CONCLUSION.
Here come we to our close--for that which follows
Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery.
Steep crags and headlong linns may court the pencil,
Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange adventures;
But who would paint the dull and fog-wrapt moor,
In its long track of sterile desolation?
_Old Play._
When Mowbray crossed the brook, as we have already detailed, his mind
was in that wayward and uncertain state, which seeks something whereon
to vent the self-engendered rage with which it labours, like a volcano
before eruption. On a sudden, a shot or two, followed by loud voices and
laughter reminded him he had promised, at that hour, and in that
sequestered place, to decide a bet respecting pistol-shooting, to which
the titular Lord Etherington, Jekyl, and Captain MacTurk, to whom such a
pastime was peculiarly congenial, were parties as well as himself. The
prospect this recollection afforded him, of vengeance on the man whom he
regarded as the author of his sister's wrongs, was, in the present state
of his mind, too tempting to be relinquished; and, setting spurs to his
horse, he rushed through the copse to the little glade, where he found
the other parties, who, despairing of his arrival, had already begun
their amusement. A jubilee shout was set up as he approached.
"Here comes Mowbray, dripping, by Cot, like a watering-pan," said
Captain MacTurk.
"I fear him not," said Etherington, (we may as well still call him so,)
"he has ridden too fast to have steady nerves."
"We shall soon see that, my Lord Etherington, or rather Mr. Valentine
Bulmer," said Mowbray, springing from his horse, and throwing the bridle
over the bough of a tree.
"What does this mean, Mr. Mowbray?" said Etherington, drawing himself
up, while Jekyl and Captain MacTurk looked at each other in surprise.
"It means, sir, that you are a rascal and impostor," replied Mowbray,
"who have assumed a name to which you have no right."
"That, Mr. Mowbray, is an insult I cannot carry farther than this
spot," said Etherington.
"If you had been willing to do so, you should have carried with it
something still harder to be borne," answered Mowbray.
"Enough, enough, my good sir; no use in spurring a willing
horse.--Jekyl, you will have the kindness to stand by me in this
matter?"
"Certainly, my lord," said Jekyl.
"And, as there seems to be no chance of taking up the matter amicably,"
said the pacific Captain MacTurk, "I will be most happy, so help me, to
assist my worthy friend, Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's, with my countenance
and advice.--Very goot chance that we were here with the necessary
weapons, since it would have been an unpleasant thing to have such an
affair long upon the stomach, any more than to settle it without
witnesses."
"I would fain know first," said Jekyl, "what all this sudden heat has
arisen about."
"About nothing," said Etherington, "except a mare's nest of Mr.
Mowbray's discovering. He always knew his sister played the madwoman,
and he has now heard a report, I suppose, that she has likewise in her
time played the ---- fool."
"O, crimini!" cried Captain MacTurk, "my good Captain, let us pe loading
and measuring out--for, by my soul, if these sweetmeats be passing
between them, it is only the twa ends of a hankercher than can serve the
turn--Cot tamn!"
With such friendly intentions, the ground was hastily meted out. Each
was well known as an excellent shot; and the Captain offered a bet to
Jekyl of a mutchkin of Glenlivat, that both would fall by the first
fire. The event showed that he was nearly right; for the ball of Lord
Etherington grazed Mowbray's temple, at the very second of time when
Mowbray's pierced his heart. He sprung a yard from the ground, and fell
down a dead man. Mowbray stood fixed like a pillar of stone, his arm
dropped to his side, his hand still clenched on the weapon of death,
reeking at the touch-hole and muzzle. Jekyl ran to raise and support his
friend, and Captain MacTurk, having adjusted his spectacles, stooped on
one knee to look him in the face. "We should have had Dr. Quackleben
here," he said, wiping his glasses, and returning them to the shagreen
case, "though it would have been only for form's sake--for he is as dead
as a toor-nail, poor boy.--But come, Mowbray, my bairn," he said, taking
him by the arm, "we must be ganging our ain gait, you and me, before
waur comes of it.--I have a bit powney here, and you have your horse
till we get to Marchthorn.--Captain Jekyl, I wish you a good morning.
