening at Keith Hall, during our visit to the stables, by lamp- 

 light. "Will you promise to keep sober?" said the captain to 

 him. " / will, indeed, captain," replied Philip, in a very peni- 

 tent tone ; " I'll promise never to get too much drink again, if 

 my lord will please to keep me." " You have heard of O'Connell, 

 have you not, Philip ?" said I to him. " I can't say but I have," 

 replied Philip. " Then do as he did," resumed I, stretching out 

 my arm upwards, " make a vow to heaven /" when he actually 

 went through the manoeuvre, with his eyes turned upwards. But 

 what is a vow when opposed to whiskey ? Philip no doubt thought 

 with Shakspeare that " the gods are deaf to hot and peevish 

 vows," and in about a month from that time, he was drafted as 

 incurable from riot, as we say of a hound. But don't let it be 

 supposed that I mean to charge Scotch servants in general with 

 the hideous and ruinous vice of drunkenness, which, as the im- 

 mortal novelist and historian of their country says, " is the 

 greatest bar to greatness in any way." 



Having been told that Willie, Lord Kintore's groom, was a 

 great admirer of Burns's lyrics, and that he sang one of his 

 Bacchanalian odes with great taste, he was one evening, at my 

 request, introduced into the dinner-room at Cask, and at the 

 word of command, gave us the beautiful ballad of 



" The evening shade around is spread, 

 The chilling tempest sweeps the sky," 



the chorus to which, 



" Blithe, blithe, and merry are we, 

 Cauld care is far awa ; 

 This is but ane night o' our lives, 

 And wha wad care though it were twa ?" 



is peculiarly heart-stirring and enlivening. To the science of 

 music I am a stranger ; but there certainly is a simplicity and 

 pathetic expression in Scotch airs, that must be highly enchant- 

 ing to a musical ear. Nor was Willie the only songster on the oc- 

 casion. Joe Grant gave us " This day a stag must die," in very 

 good style, and all agreed that next to holloaing away a fox over 

 a good country, we had never heard Joe's pipe to so much advan- 

 tage before. 



