Page:The Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich - Clough (1848).pdf/13

 Anticipation of royal visit, skits at pedestrians, Swore he would never abandon his country, nor give up deer-stalking; How, too, more brief, and plainer in spite of Gaelic accent, Highland peasants gave courteous answer to flattering nobles. Two orations alone the memorial song will render; For at the banquet's close spake thus the lively Sir Hector, Somewhat husky with praises exuberant, often repeated, Pleasant to him and to them, of the gallant Highland soldiers Whom he erst led in the fight;-something-husky, but cheery, tho' weary, Up to them rose and spoke the grey but gladsome chieftain: Fill up your glasses once more, my friends—with all the honours, There was a toast which I forgot, which our gallant Highland homes have Always welcomed the stranger, I may say, delighted to see Fine young men at my table—My friends! are you ready? the Strangers. Gentlemen, I drink your healths,—and I wish you—with all the honours! So he said, and the cheers ensued, and all the honours, All our Collegians were bowed to, the Attaché detecting His Honour, The Guardsman moving to Arthur, the Marquis sidling to Airlie, While the little drunken Piper came across to shake hands with Lindsay.— But, while the healths were being drunk, was much tribulation and trouble, Nodding and beckoning across, observed of Attaché and Guardsman: Adam wouldn't speak,—indeed it was known he couldn't; Hewson could, and would if they wished; Philip Hewson the poet, Hewson the radical hot, hating lords and scorning ladies, Silent mostly, but often reviling in fire and fury Feudal tenures, mercantile lords, competition and bishops, Liveries, armorial bearings, amongst other things the Game-laws: He could speak, and was asked-to by Adam, but Lindsay aloud cried (Whiskey was hot in his brain) Confound it, no, not Hewson, A'nt he cock-sure to bring-in his eternal political humbug? However, so it must be, and after due pause of silence, Waving his hand to Lindsay, and smiling queerly to Adam, Up to them rose and spoke the poet and radical Hewson. I am, I think, perhaps the most perfect stranger present. I have not, as two or three of my friends, in my veins some tincture, Some few ounces of Scottish blood; no, nothing like it. I am therefore perhaps the fittest to answer and thank you. So I thank you, sir, for myself and for my companions, Heartily thank you all for this unexpected greeting, All the more welcome as showing you do not account us intruders