ëTis the voice of the sluggard, Iíve heard him complain,
“You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again;”
As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,
Turns his side, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.
Dr. Watts.
The mansion-house of Dumbiedikes, to which we are now to introduce our
readers, lay three or four miles--no matter for the exact topography--to
the southward of St. Leonardís. It had once borne the appearance of some
little celebrity; for the “auld laird,” whose humours and pranks were
often mentioned in the ale-houses for about a mile round it, wore a
sword, kept a good horse, and a brace of greyhounds; brawled, swore, and
betted at cock-fights and horse-matches; followed Somerville of Drumís
hawks, and the Lord Rossís hounds, and called himself _point devise_ a
gentleman. But the line had been veiled of its splendour in the present
proprietor, who cared for no rustic amusements, and was as saying, timid,
and retired, as his father had been at once grasping and selfishly
extravagant--daring, wild, and intrusive.
Dumbiedikes was what is called in Scotland a single house; that is,
having only one room occupying its whole depth from back to front, each
of which single apartments was illuminated by six or eight cross lights,
whose diminutive panes and heavy frames permitted scarce so much light to
enter as shines through one well-constructed modern window. This
inartificial edifice, exactly such as a child would build with cards, had
a steep roof flagged with coarse grey stones instead of slates; a
half-circular turret, battlemented, or, to use the appropriate phrase,
bartizaníd on the top, served as a case for a narrow turnpike stair, by
which an ascent was gained from storey to storey; and at the bottom of
the said turret was a door studded with large-headed nails. There was no
lobby at the bottom of the tower, and scarce a landing-place opposite to
the doors which gave access to the apartments. One or two low and
dilapidated outhouses, connected by a courtyard wall equally ruinous,
surrounded the mansion. The court had been paved, but the flags being
partly displaced and partly renewed, a gallant crop of docks and thistles
sprung up between them, and the small garden, which opened by a postern
through the wall, seemed not to be in a much more orderly condition. Over
the low-arched gateway which led into the yard there was a carved stone,
exhibiting some attempt at armorial bearings; and above the inner
entrance hung, and had hung, for many years, the mouldering hatchment,
which announced that umquhile Laurence Dumbie of Dumbiedikes had been
gathered to his fathers in Newbattle kirkyard. The approach to this
palace of pleasure was by a road formed by the rude fragments of stone
gathered from the fields, and it was surrounded by ploughed, but
unenclosed land. Upon a baulk, that is, an unploughed ridge of land
interposed among the corn, the Lairdís trusty palfrey was tethered by the
head, and picking a meal of grass. The whole argued neglect and
discomfort; the consequence, however, of idleness and indifference, not
of poverty.
In this inner court, not without a sense of bashfulness and timidity,
stood Jeanie Deans, at an early hour in a fine spring morning. She was no
heroine of romance, and therefore looked with some curiosity and interest
on the mansion-house and domains, of which, it might at that moment occur
to her, a little encouragement, such as women of all ranks know by
instinct how to apply, might have made her mistress. Moreover, she was no
person of taste beyond her time, rank, and country, and certainly thought
the house of Dumbiedikes, though inferior to Holyrood House, or the
palace at Dalkeith, was still a stately structure in its way, and the
land a “very bonny bit, if it were better seen to and done to.” But
Jeanie Deans was a plain, true-hearted, honest girl, who, while she
acknowledged all the splendour of her old admirerís habitation, and the
value of his property, never for a moment harboured a thought of doing
the Laird, Butler, or herself, the injustice, which many ladies of higher
rank would not have hesitated to do to all three on much less temptation.
