sure like as to how the old man might have come by the bundle in these
riotous and knock-him-down times, I swithered a moment, giving my chin a
rub, before answering; and then advised him to take a step in at his
leisure to St Mary's Wynd, where he would meet in with merchants in
scores. But no; he seemed determined to strike a bargain with me; and I
heard from the man's sponsible and feasible manner of speech--for he was
an old weatherbeaten-looking body of a creature, with gleg een, a cock
nose, white locks, and a tye behind--that the clothes must have been left
him, as a kind of friendly keepsake, by his master, now beneath the
mools. Thinking by this, that if I got them at a wanworth, I might
boldly venture, I condescended to his loosing down the bundle, which was
in a blue silk napkin with yellow flowers. As he was doing this, he told
me that he was on his way home from the north to his own country, which
lay among the green Welsh hills, far away; and that he could not carry
much luggage with him, as he was obliged to travel with his baggage tied
up in a bundle, on the end of his walking-staff, over his right shoulder.
Pity me! what a grand coat it was! I thought at first it must have been
worn on the King's own back, honest man; for it was made of green velvet,
and embroidered all round about--back seams, side seams, flaps, lappels,
button-holes, nape and cuffs, with gold lace and spangles, in a manner to
have dazzled the understanding of any Jew with a beard shorter than his
arm. So, no wonder that it imposed on the like of me; and I was mostly
ashamed to make him an offer for it of a crown-piece and a dram. The
waistcoat, which was of white satin, single-breasted, and done up with
silver tinsel in a most beautiful manner, I also bought from him for a
couple of shillings, and four hanks of black thread. Though I would on
no account or consideration give him a bode for the Hessian boots, which
having cuddy-heels and long silk tossels, were by far and away over grand
for the like of a tailor, such as me, and fit for the Sunday's wear of
some fashionable Don of the first water. However, not to part uncivilly,
and be as good as my word, I brought ben Nanse's bottle, and gave him a
cawker at the shop counter; and, after taking a thimbleful to myself, to
drink a good journey to him, I bade him take care of his feet, as the
causeway was frozen, and saw the auld flunkie safely over the strand with
a candle.
Ye may easily conceive that Nanse got a surprise, when I paraded ben to
the room with the grand coat and waistcoat on, cocking up my head,
putting my hands into the haunch pockets, and strutting about more like a
peacock than a douce elder of Maister Wiggie's kirk; so just as, thinking
shame of myself, I was about to throw it off, I found something bulky at
the bottom of the side pocket, which I discovered to be a wheen papers
fastened together with green tape. Finding they were written in a real
neat hand, I put on my spectacles, and sending up the close for James
Batter, we sat round the fireside, and read away like nine-year-aulds.
The next matter of consideration was, whether, in buying the coat as it
stood, the paper belonged to me, or the old flunkie waiting-servant with
the peaked hat. James and me, after an hour and a half's argle-bargleing
pro and con, in the way of Parliament-house lawyers, came at last to be
unanimously of opinion, that according to the auld Scotch proverb of
"He that finds keeps,
And he that loses seeks,"
whatever was part or pendicle of the coat at the time of purchase, when
it hung exposed for sale over the white-headed Welshman's little finger,
became according to the law of nature and nations, as James Batter wisely
observed, part and pendicle of the property of me, Mansie Wauch, the
legal purchaser.
Notwithstanding all this, however, I was not sincerely convinced in my
own conscience; and I daresay if the creature had cast up, and come
seeking them back, I would have found myself bound to make restitution.
This is not now likely to happen; for twenty long years have come and
passed away, like the sunshine of yesterday, and neither word nor wittens
of the body have been seen or heard tell of; so, according to the course
of nature, being a white-headed old man, with a pigtail, when the bargain
was made, his dust and bones have, in all likelihood, long ago mouldered
down beneath the green turf of his own mountains, like his granfather's
before him. This being the case, I daresay it is the reader's opinion as
well as my own, that I am quite at liberty to make what use of them I
like. Concerning the poem things that came first in hand, I do not
pretend to be any judge; but James thinks he could scarcely write any
muckle better himself: so here goes; but I cannot tell you to what tune:
SONG
I
They say that other eyes are bright,
I see no eyes like thine;
So full of Heaven's serenest light,
Like midnight stars they shine.
