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Updated: May 27, 2025
This phrase was certainly becoming a sort of refrain in Sylvius Hogg's mouth.
I have been reading all the old Shelley literature lately, Hogg and Trelawny and Medwin and Mrs. Shelley, and that terrible piece of analysis, The Real Shelley. Hogg's Life of Shelley is an incomparable book; I should put it in the first class of biographies without hesitation.
You will not see one line of mine until you return the confidence which I have placed in you. I have bought the "Lord of the Isles," and intend either to send or to bring it to you. I like it as well as any of Scott's other poems. I have read Hogg's "Tales," "Caleb Williams," "St. Leon," and "Mandeville." I admire Godwin's novels, and intend to read them all.
The men smiled and pressed forward. Davray from the other side suddenly lurched into Brandon. Brandon struck out, and Davray fell and lay where he fell. Hogg cried, "Now for 'im, boys ", and at once they were upon him. Hogg's face rose before Brandon's, extended, magnified in all its details.
Strange to say, Sylvius Hogg's face seemed to have become more serene since his departure from the inn, though it is not improbable that his cheerfulness was a trifle forced, so anxious was he that this trip should divert Joel and Hulda from their sorrowful thoughts. It took them only about two hours and a half to reach Moel, which is situated at the end of Lake Tinn.
Indeed, she appears to be in some degree conscious of this; for she says, apologetically, that she has published the "Memorials" for the special purpose of neutralizing the misstatements and spirit of Mr. Hogg's work, and also lets us know that the time is not yet come for the publication of other and more important matter calculated to do justice to the character of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Hogg's care, broke up at midnight, and scampered off in three divisions across the hills, in spite of all that the shepherd and an assistant lad could do to keep them together. "Sirrah," cried the shepherd, in great affliction, "my man, they're a' awa."
"I say, Bill," remarked one of the couple who held Jem Hogg's lines, "Jem seems to be doin' somethin' uncommon queer he's either got hold of a conger-eel by the tail, or he's amoosin himself by dancin' a hornpipe." "Why, boys," answered Bill, who was one of the attendants on Edgar, "I do believe Mr Berrington has got hold o' somethin' o' the same sort.
He tried the door and then went into the house, and even before his reappearance both gentlemen knew only too well what was about to happen. Red was all too poor a word to apply to Mr. Rose's countenance as the shoemaker came toward them, feeling in his waist-coat pocket with hooked fingers and thumb, while Mr. Hogg's expressive features were twisted into an appearance of rosy appreciation.
Even during his life Hogg underwent a curious process of mythopoeia at the hands of Wilson and the other wits of Blackwood's Magazine, who made him partly with his own consent, partly not into the famous "Ettrick Shepherd" of the Noctes Ambrosianæ. "The Shepherd" has Hogg's exterior features and a good many of his foibles, but is endowed with considerably more than his genius.
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