Her present errand being with the Laird, she looked round the offices to
see if she could find any domestic to announce that she wished to see
him. As all was silence, she ventured to open one door--it was the old
Lairdís dog-kennel, now deserted, unless when occupied, as one or two
tubs seemed to testify, as a washing-house. She tried another--it was the
rootless shed where the hawks had been once kept, as appeared from a
perch or two not yet completely rotten, and a lure and jesses which were
mouldering on the wall. A third door led to the coal-house, which was
well stocked. To keep a very good fire was one of the few points of
domestic management in which Dumbiedikes was positively active; in all
other matters of domestic economy he was completely passive, and at the
mercy of his housekeeper--the same buxom dame whom his father had long
since bequeathed to his charge, and who, if fame did her no injustice,
had feathered her nest pretty well at his expense.
Jeanie went on opening doors, like the second Calender wanting an eye, in
the castle of the hundred obliging damsels, until, like the said prince
errant, she came to a stable. The Highland Pegasus, Rory Bean, to which
belonged the single entire stall, was her old acquaintance, whom she had
seen grazing on the baulk, as she failed not to recognise by the
well-known ancient riding furniture and demi-pique saddle, which half
hung on the walls, half trailed on the litter. Beyond the “treviss,”
which formed one side of the stall, stood a cow, who turned her head and
lowed when Jeanie came into the stable, an appeal which her habitual
occupations enabled her perfectly to understand, and with which she could
not refuse complying, by shaking down some fodder to the animal, which
had been neglected like most things else in the castle of the sluggard.
While she was accommodating “the milky mother” with the food which she
should have received two hours sooner, a slipshod wench peeped into the
stable, and perceiving that a stranger was employed in discharging the
task which she, at length, and reluctantly, had quitted her slumbers to
perform, ejaculated,
“Eh, sirs! the Brownie! the Brownie!” and fled, yelling as if she had
seen the devil.
To explain her terror it may be necessary to notice that the old house of
Dumbiedikes had, according to report, been long haunted by a Brownie, one
of those familiar spirits who were believed in ancient times to supply
the deficiencies of the ordinary labourer--
Whirl the long mop, and ply the airy flail.
Certes, the convenience of such a supernatural assistance could have been
nowhere more sensibly felt than in a family where the domestics were so
little disposed to personal activity; yet this serving maiden was so far
from rejoicing in seeing a supposed aerial substitute discharging a task
which she should have long since performed herself, that she proceeded to
raise the family by her screams of horror, uttered as thick as if the
Brownie had been flaying her. Jeanie, who had immediately resigned her
temporary occupation, and followed the yelling damsel into the courtyard,
in order to undeceive and appease her, was there met by Mrs. Janet
Balchristie, the favourite sultana of the last Laird, as scandal
went--the housekeeper of the present. The good-looking buxom woman,
betwixt forty and fifty (for such we described her at the death of the
last Laird), was now a fat, red-faced, old dame of seventy, or
thereabouts, fond of her place, and jealous of her authority. Conscious
that her administration did not rest on so sure a basis as in the time
of the old proprietor, this considerate lady had introduced into the
family the screamer aforesaid, who added good features and bright eyes
to the powers of her lungs. She made no conquest of the Laird, however,
who seemed to live as if there was not another woman in the world but
Jeanie Deans, and to bear no very ardent or overbearing affection even
to her. Mrs. Janet Balchristie, notwithstanding, had her own uneasy
thoughts upon the almost daily visits to St. Leonardís Crags, and often,
when the Laird looked at her wistfully and paused, according to his
custom before utterance, she expected him to say, “Jenny, I am gaun to
change my condition;” but she was relieved by, “Jenny, I am gaun to
change my shoon.”
Still, however, Mrs. Balchristie regarded Jeanie Deans with no small
portion of malevolence, the customary feeling of such persons towards
anyone who they think has the means of doing them an injury. But she had
also a general aversion to any female tolerably young, and decently
well-looking, who showed a wish to approach the house of Dumbiedikes and
the proprietor thereof. And as she had raised her mass of mortality out
of bed two hours earlier than usual, to come to the rescue of her
clamorous niece, she was in such extreme bad humour against all and
sundry, that Saddletree would have pronounced that she harboured
_inimicitiam contra omnes mortales._
“Wha the deil are ye?” said the fat dame to poor Jeanie, whom she did not
immediately recognise, “scouping about a decent house at sic an hour in
the morning?”
