"I soon roused the skulkers: a vigorous hurrah was the first intimation they had of the enemy being so near their camp. Bang went the first door I came to, and there I found my friend and his, cantie over a cup of the best mountain, and deep in the heart of a thrifty controversy about sheep, their ailments and cures. It was 'an awfu downcome; they stared at each other without perfectly understanding the nature of my announcement. On a repetition, 'Eh, Mr. Bogle, but ye're gone clean blate,' was the rejoinder, 'Ha' ye seen a ghaist!' With some difficulty I made them reluctantly comprehend two very important matters, to wit, my meaning, and a request that they would give me their sweet company awhile. But how they did shout, and rub their sleeves at the discovery; we looked as funny at one another as three ambassadors at a congress. It was as good as the development of a state secret. The best of it is, that it will be a little fortune to the keeper, and a dowry to his weans. Henceforth pilgrimages will be made to the shrine, vieing with Loch Katrine and the pass of Aberfoil in the number of its votaries and the ardour of its worshippers.
"We bade good bye to Newark, and awa' up the braes o' Yarrow, shouting and laughing with the wild echoes of the flood, to the great dismay of sundry bare-legged Naiads and goddesses, peeping ever and anon through 'covert green and woodland dell.'
"My companion had to make a call at his tailor's, who inhabits the low house nigh to the Ford.—A very strange personage this, but of an infinite humour, and pomposity of demeanor.
"It was the very man whom Blackwood accused in one of his 'magi,' of regularly buying two copies of that work, and reading both, from beginning to end, imagining them to be diverse and distinct from each other. He was mightily affronted at this insinuation, and duly wrote, and concocted a letter;—such a curiosity as was never before seen, since the world whistled. I recollect being indulged with a sight of it in the 'back-shop.' He utterly disclaimed taking two copies of the magazine, under any such erroneous impression. The true reason was, that wife and bairns had such an 'ettling for the beuk' that he had no comfort on the occasion, and was often obliged to run for it—to creep behind a stone dike or into a hedge bottom, in the hope of getting free from their importunities, and even then he was in no wise safe from interruption,—some kind neighbour or another would scent him out, and be 'aye licken his fingers frae the dish.' Taking two copies set all to rights, and each party enjoyed their meal in peace. He was dreadfully puzzled about the different 'Horæ' scattered through the numbers, and consulted the minister about their reference to certain matters then abroad, but to which he thought no decent respectable publication, like Blackwood, should have alluded.
"We journeyed on to Altrieve, where Hogg has a quiet domicile within sight of St. Mary's banks, and Dryhope tower, where 'the flower of Yarrow lived and died.' It was high dinner hour when we arrived. A hearty welcome—a dish of boiled trout fresh from the Lake, and et ceteras ad lib., gave a gout and a relish to the succeeding conceptions and concoctions, over which Mrs. Hogg presided,—while the exhilarating influence of high animal spirits, and a 'wee drappie' of the elixir of the mountain, threw a vivid hue and a glowing atmosphere around every theme on which we dilated.
"Hogg is a kind-hearted creature, a man of the rarest genius, compounded out of the most heterogeneous elements, as if nature in one of her freaks had determined to evince the omnipotence of her power, over the most untractable, and unpromising materials,—to mould even the stubborn, and unyielding forms over which she broods, into combinations of the most exquisite symmetry, and delicacy of texture.
"I reckon Hogg's achievements on a par with the most wonderful records of human capability extant. A shepherd's boy, as uncouth and ungifted as any of his tribe—apparently without a glimmer, or an idea of the beautiful or sublime, any further than as it might have relation to a dry bed and a comfortable meal—scarcely able to write his name at a very advanced period of growth. Now he blazes forth, a bright intelligence amongst the lights of the age. Really his works deserve to form part and parcel of our national literature, at once a monument to his glory and an inextinguishable record of the operations of that genius, who setteth no bounds to her habitation, nor suffereth control."
The literary leisure of the next six years was occupied in collecting materials for the Traditions of Lancashire, and by the creative power of imagination, weaving them into tales of romantic interest. Mr. Roby received the most courteous assistance from several of the representatives of the noble houses, whose early history he elucidated; particularly from the Earl and late Countess of Crawford and Balcarres, and also from the late Earl of Derby (1853).
The commencement of the year 1827 was marked by one of those home events, which, though nothing to the world, make sad change in the fire-side circle. Mr. Roby's second boy, named after his brother, the late Rev. William Roby, of Manchester, was at this time about three years of age. Possessed of unusual loveliness and remarkable sensibility for so young a child, he had won upon his parents' hearts, and on that of his father to a remarkable degree. The moment he entered the house, he would call for his darling boy, and place him on his knee at the piano, while the little listener, if not interrupted, would remain for hours rapt in delight. He could not be happy while the child was out of his sight. After a very brief illness, this beautiful boy was called away from the world. His father's heart was wrung, long did he mourn him; and he never dared again to love a child with such idolatry. An infant, a few months' old, had before been laid in the family grave, and on the stone covering their remains, Mr. Roby had the following lines engraven:—