“The Poets, in their elegies and lays Lamenting the departed, call the groves— They call upon the hills and streams to mourn And senseless rocks; nor idly; for they speak In these their invocation, with a voice Obedient to the strong creative power Of human passion. Sympathies there are More tranquil, yet perhaps of kindred birth, That steal upon the meditative mind, And grow with thought. Beside yon spring I stood, And eyed its waters till we seemed to feel One sadness, they and I. For them a bond Of brotherhood is broken; time has been When, every day, the touch of human hand Dislodged the natural sleep that binds them up In mortal stillness; and they ministered To human comfort.” TALBOYS. Are all these the Cladich Cock and his echoes? No, surely. Farm crows to Farm, from Auchlian to Sonnachan. You might almost believe them bagpipes. And so it is—that is a bagpipe. On which side of the Loch? Why, on neither—beg pardon—on both; forgive me—on the Water;—incredible—in the Camp! No snore can long outlive that—the People are up and doing. In my mind’s eye I see women slipping easily into petticoats—men laboriously into breeches—— NORTH. My more Celtic imagination sees chiefly kilts. But pray, may I ask again, Talboys, what brought you here at this untimeous hour of the Morn? TALBOYS. I feel that I ought to apologise for my unwelcome intrusion on your privacy, sir; but on my honour I believed you were in the Van. Yesterday I was so engrossed by you and Shakspeare, that during our colloquy I had not a moment to look at the Wren’s Nest. NORTH. Its existence is believed in by few of the natives. I know no such place for a murder. There would be no need to bury the body—here at this Table he might be left sitting for centuries—a dead secret in a Safe. TALBOYS. No need to bury the body! You have no antipathy, I trust, sir, to me? NORTH. We are not responsible for our antipathies—— TALBOYS. I allow that—but we are for every single murder we commit; and though there may be no need to bury the body, murder will spunk out—— NORTH. We are willing to run the risk. What infatuation to seek the Lion in his Den—the Wren in his Nest! Sit down, sir, and let us have, in the form of dialogue, your last speech and dying words on Othello. TALBOYS. Hamlet, sir? NORTH. Othello. TALBOYS. Romeo and Juliet? NORTH. Othello. TALBOYS.