II
They say that other cheeks are fair--
But fairer cannot glow
The rosebud in the morning air,
Or blood on mountain snow.
III
Thy voice--Oh sweet it streams to me,
And charms my raptured breast;
Like music on the moonlight sea,
When waves are lull'd to rest.
IV
The wealth of worlds were vain to give
Thy sinless heart to buy;
Oh I will bless thee while I live,
And love thee till I die!
From this song it appears a matter beyond doubt--for I know human
nature--that the flunkie's master had, in his earlier years, been deeply
in love with some beautiful young lady, that loved him again, and that
maybe, with a bounding and bursting heart, durst not let her affection be
shown, from dread of her cruel relations, who insisted on her marrying
some lord or baronet that she did not care one button about. If so,
unhappy pair, I pity them! Were we to guess our way in the dark a wee
farther, I think it not altogether unlikely, that he must have fallen in
with his sweetheart abroad, when wandering about on his travels; for what
follows seems to come as it were from her, lamenting his being called to
leave her forlorn and return home. This is all merely supposition on my
part, and in the antiquarian style, whereby much is made out of little;
but both me and James Batter are determined to be unanimously of this
opinion, until otherwise convinced to the contrary. Love is a fiery and
fierce passion every where; but I am told that we, who live in a more
favoured land, know very little of the terrible effects it sometimes
causes, and the bloody tragedies, which it has a thousand times produced,
where the heart of man is uncontrolled by reason or religion, and his
blood heated into a raging fever, by the burning sun that glows in the
heaven above his head.
Here follows the poem of Taffy's master's foreign sweetheart; which,
considering it to be a woman's handiwork, is, I daresay, not that far
amiss.
SONG OF THE SOUTH
I
Of all the garden flowers
The fairest is the rose;
Of winds that stir the bowers,
Oh! there is none that blows
Like the south--the gentle south--
For that balmy breeze is ours.
II
Cold is the frozen north;
In its stern and savage mood,
'Mid gales, come drifting forth
Bleak snows and drenching flood;
But the south--the gentle south--
Thaws to love the unwilling blood.
III
Bethink thee of the vales,
With their birds and blossoms fair--
Of the darkling nightingales,
That charm the starry air
In the south--the gentle south--
Ah! our own dear home is there.
IV
Where doth Beauty brightest glow,
With each rich and radiant charm,
Eye of light, and brow of snow,
Cherry lip, and bosom warm;
In the south--the gentle south--
There she waits, and works her harm.
V
Say, shines the Star of Love,
From the clear and cloudless sky,
The shadowy groves above,
Where the nestling ringdoves lie;
From the south--the gentle south--
Gleams its lone and lucid eye.
VI
Then turn ye to the home
Of your brethren and your bride;
Far astray your steps may roam,
But more joys for thee abide,
In the south--our gentle south--
Than in all the world beside.
After reading a lot of the unknown gentleman's compositions in prose and
verse, something like his private history, James Batter informs me, can
be made out, provided we are allowed to eke a little here and there.
That he was an Englisher we both think amounts to a probability; and,
from having an old "Taffy was a Welshman" for a flunkie, it would not be
out of the order of nature to jealouse, that he may have resided
somewhere among the hills, where he had picked him up and taken him into
his kitchen, promoting him thereafter, for sobriety and good conduct, to
be his body servant, and gentleman's gentleman. Where he was born,
however, is a matter of doubt, and also who were his folks; but of a
surety, he was either born with a silver spoon in his mouth, or rose from
the ranks like many another great man. That, however, is a matter of
moonshine; we are all descended in a direct line from Adam. Where he was
educated does not appear; but there can scarcely be a shadow of doubt,
that he was for a considerable while at some school or other, where he
had a number of cronies. In proof of this, and to show that we have good
reasons for our suppositions, James recommends me to print the following
rigmarole meditations, on the top of which is written in half-text,
SCHOOL RECOLLECTIONS.
"--They who in the vale of years advance,
And the dark eve is closing on their way,
When on the mind the recollections glance
Of early joy, and Hope's delightful day,
Behold, in brighter hues than those of truth,
The light of morning on the fields of youth."
SOUTHEY.