Will you have my umbrella back to the inn, for I surmeese it is going
to rain?"
Mowbray had not ridden a hundred yards with his guide and companion,
when he drew his bridle, and refused to proceed a step farther, till he
had learned what was become of Clara. The Captain began to find he had a
very untractable pupil to manage, when, while they were arguing
together, Touchwood drove past in his hack chaise. As soon as he
recognised Mowbray, he stopped the carriage to inform him that his
sister was at the Aultoun, which he had learned from finding there had
been a messenger sent from thence to the Well for medical assistance,
which could not be afforded, the Esculapius of the place, Dr.
Quackleben, having been privately married to Mrs. Blower on that
morning, by Mr. Chatterly, and having set out on the usual nuptial tour.
In return for this intelligence, Captain MacTurk communicated the fate
of Lord Etherington. The old man earnestly pressed instant flight, for
which he supplied at the same time ample means, engaging to furnish
every kind of assistance and support to the unfortunate young lady; and
representing to Mowbray, that if he staid in the vicinity, a prison
would soon separate them. Mowbray and his companion then departed
southward upon the spur, reached London in safety, and from thence went
together to the Peninsula, where the war was then at the hottest.
There remains little more to be told. Mr. Touchwood is still alive,
forming plans which have no object, and accumulating a fortune, for
which he has apparently no heir. The old man had endeavoured to fix this
character, as well as his general patronage, upon Tyrrel, but the
attempt only determined the latter to leave the country; nor has he been
since heard of, although the title and estates of Etherington lie vacant
for his acceptance. It is the opinion of many, that he has entered into
a Moravian mission, for the use of which he had previously drawn
considerable sums.
Since Tyrrel's departure, no one pretends to guess what old Touchwood
will do with his money. He often talks of his disappointments, but can
never be made to understand, or at least to admit, that they were in
some measure precipitated by his own talent for intrigue and
manoeuvring. Most people think that Mowbray of St. Ronan's will be at
last his heir. That gentleman has of late shown one quality which
usually recommends men to the favour of rich relations, namely, a close
and cautious care of what is already his own. Captain MacTurk's military
ardour having revived when they came within smell of gunpowder, the old
soldier contrived not only to get himself on full pay, but to induce his
companion to serve for some time as a volunteer. He afterwards obtained
a commission, and nothing could be more strikingly different than was
the conduct of the young Laird of St. Ronan's and of Lieutenant Mowbray.
The former, as we know, was gay, venturous, and prodigal; the latter
lived on his pay, and even within it--denied himself comforts, and often
decencies, when doing so could save a guinea; and turned pale with
apprehension, if, on any extraordinary occasion, he ventured sixpence a
corner at whist. This meanness, or closeness of disposition, prevents
his holding the high character to which his bravery and attention to his
regimental duties might otherwise entitle him. The same close and
accurate calculation of pounds, shillings, and pence, marked his
communications with his agent Meiklewham, who might otherwise have had
better pickings out of the estate of St. Ronan's, which is now at nurse,
and thriving full fast; especially since some debts, of rather an
usurious character, have been paid up by Mr. Touchwood, who contented
himself with more moderate usage.
On the subject of this property, Mr. Mowbray, generally speaking, gave
such minute directions for acquiring and saving, that his old
acquaintance, Mr. Winterblossom, tapping his morocco snuff-box with the
sly look which intimated the coming of a good thing, was wont to say,
that he had reversed the usual order of transformation, and was turned
into a grub after having been a butterfly. After all, this narrowness,
though a more ordinary modification of the spirit of avarice, may be
founded on the same desire of acquisition, which in his earlier days
sent him to the gaming-table.