“It was ane wanting to speak to the Laird,” said Jeanie, who felt
something of the intuitive terror which she had formerly entertained for
this termagant, when she was occasionally at Dumbiedikes on business of
her fatherís.
“Ane!--And what sort of ane are ye!--hae ye nae name?--Díye think his
honour has naething else to do than to speak wií ilka idle tramper that
comes about the town, and him in his bed yet, honest man?”
“Dear Mrs. Balchristie,” replied Jeanie, in a submissive tone, “díye no
mind me?--díye no mind Jeanie Deans?”
“Jeanie Deans!” said the termagant, in accents affecting the utmost
astonishment; then, taking two strides nearer to her, she peered into her
face with a stare of curiosity, equally scornful and malignant--“I say
Jeanie Deans indeed--Jeanie Deevil, they had better hae caíed ye!--A
bonny spot oí wark your tittie and you hae made out, murdering ae puir
wean, and your light limmer of a sisterís to be hanged forít, as weel she
deserves!--And the like oí you to come to ony honest manís house, and
want to be into a decent bachelor gentlemanís room at this time in the
morning, and him in his bed!--Gae waí, gae waí!”
Jeanie was struck mute with shame at the unfeeling brutality of this
accusation, and could not even find words to justify herself from the
vile construction put upon her visit. When Mrs. Balchristie, seeing her
advantage, continued in the same tone, “Come, come, bundle up your pipes
and tramp awa wií ye!--ye may be seeking a father to another wean for ony
thing I ken. If it warna that your father, auld David Deans, had been a
tenant on our land, I would cry up the men-folk, and hae ye dookit in the
burn for your impudence.”
Jeanie had already turned her back, and was walking towards the door of
the court-yard, so that Mrs. Balchristie, to make her last threat
impressively audible to her, had raised her stentorian voice to its
utmost pitch. But, like many a general, she lost the engagement by
pressing her advantage too far.
The Laird had been disturbed in his morning slumbers by the tones of Mrs.
Balchristieís objurgation, sounds in themselves by no means uncommon, but
very remarkable, in respect to the early hour at which they were now
heard. He turned himself on the other side, however, in hopes the squall
would blow by, when, in the course of Mrs. Balchristieís second explosion
of wrath, the name of Deans distinctly struck the tympanum of his ear. As
he was, in some degree, aware of the small portion of benevolence with
which his housekeeper regarded the family at St. Leonardís, he instantly
conceived that some message from thence was the cause of this untimely
ire, and getting out of his bed, he slipt as speedily as possible into an
old brocaded night-gown, and some other necessary garments, clapped on
his head his fatherís gold-laced hat (for though he was seldom seen
without it, yet it is proper to contradict the popular report that he
slept in it, as Don Quixote did in his helmet), and opening the window of
his bedroom, beheld, to his great astonishment, the well-known figure of
Jeanie Deans herself retreating from his gate; while his housekeeper,
with arms a-kimbo, fist clenched and extended, body erect, and head
shaking with rage, sent after her a volley of Billingsgate oaths. His
choler rose in proportion to the surprise, and, perhaps, to the
disturbance of his repose. “Hark ye,” he exclaimed from the window, “ye
auld limb of Satan--wha the deil gies you commission to guide an honest
manís daughter that gate?”
Mrs. Balchristie was completely caught in the manner. She was aware, from
the unusual warmth with which the Laird expressed himself, that he was
quite serious in this matter, and she knew, that with all his indolence
of nature, there were points on which he might be provoked, and that,
being provoked, he had in him something dangerous, which her wisdom
taught her to fear accordingly. She began, therefore, to retract her
false step as fast as she could. “She was but speaking for the houseís
credit, and she couldna think of disturbing his honour in the morning sae
early, when the young woman might as weel wait or call again; and to be
sure, she might make a mistake between the twa sisters, for ane oí them
wasna sae creditable an acquaintance.”
