CHAPTER VIII.

"O thou, my elder brother in misfortune,

By far my elder brother in the muses,

With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!"--BURNS.

The asylum in which my unfortunate friend was confined, at this time the

only one in Edinburgh, was situated in an angle of the city wall. It was

a dismal-looking mansion, shut in on every side, by the neighbouring

houses, from the view of the surrounding country; and so effectually

covered up from the nearer street, by a large building in front, that it

seemed possible enough to pass a lifetime in Edinburgh without coming to

the knowledge of its existence. I shuddered as I looked up to its

blackened walls, thinly sprinkled with miserable-looking windows, barred

with iron, and thought of it as a sort of burial-place of dead minds.

But it was a Golgotha, which, with more than the horrors of the grave,

had neither its rest nor its silence. I was startled, as I entered the

cell of the hapless poet, by a shout of laughter from a neighbouring

room, which was answered from a dark recess behind me, by a fearfully

prolonged shriek, and the clanking of chains. The mother and sister of

Ferguson were sitting beside his pallet, on a sort of stone settle which

stood out from the wall; and the poet himself, weak and exhausted, and

worn to a shadow, but apparently in his right mind, lay extended on the

straw. He made an attempt to rise as I entered; but the effort was above

his strength, and, again lying down, he extended his hand.

"This is kind, Mr. Lindsay," he said; "it is ill for me to be alone in

these days; and yet I have few visitors, save my poor old mother and

Margaret. But who cares for the unhappy?"

I sat down on the settle beside him, still retaining his hand. "I have

been at sea, and in foreign countries," I said, "since I last saw you,

Mr. Ferguson, and it was only this morning I returned; but believe me

there are many, many of your countrymen who sympathize sincerely in your

affliction, and take a warm interest in your recovery."

He sighed deeply. "Ah," he replied, "I know too well the nature of that

sympathy. You never find it at the bedside of the sufferer--it

evaporates in a few barren expressions of idle pity; and yet, after all,

it is but a paying the poet in kind. He calls so often on the world to

sympathize over fictitious misfortune, that the feeling wears out, and

becomes a mere mood of the imagination; and, with this light, attenuated

pity of his own weaving, it regards his own real sorrows. Dearest

mother, the evening is damp and chill--do gather the bedclothes round

me, and sit on my feet; they are so very cold and so dead, that they

cannot be colder a week hence."

"O Robert, why do you speak so?" said the poor woman, as she gathered

the clothes round him, and sat on his feet. "You know you are coming

home to-morrow."

"To-morrow!" he said--"if I see to-morrow, I shall have completed my

twenty-fourth year--a small part, surely, of the threescore and ten; but

what matters it when 'tis past?"

"You were ever, my friend, of a melancholy temperament," I said, "and

too little disposed to hope. Indulge in brighter views of the future,

and all shall yet be well."

"I can now hope that it shall," he said. "Yes, all shall be well with

me--and that very soon. But, oh, how this nature of ours shrinks from

dissolution!--yes, and all the lower natures too. You remember, mother,

the poor starling that was killed in the room beside us? Oh, how it

struggled with its ruthless enemy, and filled the whole place with its

shrieks of terror and agony. And yet, poor little thing! it had been

true, all life long, to the laws of its nature, and had no sins to

account for, and no judge to meet. There is a shrinking of heart as I

look before me, and yet I can hope that all shall yet be well with

me--and that very soon. Would that I had been wise in time! Would that I

had thought more and earlier of the things which pertain to my eternal

peace! more of a living soul, and less of a dying name! But, oh, 'tis a

glorious provision, through which a way of return is opened up even at

the eleventh hour!"

We sat round him in silence; an indescribable feeling of awe pervaded my

whole mind, and his sister was affected to tears.

"Margaret," he said, in a feeble voice--"Margaret, you will find my

Bible in yonder little recess; 'tis all I have to leave you; but keep

it, dearest sister, and use it, and, in times of sorrow and suffering

that come to all, you will know how to prize the legacy of your poor

brother. Many, many books do well enough for life; but there is only one

of any value when we come to die.

"You have been a voyager of late, Mr. Lindsay," he continued, "and I

have been a voyager too. I have been journeying in darkness and

discomfort, amid strange unearthly shapes of dread and horror, with no

reason to direct and no will to govern. Oh, the unspeakable unhappiness

of these wanderings!--these dreams of suspicion, and fear, and hatred,

in which shadow and substance, the true and the false, were so wrought

up and mingled together, that they formed but one fantastic and

miserable whole. And, oh! the unutterable horror of every momentary

return to a recollection of what I had been once, and a sense of what I

had become! Oh, when I awoke amid the terrors of the night--when I

turned me on the rustling straw, and heard the wild wail and yet wilder

laugh--when I heard and shuddered, and then felt the demon in all his

might coming over me, till I laughed and wailed with the others--oh the

misery! the utter misery!--But 'tis over, my friend--'tis all over; a

few, few tedious days, a few, few weary nights, and all my sufferings

shall be over."

I had covered my face with my hands, but the tears came bursting through

my fingers; the mother and sister of the poet sobbed aloud.

"Why sorrow for me, sirs?" he said; "why grieve for me? I am well, quite

well, and want for nothing. But 'tis cold; oh, 'tis very cold, and the

blood seems freezing at my heart. Ah, but there is neither pain nor cold

where I am going, and I trust it shall be well with my soul. Dearest,

dearest mother, I always told you it would come to this at last."