But there was one remarkable instance in which Mr. Mowbray departed from
the rules of economy, by which he was guided in all others. Having
acquired, for a large sum of money, the ground which he had formerly
feued out for the erection of the hotel, lodging-houses, shops, &c., at
St. Ronan's Well, he sent positive orders for the demolition of the
whole, nor would he permit the existence of any house of entertainment
on his estate, except that in the Aultoun, where Mrs. Dods reigns with
undisputed sway, her temper by no means improved either by time, or her
arbitrary disposition by the total absence of competition.
Why Mr. Mowbray, with his acquired habits of frugality, thus destroyed
a property which might have produced a considerable income, no one could
pretend to affirm. Some said that he remembered his own early follies;
and others, that he connected the buildings with the misfortunes of his
sister. The vulgar reported, that Lord Etherington's ghost had been seen
in the ball-room, and the learned talked of the association of ideas.
But it all ended in this, that Mr. Mowbray was independent enough to
please himself, and that such was Mr. Mowbray's pleasure.
The little watering-place has returned to its primitive obscurity; and
lions and lionesses, with their several jackals, blue surtouts, and
bluer stockings, fiddlers and dancers, painters and amateurs, authors
and critics, dispersed like pigeons by the demolition of a dovecot, have
sought other scenes of amusement and rehearsal, and have deserted ST.
RONAN'S WELL.[II-12]
FOOTNOTE:
[II-12] Note III.--Meg Dods.
AUTHOR'S NOTES.
Note I., p. 202.
There were several instances of this dexterity, but especially those
which occurred in the celebrated case of Murdison and Millar, in 1773.
These persons, a sheep-farmer and his shepherd, settled in the vale of
Tweed, commenced and carried on for some time an extensive system of
devastation on the flocks of their neighbours. A dog belonging to Millar
was so well trained, that he had only to show him during the day the
parcel of sheep which he desired to have; and when dismissed at night
for the purpose, Yarrow went right to the pasture where the flock had
fed, and carried off the quantity shown him. He then drove them before
him by the most secret paths to Murdison's farm, where the dishonest
master and servant were in readiness to receive the booty. Two things
were remarkable. In the first place, that if the dog, when thus
dishonestly employed, actually met his master, he observed great caution
in recognising him, as if he had been afraid of bringing him under
suspicion; secondly, that he showed a distinct sense that the illegal
transactions in which he was engaged were not of a nature to endure
daylight. The sheep which he was directed to drive, were often reluctant
to leave their own pastures, and sometimes the intervention of rivers or
other obstacles made their progress peculiarly difficult. On such
occasions, Yarrow continued his efforts to drive his plunder forward,
until the day began to dawn, a signal which, he conceived, rendered it
necessary for him to desert his spoil, and slink homeward by a
circuitous road. It is generally said this accomplished dog was hanged
along with his master; but the truth is, he survived him long, in the
service of a man in Leithen, yet was said afterwards to have shown
little of the wonderful instinct exhibited in the employment of Millar.
Another instance of similar sagacity, a friend of mine discovered in a
beautiful little spaniel, which he had purchased from a dealer in the
canine race. When he entered a shop, he was not long in observing that
his little companion made it a rule to follow at some interval, and to
estrange itself from his master so much as to appear totally unconnected
with him. And when he left the shop, it was the dog's custom to remain
behind him till it could find an opportunity of seizing a pair of
gloves, or silk stockings, or some similar property, which it brought to
its master. The poor fellow probably saved its life by falling into the
hands of an honest man.
Note II., p. 213.
The author has made an attempt in this character to draw a picture of
what is too often seen, a wretched being whose heart becomes hardened
and spited at the world, in which she is doomed to experience much
misery and little sympathy. The system of compulsory charity by poor's
rates, of which the absolute necessity can hardly be questioned, has
connected with it on both sides some of the most odious and malevolent
feelings that can agitate humanity. The quality of true charity is not
strained. Like that of mercy, of which, in a large sense, it may be
accounted a sister virtue, it blesses him that gives and him that takes.