The morning being clear and fine, full of Milton's "vernal delight and
joy," I determined on a saunter; the inclemency of the weather having,
for more than a week, kept me a prisoner at home. Although now advanced
into the heart of February, a great fall of snow had taken place; the
roads were blocked up; the mails obstructed; and, while the merchant
grumbled audibly for his letters, the politician, no less chagrined,
conned over and over again his dingy rumpled old newspaper, compelled "to
eat the leek of his disappointment." The wind, which had blown
inveterately steady from the surly north-east, had veered, however,
during the preceding night, to the west; and, as it were by the spell of
an enchanter, an instant thaw commenced. In the low grounds the snow
gleamed forth in patches of a pearly whiteness; but, on the banks of
southern exposure, the green grass and the black trodden pathway again
showed themselves. The vicissitudes of twenty-four hours were indeed
wonderful. Instead of the sharp frost, the pattering hail, and the
congealed streams, we had the blue sky, the vernal zephyr, and the genial
sunshine; the stream murmuring with a broader wave, as if making up for
the season spent in the fetters of congelation; and that luxurious flow
of the spirits, which irresistibly comes over the heart, at the
re-assertion of Nature's suspended vigour.
As I passed on under the budding trees, how delightful it was to hear the
lark and the linnet again at their cheerful songs, to be aware that now
"the winter was over and gone;" and to feel that the prospect of summer,
with its lengthening days, and its rich variety of fruits and flowers,
lay fully before us. There is something within us that connects the
spring of the year with the childhood of our existence, and it is more
especially at that season, that the thrilling remembrances of long
departed pleasures are apt to steal into the thoughts; the re-awakening
of nature calling us, by a fearful contrast, to the contemplation of joys
that never can return, while all the time the heart is rendered more
susceptible by the beauteous renovation in the aspect of the external
world.
This sensation pressed strongly on my mind, as I chanced to be passing
the door of the village school, momentarily opened for the admission of
one, creeping along somewhat tardily with satchel on back, and "shining
morning face." What a sudden burst of sound was emitted--what harmonious
discord--what a commixture of all the tones in the vocal gamut, from the
shrill treble to the deep underhum! A chord was touched which vibrated
in unison; boyish days and school recollections crowded upon me;
pleasures long vanished; feelings long stifled; and friendships--aye,
everlasting friendships--cut asunder by the sharp stroke of death!
A public school is a petty world within itself--a wheel within a
wheel--in so far as it is entirely occupied with its own concerns,
affords its peculiar catalogue of virtues and vices, its own cares,
pleasures, regrets, anticipations, and disappointments--in fact, a
Lilliputian facsimile of the great one. By grown men, nothing is more
common than the assertion that childhood is a perfect Elysium; but it is
a false supposition that school-days are those of unalloyed carelessness
and enjoyment. It seems to be a great deal too much overlooked, that
"little things are great to little men;" and perhaps the mind of boyhood
is more active in its conceptions--more alive to the impulses of pleasure
and pain--in other words, has a more extended scope of sensations, than
during any other portion of our existence. Its days are not those of
lack-occupation; they are full of stir, animation, and activity, for it
is then we are in training for after life; and, when the hours of school
restraint glide slowly over, "like wounded snakes," the clock, that
chimes to liberty, sends forth the blood with a livelier flow; and
pleasure thus derives a double zest from the bridle that duty has
imposed, joy being generally measured according to the difficulty of its
attainment. What delight in life have we ever experienced more exquisite
than that, which flowed at once in upon us from the teacher's "_bene_,
_bene_," our own self-approbation, and release from the tasks of the
day?--the green fields around us wherein to ramble, the stream beside us
wherein to angle, the world of games and pastimes, "before us where to
choose." Words are inadequate to express the thrill of transport, with
which, on the rush from the school-house door, the hat is waved in air,
and the shout sent forth!
Then what a variety of amusements succeed each other. Every month has
its favourite ones. The sports-man does not more keenly scrutinize his
kalendar for the commencement of the trouting, grouse shooting, or
hare-hunting season, than the younker for the time of flying kites,
bowling at cricket, football, spinning peg-tops, and playing at marbles.
