Perthshire in bygone days

434 PEETHSHIBE IN BYGONE DAYS.
the signboard exhibited the same problem. The whole was
remarkably well painted. Jack Shaw afterwards went to
London ; and we are informed by the late David Roberts
that when Mr. Hastie got possession of the punch-bowl,
Shaw was keeping a public-house in the Strand.
In addition to his little painting shop, Agnew had an art
atelier in the garret flat of a house at the east end of the
Bridgegate. Its furnishings consisted of an easel, a rickety
chair, and a form wanting a leg. The fireplace was closed
by a smokeboard, on which he had painted a grate so
successfully that, in certain lights, it was difficult of
detection, and enabled him to "bounce the beagles," as
follows : — A certain two shillings and sixpence for taxes
had been called for, times without number, and it was
observed that latterly, the collector, cast some longing
looks in the direction of the grate. Eventually, one cold
winter morning, when the great artist was setting his
palette to commence a grand picture of " Christ at the Sea
of Galilee," his acute ear heard a barrow wheeled along the
street and set down at his "close-mouth." Presently, heavy
footsteps were heard on the stair, and without ceremony
two gentlemen entered the apartment. One of them said,
with a strong Highland accent, "Wood you'll pay your
taxes? Half-a-croon." "No funds to-day," said Vandyke.
" Fera weel ; she'll shust poond her." "Proceed!" said
Peter. So, taking a rope out of his pocket, the officer
handed it to his neighbour, and going forward to the grate,
attempted to take hold of the shining ribs ; but instantly
turning round with a look of indescribable chagrin, he
exclaimed, " Oh ! cot tarn ! she's shust a pentin !"
Against all remonstrance, Agnew would leave his ordinary
trade, and away to the easel ; and if he got a pound or two
for a picture or a job of house-painting, he would sit down,
blow out his upper lip, and paint away at some visionary
landscape, which was to beat Nasmyth and Copley Fielding
all to nothing; but it never did, and, in disgust at all
mankind, he would go on the spree.
The following song is a fair specimen of Peter's not over-
prolific muse in its best days : —
THE BONNIE WEE ROSEBUD.
A bomiie wee rosebud grows down by yon bumie,
A bonnie wee rosebud as e'er j r ou did see,
Wi' saft silken leaves underneath a green thomie,
spare the wee rosebud, spare it for me.