It awakens kindly feelings both in the mind of the donor and in that of
the relieved object. The giver and receiver are recommended to each
other by mutual feelings of good-will, and the pleasurable emotions
connected with the consciousness of a good action fix the deed in
recollection of the one, while a sense of gratitude renders it holy to
the other. In the legal and compulsory assessment for the proclaimed
parish pauper, there is nothing of all this. The alms are extorted from
an unwilling hand, and a heart which desires the annihilation, rather
than the relief, of the distressed object. The object of charity,
sensible of the ill-will with which the pittance is bestowed, seizes on
it as his right, not as a favour. The manner of conferring it being
directly calculated to hurt and disgust his feelings, he revenges
himself by becoming impudent and clamorous. A more odious picture, or
more likely to deprave the feelings of those exposed to its influence,
can hardly be imagined; and yet to such a point have we been brought by
an artificial system of society, that we must either deny altogether the
right of the poor to their just proportion of the fruits of the earth,
or afford them some means of subsistence out of them by the institution
of positive law.
Note III., p. 318.
_Non omnis moriar._ Saint Ronan's, since this veracious history was
given to the public, has revived as a sort of _alias_, or second title,
to the very pleasant village of Inverleithen upon Tweed, where there is
a medicinal spring much frequented by visitors. Prizes for some of the
manly and athletic sports, common in the pastoral districts around, are
competed for under the title of the Saint Ronan's Games. Nay, Meg Dods
has produced herself of late from obscurity as authoress of a work on
Cookery, of which, in justice to a lady who makes so distinguished a
figure as this excellent dame, we insert the title-page:
"The Cook and Housewife's Manual: A Practical System of Modern
Domestic Cookery and Family Management.
--------_'Cook, see all your sawces
Be sharp and poynant in the palate, that they may
Commend you: look to your roast and baked meats handsomely,
And what new kickshaws and delicate made things.'_
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
By Mistress Margaret Dods, of the Cleikum Inn, St. Ronan's."
Though it is rather unconnected with our immediate subject, we cannot
help adding, that Mrs. Dods has preserved the recipes of certain
excellent old dishes which we would be loath should fall into oblivion
in our day; and in bearing this testimony, we protest that we are no way
biassed by the receipt of two bottles of excellent sauce for cold meat,
which were sent to us by the said Mrs. Dods, as a mark of her respect
and regard, for which we return her our unfeigned thanks, having found
them capital.
EDITOR'S NOTES.
[II-A] p. 104. "Tietania." A little book on the art of tying the neckcloth,
in the age of Brummel and his "failures." Copies may occasionally be
found on the bookstalls. It is not in the Abbotsford Library.
[II-B] p. 151. "I first persuaded her to quit the path of duty." This
remark of Tyrrel's is one of the many surviving traces of the original
plot.
[II-C] p. 220. "Master Stephen." A character of Ben Jonson's already
referred to--he who wished for a stool to be sad upon.
[II-D] p. 223. "A Canon of Strasburgh." Scott frequently refers, in
accounts of the roof of the hall of Abbotsford, which he blazoned with
his quarterings, to his deficiency in the sixteen necessary for a
Canonry. Three shields, those connected with the Rutherfords of
Hunthill, are vacant, or rather are painted with clouds.
[II-E] p. 238. "One of Plutarch's heroes, if I mistake not." It was not a
hero of Plutarch's, but Pindar the poet, who was warned by Persephone
that he had neglected to honour her by an ode.
[II-F] p. 254. "They can scarcely say worse of me than I deserve." In this
remark of Clara's we have another trace of the original plot, involving
Clara's lapse from virtue. The whole scene, with Mowbray's "You having
been such as you own yourself," was made unintelligible by Ballantyne's
objection.
[II-G] p. 300. "A corbie messenger." It seems unlikely that the Scots had a
legend like the Greek one concerning the evil "corbie" or raven
messenger to Apollo about his false lady-love, but no other explanation
suggests itself.
ANDREW LANG.
_December 1893._
APPENDIX.