Pleasure is the focus, which it is the common aim to approximate; and the
mass is guided by a sort of unpremeditated social compact, which draws
them out of doors as soon as meals are discussed, with a sincere thirst
of amusement, as certainly as rooks congregate in spring to discuss the
propriety of building nests, or swallows in autumn to deliberate in
conclave on the expediency of emigration.
Then how perfectly glorious was the anticipation of a holiday--a long
summer day of liberty and ease! In anticipation it was a thing boundless
and endless, a foretaste of Elysium. It extended from the _prima luce_,
from the earliest dawn of radiance that streaked the "severing clouds in
yonder east," through the sun's matin, meridian, postmeridian, and vesper
circuit; from the disappearance of Lucifer in the re-illumined skies, to
his evening entree in the character of Hesperus. Complain not of the
brevity of life; 'tis _men_ that are idle; a thousand things could be
contrived and accomplished in that space, and a thousand schemes were
devised by us, when _boys_, to prevent any portion of it passing over
without improvement. We pursued the fleet angel of time through all his
movements till he blessed us.
With these and similar thoughts in my mind, I strayed down to the banks
of the river, and came upon the very spot, which, in those long-vanished
years, had been a favourite scene of our boyish sports. The impression
was overpowering; and as I gazed silently around me, my mind was subdued
to that tone of feeling which Ossian so finely designates "the joy of
grief." The trees were the same, but older, like myself; seemingly
unscathed by the strife of years--and herein was a difference. Some of
the very bushes I recognized as our old lurking-places at "hunt the
hare"; and, on the old fantastic beech-tree, I discovered the very bough
from which we were accustomed to suspend our swings. What
alterations--what sad havoc had time, circumstances, the hand of fortune,
and the stroke of death, made among us since then! How were the thoughts
of the heart, the hopes, the pursuits, the feelings changed; and, in
almost every instance, it is to be feared, for the worse! As I gazed
around me, and paused, I could not help reciting aloud to myself the
lines of Charles Lamb, so touching in their simple beauty.
"I have had playmates, I have had companions,
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me, all are departed;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces."
The fresh green plat, by the brink of the stream, lay before me. It was
there that we played at leap-frog, or gathered dandelions for our tame
rabbits; and, at its western extremity, were still extant the reliques of
the deal-seat, at which we used to assemble on autumn evenings to have
our round of stories. Many a witching tale and wondrous tradition hath
there been told; many a marvel of "figures that visited the glimpses of
the moon"; many a recital of heroic and chivalrous enterprise,
accomplished ere warriors dwindled away to the mere puny strength of
mortals. Sapped by the wind and rain, the planks lay in a sorely decayed
and rotten state, looking in their mossiness like a sign-post of
desolation, a memento of terrestrial instability. Traces of the knife
were still here and there visible upon the trunks of the supporting
trees; and with little difficulty I could decipher some well-remembered
initials.
"Cold were the hands that carved them there."
It is, no doubt, wonderful that the human mind can retain such a mass of
recollections; yet we seem to be, in general, little aware that for one
solitary incident in our lives, preserved by memory, hundreds have been
buried in the silent charnel-house of oblivion. We peruse the past, like
a map of pleasing or melancholy recollections, and observe lines crossing
and re-crossing each other in a thousand directions; some spots are
almost blank; others faintly traced; and the rest a confused and
perplexed labyrinth. A thousand feelings that, in their day and hour,
agitated our bosoms, are now forgotten; a thousand hopes, and joys, and
apprehensions, and fears, are vanished without a trace. Schemes, which
cost us much care in their formation, and much anxiety in their
fulfilment, have glided, like the clouds of yesterday, from our
remembrance. Many a sharer of our early friendships, and of our boyish
sports, we think of no more; they are as if they had never been, till
perhaps some accidental occurrence, some words in conversation, some
object by the wayside, or some passenger in the street, attract our
notice--and then, as if awaking from a perplexing trance, a light darts
in upon our darkness; and we discover that thus some one long ago spoke;
that there something long ago happened; or that the person, who just
passed us like a vision, shared smiles with us long, long years ago, and
added a double zest to the enjoyments of our childhood.
