SHANTY
THE
BLACKSMITH;
A TALE OF OTHER TIMES
BY MRS. SHERWOOD.
1852.
SHANTY
THE
BLACKSMITH.
* * * * *
It was during the last century, and before the spirit of revolution had
effected any change in the manners of our forefathers, that the events
took place, which are about to be recorded in this little volume.
At that period there existed in the wild border country, which lies
between England and Scotland, an ancient castle, of which only one
tower, a few chambers in the main building, certain offices enclosed in
high buttressed walls, and sundry out-houses hanging as it were on
those walls, yet remained. This castle had once been encircled by a moat
which had been suffered to dry itself up, though still the little stream
which used to fill it when the dams were in repair, murmured and
meandered at the bottom of the hollow, and fed the roots of many a water
plant and many a tree whose nature delights in dank and swampy soils.
The verdure, however, which encircled this ancient edifice, added
greatly to the beauty, when seen over the extent of waste and wild in
which it stood. There can be no doubt but that the ancient possessors of
this castle, which, from the single remaining barrier, and the name of
the family, was called Dymock's tower, had been no other than strong and
dangerous free-booters, living on the plunder of the neighbouring
kingdom of Scotland. Every one knows that a vast extent of land, waste
or at best but rudely cultivated, had once belonged to the Lords of
Dymock; but within a few years this family had fallen from affluence,
and were at length so much reduced, that the present possessor could
hardly support himself in any thing like the state in which he deemed it
necessary for his father's son to live. Mr. Dymock was nearly thirty
years of age, at the time our history commences; he had been brought up
by an indolent father, and an aunt in whom no great trusts had been
vested, until he entered his teens, at which time he was sent to
Edinburgh to attend the classes in the college; and there, being a quick
and clever young man, though without any foundation of early discipline,
or good teaching, and without much plain judgment or common sense, he
distinguished himself as a sort of genius.
One of the most common defects in the minds of those who are not early
subjected to regular discipline is, that they have no perseverance; they
begin one thing, and another thing, but never carry anything on to any
purpose, and this was exactly the case with Mr. Dymock. Whilst he was in
Edinburgh he had thought that he would become an author; some
injudicious persons told him that he might succeed in that way, and he
began several poems, and two plays, and he wrote parts of several
treatises on Mathematics, and Physics, and Natural History; the very
titles of these works sound clever, but they were never finished. Dymock
was nearly thirty when his father died; and when he came to reside in
the tower, his mind turned altogether to a new object, and that was
cultivating the ground, and the wild commons and wastes all around him:
and if he had set to work in a rational way he might have done
something, but before he began the work he must needs invent a plough,
which was to do wonderful things, and, accordingly, he set to work, not
only to invent this plough, but to make it himself, or rather to put it
together himself, with the help of a carpenter and blacksmith in the
neighbourhood. But before we introduce the old blacksmith, who is a very
principal person in our story, we must describe the way in which Mr.
Dymock lived in his tower.
His aunt, Mrs. Margaret Dymock, was his housekeeper, and so careful had
she always been, for she had kept house for her brother, the late laird,
that the neighbours said she had half-starved herself, in order to keep
up some little show of old hospitality. In truth, the poor lady was
marvellously thin, and as sallow and gaunt as she was thin. Some old
lady who had stood for her at the font, in the reign of Charles the
Second, had, at her death, left her all her clothes, and these had been
sent to Dymock's tower in several large chests. Mrs. Margaret was
accordingly provided for, for life, with the addition of a little
homespun linen, and stockings of her own knitting; but, as she held it
a mighty piece of extravagance to alter a handsome dress, she wore her
godmother's clothes in the fashion in which she found them, and prided
herself not a little in having silks for every season of the year. Large
hoops were worn in those days, and long ruffles, and sacks short and
long, and stomachers, and hoods, and sundry other conceits, now never
thought of; but Mrs. Margaret thought that all these things had a
genteel appearance, and showed that those who bought them and those who
inherited them had not come of nothing.
Mrs. Margaret, however, never put any of these fine things on, till she
had performed her household duties, looked into every hole and corner in
the offices, overlooked the stores, visited the larder, scullery and
hen-yard, weighed what her three maids had spun the day before, skimmed
the milk with her own hands, gathered up the candle ends, and cut the
cabbage for the brose; all which being done, and the servants' dinner
seen to, and it must be confessed, it was seldom that they had a very
sumptuous regale, she dressed herself as a lady should be dressed, and
sate down to her darning, which was her principal work, in the oval
window in the chief room in the castle. Darning, we say, was her
principal work, because there was scarcely an article in the house which
she did not darn occasionally, from the floor-cloth to her own best
laces, and, as money was seldom forthcoming for renewing any of the
finer articles in the house capable of being darned, no one can say what
would have been the consequence, if Mrs. Margaret had been divested of
this darning propensity.