The keeper had entered to intimate to us that the hour for locking up

the cells was already past, and we now rose to leave the place. I

stretched out my hand to my unfortunate friend; he took it in silence,

and his thin attenuated fingers felt cold within my grasp, like those of

a corpse. His mother stooped down to embrace him.

"Oh, do not go yet, mother," he said--"do not go yet--do not leave me;

but it must be so, and I only distress you. Pray for me, dearest mother,

and, oh, forgive me; I have been a grief and a burden to you all

life-long; but I ever loved you, mother; and, oh, you have been kind,

kind and forgiving--and now your task is over. May God bless and reward

you! Margaret, dearest Margaret, farewell!"

We parted, and, as it proved, for ever. Robert Ferguson expired during

the night; and when the keeper entered the cell next morning, to prepare

him for quitting the asylum, all that remained of this most hapless of

the children of genius, was a pallid and wasted corpse, that lay

stiffening on the straw. I am now a very old man, and the feelings wear

out; but I find that my heart is even yet susceptible of emotion, and

that the source of tears is not yet dried up.

THE DISASTERS

OF JOHNNY ARMSTRONG.

Johnny Armstrong, the hero of our tale, was, and, for aught we know to

the contrary, still is, an inhabitant of the town of Carlisle. He was a

stout, thickset, little man, with a round, good-humoured, ruddy

countenance, and somewhere about fifty years of age at the period to

which our story refers. Although possessed of a good deal of natural

shrewdness, Johnny was, on the whole, rather a simple sort of person.

His character, in short, was that of an honest, well-meaning,

inoffensive man, but with parts that certainly did not shine with a very

dazzling lustre. Johnny was, to business, an ironmonger, and had, by

patient industry and upright dealing, acquired a small independency. He

had stuck to the counter of his little dingy shop for upwards of twenty

years, and used to boast that, during all that time, he had opened and

shut his shop with his own hands every day, not even excepting one. The

result of this steadiness and attention to business was, as has been

already said, a competency.

Fortunately for Johnny, this propensity to stick fast--which he did like

a limpet--was natural to him. It was a part of his constitution. He had

no desire whatever to travel, or, rather, he had a positive dislike to

it--a dislike, indeed, which was so great that, for an entire quarter of

a century, he had never been three miles out of Carlisle. But when

Johnny had waxed pretty rich, somewhat corpulent, and rather oldish, he

was suddenly struck, one fine summer afternoon, as he stood at the door

of his shop with his hands in his breeches pockets, (a favourite

attitude,) with an amiable and ardent desire to see certain of his

relations who lived at Brechin, in the north of Scotland; and--there is

no accounting for these things--on that afternoon Johnny came to the

extraordinary resolution of paying them a visit--of performing a journey

of upwards of a hundred miles, even as the crow flies. It was a strange

and a desperate resolution for a man of Johnny's peculiar temperament

and habits; but so it was. Travel he would, and travel he did. On the

third day after the doughty determination just alluded to had been

formed, Johnny, swathed in an ample brown greatcoat, with a red

comforter about his neck, appeared in the stable yard of the inn where

most of the stage coaches that passed through Carlisle put up. Of these

there were three: one for Dumfries, one for Glasgow, and one for

Edinburgh--the latter being Johnny's coach; for his route was by the

metropolis. We had almost forgotten to say that Johnny, who was a

widower, was accompanied on this occasion by his son, Johnny junior, an

only child, whom it was his intention to take along with him. The boy

was about fourteen years of age, and though, upon the whole, a shrewd

enough lad for his time of life, did not promise to be a much brighter

genius than his father. In fact he was rather lumpish.

On arriving at the inn yard--it was about eight o'clock at night, and

pretty dark, being the latter end of September--Johnny Armstrong found

the coach apparently about to start, the horses being all yoked; but the

vehicle happened, at the moment he entered the yard, to be in charge of

an ostler--not of either the guard or driver, who had both gone out of

the way for an instant. Desirous of securing a good seat for his son,

Johnny Armstrong opened the coach door, thrust the lad in, and was about

to follow himself, when he discovered that he had forgotten his watch.

On making this discovery, he banged too the coach door without saying a

word, and hurried home as fast as his little, thick, short legs would

allow him, to recover his time-piece. On his return, which was in less

than five minutes, Johnny himself stepped into the vehicle, which was

now crowded with passengers, and, in a few seconds, was rattling away at

a rapid rate towards Edinburgh. The night was pitch dark, not a star

twinkled; and it was not until Johnny arrived at his journey's end--that

is, at Edinburgh--that he discovered his son was not in the coach, and

had never been there at all. We will not attempt to describe Johnny's

amazement and distress of mind on making this most extraordinary and

most alarming discovery. They were dreadful. In great agitation, he

inquired at every one of the passengers if they had not seen his son,

and one and all denied they ever had. The thing was mysterious and

perfectly inexplicable.

"I put the boy into the coach with my own hands," said Johnny Armstrong,

in great perturbation, to the guard and half crying as he spoke.

"Very odd," said the guard.

"Very odd, indeed," said Johnny.

"Are you sure it was _our_ coach, Mr. Armstrong?" inquired the guard.

