Lindsay alone, close-facing the chair, shook his fist at the speaker. Only a Liberal member, away at the end of the table, Started, remembering sadly the cry of a coming election, Only the Attaché glanced at the Guardsman, who twirled his moustachio, Only the Marquis faced round, but, not quite clear of the meaning, Joined with the joyous Sir Hector, who lustily beat on the table. And soon after the chairman arose, and the feast was over: Now should the barn be cleared and forthwith adorned for the dancing, And, to make way for this purpose, the Tutor and pupils retiring Were by the chieftain addressed and invited to come to the castle. But ere the door-way they quitted, a thin man clad as the Saxon, Trouser and cap and jacket of homespun blue, hand-woven, Singled out, and said with determined accent, to Hewson, Touching his arm: Young man, if ye pass through the Braes o’ Lochaber, See by the loch-side ye come to the Bothie of Tober-na-vuolich. II _Et certamen erat, Corydon cum Thyrside, magnum._ Morn, in yellow and white, came broadening out from the mountains, Long ere music and reel were hushed in the barn of the dancers. Duly in _matutine_ bathed, before eight some two of the party, Where in the morning was custom, where over a ledge of granite Into a granite basin the amber torrent descended. There two plunges each took Philip and Arthur together, Duly in _matutine_ bathed, and read, and waited for breakfast: Breakfast commencing at nine, lingered lazily on to noon-day. Tea and coffee were there; a jug of water for Hewson; Tea and coffee; and four cold grouse upon the sideboard; Gaily they talked, as they sat, some late and lazy at breakfast, Some professing a book, some smoking outside at the window. By an aurora soft-pouring a still sheeny tide to the zenith, Hewson and Arthur, with Adam, had walked and got home by eleven; Hope and the others had stayed till the round sun lighted them bedward. They of the lovely aurora, but these of the lovelier women Spoke—of noble ladies and rustic girls, their partners. Turned to them Hewson, the Chartist, the poet, the eloquent speaker. Sick of the very names of your Lady Augustas and Floras Am I, as ever I was of the dreary botanical titles Of the exotic plants, their antitypes in the hot-house: Roses, violets, lilies for me! the out-of-door beauties; Meadow and woodland sweets, forget-me-nots and hearts-ease! Pausing awhile, he proceeded anon, for none made answer. Oh, if our high-born girls knew only the grace, the attraction. Labour, and labour alone, can add to the beauty of women, Truly the milliner’s trade would quickly, I think, be at discount, All the waste and loss in silk and satin be saved us, Saved for purposes truly and widely productive—— That’s right, Take off your coat to it, Philip, cried Lindsay, outside in the garden,