I said he was a strappin' chiel, Six feet and mair frae head to heel; On's head he wore a Hieland bannet, A blackcock's feather stickin' in it. On either side his lugs I noted Were large and high and sharply nookit; A nose like mine, and fine black een, A big moustache and pointed chin; In troth a very handsome felley, Though black-a-vized and somewhat yelley, Like they foreign chaps that gang wi' puggies, And play on pipes and hurdy-gurdies. His dress was black, good velveteen, His stockin's red and cravit green, And on his feet were yellow boots,-- _I little dreamed they covered cloots_! I kent na wha I was to play wi', The truth it never dawned upon me; I thocht he was some Glasgow billy, Or chap frae Sooth, Golf-mad and silly, Wi' little wit and siller plenty, The country's rife wi' sic like gentry. 'And what's your honour's name,' quoth I? I felt no whit abashed or shy-- 'My name is Dr Nicholas Ben Clootie, Hades my home, a place of radiant beauty; A region warm, perhaps a trifle sooty, Still an alluring and delicious place is Hades, Frequented much by lords and ladies. So charming and so pleasant is it That multitudes to Paradise prefer it.' 'Hades, ne'er heard o't, is't in the Hielands?' 'No, Skipper friend, 'tis in the Netherlands.' 'But come, our game, I'm eager to begin; Strike off,' said I, 'I long those yellow boys to win. Tak' you the honour noo, for ne'er again You'll hae the chance, or I'm sair mistaen.' He grinned, and said, 'You hold me very cheap; Believe me, I intend those yellow boys to keep.' He drove a rattlin' shot from off the tee; I followed with as good, as far as he. Our next we dropped upon the green. Twa bonny strokes as e'er were seen. Stane dead I lay, he ten feet aff, He missed his putt--wi' careless laugh, 'First blood,' cried I, 'the hole is mine.' 'Yes,' quo' he, 'the Devil's luck is thine.' So cocky was I with this fine beginnin', I offered straight to play him even. 'No, no,' he said, 'to that I can't agree, You'll need your odds before you've done wi' me.' He looked and said this with a wicked leer, I felt my flesh to creep with sudden fear. Such confidence and pluck, I could not understand, And funkit something strange, uncanny, underhand. But spite of funk and fancy, all the same I played weel up a rattlin' game; Holes three and four they fell to me, The taen at four, the tither at three. His Highness meanwhile skipped alang, Whiles he whistled and whiles he sang; But whenever I turned, his leerin' e'e Was glarin', glowerin', lookin' at me! [Illustration]