How the old lady subsisted herself is hardly known, for it often
happened that the dinner she contrived for her nephew, was barely
sufficient for him, and although on these occasions she always managed
to seem to be eating, yet had Mr. Dymock had his eyes about him, he
could not but have seen that she must often have risen from the table,
after having known little more than the odour of the viands. Nothing,
however, which has been said of Mrs. Margaret Dymock goes against that
which might be said with truth, that there was a fund of kindness in the
heart of the venerable spinster, though it was sometimes choked up and
counteracted by her desire to make a greater appearance than the family
means would allow.
Besides the three maids in the kitchen, there were a man and a boy
without doors, two or three lean cows, a flock of sheep which were half
starved on the moor, a great dog, and sundry pigs and fowls living at
large about the tower; and, to crown our description, it must be added,
that all the domestic arrangements which were beyond the sphere of Mrs.
Margaret were as ill managed as those within her sphere were capitally
well conducted; however, as Mr. Dymock said to her one day when she
ventured to expostulate with him on this subject, "Only have a little
patience, my good aunt, when I have completed what I am now about, for
instance my plough, you will see how I will arrange every thing. I
cannot suffer these petty attentions and petty reforms to occupy me just
now; what I intend to do will be done in a large way; I mean not only to
repair but to restore the castle, to throw the whole of my lands to the
north into a sheep-walk, to plant the higher points, and to convert the
south lands into arable. But my first object is the plough, and that
must be attended to, before everything else; the wood-work is all
complete, but a little alteration must be made in the coulter, and after
all, I apprehend I must do it myself, as old Shanty is as stupid as his
own hammer."
Mrs. Margaret hinted that every man had not the ingenuity of her
nephew; adding, however, that old Shanty was as worthy and God-fearing a
man as any on the moor.
"I do not deny it," replied Mr. Dymock, "but what has worth and
God-fearing to do with my plough. I have been trying in vain to make him
understand what I want done, and am come to the resolution of going
myself, taking off my coat, and working with him; I should make a better
blacksmith in a week, than he has in forty years."
Mrs. Margaret lifted up her hands and eyes, and then fetching a deep
sigh, "That I should have lived to hear that," she exclaimed; "the last
representative of the house of Dymock proposing to work at a
blacksmith's forge!"
"And why not? Mrs. Margaret," replied the nephew, "does a gentleman
lower himself when he works merely for recreation, and not for sordid
pelf; you have heard of Peter the Great?"
"Bless me, nephew," replied the spinster, bridling, "where do you think
my ears have been all my life, if I never heard of Peter the Great!"
"You know then, that he worked with his own hands at a blacksmith's
forge," returned the nephew.
"I know no such thing," said Mrs. Margaret, "and if the Romans say so, I
account it only another of their many lies; and I wonder they are not
ashamed to invent tales so derogotary to the honour of him they call
their head!"
"Pshaw!" said the laird; "I am not speaking of the Pope, but of the Czar
of all the Russias!"
"Well! well! Dymock;" returned Mrs. Margaret, "I only wish that I could
persuade you from committing this derogation. However, if you must needs
work with Shanty, let me beg you to put on one of your old shirts; for
the sparks will be sure to fly, and there will be no end of darning the
small burns."
"Be assured aunt," said Mr. Dymock, "that I shall do nothing by halves;
if I work with Shanty, I shall put on a leathern apron, and tuck up
my sleeves."
"All this does not suit my notions," replied Mrs. Margaret: but her
nephew had risen to leave her, and there was an end to the argument.
As Mr. Dymock had told his aunt; so he did: he went to Shanty's forge,
he dressed himself like the old master himself, and set fairly to work,
to learn the mysteries of the trade; mysteries which, however, as far as
Shanty knew them, were not very deep.
[Illustration: He went to Shantys Forge _See Page 14_]
There has not often been a more ill-arranged and unsettled mind than
that of Mr. Dymock; his delight was in anything new, and for a few days
he would pursue this novelty with such eagerness, that during the time
he seemed to forget every thing else. It was a delicate job, and yet one
requiring strength which was needed for the plough. Shanty had told
the laird at once, that it was beyond his own skill or strength, seeing
that he was old and feeble, "and as to your doing it, sir," he said,
"who cannot yet shape a horse-shoe! you must serve longer than a week,
before you get that much knowledge of the craft; there is no royal way
to learning, and even for the making of a horse-shoe a 'prenticeship
must be served, and I mistake me very much if you don't tire before
seven days service are over, let alone as many years."
But, Mr. Dymock had as yet served only two days, when one evening a
young man, a dark, athletic, bold-looking youth, entered the
blacksmith's shed. It was an evening in autumn, and the shed was far
from any house; Dymock's tower was the nearest, and the sun was already
so low that the old keep with its many mouldering walls, and
out-buildings, was seen from the shed, standing in high relief against
the golden sky. As the young man entered, looking boldly about him,
Shanty asked him what he wanted.
"I want a horse-shoe," he replied.
"A horse-shoe!" returned the blacksmith, "and where's your horse?"
"I has no other horse than Adam's mare," he replied; "I rides no other,
but I want a horse-shoe."
"You are a pretty fellow," returned Shanty "to want a horse-shoe, and to
have never a horse to wear him."
"Did you never hear of no other use for a horse-shoe, besides protecting
a horse's hoof?" replied the youth.