“Haud your peace, ye auld jade,” said Dumbiedikes; “the warst quean eíer
stude in their shoon may caí you cousin, an aí be true that I have
heard.--Jeanie, my woman, gang into the parlour--but stay, that winna be
redd up yet--wait there a minute till I come down to let ye in--Dinna
mind what Jenny says to ye.”
“Na, na,” said Jenny, with a laugh of affected heartiness, “never mind
me, lass--aí the warld kens my barkís waur than my bite--if ye had had an
appointment wií the Laird, ye might hae tauld me--I am nae uncivil
person--gang your ways in by, hinny,” and she opened the door of the
house with a master-key.
“But I had no appointment wií the Laird,” said Jeanie, drawing back; “I
want just to speak twa words to him, and I wad rather do it standing
here, Mrs. Balchristie.”
“In the open court-yard!--Na, na, that wad never do, lass; we mauna guide
ye that gate neither--And howís that douce honest man, your father?”
Jeanie was saved the pain of answering this hypocritical question by the
appearance of the Laird himself.
“Gang in and get breakfast ready,” said he to his housekeeper--“and, díye
hear, breakfast wií us yoursell--ye ken how to manage thae porringers of
tea-water--and, hear ye, see abune aí that thereís a gude fire.--Weel,
Jeanie, my woman, gang in by--gang in by, and rest ye.”
“Na, Laird,” Jeanie replied, endeavouring as much as she could to express
herself with composure, notwithstanding she still trembled, “I canna gang
in--I have a lang dayís darg afore me--I maun be twenty mile oí gate the
night yet, if feet will carry me.”
“Guide and deliver us!--twenty mile--twenty mile on your feet!”
ejaculated Dumbiedikes, whose walks were of a very circumscribed
diameter,--“Ye maun never think oí that--come in by.”
“I canna do that, Laird,” replied Jeanie; “the twa words I have to say to
ye I can say here; forby that Mrs. Balchristie.”
“The deil flee awa wií Mrs. Balchristie,” said Dumbiedikes, “and heíll
hae a heavy lading oí her! I tell ye, Jeanie Deans, I am a man of few
words, but I am laird at hame, as well as in the field; deil a brute or
body about my house but I can manage when I like, except Rory Bean, my
powny; but I can seldom be at the plague, an it binna when my bluidís
up.”
“I was wanting to say to ye, Laird,” said Jeanie, who felt the necessity
of entering upon her business, “that I was gaun a lang journey, outby of
my fatherís knowledge.”
“Outby his knowledge, Jeanie!--Is that right? Ye maun think ot
again--itís no right,” said Dumbiedikes, with a countenance of great
concern.
“If I were ance at Lunnon,” said Jeanie, in exculpation, “I am amaist
sure I could get means to speak to the queen about my sisterís life.”
“Lunnon--and the queen--and her sisterís life!” said Dumbiedikes,
whistling for very amazement--“the lassieís demented.”
“I am no out oí my mind,” said she, “and sink or swim, I am determined to
gang to Lunnon, if I suld beg my way frae door to door--and so I maun,
unless ye wad lend me a small sum to pay my expenses--little thing will
do it; and ye ken my fatherís a man of substance, and wad see nae man,
far less you, Laird, come to loss by me.”
Dumbiedikes, on comprehending the nature of this application, could
scarce trust his ears--he made no answer whatever, but stood with his
eyes rivetted on the ground.
“I see ye are no for assisting me, Laird,” said Jeanie, “sae fare ye
weel--and gang and see my poor father as aften as ye can--he will be
lonely eneugh now.”
“Where is the silly bairn gaun?” said Dumbiedikes; and, laying hold of
her hand, he led her into the house. “Itís no that I didna think oít
before,” he said, “but it stack in my throat.”