The emphasis on the word _our_ was startling. It evidently meant more

than met the ear; and Johnny felt that it did so, and he was startled

accordingly.

"_Your_ coach?" he replied, but now with some hesitation of manner. "It

surely was. What other coach could it be?"

"Why, it may have been the Glasgow coach," said the guard; "and I rather

think it _must_ have been. You have made a mistake, sir, be assured, and

put the boy into the wrong coach. We start from the same place, and at

the same hour, five minutes or so in or over."

The mention of this possibility, nay certainty--for Johnny had actually

dispatched the boy to Glasgow--instantly struck him dumb. It relieved

him, indeed, from the misery arising from a dread of some terrible

accident having happened the lad, but threw him into great tribulation

as to his fate in Glasgow, without money or friends. But this being,

after all, comparatively but a small affair, Johnny was now, what he had

not been before, able to pay attention to minor things.

"Be sae guid," said Johnny to the guard, who was on the top of the

coach, busy unloosing packages, "as haun me doun my trunk."

"No trunk of yours here, sir," said the guard. "You'll have sent it away

to Glasgow with the boy."

"No, no," replied Johnny, sadly perplexed by this new misfortune. "I

sent it wi' the lass to the inn half an hour before I gaed mysel."

"Oh, then, in that case," said the guard, "ten to one it's away to

Dumfries, and not to Glasgow."

And truly such was the fact. The girl, a fresh-caught country lass, had

thrown it on the first coach she found, saying her master would

immediately follow--and that happened to be the Dumfries one. Here,

then, was Johnny safely arrived himself, indeed, at Edinburgh; but his

son was gone to Glasgow, and his trunk to Dumfries--all with the

greatest precision imaginable. Next day, Johnny Armstrong, being

extremely uneasy about his boy, started for Glasgow on board of one of

the canal passage boats; while the lad, being equally uneasy about his

father, and, moreover, ill at ease on sundry other accounts, did

precisely the same thing with the difference of direction--that is, he

started for Edinburgh by a similar conveyance; and so well timed had

each of their respective departures been, that, without knowing it, they

passed each other exactly halfway between the two cities. On arriving at

Glasgow, Johnny Armstrong could not, for a long while, discover any

trace of his son; but at length succeeded in tracking him to the canal

boat--which led him rightly to conclude that he had proceeded to

Edinburgh. On coming to this conclusion, Johnny again started for the

metropolis, where he safely arrived about two hours after his son had

left it for home, whither, finding no trace of his father in Edinburgh,

he had wisely directed his steps. Johnny Armstrong, now greatly

distressed about the object of his paternal solicitude, whom he vainly

sought up and down the city, at last also bent his way homewards,

thinking, what was true, that the boy might have gone home; and there

indeed he found him. Thus nearly a week had been spent, and that in

almost constant travel, and Johnny found himself precisely at the point

from which he had set out. However, in three days, after having, in the

meantime, recovered his trunk, he again set out on his travels to

Brechin; for his courage was not in the least abated by what had

happened; but on this occasion unaccompanied by his son, as he would not

again run the risk of losing him, or of exposing himself to that

distress of mind on his account, of which he had been before a victim.

In the case of Johnny's second progress, there was "no mistake"

whatever, of any kind--at least at starting. Both himself and his trunk

arrived in perfect safety, and in due time, at Edinburgh.

Johnny's next route was to steam it to Kirkaldy from Newhaven. The boat

started at six a.m.; and, having informed himself of this particular, he

determined to be at the point of embarkation in good time. But he was

rather late, and, on finding this, he ran every foot of the way from

Edinburgh to the steam-boat, and was in a dreadful state of exhaustion

when he reached it; but, by his exertions, he saved his distance,

thereby exhibiting another proof that all is not lost that's in danger.

An instant longer, however, and he would have been too late, for the

vessel was just on the eve of starting. Johnny leapt on board, or rather

was bundled on board; for Johnny, as already hinted, was in what is

called good bodily condition--rather extra, indeed--and was, moreover,

waxing a little stiff about the joints; so that he could not get over

the side of the boat so cleverly as he would have done some twenty years

before. Over and above all this, he was quite exhausted with the race

against time which he had just run. Seeing his distressed condition, and

that the boat was on the point of sailing, two of the hands leapt on the

pier, when the one seizing him by the waistband of the breeches, and the

other by the breast, they fairly pitched him into the vessel, throwing

his trunk after him. As it was pouring rain, Johnny, on recovering his

perpendicular, immediately descended into the cabin, and, in the next

instant, the boat was ploughing her way through the deep. For two hours

after he had embarked, it continued to rain without intermission; and

for these two hours he remained snug below without stirring. At the end

of this period, however, it cleared up a little, and, in a short while

thereafter, became perfectly fair. Having discovered this he ascended to

the deck, to see what was going on. The captain of the vessel was

himself at the helm; he, therefore, sidled towards him, and, after

making some remarks on the weather and the scenery, asked the captain,

in the blandest and civilest tones imaginable, when he expected they

would be at Kirkaldy. The man stared at Johnny with a look of

astonishment, not unmingled with displeasure; but at length said--

"Kirkaldy, sir! What do you mean by asking me that question? I don't

know when _you_ expect to be at Kirkaldy, but _I_ don't expect to be

there for a twelvemonth at least."