[The following extract from the proof-sheets containing Scott's original
conclusion of "St. Ronan's Well" was sent to the Athenæum of Feb. 4,
1893, by Mr. J. M. Collyer. The proof-sheets are in the possession of
Mr. Archibald Constable. The scene, of which a few lines remain in the
authorised texts, is that of Hannah Irwin's Confession to Josiah
Cargill.
"Oh, most unhappy woman," he said, "what does your introduction prepare
me to expect?"
"Your expectation, be it ever so ominous, shall be fully satisfied. That
Bulmer, when he told you that a secret marriage was necessary to Miss
Mowbray's honour, thought that he was imposing on you.--But he told you
a fatal truth, so far as concerned Clara. She had indeed fallen, but
Bulmer was not her seducer--knew nothing of the truth of what he so
strongly asseverated."
"_He_ was not her lover, then?--And how came he, then, to press to marry
her?--Or, how came you"----
"Hear me--but question not.--Bulmer had gained the advantage over me
which he pretended to have had over Clara. From that moment my
companion's virtue became at once the object of my envy and hatred: yet,
so innocent were the lovers, that, despite of the various arts which I
used to entrap them, they remained guiltless until the fatal evening
when Clara met Tyrrel for the last time ere he removed from the
neighbourhood--and then the devil and Hannah Irwin triumphed. Much there
was of remorse--much of resolutions of separation until the Church
should unite them--but these only forwarded my machinations--for I was
determined she should wed Bulmer, not Tyrrel."
"Wretch!" exclaimed the clergyman: "and had you not, then, done enough?
Why did you expose the paramour of one brother to become the wife of
another?"
She paused, and answered sullenly, "I had my reasons--Bulmer had treated
me with scorn. He told me plainly that he used me but as a
stepping-stone to his own purposes: and that these finally centred in
wedding Clara. I was resolved he should wed her, and take with her
infamy and misery to his bed."
"This is too horrible," said Cargill, endeavouring, with a trembling
hand, to make minutes of her confession.
"Ay," said the sick woman, "but I contended with a master of the game,
who played me stratagem for stratagem. If I destined for him a
dishonoured wife, he contrived by his agent, Solmes, to match me with a
husband imposed on me by his devices as a man of fortune," &c.--ED.]
GLOSSARY.
A', all.
Abbey, the sanctuary for debtors at Holyrood Abbey.
Ae, one.
Aff, off.
Ail, to prevent.
Ainsell, oneself.
An, if.
Ance, once.
Ane, one.
Asper, a Turkish coin of small value.
"Athole brose," honey mixed with whisky, used in the Highlands sometimes
as a luxury, sometimes as a specific for a cold.
Aught, eight.
Awa, away.
Bairn, a child.
Baith, both.
Barmy-brained, giddy, feather-brained.
Baron-bailie, a kind of magistrate, the baron's deputy in a burgh of
barony.
Basket-beagles, beagles that chased a hare slipped from a basket.
Bauld, bold.
Bawbee, a halfpenny.
Bedral, a sexton.
Begum, an Indian princess, or lady of high rank.
Bidden, remained.
Blawort, a bluebottle.
Blunt, money.
Bodle, a small copper coin.
"Bow Street runners," London detectives.
Braid, broad.
Brank, span.
Briquet, a steel with which to strike a light.
Brose, oatmeal over which boiling water has been poured.
Browst, a brewing, as much as is brewed at one time.
Bruick, a kind of boil.
"By ordinar," out of the common run.
Cadi, a judge.
Callant, a lad.
Cantrip, a piece of mischief.
Capernoity, crabbed, irritable.
Carline, a witch.
Cheeny, china.
Clachan, a hamlet.
Claise, clothes.
Cleugh, a rugged ascent.
Corbie, a raven. "Corbie messenger," a messenger who either returns not
at all, or too late.
Cull, a fool.
Daffing, frolicking.
Deil, the devil.
Diddled, beaten, got the better of.
Dinna, don't.
Div, do.
Dorts, in a sullen humour.