"I have," returned the blacksmith, "I have heard fools say, that neither
witch nor warlock can cross a threshold that has a horse-shoe nailed
over it. But mind I tell you, it must be a cast shoe."
"Well" said the young man, "suppose that I am plagued with one of them
witches; and suppose that I should have bethought me of the horse-shoe,
what would you think of me then? What may that be which you are now
shaping; why may it not serve my turn as well as another? so let me have
it, and you shall have its worth down on the nail."
"Did not I tell you," said Shanty, sullenly, "that it must be a cast
shoe that must keep off a witch; every fool allows that."
"Well," said the young man, looking about him, "have you never a cast
shoe?"
"No," replied Shanty, "I have none here fit for your turn."
"I am not particular," returned the young man, "about the shoe being an
old one; there is as much virtue, to my thinking, in a new one; so let
me have that you are about."
"You shall have none of my handiworks, I tell you," said Shanty,
decidedly, "for none of your heathenish fancies and follies. The time
was when I lent myself to these sort of follies, but, thank my God, I
have learned to cast away, aye, and to condemn such degrading thoughts
as these. Believe me, young man, that if God is on your side, neither
witch nor warlock, or worse than either, could ever hurt you."
"Well," said the young man, "if you will not make me one, will you let
me make one for myself?"
"Are you a smith?" said Mr. Dymock, before Shanty could reply.
"Am I a smith?" answered the young man; "I promise you, I should think
little of myself if I was not as much above him, (pointing to Shanty,
who was hammering at his horse-shoe, with his back towards him,) as the
sun is brighter than the stars."
Shanty took no notice of this piece of insolence; but Mr. Dymock having
asked the stranger a few more questions, proceeded to show him the job
he wanted done to his plough, and from one thing to another, the young
man undertook to accomplish it in a few hours, if the master of the shed
would permit. Shanty did by no means seem pleased, and yet could not
refuse to oblige Mr. Dymock; he, however, remarked, that if the coulter
was destroyed, it was no odds to him. The young stranger, however, soon
made it appear that he was no mean hand at the work of a blacksmith; he
had not only strength, but skill and ingenuity, and in a short time had
so deeply engaged the attention of Dymock by his suggestions of
improvements to this same plough, that the young laird saw none but him,
and allowed the evening to close in, and the darkness of night to cover
the heath, whilst still engaged in talking to the stranger, and
hearkening to his ingenious comments on the machinery of the plough.
In the meantime, although the sun had set in golden glory, dark and
dense clouds had covered the heavens, the wind had risen and whistled
dismally over the moor, and a shower of mingled rain and sleet blew into
the shed, one side of which was open to the air. It was in the midst of
this shower, that a tall gaunt female, covered with a ragged cloak, and
having one child slung on her back, and another much older in her hand,
presented herself at the door of the shed, and speaking in a broad
northern dialect, asked permission to shelter herself and her bairns,
for a little space in the corner of the hut. Neither Dymock nor the
young man paid her any regard, or seemed to see her, but Shanty made her
welcome, and pointing to a bench which was within the glow of the fire
of the forge, though out of harm's way of sparks or strokes, the woman
came in, and having with the expertness of long use, slung the child
from her back into her arms, she sate down, laying the little one across
her knee, whilst the eldest of the two children dropped on the bare
earth with which the shed was floored, and began nibbling a huge crust
which the mother put into his hand.
In the meantime, work went on as before the woman had come in, nor was a
word spoken, till Shanty, looking up from the horse-shoe which he was
hammering, remarked in his own mind, that he wondered that the little
one stretched on the woman's knee, was not awakened and frightened by
the noise of the forge; but there the creature lies, he thought, as if
it had neither sense or hearing. When this strange thought suggested
itself, the old man dropped his hammer, and fixing his eye on the
infant, he seemed to ask himself these questions,--What, if the child
should be dead? would a living child, drop as that did from the back of
the woman on her lap, like a lump of clay, nor move, nor utter a moan,
when thrown across its mother's lap? Urged then by anxiety, he left his
anvil, approached the woman, and stood awhile gazing at the child,
though unable for some minutes to satisfy himself, or to put away the
horrible fear that he might perchance be looking at a body without life.
Mr. Dymock was acting the part of bellows-blower, in order to assist
some work which the young stranger was carrying on in the fire. The lad
who generally performed this service for Shanty, had got permission for
a few hours, to visit his mother over the Border, Mr. Dymock having told
him in all kindness that he would blow for him if needs must. But the
fitful light--the alternate glow and comparative darkness which
accompanied and kept time with the motion of the bellows, made it almost
impossible for the old man to satisfy himself concerning his horrible
imagination. He saw that the infant who lay so still on the woman's lap,
was as much as two years of age; that, like the woman, it had dark hair,
and that its complexion was olive; and thus he was put out in his first
notion, that the child might perchance be a stolen one. But the bellows
had filled and exhausted themselves many times before his mind was set
at rest with regard to his first fearful thought; at length, however,
the child moved its arm, and uttered a low moan, though without rousing
itself from its sleep; on which Shanty, being satisfied, turned back to
his block and his horse-shoe, and another half-hour or more passed,
during which the tempest subsided, the clouds broke and began to
disappear, and the stars to come forth one by one, pointing out the
direction of the heavens to the experienced eye of the night-walking
traveller. The woman observing this, arose, and taking the sleeping babe
in her arms whilst the other child clung to her cloak, she thanked the
blacksmith for the convenience of the shelter which he had given her;
when he, with the courtesy of one who, though poor and lowly, had been
admitted to high conference with his Redeemer, invited her to stay
longer--all night if she pleased,--regretting only that he had nothing
to offer her but a bed of straw, and a sup of sowens for the
little ones.