Of our old class-fellows, of those whose days were of "a mingled yarn"
with ours, whose hearts blended in the warmest reciprocities of
friendship, whose joys, whose cares, almost whose wishes were in common,
how little do we know? how little will even the severest scrutiny enable
us to discover? Yet, at one time, we were inseparable "like Juno's
swans"; we were as brothers, nor dreamt we of ought else, in the
susceptibility of our youthful imagination, than that we were to pass
through all the future scenes of life, side by side; and, mutually
supporting and supported, lengthen out the endearments, the ties, and the
feelings of boyhood unto the extremities of existence. What a fine but a
fond dream--alas, how wide of the cruel reality! The casual relation of
a traveller may discover to us where one of them resided or resides. The
page of an obituary may accidentally inform us how long one of them
lingered on the bed of sickness, and by what death he died. Some we may
perhaps discover in elevated situations, from which worldly pride might
probably prevent their stooping down to recognize us. Others, immersed
in the labyrinths of business, have forgot all, in the selfish pursuits
of earthly accumulation. While the rest, the children of misfortune and
disappointment, we may occasionally find out amid the great multitude of
the streets, to whom life is but a desert of sorrow, and against whom
prosperity seems to have shut for ever her golden gates.
Such are the diversities of condition, the varieties of fortune to which
man is exposed, while climbing the hill of probationary difficulty. And
how sublimely applicable are the words of Job, expatiating on the
uncertainty of human existence: "Man dieth and wasteth away; yea, man
giveth up the ghost, and where is he? As the waters fail from the sea,
and the flood decayeth and drieth up; so man lieth down and riseth not
till the heavens be no more."
While standing on the same spot, where of yore the boyish multitude
congregated in pursuit of their eager sports, a silent awe steals over
the bosom, and the heart desponds at the thought, that all these once
smiling faces are scattered now! Some, mayhap, tossing on the waste and
perilous seas; some the merchants of distant lands; some fighting the
battles of their country; others dead--inhabitants of the dark and narrow
house, and hearing no more the billows of life, that thunder and break
above their low and lonely dwelling-place!
* * * * *
Nanse, who was sitting by the table, knitting a pair of light-blue
worsted stockings for Benjie, and myself, who was sewing on the buttons
of a velveteen jacket for a country lad, were, I must say, not a little
delighted, not only with the way in which the Welshman's late master had
spoken of his school-fellows, but with the manner in which James Batter,
with his specs on, had read it over to us. Upon my word--and that of an
elder--I do not believe that even Mr Wiggie himself could have done the
thing greater justice. It was just as if he had been a play-actor man,
spouting Douglas's tragedy.
Having folded up that paper, and turned over not a few others, the
docketings of which he read out to us, James at last says, "Ou ay, here
it is. I think I can now prove to ye, that the gentlemen's sweetheart
died abroad; and that, likely from her name--for it is here
mentioned--she must have been a Portugee or Spaniard."
"Ay, let us hear it," cried Nanse. "Do, like a man, let us hear it,
James; for I delight above a' things to hear about love-stories. Do ye
mind, Maister," she said, "when ye was so deep in love aince yoursell?"
"Foolish woman," I said, giving her a kind of severe look; "is that all
your manners to interrupt Mr Batter? If ye'll just keep a calm sough,
ye'll hear the long and the short o't, in good time."
By this, James, who did not relish interruption, and was a thought
fidgety in his natural temper, had laid down the paper on the table,
snuffed the candle, and raised his spectacles on his brow. But I said to
him, "Excuse freedoms, James, and be so good as resume your discourse."
Then wishing to smooth him down, I added, by way of compliment--"Do go
on; for you really are a prime reader. Nature surely intended ye for a
minister."
"Dinna flatter me," said James; looking, however, rather proudishly at
what I had said, and replacing his glasses on the brig of his nose, he
then read us a screed of metre to the following effect; part of which, I
am free to confess, is rather above my comprehension. But, never mind.
ELEGIAC STANZAS
I
'Tis midnight deep; the full round moon,
As 'twere a spectre, walks the sky;
The balmy breath of gentlest June
Just stirs the stream that murmurs by;
Above me frowns the solemn wood;
Nature, methinks, seems Solitude
Embodied to the eye.
II
Yes, 'tis a season and a scene,
Inez, to think on thee; the day,
With stir and strife, may come between
Affection and thy beauty's ray,
But feeling here assumes control,
And mourns my desolated soul
That thou are rapt away!
III