using the words he had used with the same manner and even more
anger.
'She seems to consider it is only natural that I should be jealous
of him, since she tells me that his beard is the fashionable colour
for heroes this season; but she was good enough to assure me that
I need not be afraid of her now; although things might have been
different if she had seen him some time ago. So I feel quite safe.'
'O Mary, are you sure, are you sure?'--with a little hysterical
laugh.
'Am I sure, Lilian! Do you too require an assurance that I am not
likely to become jealous of Mrs Trafford! You are almost as bad as
Philip, and that is saying a great deal. Why, Lilian, what _is_ the
matter?'
She was laughing and crying together, with her arms about me, as
different from her usual self as it was possible to be.
'It's the--the heat, I think,' she murmured. 'Do not notice me. I
am stupid to-night, Mary.'
'She has deceived herself; her love for Arthur Trafford is not yet
dead; and she is suffering the shame which is natural to one of
her nature at the discovery,' I thought. Inexpressibly pained, I
silently drew her hand under my arm and led her into the cottage.
LAMPREYS.
Almost every schoolboy knows that King Henry I. died from eating
too plentifully of lampreys, a 'food,' says Hume, 'which always
agreed better with his palate than his constitution;' and yet,
comparatively speaking, how few persons are familiar with the form,
habits, and uses of the lamprey itself. It is usually defined as
an 'eel-like fish,' and so far the definition is a correct one,
seeing that an ordinary observer would conclude that the lamprey
and the eel are identical, or at the most, that they are species of
the same genus. Such, however, would be an erroneous conclusion.
The lamprey undergoes a peculiar change of colour, being at times
scarcely visible in the water, with variations from a silvery
hue to a dark-brown back and a white belly. The eel has a bony
skeleton, but that of the lamprey is soft and imperfect. The former
has teeth with which to seize its prey or take a bait; the latter,
as its name indicates (_lambere_, to lick, and _petra_, a stone),
has a round sucking mouth with which to attach itself to rocks
or stones, and though provided with very small teeth, which can
pierce the skin of fishes or other soft substances, it may be said
to subsist by suction rather than by eating. It has an elongated
dorsal fin extending along the posterior half of the body to the
tip of the tail, but is destitute of the pectorals with which the
eel is furnished. The breathing organs of the lamprey are peculiar.
In fishes with a bony skeleton there is usually but a single large
orifice on each side of the throat, and in which the gills are
covered with a valve-like flap called the operculum. The lamprey
has seven external orifices like a row of round button-holes for
breathing on each side, and apparently, without any protection. The
animal is therefore quite distinct from all the species of eels.
Lampreys are in season from the first of September to the end of
February, and during that period they are taken in large quantities
in the river Ouse, above its confluence with the Trent. By some
persons its flesh is esteemed a great delicacy, either potted
or made into pies. However, it must be eaten sparingly, for if
indulged in too freely it is apt to induce colic of a serious
character. On that account the majority of people do not care to
expose themselves to the danger that may ensue. The fishermen, as
well as the peasantry in the neighbourhood where the lampreys are
taken, rarely use them as an article of food. Still they form an
important commodity of traffic to those who are engaged in it.
During the last season nearly twenty thousand were secured at
Naburn Lock alone, which is situated a few miles below the city of
York. There are other stations at which we may conclude that the
'take' is equally good; let us say six: which would make a total
of one hundred and twenty thousand fish. The average length of the
lamprey is a foot--though it sometimes grows to three feet--and six
are reckoned a pound; which, sold at two shillings, will produce a
revenue of two thousand pounds sterling.
When we consider that these fish are taken in the dull portion of
the year, when salmon and many other fish are not in season, we may
readily understand that the sale of lampreys forms no insignificant
supplement to the income of river fishermen, whose works are
carried on generally on a somewhat limited scale.
In March these fish go up the stream in order to deposit their
spawn in the shallows. In early summer the parent lampreys and
their countless fry go down towards the brackish water; and the
opinion long prevailed that the elders of the company never
returned. That supposition is now disputed by the more observant
of the fishermen, who believe in the coming of the old and young
together, though no great difference in their size is apparent
towards the month of September, when the season for catching
them is recommenced. They are taken in wicker traps, which are
constructed so as to secure the fish as they are washed in by the
force of the current.