"For which," she replied, "I thank you; what can any one give more than
what he has. But time is precious to me, this night I must be over the
Border; mind me, however, I shall remember you, and mayhap may call
again." So saying, she passed out of the shed, almost as much
disregarded by Dymock in her going out, as she had been in coming in.
And now, for another hour, the strokes of the hammers of old Shanty and
the young stranger might have been heard far over the moor in the
stillness of the night, for the wind had entirely died away, and the
fitful glare of the forge, still shone as a beacon over the heath. At
length, however, the job which the stranger had undertaken was finished,
and Dymock, having given him a silver piece, the only one in his pocket,
the young man took his leave, saying as he went out, and whilst he
tossed the silver in his hand,--"Well, if I have not got what I came
for, I have got that which is as good, and in return for your civility,
old gentleman," he added, addressing Shanty, "I give you a piece of
advice; nail the horse-shoe, which you would not spare to me, over your
own door, for I tell you, that you are in no small danger of being
over-reached by the very warlock, who has haunted my steps for many
a day."
So saying, he went gaily, and with quick step, out of the shed, and his
figure soon disappeared in a ravine or hollow of the moor.
In the mean time, Dymock and Shanty stood at the door. The former being
full of excitement, respecting the wonderful sagacity of the singular
stranger, and the other being impatient to see the master off, as he
wanted to shut up his shed, and to retire to the little chamber within,
which served him for sleeping apartment, kitchen, and store-room, not to
say study, for our worthy Shanty never slept without studying the Holy
Word of God.
But whilst these two were standing, as we said, at the door, suddenly, a
low moan reached their ears, as coming from their left, where the roof
of the shed being lengthened out, afforded shelter for any carts, or
even, on occasion, waggons, which might be brought there, for such
repairs as Shanty could give them. At that time, there was only one
single cart in the shed, and the cry seemed to come from the direction
of this cart. Dymock and Shanty were both startled at the cry, and
stood in silence for a minute or more, to ascertain if it were repeated.
Another low moan presently ensued, and then a full outcry, as of a
terrified child. Dymock and Shanty looked at each other, and Shanty
said, "It is the beggar woman. She is still skulking about, I will be
bound; hark!" he added, "listen! she will be stilling the child, she's
got under the cart." But the child continued to screech, and there was
neither threat nor blandishment used to still the cries.
Dymock seemed to be so thoroughly astounded, that he could not stir, but
Shanty going in, presently returned with a lighted lanthorn, and an iron
crow-bar in his hand; "and now," he said, "Mr. Dymock, we shall see to
this noise," and they both turned into the out-building, expecting to
have to encounter the tall beggar, and with her perhaps, a gang of
vagrants. They, however, saw only the infant of two years' old, who had
lain like a thing dead on the woman's lap, though not dead, as Shanty
had feared, but stupified with hollands, the very breath of the baby
smelling of the spirit when Dymock lifted it out of the cart and brought
it into the interior shed. Shanty did not return, till he had
investigated every hole and corner of his domain, with the crow-bar in
one hand, and the lanthorn in the other.
The baby had ceased to cry, when brought into the shed, and feeling
itself in the arms of a fellow-creature, had yielded to the influence of
the liquor, and had fallen again into a dead sleep, dropping back on the
bosom of Mr. Dymock.
"They are all off," said Shanty, as he entered the house, "and have left
us this present. We have had need, as that young rogue said, of the
horse-shoe over our door. We have been over-reached for once; that
little one is stolen goods, be sure, Mr. Dymock,--some great man's
child for aught we know,--the wicked woman will not call again very
soon, as she promised, and what are we to do with the child? Had my poor
wife been living, it might have done, but she is better off! What can I
do with it?"
"I must take it up to the Tower," said Mr. Dymock, "and see if my aunt
Margaret will take to it, and if she will not, why, then there are
charity schools, and poor-houses to be had recourse to; yet I don't fear
her kind heart."
"Nor I neither, Mr. Dymock," said Shanty, and the old man drew near to
the child, and holding up his lanthorn to the sleeping baby, he said,
"What like is it? Gipsy, or Jew? one or the other; those features, if
they were washed, might not disgrace Sarah or Rachel."
"The mouth and the form of the face are Grecian," said Dymock, "but the
bust is oriental."
Shanty looked hard at his patron, as trying to understand what he meant
by _oriental_ and _Grecian;_ and then repeated his question, "Gipsy or
Jew, Mr. Dymock? for I am sure the little creature is not of our
northern breed."