"No!--od, that's queer!" quoth Johnny, amazed in his turn; but thinking,

after a moment, that the captain meant to be facetious, he merely

added--"I wad think, captain, that we wad be there much about the same

time."

"Ay, ay, may be; but, I say, none of your gammon, friend," said the

latter, gruffly, and now getting really angry at what he conceived to be

some attempt to play upon him, though he could not see the drift of the

joke. "Mind your own business, friend, and I'll mind mine."

This he said with an air that conveyed very plainly a hint that Johnny

should take himself off, which, without saying any more, he accordingly

did. Much perplexed by the captain's conduct, he now sauntered towards

the fore part of the vessel, where he caught the engineer just as he was

about to descend into the engine-room. Johnny tapped him gently on the

shoulder, and the man, wiping his dripping face with a handful of tow,

looked up to him, while Johnny, afraid to put the question, but anxious

to know when he really would be at Kirkaldy, lowered himself down, by

placing his hands on his knees, so as to bring his face on a level with

the person he was addressing, and, in the mildest accents, and with a

countenance beaming with gentleness, he popped the question in a low,

soft whisper, as if to deprecate the man's wrath. On the fatal inquiry

being made at him, the engineer, as the captain had done before him,

stared at Johnny Armstrong, in amazement, for a second or two, then

burst into a hoarse laugh, and, without vouchsafing any other reply,

plunged down into his den.

"What in a' the earth can be the meanin' o' this?" quoth Johnny to

himself, now ten times more perplexed than ever. "What can there be in

my simple, natural, and reasonable question, to astonish folk sae

muckle?"

This was an inquiry which Johnny might put to himself, but it was one

which he could by no means answer. Being, however, an easy, good-natured

man, and seeing how much offence in one instance, and subject for mirth

in another, he had unwittingly given, by putting it, he resolved to make

no further inquiries into the matter, but to await in patience the

arrival of the boat at her destination--an event which he had the sense

to perceive would be neither forwarded nor retarded by his obtaining or

being refused the information he had desired to be possessed of. The

boat arrived in due time at the wished-for haven, and Johnny landed with

the other passengers; the captain giving him a wipe, as he stepped on

the plank that was to convey him ashore, about his Kirkaldy inquiries,

by asking him, though now in perfect good humour, if he knew the precise

length of that celebrated town; but Johnny merely smiled and passed on.

On landing, Johnny Armstrong proceeded to what had the appearance of,

and really was, a respectable inn. Here, as it was now pretty far in the

day, he had some dinner, and afterwards treated himself to a tumbler of

toddy and a peep at the papers. While thus comfortably enjoying himself,

the waiter having chanced to pop into the room, Johnny raised his eye

from the paper he was reading, and, looking the lad in the face--

"Can ye tell me, friend," he said, "when the coach for Dundee starts?"

"There's no coach at all from this to Dundee, sir," replied the waiter.

"No!" said Johnny, a little nonplused by this information. "That's odd."

The waiter saw nothing odd in it.

"I was told," continued Johnny, "that there were twa or three coaches

daily from this to Dundee."

"Oh, no, sir," said the lad, coolly, "you have been misinformed; but if

you wish to go to Dundee, sir," he added--desirous of being as obliging

as possible--"your best way is to go by steam from this to Newhaven, and

from that cross over to Kirkaldy!!!"

At this fatal word, which seemed doomed to work Johnny much wo, the

glass which he was about to raise to his lips fell on the floor, and

went into a thousand pieces.

"Kirkaldy, laddie!" exclaimed Johnny Armstrong, with an expression of

consternation in his face which it would require Cruikshank's art and

skill to do justice to--"Gude hae a care o' me, is _this_ no Kirkaldy?"

"Kirkaldy, sir!" replied the waiter, no less amazed than Johnny, though

in his case it was at the absurdity of the inquiry--"oh, no, sir," with

a smile--"this is Alloa!!!"

Alloa it was, to be sure; for Johnny had taken the wrong boat, and that

was all. On embarking, he had made no inquiries at those belonging to

the vessel, and, of course, those in the vessel had put none to him--and

this was the result. He was comfortably planted at Alloa, instead of

Kirkaldy, which all our readers know lies in a very different direction;

and this denouement also explains the captain's displeasure with his

passenger, and the engineer's mirth. At the moment this extraordinary

_eclaircissement_ took place between Johnny Armstrong and the waiter of

the King's Arms, there happened to be a ship captain in the room--for it

was the public one; and this person, who was a good-natured fellow, at

once amused by, and pitying Johnny's dilemma, turned towards him, and

inquired if it was his intention to go any further than Dundee.

Johnny said that it was--he intended going to Brechin.

"Oh, in that case," said the captain, "you had better just go with me.

In an hour after this I sail for Montrose, which is within eight miles

of Brechin, and I'll be very glad to give you a cast so far, and we

shan't differ about the terms. Fine, smart little vessel mine, and, with

a spanking breeze from the west or sou'-west, which we'll very likely

catch about Queensferry, I'll land you in a jiffey within a trifle of

your journey's end--a devilish sight cleverer, I warrant you, than your

round-about way of steaming and coaching it, and at half the money too."