In Holland the lamprey is largely used as an article of bait. From
a very early period it is said to have been the prime favourite
for the purpose, and considerable quantities were brought from the
English rivers to Rotterdam. Our informant says that the trade was
suddenly brought to an end about a hundred years ago on account of
the 'war' (declared by Great Britain against Holland in 1780). For
nearly eighty years from that period the lamprey-fishing was almost
abandoned, when some Dutchmen, influenced by a tradition which
still lingered amongst their people to the effect that excellent
bait had formerly been brought from England, made a voyage of
discovery to the Ouse, where, after considerable inquiry and
search, they discovered what had been described, and thus revived
the trade in lampreys, which is now carried on more briskly than
ever. They are taken away in barrels partially filled with water,
transferred to tanks on board ship, and are thus preserved alive
until required on the Dogger Bank or elsewhere.
THE DUKE'S PIPER:
A STORY OF THE WEST HIGHLANDS.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.--CHAPTER IV.
For a week Maggie saw nothing and heard nothing of Angus. She
became quite pale and worn with anxiety and distress. She hardly
spoke to her father; and Janet reported that she was sure 'the
mistress' was going into 'a decline,' because she hardly touched
her food. To make matters worse, a letter came one day from her
lover to say that he too was so miserable that he could bear it no
longer; he was going to leave the Duke's yacht and go away--never
more to return to Inversnow. Maggie was driven to the brink of
despair by this letter--almost the only letter she had ever
received in her life, and she forthwith wore it with the lock of
his hair she had long treasured, next to her heart.
One afternoon a message came from the kitchen of the castle to ask
the piper if he could oblige the cook with a dozen or so new-laid
eggs, the cook's store having run short. Maggie took her basket,
and went with the eggs to the castle kitchen. She went with a sad
heavy heart, and remained as short a time as possible, for her
little romance with Angus and its sudden collapse were well known
among the servants and, as she knew, discussed. Inversnow Castle
stands in the midst of its own lovely park, close by the sea-loch,
and girt about by wooded and heather-mantled hills. It was a warm
sunny afternoon as Maggie tripped from the castle homeward; she
was in no mood to meet any one; and to avoid doing so, she struck
off the public path through the woods towards Glen Heath. A robin
was piping pathetically among the elms, and the squirrels were
gamboling in the sunshine among the branches overhead. As she
walked slowly over the turf she drew forth Angus's letter to read
once more, and as she read, the tears started afresh to her young
eyes, and she sobbed as she went.
Presently she was surprised by a voice, a kind gentle voice,
addressing her in a familiar tone: 'Well, Maggie Cameron, what may
all these tears be about? You look sadder than a young and bonnie
lass like you has any right to be, surely! Are you well enough?'
The girl looked and looked again, and the flush came and went in
her cheeks as she became conscious that, stretched at full length
on the grass close by, under the shade of an elm, with a book in
one hand and a lighted cigar in the other, was--the Duke!
Maggie courtesied low with a natural politeness, and in her
confusion dropped her letter, but hardly dared to stoop to pick it
up.
'I'm sure, Your Grace, I peg your pardon humbly; it wass a great
liberty I will be takin' in coming home this way instead o' the
road.'
Maggie hardly knew whether to turn back or to go on; being
undecided, she did neither, but stood still in some bewilderment,
the letter still lying at her feet.
'But you have not answered my question, I think,' said the Duke
encouragingly.
'I peg Your Grace's pardon again,' replied the girl nervously; 'but
it wass--it wass--but it wass Angus'---- And there she stopped
abruptly, and fairly broke down.
'Come here, my child,' said the Duke, interested in the girl's
manifest grief. 'And what about Angus? Tell me all about it. Who
knows, I may be able to help you?'
The Highland maid looked into the thoughtful kind face of the Duke,
and went a few steps towards him.
'It wass apoot Angus MacTavish, Your Grace, and he wass---- But
Your Grace will not know anything at all, at all apoot Angus.'
'Do you mean the game-keeper's son, one of my crew, Maggie?'
'Ay, Your Grace, that same!' said she with delighted eagerness.
'Oh, _he's_ at the root of your distress, the rascal, is he?'
'And inteed no, Your Grace; it wass not him at all; he wad not hurt
nopody's feelings whatefer; oh, inteed, he's as cood and--and as
prave a lad as iss in all the Hielants mirofer; and it iss not him,
Your Grace, but my father and his father too had some quarrel; not
but that they are cood men, poth cood men neither; but it wass all
on account o' a gless o' pad whusky or the like o' that, I think;
but--but--oh, Your Grace, Angus is going away cass my father has
taken a hatred of him, and won't hef a word that iss cood to say to
him; and if Angus goes away, it wad preak my heart!'