Thus speaking to himself, he led her into an old-fashioned parlour, shut
the door behind them, and fastened it with a bolt. While Jeanie,
surprised at this manoeuvre, remained as near the door as possible, the
Laird quitted her hand, and pressed upon a spring lock fixed in an oak
panel in the wainscot, which instantly slipped aside. An iron strong-box
was discovered in a recess of the wall; he opened this also, and pulling
out two or three drawers, showed that they were filled with leathern bags
full of gold and silver coin.
“This is my bank, Jeanie lass,” he said, looking first at her and then at
the treasure, with an air of great complacency,--“nane oí your
goldsmithís bills for me,--they bring folk to ruin.”
Then, suddenly changing his tone, he resolutely said,--“Jeanie, I will
make ye Lady Dumbiedikes afore the sun sets and ye may ride to Lunnon in
your ain coach, if ye like.”
“Na, Laird,” said Jeanie, “that can never be--my fatherís grief--my
sisterís situation--the discredit to you--”
“Thatís _my_ business,” said Dumbiedikes; “ye wad say naething about that
if ye werena a fule--and yet I like ye the better forít--ae wise bodyís
eneugh in the married state. But if your heartís ower fuí, take what
siller will serve ye, and let it be when ye come back again--as gude syne
as sune.”
“But, Laird,” said Jeanie, who felt the necessity of being explicit with
so extraordinary a lover, “I like another man better than you, and I
canna marry ye.”
“Another man better than me, Jeanie!” said Dumbiedikes; “how is that
possible? Itís no possible, woman--ye hae keníd me sae lang.”
“Ay but, Laird,” said Jeanie, with persevering simplicity, “I hae keníd
him langer.”
“Langer! Itís no possible!” exclaimed the poor Laird. “It canna be; ye
were born on the land. O Jeanie woman, ye haena lookit--ye haena seen the
half oí the gear.” He drew out another drawer--“Aí gowd, Jeanie, and
thereís bands for siller lent--And the rental book, Jeanie--clear three
hunder sterling--deil a wadset, heritable band, or burden--Ye haena
lookit at them, woman--And then my motherís wardrobe, and my
grandmotherís forby--silk gowns wad stand on their ends, their
pearline-lace as fine as spidersí webs, and rings and ear-rings to the
boot of aí that--they are aí in the chamber of deas--Oh, Jeanie, gang up
the stair and look at them!”
[Illustration: Jeanie and the Laird of Dumbiedykes--Frontispiece]
But Jeanie held fast her integrity, though beset with temptations, which
perhaps the Laird of Dumbiedikes did not greatly err in supposing were
those most affecting to her sex.
“It canna be, Laird--I have said it--and I canna break my word till him,
if ye wad gie me the haill barony of Dalkeith, and Lugton into the
bargain.”
“Your word to _him,_” said the Laird, somewhat pettishly; “but wha is he,
Jeanie?--wha is he?--I haena heard his name yet--Come now, Jeanie, ye are
but queering us--I am no trowing that there is sic a ane in the warld--ye
are but making fashion--What is he?--wha is he?”
“Just Reuben Butler, thatís schulemaster at Liberton,” said Jeanie.
“Reuben Butler! Reuben Butler!” echoed the Laird of Dumbiedikes, pacing
the apartment in high disdain,--“Reuben Butler, the dominie at
Liberton--and a dominie depute too!--Reuben, the son of my cottar!--Very
weel, Jeanie lass, wilfuí woman will hae her way--Reuben Butler! he
hasna in his pouch the value oí the auld black coat he wears--But it
disna signify.” And as he spoke, he shut successively and with vehemence
the drawers of his treasury. “A fair offer, Jeanie, is nae cause of
feud--Ae man may bring a horse to the water, but twenty winna gar him
drink--And as for wasting my substance on other folkís joes--”
There was something in the last hint that nettled Jeanieís honest pride.--
“I was begging nane frae your honour,” she said; “least of aí on sic a
score as ye pit it on.--Gude morning to ye, sir; ye hae been kind to my
father, and it isna in my heart to think otherwise than kindly of you.”
