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'Here's this jade of a sister of yours asking me why I don't go home to The Bothie, when I choose to stop and water here. 'What'll ye tak', my lord? Letty, fess the brandy. 'Oh! damn your brandy! Bring me a gill of good Glendronach. 'Rin, Letty. His lordship's cauld. I canna rise to offer ye the airm-cheir, my lord. 'I can get one for myself, thank heaven!
Cocker, he said, 'what mak's Sandy, Lord Rothie, or Wrathy, or what suld he be ca'd? tak' to The Bothie at a time like this, whan there's neither huntin', nor fishin', nor shutin', nor onything o' the kin' aboot han' to be playacks till him, the bonnie bairn 'cep' it be otters an' sic like?
It is not necessary to be biassed by Matthew Arnold's musical epicede of "Thyrsis" in order to admit, nor should any bias against his theological views and his rather restless character be sufficient to induce any one to deny, a distinct vein of poetry in Clough. Ambarvalia had preceded the Bothie, and other things followed.
We that is, the four members of our Oxford reading party were bathing in a deep pool in many-terraced Tees, and I was seated on a rock's edge, drying in the September sunshine, and quoting from Clough's 'Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich': 'How to the element offering their bodies, down shooting the fall, They mingled themselves with the flood and the force of imperious water,
He little knew what he was giving up, or the real conditions of the life to which he was going. For, though the Philip of "The Bothie" may have "hewed and dug" to good purpose in New Zealand, success in colonial farming was a wild and fleeting dream in my father's case. He was born for academic life and a scholar's pursuits. He had no practical gifts, and knew nothing whatever of land or farming.
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