Johnny Armstrong was all gratitude for this very opportune piece of

kindness, and gladly closed with the offer--the captain and he taking a

couple of additional tumblers each, on the head of it, to begin with. We

say to begin with; for it by no means ended with the quantity named. The

captain was a jolly dog, and loved his liquor, and was, withal, so

facetious a companion, that he prevailed on his new friend to swallow a

great deal more than did him any good. To tell a truth, which, however,

we would not have known at Carlisle, Johnny Armstrong, who had the

character of a sober man, got, on this occasion, into a rather

discreditable condition, and, in this state, he was escorted by the

captain--who stood liquor like a water-cask--to the vessel, and was once

more embarked; but it was now on board the _Fifteen Sisters_ of

Skatehaven. On getting him on board, the captain, seeing the state he

was in, prudently bundled him down into the cabin, and thrust him into

his own bed, where he immediately fell into a profound sleep that

extended over twelve mortal hours. At the end of this period, however,

Johnny awoke; but it was not by any means of his own accord, for he was

awakened by a variety of stimulants, or _rousers_, if we may be allowed

to coin a word for the occasion, all operating at once. These were, a

tremendous uproar on the deck, a fearful rolling of the vessel, the

roaring of wind, and the splashing, dashing, and gurling of waves; and,

to crown all, a feeling of deadly sickness. When he first opened his

eyes, he could not conceive where he was, or what was the meaning of the

furious motion that he felt, and of the tremendous sounds that he heard.

A few minutes' cogitation with himself, however, solved the mystery, and

exposed to him his true position. In great alarm--for he thought the

vessel was on the eve of going down--Johnny Armstrong rolled himself out

of his bed, and crawled in his shirt up the cabin ladder. On gaining the

summit, he found himself confronted by the captain, who, with a very

serious face, was standing by the helm.

"Are--are--are--we--near--Mon--trose, captain?" inquired Johnny, in a

voice rendered so feeble by sickness and terror, that it was impossible

to hear him a yard off, amidst the roaring of the winds and waves; for

we suppose we need not more explicitly state, that he was in the midst

of a storm, and as pretty a one it was as the most devoted admirer of

the picturesque could desire to see.

"What?" roared the captain, in a voice of thunder, at the same time

stooping down to catch his feeble interrogatory. Johnny repeated it;

but, ere he could obtain an answer, a raking wave, which came in at the

stern, took him full on the breast as he stood on the companion ladder,

with his bust just above the level of the deck, sent him down, heels

over head, into the cabin, and, in a twinkling, buried him in a foot and

a half of water on the floor, where he lay for some time at full length,

sprawling and floundering amidst the wreck which the sudden and violent

influx of water had occasioned. On recovering from the stunning effects

of his descent--for he had, amongst other small matters, received a

violent contusion on the head--Johnny for an instant imagined that he

had somehow or other got to the bottom of the sea. Finding, however, at

length, that this was not precisely the case, he arose, though dripping

with wet, yet not very like a sea god, and having denuded himself of his

only garment, his shirt, crawled into his bed, where he now determined

to await quietly and patiently the fate that might be intended for him;

and this fate, he had no doubt, was suffocation by drowning.

"Very extraordinar this," said Johnny Armstrong to himself, as he lay

musing in bed on the perilous situation into which he had so simply and

innocently got--"very extraordinar, that I couldna get the length o'

Brechin without a' this uproar, and confusion, and difficulty, and

danger; this knocking about frae place to place, half drooned and half

murdered. Here have I been now for mair than a week at it, and it's my

opinion I'm no twenty mile nearer't yet than I was, for a' this kick up.

Dear me," he went on soliloquizing, "I'm sure Brechin's no sic an out o'

the way place. The road's straught, and the distance no great. Then,

how, in the name o' wonder, is it that I canna mak' it out like ither

folk, let me do as I like?"

Thus cogitated Johnny Armstrong as he lay on his bed of sickness,

sorrow, and danger. But his cogitations could in no way mend the matter,

nor, though they could, was he long permitted to indulge in them; for

that mortal sickness under which he had been before suffering, but which

the little incident of the visit from the wave, with its consequences,

had temporarily banished, again returned with tenfold vigour, making him

regardless of all sublunary things--even of life itself. In this state

of supineness and suffering did Johnny lie for three entire days and

nights--for so long did the storm continue with unabated fury--the

vessel having, for some four-and-twenty hours previously, been quite

unmanageable, and driving at the mercy of the winds and waves. A

dreadful crash, however, at length announced that some horrible crisis

was at hand. The vessel had struck, and, in a few seconds more, she was

in a thousand pieces, and her unfortunate crew, including Johnny

Armstrong, were struggling in the waves. From this instant he lost all

consciousness; and, when he again awoke to life, he found himself lying

on the sea-beach; but how he had come there he never could tell, nor

could he at all conjecture by what accident his life had been saved,

when all the rest in the ill-fated vessel had perished; for Johnny was

indeed the only person that had escaped. On coming to himself he started

to his feet, and gazed around him, with a bewildered look, to see if any

object would present itself that might help him to guess where he was.

But his survey affording him no such aid to recognition, he began to

move inland, in the hope of meeting with somebody who could give him

the information desired; and in this he was not disappointed, that is,

he did meet somebody; but the appearance of that somebody surprised

Johnny "pretty considerably." He had a high-crowned hat on, such as

Johnny had never seen in his life before; an enormous pair of breeches;

and a pipe a yard long in his mouth. His _tout ensemble_, in short, was

exceeding strange in Johnny Armstrong's eyes. Nevertheless, he accosted

him.