The Duke rose, leaving his book on the grass, and placing his hand
kindly on the maiden's shoulder, said: 'Come, Maggie, this may not
be so bad as it seems! We shall see what we can do. Dry your eyes,
child. Angus can't go away from my yacht without my consent, and I
shall take care that he shall not go away. Take comfort from that.
We shall see what can be done.'
'Oh, but my father iss fery obstinate, Your Grace, fery! And he
wants me to marry another man that I cannot bear to look at.--But I
am troubling Your Grace.'
The Duke's sympathy had wonderfully dispelled Maggie's awe.
'Well, well,' said the kindly nobleman, 'pick up your letter. If
the piper won't listen to reason, we must see what can be done
without him. But your father is a sensible man, and will no doubt
listen to reason. Good-bye! Remember there must be no more crying.
And you don't think it will be hard to bring Angus to reason? Well,
well, we shall see. But remember, not another tear all the way
home!'
Encouraged by the words of the great Highland Chief, Maggie
courtesied low again, and sped homeward, with a burden lifted from
her heart.
* * * * *
Angus MacTavish astonished the village watchmaker and jeweller by
walking into his shop towards gloaming one evening, shutting the
door carefully behind him, and even turning the key in the lock
when he had satisfied himself there was no one present except the
big-browed, hump-backed little watchmaker behind his glass cases.
'And iss it yourself, Angus MacTavish?'
'O ay, it iss me.' Angus was examining, with a deep flush on his
face, the case of ornaments in front of him.
'And what iss it that I can pe dooing for ye, Angus, the nicht?'
'Oh, it wass only a'--Angus coughed--'it wass a ring--a gold ring
that I wad be wanting ye to shew me mirofer.'
'Oho! that wass it, wass it?' said Mr Steven, winking at Angus,
as he took his horn magnifying lens from his eye, and came from
his three-legged stool and marvellous assortment of tiny hammers,
pincers, and watchmaking gear scattered on the bench before him, to
speak with Angus at the counter.
'Wass it a shentleman's ring now, Maister MacTavish, or a ring for
the lass?'
'What wad the like o' me pe doing with a shentleman's ring, Mr
Steven? Do ye take me for a wheeper-snapper lawyer's clerk, that ye
should think o' me in that way?'
'Weel, weel, Angus lad, ye may pe right; but a' the lads wear them
nooadays. Nae doot it iss ignorant vanity; but it is cood for
trade, and it iss no for me to be finding fault wi' my customers.
And it wass a ring for the lass--eh weel, that iss cood too,' said
Mr Steven, pulling out a drawer full of subdivisions glistening
with Scotch pebbles of many varieties set in gold, and placing them
before Angus. 'Noo, there iss one that wad mak' any bonny lassie's
mouth watter, and it iss only twelfe-an'-sixpence; and if ye like,
I hef got a pair o' ponny ear-rinks to match it--the whole lot for
a pound.'
'Na,' said Angus, pushing aside the gaudy stone; 'it iss a plain
gold ring I want, wi' no rubbishing stones apoot it.'
'Eh, what, Angus! And iss it a mairriage ring that ye wull pe
wanting me to gif you mirofer? Eh weel! but that iss a fery
different tale from what I hef peen hearing--and it wass a
mairriage ring--eh dear me! But it iss myself that is happy to hear
it.'
'Hush-t!' said Angus sharply, reddening. 'A man may want to hef
a wedding-ring apoot him--maype for a friend or the like o'
that--without his--his'---- Angus coughed a retreat.
'O ay, ay; surely, Angus, surely. Nae doot apoot it; ay, ay,
lad--nae doot apoot it!'
Angus left the shop with a circlet of gold in his waistcoat pocket.
* * * * *
Meantime, although almost a fortnight had passed, the piper's
lawsuit hung in the wind, despite the fact that his legal adviser
felt it to be his duty to hold frequent and prolonged conferences
with him at Glen Heath. The lawyer was not such genial company
as Angus had been; and though he did his best to be agreeable to
Maggie and sociable with her father, even to the extent of trying
to learn the bagpipes, he had to lay the unmanageable instrument
aside, under the piper's sweeping generalisation, 'that lawyers had
no more ear for music than the pigs.' In his heart the piper was
not sorry to see that his daughter snubbed Angus's rival in spite
of his own strictest commands.
