“I’m just swithering, John; I’m just swithering: now when I mind, there wasna a piece of red cloth in all the sheet; and mair by token, there was a bit gap at one of the corners. Now, I’m just thinking, since it maun be that all these bit odds and ends are to be evidence against me when I come to the lang count, it would be better to snick a bit aff the corner here; and that you see, John, will fill all deficiencies, and mak the sheet, since it maun appear against me, evidence, John, without a flaw!”
BLACK JOE O’ THE BOW.
By James Smith.
In the days no sae very lang syne, when the auld West Bow o’ Edinburgh was in the deadthraw o’ its glory, there lived an auld blackymore named Joe Johnson. He was weel kent through a’ the toun for his great ingenuity in makin’ ships an’ automaton figures—something like the “Punch and Judy” o’ present times, but mair exquisitely finished an’—what d’ye ca’ that fine word?—artistic?—that’s it. Aweel, this man, commonly ca’d Black Joe, lived up a lang stair in the Bow, on the richt-hand side gaun doun. He made his livin’ in simmer by the bonnie bits o’ ships he made, displaying them for sale at the front gate o’ Heriot’s Wark, in Lauriston; an’ whiles he took a change at the drum an’ pan-pipes, wi’ a wee doggie ca’d Pincher, that stood on its hint-legs when Joe was playin’, wi’ a tin saucer in its mouth to haud the coppers. Sometimes, when Joe was playin’, and naething was comin’ in, the dog wad bite somebody’s leg by mistake to vary the entertainment, to Joe’s unspeakable delight. But this was often followed by somebody roaring oot—“Horselip! Horselip!” an’ then the drumstick flew through the crowd at somebody’s head, an’ Joe was generally marched to the office between twa policemen. But for a’ his fiery temper when roused, he had a kind, canny way wi’ him when civilly treated, an’ wadna hae wranged a livin’ cratur.
When the lang winter nichts set in, Joe had a show at the fit o’ his stair; an’ aften the Bow rang wi’ his drum an’ pan-pipes, as he stood at the outside o’ the show, wi’ a lichtit paper lantern stuck up in front, whereon was painted a rough sketch o’ Billy Button on the road to Brentford, the Babes in the Wood, Tam o’ Shanter on his mare Meg, pursued by the witches, wi’ Cutty Sark makin’ a catch at Maggie’s tail, or some ither scenic representation. Whiles, when Joe was burstin’ his black face in the middle o’ a fine tune, some ragged imp wad roar—
Hey cocky dawdy, hey cocky dow—
Horselip, Horselip’s comin doun the Bow,
Wi’ his drum an’ his pipe, an’ his pipe, pipe, pipe!
Doun went the drum, an’ aff ran Joe after the malicious urchin, the doggie first and foremost in the chase. For whether the beast had been trained, or acted through the force o’ instinct, certain it is, that nae sooner was its maister ca’d “Horselip,” than aff it sprang, an’ fixed its teeth in the shins o’ the first ane that cam in its way.
There was ae New Year’s nicht that an unco mess took place wi’ Joe’s show. There was a wee funny dancin’ figure o’ a man that the laddies aye ca’d “Tooral”—ane o’ the best figures in the show. This figure was on the stage singin’ “Tooraladdy,” an’ he was at the last verse—