"Can ye tell me, freen, how far I may be frae Brechin?" he inquired.

The stranger shook his head, but made no reply.

"I'm sayin', freen," repeated Johnny, in a louder tone, thinking that

his friend, as he called him, might possibly be dull of hearing, "can ye

tell me if I'm onything near Brechin?"

The stranger again shook his head, but still said nothing. Johnny was

confounded. At length, however, after puffing away for some seconds with

a suddenly-increased energy, he slowly withdrew his pipe from his mouth,

and delivered himself of what sounded to Johnny's ears very much like

this, spoken with great rapidity.

"Futra butara rap a ruara dutera muttera purra murra footra den,

Preekin, humph."

Of this Johnny of course could make nothing, no more than the reader

can, further than recognising in the word "Preekin" a resemblance to the

name of the town he so anxiously inquired after; and he was sorely

perplexed thereat. Neither could he at all comprehend what sort of a

being he had fallen in with.

"I dinna understan' a word o' what ye say, freen," at length said

Johnny, staring hard at the stranger with open mouth.

"Umph!" said the latter; and he again withdrew his pipe from his mouth,

and again sent a volley of his "dutera mutteras" about Johnny's ears,

to precisely the same purpose as before.

Finding that it was of no use making any further attempt at

conversation, Johnny passed on, not doubting that he had met either with

a _dummy_ or a madman. But what was Johnny's amazement when, shortly

afterwards, meeting a woman, whose dress, in its own way, was equally

odd and strange with that of the person he had just left, he was

answered (that is, to his queries again about Brechin), in the same

gibberish in which the former had responded to him.

"What can be the meanin' o' this?" said Johnny to himself, in great

perplexity of mind, as he jogged on, after leaving the lady in the same

unsatisfactory way as he had left the gentleman. "Whar in a' the earth

can I hae gotten to, that naebody I meet wi' can understan' a word o'

plain English, or can speak themsels onything like an intelligible

language?"

He now began to think that he had probably got into the Highlands; but,

although this supposition might account for the strangeness of the

language he had heard, it would not, he perceived, tally very well with

the enormous breeches which the gentleman he had met with wore, and

which he had seen from a distance others wearing, knowing, as he did

very well, that the national dress of the Highlanders was the kilt, of

which the trousers in question were the very antipodes. There was

another circumstance, too, that appeared to Johnny at variance with his

first conjecture, namely, that he might have got into the Highlands.

Where he was there were no high lands, not an eminence the height of a

mole-hill. On the contrary, the whole country, as far as his eye could

reach, seemed one vast plain. Though greatly puzzled by these

reflections, Johnny jogged on, and his progress at length brought him to

a respectable-looking farm-house.

"'Od," said Johnny, "I'll surely get a mouthfu' o' sense frae somebody

here, an' fin' out whar I am."

In this Johnny certainly did succeed; but not much to his comfort, as

the sequel will show. The first person he addressed, on approaching the

house, was a little girl, who, when he spoke, stared at him in the

greatest amazement, then rushed screaming into the house. This

proceeding brought out several young men and women, to whom Johnny now

addressed himself; but the only answer he obtained was a stare of

astonishment similar to the child's, and then a general burst of

laughter. At length one of the girls went into the house and brought out

a jolly-looking elderly man, who, from certain parts of his dress,

seemed to be in the seafaring way.

"Vell, mine freend, vat you vant?" said this person, who spoke broken

English--"vere you come from?"

"I cam last frae Alloa," said Johnny, "and I want to ken, sir, if I'm

onything near to Brechin?"

"Preekin! Vere dat?"

"'Od, I thocht everbody in Scotland kent that," said Johnny, smiling.

"Ah! maybe Scotlan', mine freend, but no Hollands," replied he of the

broken English.

"I dinna ken whether they ken't it in Holland or no," said Johnny,

"that's a country I'm no in the least acquaint wi'; but I'm sure it's

weel aneuch kent in Scotland."

"Ah! maybe Scotlan', but no Hollands, my freend," repeated the man,

smiling in his turn; "but you vas in Hollands."

"Never in my life," said Johnny, earnestly.

"No, no," replied the man, impatiently, "you vas no in Hollands--but you

vas in Hollands."

Johnny could make nothing of this; but it was soon cleared up by the

person adding, "You vas in Hollands _now_--dis moment."

We will not even attempt to describe Johnny's amazement, horror, and

consternation, on this announcement being made to him, for we feel how

vain it would be, and how far short any idea we could convey would be of

the reality.

"Holland!" said Johnny. "Heaven hae a care o' me! Ye surely dinna mean

to say that I'm in Holland the noo?"

"To be sure I vas," said the Dutchman, smiling at Johnny's ludicrous

perturbation. "Mine Got, did you not know you vas in Hollands? Vere you

come from, in all de vorlds, you not know dat?"

"I tell't ye already," replied Johnny, with a most rueful countenance,

"that I cam last frae Alloa. But ye're surely no in earnest, freen," he

added, in a desperate hope that it might, after all, be but a joke,

"when ye say that I'm in Holland?"

"Ah! sure earneest--no doubt--true," said the Dutchman, now laughing

outright at Johnny's perplexity.

