University of Virginia Library

Hughie at the Smiddy—A Dramatic Idyll.

I. Part I.

The Smithy—Evening. Smith. Three Ploughmen. Enter Hugh.
Hugh
—Noo, billies, ken ye what's the steer?

1st Ploughman
—Dave's listed.

2nd Ploughman
— Lowrie's on the beer.

3rd Ploughman
—Nick's cut his throat.

Hugh
— The gude be here,
An' guard an' bless us!
There's scandal for a lang loup-year—
Gie owre your guesses!
Blacksmith, ye'll mind o' Geordie Sym—
He cam' the day!

Smith
— Lang Geordie?

Hugh
— Him.

Smith
—I mind him weel—lang, lowse, an' slim;
The wind could bend him.

Hugh
—Ay; but he's back in ither trim
Than ance we kenn'd him.

Smith
—What's that?

Hugh
— Ou, brawny, big, an' weel;
Beard like a buss, kite like a creel,
As roond an' soond as ony wheel
Ye ever chappit,—
A buirdly, business, wice-like chiel
As ever stappit.

Smith
—An' weel pat on?

Hugh
—The best o' claith;
Coat, breeks—the wast o' England baith;
An' gowd—

1st Pl.
— Noo, Hughie, tak' a breath

2nd Pl.
—An' gie's 't in plenty!

3rd Pl.
— Ca't thoosan's!

Hugh
— Weel, I'll tak' an aith
At least it's twenty.

1st Pl.
—Gude measure!

2nd Pl.
— Lippin'!

3rd Pl.
— To the brim!

Smith
—An' wha's he this? Lang Geordie Sym?
This man o' size an' substance, him
That aye gaed fleein'?
'Faith, Hughie, ye're in famous trim
The nicht for leein'!
Come, steer aboot! wha's aucht this gear?
What's wantit wi' the sock-neb here?

1st Pl.
—Mair laund. A chap or twa wad near
Do a' that's wantit.

Smith
—Hughie, we'll no' juist ca' ye lear—
Tak' it for grantit!

Hugh
—That's ceevil! Weel, it's what I ken
That Geordie's rich amon' rich men,
Has siller baith to spare an' spen',
An' speaks forbye
O' flocks at the far warl's en',
An' droves o' kye.
His farm's a coonty, an' his sheep
The coonty boun's can hardly keep;
He says a telescope micht sweep
His ootmost border,
But ae inch owre it couldna peep,
Tho' made to order!
An' then his sheep—

2nd Pl.
— Wow! but it's graund
To hear o' sic a sicht o' laund!
What say ye, chaps? we'll mak' a baund,
An' owre the ocean!

1st Pl.
—But hoolie! an' let's understaund—
Whaur's this new Goshen?

Hugh
—It's on the underside i' warl'—

Smith
—Ay, man? Hoo dae they stick?

Hugh
— Daft carle!
This earth's a kind o' whirlin' barr'l,
Some up, some under;
It's time aboot wi' ilka wharl,
An' whaur's the wonder?
Owstralia's up when Scotland's doun,
An' that's when we're a' sleepin' soun',
But i' the nicht time we're ca'd roun',
An' i' the mornin'
We're up, an' at oor wark, to croon
The day's adornin'!

3rd Pl.
—Man, Hughie, but ye've rowth o' wirds,
They carve the subjec'-theme like swirds—
Tell us what kin' o' beas' an' birds
Live thereawa'.

2nd Pl.
—An' what they gie their hinds an' herds.

1st Pl.
— Just oot wi't a'.