"We shall see by and bye," said Dymock, "the question is, what is to be
done now? I am afraid that aunt Margaret will look prim and stately if I
carry the little one up to the Tower; however, I see not what else to
do. Who is afraid? But put your fire out, Shanty, and come with us. You
shall carry the bantling, and I will take the lanthorn. Mayhap, aunt
Margaret may think this arrangement the more genteel of the two. So
let it be."
And it was so; old Shanty turned into child-keeper, and the Laird into
lanthorn-carrier, and the party directed their steps towards the Tower,
and much talk had they by the way.
Now, as we have said before, there was a fund of kindness in the heart
of Mrs. Margaret Dymock, which kindness is often more consistent than
some people suppose, with attention to economy, especially when that
economy is needful; and moreover, she had lately lost a favourite cat,
which had been, as she said, quite a daughter to her. Therefore the
place of pet happened to be vacant just at that time, which was much in
favour of the forlorn child's interests. Dymock had taken Shanty with
him into the parlour, in which Mrs. Margaret sat at her darning; and he
had suggested to the old man, that he might just as well tell the story
himself for his aunt's information, and account for the presence of the
infant; and, in his own words, Mrs. Margaret took all very well, and
even did not hint that if her nephew had been in his own parlour,
instead of being in a place where vagrants were sheltered, he would at
all events have been out of this scrape. But the little one had awoke,
and had begun to weep, and the old lady's heart was touched, so she
called one of the maids, and told her to feed the babe and put it to
sleep; after which, having ordered that Shanty should be regaled with
the bladebone of a shoulder of mutton, she withdrew to her room to think
what was next to be done.
The result of Mrs. Margaret's thoughts were, that come what might, the
child must be taken care of for a few days, and must be washed and
clothed; and, as the worthy lady had ever had the habit of laying by, in
certain chests and boxes piled on each other in her large bed-room, all
the old garments of the family not judged fitting for the wear of
cottagers, she had nothing more to do than, by the removal of
half-a-dozen trunks, to get at a deal box, which contained the frocks,
and robes, and other garments which her nephew had discarded when he put
on jacket and trousers. From these she selected one of the smallest
suits, and they might have been seen airing at the kitchen fire by six
o'clock that morning. Hot water and soap were next put in requisition,
and as soon as the baby awoke, she was submitted to such an operation by
the kitchen fire, as it would appear she had not experienced for a long
time. The little creature was terribly frightened when soused in the
water, and screeched in a pitiful manner; the tears running from her
eyes, and the whole of her small person being in a violent tremor. The
maids, however, made a thorough job of it, and scoured the foundling
from head to foot. At length Mrs. Margaret, who sat by, directing the
storm, with a sheet across her lap and towels in her hand, pronounced
the ablution as being complete, and the babe was lifted from the tub,
held a moment to drip, and then set on the lap of the lady, and now the
babe seemed to find instant relief. The little creature was no sooner
placed on Mrs. Margaret's knee, than, by some strange and unknown
association, she seemed to think that she had found an old
friend,--some faintly remembered nurse or mother,--whom she had met
again in Mrs. Dymock, and quivering with delight, she sprang on her feet
on the lady's lap, and grasped her neck in her arms, pressing her little
ruby lips upon her cheek; and on one of the maids approaching again with
some of her clothes, she strained her arms more closely round Mrs.
Margaret, and perfectly danced on her lap with terror lest she should be
taken away from her.
"Lord help the innocent babe!" said the old lady, "what is come to her?"
and Mrs. Margaret's eyes were full of tears; but the good lady then
soothed and carressed the babe, and instructed her to sit down on her
knees, whilst she directed the servant to assist in dressing her. But
no, no, it would not do; no one was to touch her but Mrs. Margaret; and
the old lady, drawing herself up, at length said,--"Well, Janet, we must
give way, I suppose; it seems that I am to be the favourite; there is
something in my physiognomy which has taken the child's fancy; come,
hand me the clothes, I must try my skill in dressing this capricious
little dame." Mrs. Margaret was evidently pleased by the poor orphan's
preference, and whilst she was dressing the infant, there was time to
discover that the little child was a perfect beauty in her way; the form
of her face being oval, the features exquisite, the eyes soft, yet
sparkling, and the lips delicately formed. The hair, of raven black, was
clustered and curling, and the head set on the shoulders in a way worthy
of the daughters of kings; but the servants pointed out on the arm of
the infant, a peculiar mark which was not natural, but which had
evidently been burnt therein. One said it was a fan, and another a
feather; but Mrs. Margaret augured vast things from it, pronouncing that
the child surely belonged to some great person, and that no one could
say what might be the consequence of kindness shown to such a child.
As soon as Mr. Dymock came down into the breakfast-room, Mrs. Margaret
came swimming in with the child in her arms, exclaiming, "A pretty piece
of work you have done for me, nephew! I am under a fine servitude now;"
and she primmed up her mouth, but her eye laughed,--"little Miss here,
chooses to be waited on by me, and me only; and here I am, with nothing
to do but to attend on my lady."
