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Updated: July 4, 2025
This brings me to a story I heard, and a scene I took part in, which quite changed our terms of living, and had a great effect on my departure. A hand was laid upon my arm, and the voice of Neil bade me to stop, for it was not "canny musics." "Not canny?" I asked. "How can that be?" "Na," said he; "it will be made by a bogle and her wanting ta heid upon his body."
The maid seemed to understand, for she replied, promptly, "I hope he will." "But he hasna spiered her as yet, you think?" "No," she said, "no, but he calls her Ailie, and wi' the gentry it's but one loup frae that to spiering." "Maybe," answered the doctor, "but it's a loup they often bogle at. I'se uphaud he's close on fifty, Gavinia?"
We are now, said Scott, treading classic, or rather fairy ground. This is the haunted glen of Thomas the Rhymer, where he met with the queen of fairy land, and this the bogle burn, or goblin brook, along which she rode on her dapple-gray palfrey, with silver bells ringing at the bridle.
"I mind once we had an Irish gal as a dairy help; well, we had a wicked devil of a cow, and she kicked over the milk pail, and in ran Dora, and swore the Bogle did it. Jist so poor Rigby, he wouldn't allow it was nateral causes, but laid it all to politics. Talkin' of Dora, puts me in mind of the gals, for she warn't a bad-lookin' heifer that.
"What tune does he play?" "Dunno." "What's he like?" "'E's black. Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air. 'E's a praaper bogle. 'E don' come only at naight." The little boy's oblique dark eyes slid round. "D'yu think 'e might want to take me away? Megan's feared of 'e." "Has she seen him?" "No. She's not afeared o' yu." "I should think not. Why should she be?" "She zays a prayer for yu."
Marching up to my grand-uncle, the bogle clapped a huge club into his hand, and furnishing himself with one of the same dimensions, he put a spittle in his hand, and deliberately commenced the combat. My grand-uncle returned the salute with equal spirit, and so ably did both parties ply their batons that for a while the issue of the combat was extremely doubtful.
As his carts went along the road, the bogle was heard exclaiming, 'We're flitting today, and it faithfully stayed with the family. This tale, current in Italy as well as in Northern England, might be regarded as a mere piece of folklore, if the incident had not reproduced itself in West Brompton.
Spackles. "I swanny!" said Old Man Bogle. "What d'you figger Scattergood wanted of that ol' coot?" demanded Old Man Peterson. "Somethin' deep," hazarded Old Man Bogle. "I always did hold Spackles was a brainy cuss. Hain't he 'most as good a checker player as I be? What gits me, though, is how Scattergood come to pick him instid of me."
They seemed to have been the first Englishmen who had entered the territory since the political and commercial missions of Bogle and Buchanan-Hamilton sent by Warren Hastings. "The genuine politeness and gentleman-like behaviour of the Soobah exceeded everything that can be imagined, and his generosity was astonishing.
He, accordingly, assuming the most submissive aspect in the world, endeavoured to pass by his champion in peace, but in vain. Longing, no doubt, to retrieve the disgrace of his late discomfiture, the bogle instantly seized the fiddler, and attempted with all his might to pull the latter down the precipice, with the diabolical intention, it is supposed, of drowning him in the river Avon below.
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