im--in modern slang, in the
manner and at the pace of modern trade--'on the pressure of the moment.'
But neither are these things what I have at present quoted the passage
for.
I quote it, that we may consider how much wonderful and various history
is gathered in the fact, recorded for us in this piece of entirely fair
fiction, that in the Scottish borough of Fairport, (Montrose, really,)
in the year 17-- of Christ, the knowledge given by the pastors and
teachers provided for its children by enlightened Scottish
Protestantism, of their fathers' history, and the origin of their
religion, had resulted in this substance and sum;--that the statues of
two crusading knights had become, to their children, Robin and Bobbin;
and the statue of the Madonna, Ailie Dailie.
A marvellous piece of history, truly: and far too comprehensive for
general comment here. Only one small piece of it I must carry forward
the readers' thoughts upon.
The pastors and teachers aforesaid, (represented typically in another
part of this errorless book by Mr. Blattergowl) are not, whatever else
they may have to answer for, answerable for these names. The names are
of the children's own choosing and bestowing, but not of the children's
own inventing. 'Robin' is a classically endearing cognomen, recording
the _errant_ heroism of old days--the name of the Bruce and of Rob Roy.
'Bobbin' is a poetical and symmetrical fulfilment and adornment of the
original phrase. 'Ailie' is the last echo of 'Ave,' changed into the
softest Scottish Christian name familiar to the children, itself the
beautiful feminine form of royal 'Louis;' the 'Dailie' again
symmetrically added for kinder and more musical endearment. The last
vestiges, you see, of honour for the heroism and religion of their
ancestors, lingering on the lips of babes and sucklings.
But what is the meaning of this necessity the children find themselves
under of completing the nomenclature rhythmically and rhymingly? Note
first the difference carefully, and the attainment of both qualities by
the couplets in question. Rhythm is the syllabic and quantitative
measure of the words, in which Robin, both in weight and time, balances
Bobbin; and Dailie holds level scale with Ailie. But rhyme is the added
correspondence of sound; unknown and undesired, so far as we can learn,
by the Greek Orpheus, but absolutely essential to, and, as special
virtue, becoming titular of, the Scottish Thomas.
The 'Ryme,'[
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