"Little Miss," said Mr. Dymock, "what little Miss? who have you got
there?"
"Neither more nor less," replied Mrs. Margaret, "than your foundling."
"Impossible!" said Mr. Dymock: "Why, what have you done to her?"
"Merely washed, combed, and dressed her," said Mrs. Margaret; "give me
credit, nephew, and tell me what I have brought out by my diligence."
"You have brought out a brilliant from an unfinished stone," exclaimed
Mr. Dymock; "that is a beautiful child; I shall have extreme delight in
making as much of that fine mind, as you have done with that beautiful
exterior."
"Then you do not think of putting her in a foundling hospital or a
workhouse, nephew, as you proposed last night?" said Mrs. Margaret,
with a smile.
"It would be a folly," replied the nephew, "to degrade such a creature
as that;" and he attempted to kiss the baby; but, swift as thought, she
had turned her face away, and was clinging to Mrs. Margaret.
The old lady primmed up again with much complacency, "Did I not tell
you, nephew, how it was," she said, "nothing will do but Aunt Margaret.
Well, I suppose I must give her my poor pussy's corner in my bed. But
now her back is turned to you, Dymock, observe the singular mark on her
shoulder, and tell me what it is?"
Mr. Dymock saw this mark with amazement:--He saw that it was no natural
mark; and at length, though not till after he had examined it many
times, he made it out, or fancied he had done so, to be a branch of a
palm tree. From the first he had made up his mind that this was a Jewish
child; and, following the idea of the palm-tree, and tracing the word in
a Hebrew lexicon,--for he was a Hebrew scholar, though not a deep
one,--he found that Tamar was the Hebrew for a palm tree. "And Tamar it
shall be," he said; "this maid of Judah, this daughter of Zion shall be
called Tamar;" and he carried his point, although Mrs. Margaret made
many objections, saying it was not a Christian name, and therefore not
proper for a child who was to be brought up as a Christian. However, as
Mr. Dymock had given up his whim of learning the business of a smith
since the adventure which has been so fully related, and had forgotten
the proposed experiment of turning up the whole moor round the Tower
with his new-fangled plough,--that plough having ceased to be an object
of desire to him as soon as it was completed,--she thought it best to
give way to this whim of giving the child so strange a name, and
actually stood herself at the font, as principal sponsor for
little Tamar.
Thus, the orphan was provided with a happy home; nor, as Mrs. Margaret
said, did she ever miss the child's little bite and sup. After a few
days, the babe would condescend to leave Mrs. Margaret, when required to
go to the servants. She would even, when directed so to do, steal across
the floor, and accept a seat on Mr. Dymock's knee, and gradually she got
very fond of him. Nor was her affection unrequited; he had formed a
theory about her,--and it was not a selfish theory, for he never
expected to gain anything by her,--but he believed that she was of noble
but unfortunate Jewish parentage, and he built this theory on the
singular grace and beauty of her person. At all events, he never doubted
but that she was a Jewess; and he talked of it, and thought of it, till
he was entirely convinced that it was so, and had convinced his aunt
also, and established the persuasion in the minds of most persons
about him.
If Mr. Dymock was not a genius, he had all the weaknesses commonly
attributed to genius, and, in consequence, was as useless a being as
ever cumbered the ground; yet, he was generally loved, and no one loved
him more than Tamar did, after she had got over her first baby fear of
him. But Mrs. Margaret, who had no pretensions to genius, was the real
benefactor of this child, and as far as the lady was concerned in
bringing her up, performed the part of a truly affectionate mother. Her
first effort was made to bring the will of the child, which was a lofty
one, under subjection to her own; and the next, to give her habits of
industry and self-denial. She told her that whatever she might hear
respecting her supposed parentage, she was merely a child without
pretentions, and protected from motives of love, and of love only; that
her protectors were poor, and ever likely to remain so, and that what
God required of her, was that when able, she should assist them as they
had assisted her in helpless infancy. As to religion, Mrs. Margaret
taught her what she herself knew and believed; but her views were dark
and incomplete, she saw not half as much of the great mystery of
salvation, as had been revealed to Shanty in his hut; yet, the desire of
doing right in the sight of God, had been imparted to her, and this
desire was a fixed principle, and did not appear to be affected by her
want of knowledge. As to forms, Mrs. Margaret had her own, and she was
very attentive to them, but she had very small opportunity of public
worship, as there was no church within some miles of the Tower. In the
meantime, whilst the old lady went plodding on in her own quiet way,
teaching the little girl all she knew herself, Mr. Dymock was planning
great things by way of instruction for Tamar. He was to teach her to
read her native language, as he called the Hebrew, and to give her
various accomplishments, for he had dipped into innumerable branches,
not only of the sciences, but of the arts; and as he happened to have
met with a mind in Tamar which was as rapid as his own, though far more
plodding and persevering, the style of teaching which he gave her,
produced far richer fruit than could possibly have been expected. But as
Rome was not built in a day, neither must it be supposed that good Mrs.