Douce, quiet, sensible.
Dub-skelper--used contemptuously for a rambling fellow, an idle
vagabond.
Dwam, a stupor.
Encognure, a corner table.
Eneugh, enough.
Fand, found.
Faughta, a sort of pigeon sacred amongst the Hindoos.
Feir, with good countenance.
Fend, defence.
Feuar, one who holds lands in feu--_i.e._, on lease.
Fit, foot.
Flisk-ma-hoy, new-fangled.
Forby, besides.
Frae, from.
Fule, a fool.
"Fusionless skink," tasteless stuff.
Gae, go; gaen, gone.
Gait, gate, way, direction.
Galopin, a scullion or errand-boy.
Ganging, going.
Gar, to force, to make. "Gars me grue," gives me the creeps.
Gard, made.
Gay, very.
Geeing, giving.
"Gentlemen of the fancy," prize-fighters.
Gin, if.
Girn, to grin.
Girning, whining.
Glenlivat, a celebrated whisky distillery.
Gowk, a fool.
Grue, to shiver. The flesh is said to _grue_ when a chilly sensation
passes over the surface of the body.
Gude, good. Gudewife, a landlady.
Gusing-iron, a smoothing iron.
Hae, have.
Hail, haill, whole.
"Hale and feir," right and proper.
Hap, hop.
Heritors, the landowners and proprietors of the parish.
Hinny, a term of endearment = honey.
Hirple, hobble.
Hollah. _See_ Faughta.
Hoose, a house.
Hough, the thigh.
Imaum, a Mohammedan ecclesiastic of high rank.
I'se, I shall.
Jaud, a jade.
Joseph, a riding-coat with buttons down the skirts.
Ken, to know.
"Lang syne," long ago.
Limmer, a worthless creature.
Maravedi, an old Spanish coin of small value.
Maundered, mumble.
Mickle, muckle, much.
Mundungus, vile, ill-smelling tobacco.
Nae, no, not
Neevie-neevie-nick-nack, a game with marbles, similar to "odd or even."
"On the pad," on the tramp.
Ony, any.
Or, before.
Ower, over.
Pabouches, slippers.
Pickle, a little, a small quantity.
Pliskie, a trick.
Plottie, mulled wine.
Pococurante, one who affects indifference.
Pomander-boxes, perfume-boxes.
Poortith, poverty.
Pownie, a pony.
Puir, poor.
Raff, a worthless fellow, a nobody.
Remora, an obstacle, hindrance.
Rin, run.
Roof-tree, the beam that supports the roof.
Sae, so.
Sall, shall.
Scaurs, jibs.
Scrog, a stunted bush or scrub.
"Sgherro insigne," notorious cut-throat.
Shieling, a hut.
Shouther, the shoulder.
Shroff, a Parsee or Indian merchant.
Sic, such.
Skeely, skilful.
Slaister, a mess.
Snooded, bound up with a snood or fillet for the hair.
Soop, to sweep.
Sorting, a correction with the hand or the tongue.
"Sossings and soopings," made-up soups and messes.
Souvenir, a lady's reticule or hand-bag.
Speer, to inquire.
Sponsible, respectable.
Swarf, to swoon.
Syllabub, a curd made of wine or cider with milk or cream.
Taupie, tawpie, an awkward girl, a tomboy.
Tinkler, a tinker.
Titupping, lively, full of spirit.
Tozie, a shawl of goat's wool.
Troke, to traffic, do business with in a small way.
Turbinacious, peaty, turfy.
"Ullah kerim!" God is merciful.
Ultroneous, uncalled for, unusual.
Umquhile, the late.
Unco, very, particular, uncommon.
Usquebaugh, whisky.
Wad, would.
Wae, woful, sad.
Waur, worse.
Wee, small, little.
Weel, well.
Wheen, a few.
Wi', with.
Windlestrae, a small bundle of straw.
Wizzened, withered.
Wunna, will not.
Yestreen, last night.
Yince, once.
THE END.