As in the former case, we presume we need not be more explicit in saying

that Johnny had actually been wrecked on the coast of Holland.

"Weel, weel," said the Brechin voyager, with an air expressive of more

calmness and resignation than might have been expected, "this does cowe

the gowan! How, in Heaven's name, am I ever to fin' my way hame again?

Little did I think I was ever to be landed this way amang savages."

Johnny Armstrong, it will be here observed, could have been no great

reader--otherwise, he never would have applied the term savages to so

decent, industrious, and civilized a people as the Dutch. The Dutchman,

who was a kind, good-natured fellow--taking no offence whatever at

Johnny's unbecoming expression, because probably he did not understand

it, and compassionating his situation--now invited him into the house,

where Johnny, having succeeded in conveying to the whole household,

through the medium of the speaker of broken English, the story of his

misfortunes, was treated with much hospitality. With these kind people

Johnny Armstrong remained for about a week--for they would not allow him

to go sooner--when, having entirely recovered from the effects of his

sea voyage and shipwreck, he proceeded to Rotterdam; being accompanied

and assisted in all his movements by his benevolent host, Dunder Vander

Dunder, of Slootzsloykin. On arriving at Rotterdam, a passage was

engaged for Johnny on board one of the Leith packets, or regular

traders, in which he was next day snugly deposited; and, in an hour

after, he was again braving the dangers of the ocean. For some time all

went on well on this occasion with him, and he was beginning to feel

comfortable, and even happy, from the prospect of being soon again in

his native land, and from the superior accommodations of the vessel in

which he was embarked--far surpassing, as they did, those of the

unfortunate _Sisters_ of Skatehaven. His present ship was, in truth, a

remarkably fine one, and altogether seemed well adapted for encountering

the elements. The weather, too, was moderate, and the wind fair; so that

a quick and pleasant passage was confidently anticipated by all on

board, including Johnny Armstrong. All these agreeable circumstances

combined, made him feel extremely comfortable and happy; and, in the

exuberance of his feelings, and from the exciting sense of having at

length triumphed over his misfortunes--it might almost be said his

fate--Johnny even began to joke and laugh with those whom he found

willing to joke and laugh with him. It was while in this happy frame of

mind, and as he stood luxuriously leaning over the bulwark of the

vessel, that the captain suddenly espied a little, smart, cutter-looking

craft, sailing exactly in the same course with themselves, and

evidently endeavouring to make up with them.

"What can the folk be wantin'?" quoth Johnny Armstrong, taking an

interest in the approaching barge. His question was one which nobody

could answer. In the meantime, the little vessel, moving with great

velocity, was fast nearing them, when the captain, now convinced that

those in her desired to have some communication with him, arrested his

own vessel's way, and awaited their coming. In a very few minutes, the

little cutter was alongside, and two men leapt from her to the deck of

the packet, when one of them, approaching the captain, told him that

they were messengers, that they had a warrant against John Jones, a

native of Britain, for debt, and that they had reason to believe he was

in the vessel. The captain said he did not believe he had any such

passenger on board, but informed them that they were perfectly at

liberty to search the ship. During this conversation, the other officer

kept his eye fixed on Johnny Armstrong, and when rejoined by his

comrade, seemed to inform him--for their language was not

understood--that there was something about that person well worthy of

his attention. They now both looked at Johnny, and appeared both

convinced that he was a fit subject for further inquiry. Accordingly one

of them addressed him:--

"Your name vas John Jones, mynheer?"

"No, sir," said Johnny; "my name's John Armstrong."

"Ah, a small shange--dat is all. You vas John, and he vas John, and you

be both John togidder; so, you must come to de shore wid us."

"Catch me there, lads," quoth Johnny. "The deil a shore I'll gang to,

please Providence, but Leith shore. Na, na; I've had aneuch o' this

wark, and I'm determined to bring't till an' end noo."

"Donner and blitzen!" shouted out one of the men, passionately, "but

you must go!"--at the same time seizing Johnny by the collar, and

drawing a pistol from his bosom.

In utter amazement at this extraordinary treatment, Johnny Armstrong

imploringly called on the captain and the other passengers for

protection; but, as none of them were in the least acquainted with him,

and therefore did not know whether he was John Jones or not, they all

declined interfering--the captain saying that it would be more than his

ship and situation were worth to aid any one in resisting the laws of

the country--that he could not, dare not do it. His appeals, therefore,

to those around him being vain, he was eventually bundled into the

cutter and conveyed on shore, placed in a temporary place of confinement

for the night, and next day carried before a magistrate to be

identified. To effect this, several witnesses were called, when one and

all of them, after examining Johnny pretty narrowly, pronounced, to the

great disappointment of the officers who had apprehended him, that he

was _not_ the man! They, however, asserted that the resemblance between

the real and supposed John Jones was very remarkable. On the discovery

being made that the prisoner was not Jones, the magistrate apologized to

Johnny in the most polite terms for the trouble he had been put to, and

expressed great regret for the mistake of the officers; but said that,

as the witnesses had stated there was a strong resemblance--an

unfortunate one, he must call it--between him and the real defaulter,

and seeing, moreover, that they were both natives of Britain, the

officers were perfectly justified in doing what they had done, however

much the hardship of the case might be matter of regret. The magistrate

having thus delivered himself, Johnny Armstrong was dismissed with great

civility, and wished, by all present, safe home to his own country--a

wish in which he most heartily concurred, but which seemed to him more

easily entertained than gratified. On regaining his liberty, the first

thing he did was to endeavour to find out when the next ship sailed for

Scotland; he having, of course, lost that in which he had first

embarked, and, to his great consternation and dismay, learned that there

would be no vessel for a fortnight. This was sad intelligence to Johnny;

for, to add to his other distresses, his funds were now waxing low, and

he felt that it would require the utmost economy to enable him to spin

out the time and leave sufficient to pay his passage to his native land.