Margaret had not many a laborious, if not weary hour before her part of
the care necessary to the well-rearing of the child, was so complete
that the worthy woman might sit down and expect a small return; for, as
she was wont to say, the child could not be made, for years after she
could hold a needle, to understand that the threads should not be pulled
as tight in darning as in hem stitch, and this, she would say, was
unaccountable, considering how docile the child was in other matters;
and, what was worst of all, was this,--that the little girl, who was as
wild and fleet, when set at liberty, as a gazelle of the mountains,
added not unseldom to the necessity of darning, until Mrs. Margaret
bethought herself of a homespun dress in which Tamar was permitted to
run and career during all hours of recreation in the morning, provided
she would sit quietly with the old lady in an afternoon, dressed like a
pretty miss, in the venerable silks and muslins which were cut down for
her use when no longer capable of being worn by Mrs. Margaret. By this
arrangement Tamar gained health during one part of the day, and a due
and proper behaviour at another; and, as her attachment to Mrs. Margaret
continued to grow with her growth, many and sweet to memory in
after-life were the hours she spent in childhood, seated on a stool at
the lady's feet, whilst she received lessons of needlework, and heard
the many tales which the old lady had to relate. Mrs. Margaret having
led a life without adventures, had made up their deficiency by being a
most graphic recorder of the histories of others; Scheherazade herself
was not a more amusing story-teller; and if the Arabian Princess had
recourse to genii, talismans, and monsters, to adorn her narratives,
neither was Mrs. Dymock without her marvellous apparatus; for she had
her ghosts, her good people, her dwarfs, and dreadful visions of second
sight, wherewith to embellish her histories. There was a piety too, a
reference in all she said to the pleasure and will of a reconciled God,
which added great charms to her narratives, and rendered them peculiarly
interesting to the little girl. Whilst Tamar was under her seventh year,
she never rambled beyond the moat alone; but being seven years old, and
without fear, she extended her excursions, and not unseldom ran as far
as Shanty's shed.
The old man had always taken credit to him self for the part he had had
in the prosperity of the little girl, and Mrs. Margaret did not fail to
tell her how she had first come to the Tower in Shanty's arms; on these
occasions the child used to say,--"then I must love him, must not I
ma'am?" And being told she must, she did so, that is, she encouraged the
feeling; and on a Sunday when he was washed and had his best coat on,
she used to climb upon his knees, for she always asked leave to visit
him on that day if he did not come up to the Tower, as he often did, to
ask for her, and being on his knees she used to repeat to him what she
had been learning during the week.
He was very much pleased, when she first read a chapter in the Bible,
and then it was that he first opened out to her some of his ideas on
religion; which were much clearer and brighter than either Mrs.
Margaret's or her nephew's. How this poor and solitary old man had
obtained these notions does not appear; he could not have told the
process himself, though, as he afterwards told Tamar, all the rest he
knew, had seemed to come to him, through the clearing and manifestation
of one passage of Scripture, and this passage was COL. iii. 11. "But
Christ is all."
"This passage," said the old man, "stuck by me for many days. I was made
to turn it about and about, in my own mind, and to hammer it every way,
till at length, I was made to receive it, in its fulness. Christ I
became persuaded, is not all to one sort of men, and not all to another
sort, nor all at one time of a man's life, and not all at another; nor
all in one circumstance of need, and not all in another; nor all to the
saints and not all to the sinner; nor all in the hour of joy, and not
all in the hour of retribution; being ready and able to supply one want,
and unwilling to supply another. For," as he would add, "does a man want
righteousness? there it is laid for him in Christ; does he want merit?
there is the treasure full and brimming over; does he want rest and
peace? they are also provided for him; does he want faith? there also is
faith prepared for him; but the times and the seasons, these are not
given to him to know; and, if confusion and every evil work now prevail,
Christ being all, he will bring order out of confusion, when the fulness
of the time shall come.
"And so," continued the old man, "when it was given me to see and
accept this one passage first, in its completeness, all other parts of
Scripture seemed to fall at once into their places; and the prophecies;
the beautiful prophecies of future peace and joy to the earth, of the
destruction of death and of hell, all opened out to me, as being hidden
and shut up in Christ,--for Christ is all; and as I desired the
treasure, so I was drawn more and more towards Him who keeps the
treasure, and all this," he would add, "was done for me, through no
deserts or deservings of my own; for till this light was vouchsafed me,
I was as other unregenerate men, living only to myself, and for myself;
and more than this," he would say, "were it the Divine will to withdraw
the light, I should turn again to be dead and hard, as iron on the cold
anvil." In this way, Shanty often used to talk to Mrs. Margaret, and
after a while to Tamar; but the old lady for many years remained
incapable of entering so entirely as he could wish, into his views of
the sufficiency of the Redeemer. She could not give up entirely her
notions of the need of some works, not as evidences of the salvation of
an individual, but as means of ensuring that salvation, and accordingly
she never met with Shanty for many years, without hinting at this
discrepancy in their opinions, which hints seldom failed of bringing
forward an argument.
