David worked out a calculation--after these were over, and while
Janet was putting the supper on the table, Hugh pulled out his
volume, and, without any preface, read them the Leech-Gatherer. All
listened very intently, Janet included, who delayed several of the
operations, that she might lose no word of the verses; David nodding
assent every now and then, and ejaculating ay! ay! or eh, man! or
producing that strange muffled sound at once common and peculiar to
Scotchmen, which cannot be expressed in letters by a nearer approach
than hm--hm, uttered, if that can be called uttering, with closed
lips and open nasal passage; and Margaret sitting motionless on her
creepie, with upturned pale face, and eyes fixed upon the lips of
the reader. When he had ceased, all were silent for a moment, when
Janet made some little sign of anxiety about her supper, which
certainly had suffered by the delay. Then, without a word, David
turned towards the table and gave thanks. Turning again to Hugh,
who had risen to place his chair, he said,

"That maun be the wark o' a great poet, Mr. Sutherlan'."

"It's Wordsworth's," said Hugh.

"Ay! ay! That's Wordsworth's! Ay! Weel, I hae jist heard him made
mention o', but I never read word o' his afore. An' he never
repentit o' that same resolution, I'se warrant, 'at he eynds aff
wi'. Hoo does it gang, Mr. Sutherlan'?"

Sutherland read:--

"'God,' said I, 'be my help and stay secure!
I'll think of the leech-gatherer on the lonely moor;'"