commentary on
Ossian. Stout, grim, heather-legged bodies they are, one and all, and
luckily we are provided with snuff and tobacco sufficient for the whole
crew. Were they even ghosts they will not refuse a sneeshin, and a
Highland spirit will look picturesque puffing a cigar!--Hark! we know
them and their vocation. These are the Genii of the Mountain-dew; and
their hidden enginery, depend on't, is not far off, but buried in the
bowels of some brae. See!--a faint mist dissipating itself over the
heather! There--at work, shaming the idle waste, and in use and wont to
break even the Sabbath-day, is a STILL!

Do we look like Excisemen? The Crutch has indeed a suspicious family
resemblance to a gauging-rod; and literary characters, like us, may well
be mistaken for the Supervisor himself. But the smuggler's eye knows his
enemy at a glance, as the fox knows a hound; and the whispering group
discern at once that we are of a nobler breed. That one fear dispelled,
Highland hospitality bids us welcome, even into the mouth of the
malt-kiln, and, with a smack on our loof, the Chief volunteers to
initiate us into the grand mysteries of the Worm.

The turf-door is flung outward on its lithe hinges, and already what a
gracious smell! In we go, ushered by unbonneted Celts, gentlemen in
manners wherever the kilt is worn; for the tartan is the symbol of
courtesy, and Mac a good password all the world over between man and
man. Lowland eyes are apt to water in the peat-reek, but ere long we
shall have another "drappie in our ee," and drink to the Clans in the
"uuchristened cretur." What a sad neglect in our education, among all
the acquired lingoes extant, to have overlooked the Gaelic! Yet nobody
who has ever heard P. R. preach an Erse Sermon, need despair of
discoursing in that tongue after an hour's practice; so let us forget,
if possible, every word of English, and the language now needed will
rise up in its place.

And these figures in men's coats and women's petticoats are females? We
are willing to believe it in spite of their beards. One of them
absolutely suckling a child! Thank you, my dear sir, but we cannot
swallow the contents of that quaich. Yet, let us try.--A little too
warm, and rather harsh; but meat and drink to a man of age. That seems
to be goat-milk cheese, and the scones are barley; and they and the
speerit will wash one another down in an amicable plea, nor quarrel at
close quarters. Honey too--heather-honey of