Hugh
—Weel, first, they've neither craws nor doos,
But craturs they ca' cockatoos;
An' then for beas', they've kangaroos
An' aborigins;
The folk's a mixtur', I jaloose,
O' a' religions,
But brithers a'—there's nae pretence;
An' then the kintra's sae immense,
Ye'll get a farm at sma' expense,
An' hoose to sleep in;
In fac', ye juist rin oot your fence
An' ca' your sheep in.
There's nane to steer ye whaur ye sattle.
An' there they breed like Jacob's cattle,
Till to the boun's they spread an' sprattle,
Then—owre they rin
Whaur neither fence o' wire nor wattle
Can haud them in.
O then what muntin' an' what ridin'
The gressy wildernesses wide in,
To herd the flocks that winna bide in,
An' keep them clear!
There's nae sic guardin' or sic guidin'
O' cattle here.
The shepherds i' the saiddle sleep,
The plains are populous wi' sheep,
The haill horizon seems to creep,
An' far ayont it
They haena even time to keep
The cattle coontit!
Owre a' the region, far an' near,
There's bleatin' there, an' baain' here;
Then comes the crap-time o' the year
When packs are made up,
An' gowpenfu's o' gowden gear
Are snugly laid up.
In this way lang lowse Geordie even
Has grown a man o' means, an' thriven,
Staunds twa ell straucht, an' lifts to heaven
A half-ell beard,
An' looks as life-like an' as livin'
As ony laird.

II. Part II.

Smithy as before. Later evening. Smith. Hugh. Three Ploughmen. Outside at half-door, a Tall Stranger, with a half-ell beard, leading a Saddle-horse.
Tall Stranger
—Who owns this hole? Holloa there—you!
Blacksmith or blackguard!

Smith
— What's ado?

Hugh
—It's him! it's Geordie!

Tall St.
— Horse to shoe!
And look out—there's 't!
(Quoiting in the iron.)

Smith
—Man, folk hae time to dicht their mou'
I' th' heat o' hairst!
Ca' in your naig! (Enter Tall Stranger.)

Hugh
— It's Maister Sym!
Noo, blacksmith, say 't!

Smith
— Hughie, it's him!
'Faith, sir, ye come in ither trim
Than ance I've kent ye—

Sym
—That's years ago!

Smith
— —lang, lowse, an' slim!
Ay, sir, it's twenty!

Sym
—Twenty?—a hundred! You don't know
How much your country clock's gone slow.
Well, Hugh? What is't to be then? Go?
Or stay and sterve here?
“Ay” means—well, look at me! And “no,”
For ever serve here.
I leave, and soon; and not again
To seek old Scotland o'er the main;
My home's on yon Australian plain,
My hopes are yonder;
Why, man, a county breadth's my ain—
What needs your wonder?
What has old Scotland done for me?

Hugh
—At least she ga'e ye brains.

Sym
— May be!

Hugh
—An' banes; an' bu'k.

Sym
— Na—that's a lee,
The hin'most half o't!
The shank she ga'e me for a thie,
I made a staff o't!
Well, and what else? No more, I trow,
But hip-room on a thistly knowe,
Or scartin' rocks ahint a plow,
For a rich neighbour—
Out yonder, lads, there's room to grow,
An' wealth for labour!
Take my advice—ye'll ne'er repent it;
Your country's yonder if ye kent it;
There's Burn-the-wind—he's nearhand faintit
Ca'in' a shoe on!
At his age yonder—

Smith
— He's contentit;
Be joggin' you on!
There stands your naig.

Sym (giving silver)
— And there's your pay.
So, Hughie, you elect to stay—
Well, wilful man will have his way.
Good-bye—but think on't.

(Mounts and rides off.)
Smith
(looking into his loof)
— A croon!

1st Pl.
— He rides a bonnie gray.

Smith
— We'se ha'e a drink on't!

(Boy at bellows despatched with pig.)

2nd Pl.
—He'd gar ye troo it was a wrang
To breathe in Scotland.

3rd Pl.
(to Hugh)
— Will ye gang?

Hugh
—I've lo'ed auld Scotland far owre lang,
Heart-thirled till her!
An' what's the gospel o' his sang
But only siller?
Na, na! that wasna in the plan,
That's no' the great chief end o' man,
It's no' get a' the gear ye can
An' syne content ye;
But lift what's lyin' to your han'—
Aneu's a plenty.
As sweet to me amang the knowes,
Whaur Devon's caller current rows,
To lead the lambs an' ca' the yowes
As to commaund them;
As sweet to view the hechts an' howes
As if I awn'd them.
Nae fairer warl' I wuss to view,
Nae loftier path wad I pursue,
Nae trustier friends than you, an' you,
I care to hae;
An' here I wad gang slippin' thro',
E'en as I dae.