She never smiled; the cold, stony look
of her eye never changed; a silent, impassive face, frozen rigid
by some great wrong or sin. We used to look with awe upon
the "still woman," and think of the demoniac of Scripture who
had a "dumb spirit."
(1) Whom he met at Calais, as described in his *Sentimental
Journey.*
(2) The *cantata* is *The Jolly Beggars,* from which the
motto heading this sketch was taken. *Poosie-Nansie* was the
keeper of a tavern in Mauchline, which was the favorite resort
of the lame sailors, maimed soldiers, travelling ballad-singers,
and all such loose companions as hang about the skirts of
society. The cantata has for its theme the rivalry of a "pigmy
scraper with his fiddle" and a strolling tinker for a beggar
woman: hence the *maudlin affection.*
One--I think I see him now, grim, gaunt, and ghastly,
working his slow way up to our door--used to gather herbs by
the wayside and called himself doctor. He was bearded like a
he-goat, and used to counterfeit lameness; yet, when he
supposed himself alone, would travel on lustily, as if walking
for a wager. At length, as if in punishment of his deceit, he
met with an accident in his rambles and became lame in
earnest, hobbling ever after with difficulty on his gnarled
crutches. Another used to go stooping, like Bunyan's pilgrim,
under a pack made of an old bed-sacking, stuffed out into most
plethoric dimensions, tottering on a pair of small, meagre legs,
and peering out with his wild, hairy face from under his burden
like a big-bodied spider.
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