they were, with all his usual generosity. The Ettrick Shepherd was his

sworn crony; they would meet, drink to excess, roar out their lyrics in

each other's faces, and quarrel and make it up again till bedtime. And

besides these recognitions, almost to be called official, Dandie was

made welcome for the sake of his gift through the farmhouses of several

contiguous dales, and was thus exposed to manifold temptations which he

rather sought than fled. He had figured on the stool of repentance, for

once fulfilling to the letter the tradition of his hero and model. His

humorous verses to Mr. Torrance on that occasion - "Kenspeckle here my

lane I stand" - unfortunately too indelicate for further citation, ran

through the country like a fiery cross - they were recited, quoted,

paraphrased, and laughed over as far away as Dumfries on the one hand

and Dunbar on the other.

These four brothers were united by a close bond, the bond of that mutual

admiration - or rather mutual hero-worship - which is so strong among

the members of secluded families who have much ability and little

culture. Even the extremes admired each other. Hob, who had as much

poetry as the tongs, professed to find pleasure in Dand's verses; Clem,

who had no more religion than Claverhouse, nourished a heartfelt, at

least an open-mouthed, admiration of Gib's prayers; and Dandie followed

with relish the rise of Clem's fortunes. Indulgence followed hard on

the heels of admiration. The laird, Clem, and Dand, who were Tories and

patriots of the hottest quality, excused to themselves, with a certain

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