The Highland maid seemed to be bearing her lover's banishment
better than was to be expected. More than one attempt had been
made by the young sailor to mollify Mr Cameron, without palpable
signs of success; and when Maggie renewed her protests, she was met
with the announcement that if MacTavish's name was again mentioned
to him, she would be sent off to her aunt's in Glasgow for the
winter--a threat the full significance of which none knew better
than Maggie herself.
Then it was announced that on a certain evening there was to be a
supper given by the Duke in the barn of the Home Farm, to which
all the servants and many of the tenantry were invited; and to
the piper it was intimated that he would be expected to bring his
bagpipes with him. Here was quite sufficient reason for Maggie to
be wearing her eyes out with the preparation of feminine finery, as
the piper observed she had been doing for several days.
Early in the morning after Angus's interview with Mr Steven the
watchmaker--and it was a lovely autumn morning--the piper's
daughter might have been seen walking briskly, perhaps somewhat
paler than usual, through a meadow at the western side of
Inversnow, towards the loch. Her heart beat quickly as she went,
and there was a touch of anxiety in her face as she glanced back
occasionally to the white cottage on the slope at the entrance of
Glen Heath, as if she expected to see some one following her. She
walked quickly on, brushing aside the dew with her dress as she
went, and hardly paused until she reached a sheltered inlet of the
loch. At some little distance from the beach, a boat--Maggie's own
boat--was resting on the water, and the maiden had barely time to
spread her white kerchief to the wind, when the oars were swiftly
dipped, and almost immediately the bow of the boat ran high on the
beach, grating along the pebbles almost to her feet, and Angus
leaped out and held her in his arms.
'O Angus, dear, I don't think I can possibly go through with it--I
really don't think I can!' she murmured.
'Ye are too late now, my bonny doo' [dove], 'too late now.'
Maggie stepped with Angus's help into the boat, although she did
not think she could 'go through with it.'
'But if dad should come back and miss me--O Angus!'
'He will not come back. The Teuk--Cott pless him!--has sent him to
the Duaghn ruins with a party from the castle. Look, Maggie! do ye
see the flag--the Teuk's flag--on the mainmast o' the yacht?'
Angus rowed swiftly, without swerving, to the yacht. Not another
word was said as Maggie ascended the ladder from the boat,
accompanied by Angus. She was rosy as she noticed the universal
grin that greeted her from the men as she walked along the deck,
between the good-natured captain and Angus, straight to the
cabin. In the cabin--a room with its gold and crimson, and carved
wood-work, its luxurious carpets and pictures, its books and
piano, and the sweet glimpse of loch and mountain visible from
the wide-open ports, that made Maggie feel as if she had been
introduced to a nook in Paradise--she was overwhelmed to find
herself again face to face with the Duke! With the Duke was her old
friend Mr Fraser, the parish minister of Inversnow, whose presence
had a wonderfully inspiring influence as he shook hands with her.
Mr Fraser was a little gentleman with the whitest of hair and the
sharpest yet the kindest of eyes. 'Are you quite certain, Maggie,'
he said, handing his open snuff-box to the Duke, smiling, 'that now
at the last moment you do not repent?'
'We can land you again in a twinkling, you know--can't we, Angus?'
said the Duke, looking slyly from one to the other. Angus was
standing in the background, rather sheepishly, if the truth were
told, cap in hand. Maggie had hardly time to assure 'the minister'
that she would be the last to disappoint His Grace the Duke, and
was quite certain, when a door at the other end of a cabin opened,
and the Duke's daughter, Lady Flora, entered; and again the
Highland maid courtesied, overwhelmed with blushes as her Ladyship
shook hands with her.
'We shall hear by-and-by what the piper has to say to this,' said
Lady Flora; 'but you, Maggie, had better come with me for a time,
that all may be done in good order.'
And so Maggie was carried off by the Duke's daughter to a second
nook of paradise in blue velvet and gold and mirrors, a fairy cabin
redolent with the perfume of flowers, and with a glorious peep of
loch and mountain from a different point of view. The girl felt as
if she were moving and talking in a dream.
When she emerged with Lady Flora she was clad in simple white
attire, veiled, and a spray of heather-blossom mingling in her
hair. Was it still a dream?--the minister with an open Bible before
him, and Angus waiting to take her by the hand!
'Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?' &c.--the
magic words that have sent a thrill through the hearts of so
many generations, were sounding in their ears too. And as for
Angus--well, Angus was conscious, as he placed the ring on Maggie's
finger, that he was drifting away into a dreamy world of happiness,
far better than he deserved, or ever, in his most ardent moments,
dreamed were in store for him!
* * * * *
The piper returned with the party that had been committed to his
guidance towards set of sun, and reached Glen Heath hungry as Esau
from the field; he was impatient to be at the Home Farm barn, where
he and his bagpipes were already due. So hungry and impatient
was he that he did not cross-examine Janet with that severity
which generally characterised him as she--well primed in her
part--explained that Maggie had already started for the ball. No;
the piper was speedily girding himself, in the merriest possible
frame of mind, in his best, and smiling as he observed that Maggie
had for the occasion adorned his bagpipes with new ribbons. The
piper was no fop; but it was rumoured that the Duke himself was
about to lead off the ball to-night, and that some of the ladies
from the castle were to be present; so it behoved him to appear in
his best tartan, which he did; and a finer specimen of the clan
Cameron, firm on his legs, with a head set strongly on a pair of
broad shoulders that proudly bore the bagpipes, never led clan to
battle-field.
With all his haste, he was late. Many of the company were already
seated at the long tables that extended from one end of the barn
to the other. People were shaking hands and chatting freely, and
already there was the fragrant odour of cooked meats, tempting the
appetites of all and sundry. The room was gaily lit with candles
and lamps from the castle. The piper lifted his cap politely in
acknowledgment of the applause that greeted him as he entered.
'This is your place, Mr Cameron,' said the Duke's factor, who acted
as steward for the occasion, pointing a place near the head of the
table, and immediately opposite Mr MacTavish and his wife; the
former of whom frowned blackly as the piper looked across at him.
'Na, Mr Reid, na; not just yet,' the piper said rising.
'A tune, Mr Cameron, a tune!' came from several quarters of the
room; a request which the piper was pleased and proud to comply
with. Nor did the music cease until the door opened, and the
Duke walked in, Lady Flora leaning on his arm, and behind him Mr
Fraser, leading in the mild-eyed Duchess; and behind these several
of the Duke's guests. The bagpipes came to abrupt silence as the
company rose to cheer the ducal party. When Mr Fraser had asked
a blessing on the mercies which the Duke had provided for them,
there came a loud clatter of knives and forks and an assault upon
the dishes; and talk and laughter and merry din. The piper forgot
the game-keeper in the absorbing fact that he was seated between
Lady Flora and Factor Reid, an unusual and unexpected honour; so
absorbed, that he hardly noticed that his daughter Maggie had not
up to this moment appeared in the room.
When the dishes were cleared away and glasses and decanters stood
regiment-wise along the table, the Chief rose and, when silence
prevailed, said: 'My very good friends, before I ask you to fill
bumpers for _the_ toast of this evening, the nature of which I
shall be called upon to explain presently--I wish you all to
join with me in a glass to two very worthy friends of mine, and
esteemed acquaintances of all of you; whose good qualities are
too well known to require any words from me to commend them to
your favourable notice--I mean our excellent friend Mr Cameron of
Glen Heath, and my no less esteemed friend Mr MacTavish of Glen
Ford--and may they never be worse friends than I am sure in their
hearts they are to-night!'
There was a general clinking of glasses and nodding of heads
towards the piper and the game-keeper: 'Your health, Mr Cameron!'
'I look towarts ye, Mr MacTavish!' 'Your fery cood healths,
shentlemen!' &c.
It need hardly be said that Mr Cameron and Mr MacTavish looked
extremely foolish as the sounds gradually passed into silence, and
all eyes became fixed on them; but neither of them seemed disposed
to rise. At length the piper sprang to his feet.
'It wass a great honour that His Grace paid me, and I thank him
for it with all my heart. And it wass--well it wass, ladies and
shentlemens--well, ye may hef heard mirofer that there wass a small
wee bit of a tifference--inteed ye might call it a quarrel between
Mister MacTavish and me, and it wass a pity too whatefer--nae doot
there might be faults on poth sides--and Your Grace, if ye will
allow me to say it--I pear no enmity to no man this nicht, no not
to Mister MacTavish, nor to any other shentleman at all, at all.'