So saying, she left the room without listening to a faint “But,
Jeanie--Jeanie--stay, woman!” and traversing the courtyard with a quick
step, she set out on her forward journey, her bosom glowing with that
natural indignation and shame, which an honest mind feels at having
subjected itself to ask a favour, which had been unexpectedly refused.
When out of the Lairdís ground, and once more upon the public road, her
pace slackened, her anger cooled, and anxious anticipations of the
consequence of this unexpected disappointment began to influence her
with other feelings. Must she then actually beg her way to London? for
such seemed the alternative; or must she turn back, and solicit her
father for money? and by doing so lose time, which was precious, besides
the risk of encountering his positive prohibition respecting the
journey! Yet she saw no medium between these alternatives; and, while
she walked slowly on, was still meditating whether it were not better to
return.
While she was thus in an uncertainty, she heard the clatter of a horseís
hoofs, and a well-known voice calling her name. She looked round, and saw
advancing towards her on a pony, whose bare back and halter assorted ill
with the nightgown, slippers, and laced cocked-hat of the rider, a
cavalier of no less importance than Dumbiedikes himself. In the energy of
his pursuit, he had overcome even the Highland obstinacy of Rory Bean,
and compelled that self-willed palfrey to canter the way his rider chose;
which Rory, however, performed with all the symptoms of reluctance,
turning his head, and accompanying every bound he made in advance with a
sidelong motion, which indicated his extreme wish to turn round,--a
manoeuvre which nothing but the constant exercise of the Lairdís heels
and cudgel could possibly have counteracted.
When the Laird came up with Jeanie, the first words he uttered
were,--“Jeanie, they say ane shouldna aye take a woman at her first
word?”
“Ay, but ye maun take me at mine, Laird,” said Jeanie, looking on the
ground, and walking on without a pause.--“I hae but ae word to bestow on
ony body, and thatís aye a true ane.”
“Then,” said Dumbiedikes, “at least ye suldna aye take a man at _his_
first word. Ye maunna gang this wilfuí gate sillerless, come oít what
like.”--He put a purse into her hand. “I wad gie you Rory too, but heís
as wilfuí as yoursell, and heís ower weel used to a gate that maybe he
and I hae gaen ower aften, and heíll gang nae road else.”
“But, Laird,” said Jeanie, “though I ken my father will satisfy every
penny of this siller, whatever thereís oít, yet I wadna like to borrow it
frae ane that maybe thinks of something mair than the paying oít back
again.”
“Thereís just twenty-five guineas oít,” said Dumbiedikes, with a gentle
sigh, “and whether your father pays or disna pay, I make ye free tillít
without another word. Gang where ye like--do what ye like--and marry aí
the Butlers in the country gin ye like--And sae, gude morning to you,
Jeanie.”
“And God bless you, Laird, wií mony a gude morning!” said Jeanie, her
heart more softened by the unwonted generosity of this uncouth character,
than perhaps Butler might have approved, had he known her feelings at
that moment; “and comfort, and the Lordís peace, and the peace of the
world, be with you, if we suld never meet again!”
Dumbiedikes turned and waved his hand; and his pony, much more willing to
return than he had been to set out, hurried him homeward so fast, that,
wanting the aid of a regular bridle, as well as of saddle and stirrups,
he was too much puzzled to keep his seat to permit of his looking behind,
even to give the parting glance of a forlorn swain. I am ashamed to say,
that the sight of a lover, ran away with in nightgown and slippers and a
laced hat, by a bare-backed Highland pony, had something in it of a
sedative, even to a grateful and deserved burst of affectionate esteem.
The figure of Dumbiedikes was too ludicrous not to confirm Jeanie in the
original sentiments she entertained towards him.
“Heís a gude creature,” said she, “and a kind--itís a pity he has sae
willyard a powny.” And she immediately turned her thoughts to the
important journey which she had commenced, reflecting with pleasure,
that, according to her habits of life and of undergoing fatigue, she was
now amply or even superfluously provided with the means of encountering
the expenses of the road, up and down from London, and all other expenses
whatever.