When Tamar was about nine years old, Mr. Dymock gave her a dog. Of this
creature she was very fond, and always accustomed it to accompany her in
her excursions around the Tower. There was on the moor, not many hundred
paces from the Tower, a heap of blocks of granite, some of which bore
evidence of having been cut with a chisel; but these were almost
entirely grown over with saxifrages and other wild plants.
The country people seldom resorted to this place, because they
accounted it uncanny, and Mrs. Margaret had several wild tales to tell
about it, which greatly interested Tamar. She said, that in the times of
papal power, there had been a monastery there, and in that place a
covenanter had been murdered; hence, it had been pulled down to the
ground, and all the unholy timbers and symbols of idolatry burnt; "and
still," she added, "to this day, uncanny objects are seen in that place,
and wailings as of souls in woe have also been heard coming from thence;
and I myself have heard them. Nay, so short a time ago as the night or
two before you, Tamar, were brought a baby to this house, a light was
seen there, and unearthly voices heard as coming from thence."
Of course after this, it could not be thought that Tamar should approach
this place quite alone, though she often desired to do so; had not Mrs.
Margaret told her these stories, she probably might never have had this
desire, but there is a principle in human nature, which hankers after
the thing forbidden; hence, as St. Paul says, "By the law is the
knowledge of sin." We are not defending human nature, which is
indefensible, but merely stating facts. Tamar had much desire to visit
this mysterious place; and so it happened one day, when she had her dog
with her, and the sun was shining, and all about her bright and gay,
that she climbed up the little green knoll, and pushing her way through
many brambles, furze bushes, and dwarf shrubs, she found herself in the
centre of the huge heaps of stones and rubbish, of which she had
hitherto seen only the summits, from the windows of the Tower.
But being arrived there, she came to a stand, to look about her, when
her dog, to whom Dymock had given the poetical name of Sappho, began to
prick up her ears, and snuff as if she scented something more than
ordinary, and the next minute, she dashed forward, made her way through
certain bushes, and disappeared. Tamar called aloud; a hollow echo
re-sounded her voice, but no dog appeared;--again she called,--again she
heard the echo, and again she was silent; but she was by no means a
timid child; she had been too much accustomed to be alone,--too much
used to explore old corners, of which there were multitudes about the
Tower, occupied only by owls and bats. She therefore went forward to the
place where Sappho had disappeared, and forcing aside the shrubs, she
saw before her a low, arched door-way, which, had she understood
architecture, she would have known, from the carvings about the posts
and lintel, to have been Norman.
She was surprised, indeed, but thinking only of her dog, she called
again, and was perfectly amazed at the long, hollow, and deep sound, of
the reverberation. She stood still again, holding the bushes aside, and
was aware of a rush of damp vapour, blowing in her face.
Sappho, she called again, and the next minute heard an impatient bark,
or yelp, from the animal, and another sound, low, deep and muttering,
which she could not comprehend.
She was now getting much alarmed and dropping the boughs, took to
flight, and she had scarcely cleared the rubbish, when Sappho came
scouring after her, jumping upon her as if glad to see her again. She
patted her head, saying "My poor Sappho, what have you seen in that dark
place? I wish you had a tongue to tell me."
Tamar immediately returned to the Tower, and hastened to tell her
adventure to Mrs. Margaret.
"Oh!" said the old lady, "is it so? that reminds me of what I heard my
father say, many and many is the year gone by, that there was an old
tradition of a secret passage underground from the Monastery to the
Tower; but he never knew where the passage came into the Tower. But be
it which way it might, it must needs have passed under the moat."
"How strange!" said Tamar; "but when that passage was made, it could not
have been secret; many people must have known it, and I wonder, then,
how it could have been so entirely forgotten."
"Who shall say how things were done in those days," said Mrs. Margaret;
"those times long past, when things uncanny had more power than they
have now? But it is not good to talk of such things," added the lady;
"and now, Tamar, let that which you have seen to-day never again be
mentioned by you; for, as sure as the master should hear of it, he would
be for looking into the cavern, and, Heaven knows what he might stir up,
if he were to disturb such things as might be found there. I only wish
that that the mischief may not be already done!"
But no mischief did occur, at least for a long time, from this
mysterious quarter. Tamar did not again visit the place; and in a short
time thought no more of the matter.
The happy days of childhood were passing away with Tamar, and sorrow was
coming on her patrons, from a quarter which poor Mrs. Margaret had long
darkly anticipated; but whilst these heavy clouds were hanging over the
house of Dymock, a few, though not very important events intervened.
Mr. Dymock, by fits and snatches, had given such lessons to Tamar as had
enabled her to proceed, by her own exertions, in several branches of
knowledge quite out of the sphere of Mrs. Margaret.
Amongst these was the history of the Jews, carried on in connection
between the New and Old Testament, and afterwards in Christian times,
and to these he added certain crude views of prophecy; for he was
resolved that Tamar was a Jewess, and he had talked himself into the
belief that she was of some distinguished family.
It is no difficult matter to impress young persons with ideas of their
own importance; and none are more liable to receive such impressions,
than those who, like Tamar, are in the dark respecting their origin.