_’Nor I wadna be a clerk, mither, to bide aye ben,_ _Scrabbling ower the sheets o’ parchment with a weary, weary pen:_ _Looking through the lang stane windows at a narrow strip o’ sky,_ _Like a laverock in a withy cage, until I pine away and die._
_Ye’ll bury me ’twixt the brae and the burn, in a glen far away,_ _Where I may hear the heathcock craw and the great harts bray;_ _And gin my ghaist can walk, mither, I’ll go glowering at the sky,_ _The livelong night on the black hillsides where the dun deer lie.’_
His way of existence up there on the far hillsides—unlike that of the luckless outlaw—had been a perfectly happy and contented one. His sound common sense had put away from him that craving for fame which has rendered so miserable the lives of many rustic verse writers; he was proud of his occupation, grateful to the good friends around him, and always in excellent health and spirits. Another thing has to be said—to pacify the worthy folk who imagine that ambition must necessarily fill the mind of youth: had he come away from that sphere of careless content with a sufficient aim to strive for, perhaps affairs might have gone differently. If it could have been said to him: ’Fight your way to the worldly success that the Americans have so liberally prophesied for you; and then come back, and you will find Meenie Douglas awaiting you; and you shall win her and wear her, as the rose and crown of your life, in spite of all the Stuarts of Glengask’—then the little room in Port Dundas Road would no longer have been so gray; and all the future would have been filled with light and hope; and the struggle, however arduous and long, would have been glad enough. But with no such hope; with increasing doubts as to his ultimate success; and with a more dangerously increasing indifference as to whether he should ever reach that success, the temptations of the passing hour became irresistibly strong. And he became feebler to resist them. He did not care. After all, these gay evenings at the Harmony Club were something to look forward to during the long dull days; with a full glass and a good-going pipe and a roaring chorus the hours passed; and then from time to time there was the honour and glory of hearing one of his own songs sung. He was a great figure at these gatherings now; that kind of fame at least had come to him, and come to him unsought; and there were not wanting a sufficiency of rather muddle-headed creatures who declared that he was fit to rank with very distinguished names indeed in the noble roll-call of Scotland’s poets; and who, unfortunately, were only too eager to prove the faith that was in them by asking him to drink at their expense.