This economy he could very easily have practised at home, for he had a

natural tendency that way; but he did not know how to set about it in a

foreign country. His unhappiness and anxiety, therefore, on this point

were very great. In this dilemma, he bethought him of again seeking out

and quartering on his friend Vander Dunder, of Slootzsloykin, till the

vessel should sail; but not having, of course, a word of Dutch, he could

make no inquiries on the subject of his route, or indeed of anything

regarding his friend at all. This idea, therefore, he ultimately

abandoned, principally through a fear that he should, by some mistake,

be despatched upon a wrong scent, a species of disaster to which he was

now so sensitively alive, that he would neither turn to the right nor to

the left without having made himself perfectly sure that he was about to

take the right course; and, as to conveyances of all kinds, of which he

now entertained an especial suspicion, he had prudently determined that

he would know every particular about them and their destinations before

he would put a foot in one of them, for he had found, from dear-bought

experience, that if he did not take this precaution, the chance was that

he would never reach the place he desired to get at, and might be

whisked away to some unknown country, where he would never more be heard

of.

Under this wholesome terror, Johnny made no attempt to find out his

friend Vander Dunder; but chance effected, in part at least, what his

limited knowledge of Dutch put it out of his power, with set purpose, to

accomplish. On turning the corner of a street, who should he have the

good fortune to meet with but Vander Dunder. The astonishment of the

good Dutchman on seeing Johnny was great, so great, indeed, as to

overcome the natural phlegm of his constitution. Holding up his hands in

amazement--

"Mine Got, my freend! are you shipwrack agen?" he exclaimed.

"No, no," quoth Johnny--"bad aneuch, but no just sae bad as that." And

he proceeded to inform his friend of the real state of the case.

The good-natured Dutchman was shocked at the recital, and felt ten times

more than ever for Johnny's unhappy situation and complicated

misfortunes. When he had concluded his affecting story--

"I tell you what you do, mine goot freend," said Vander Dunder--"you go

vith me to Slootzsloykin, and you remain vith me dere till your ship

sail. You do dat, mine goot freend."

"Wi' a' my heart," said Johnny, "and muckle obleeged to ye for yer

kindness."

"No, no--no obleege at all," replied the kind-hearted Dutchman,

impatiently. "Yo do the same to me in your coontry if I was shipwrack

and in misfortune, and put to trooble for an innocent thief."

"Aweel, maybe I wad; but, nevertheless, its kind o' you to offer me the

shelter o' yer roof," replied Johnny.

Dunder Vander Dunder now took his friend into a tavern, and treated him

to a glass of schnaps. Shortly thereafter the two embarked in a canal

boat for Slootzsloykin, where they finally arrived in safety. Here

Johnny met with the same kind treatment as before; and of that kindness

there was no abatement during the whole fortnight of his sojourn. At the

end of this period, Johnny Armstrong once more set out for Rotterdam, on

the day previous to the sailing of the vessel in which he now hoped to

reach his native land, without further molestation or interruption. And,

certainly, everything had the appearance of going right on this

occasion. The vessel, with Johnny on board, sailed at the appointed

time, and, before embarking, he had read distinctly on the ticket--a

large black board, with yellow letters, which was fastened to the

shrouds--that she was bound for Leith, and was the identical vessel he

had had in his eye. So far as this went, there could be no mistake

whatever. There was, indeed, one little circumstance that startled

Johnny, but which he had not discovered till the vessel had been some

time at sea. This was, that all the crew were Dutchmen, there not being

a Scotchman amongst them. The circumstance did not, indeed, greatly

alarm Johnny, but he certainly did think it a little odd; for he

naturally expected that, as she was a Leith vessel, her crew would be,

for the most part, at any rate, natives of Britain. However, he made no

remarks on the subject, thinking it, as it really was, a matter of

perfect indifference whether they were Scotchmen or Dutchmen. There were

two or three passengers in the vessel besides himself; but they were all

foreigners too, so that he could hold no converse with any of them; and

thus debarred from intercourse with his fellow voyagers, he sat by

himself, gazing from the deck of the vessel on the waste of waters with

which he was surrounded, and musing on the strange series of mishaps of

which he had so simply and innocently become the victim. It was while

thus employed--the vessel having been now a good many hours at sea, and

at the moment scudding away before a fine fresh breeze--that the captain

approached Johnny, and in very polite and civil terms, demanded his

passage money. As he spoke in Dutch, however, the latter did not

understand him. The captain observing this, and now guessing what

countryman he was, addressed him in very good English, and in that

language repeated his demand. With this demand, Johnny instantly

complied; and, finding that he was a civil, good-natured fellow, began

to open up a little conversation with him. His first remark was, that he

hoped they would have good weather. The captain hoped so too. His second

remark was, that they had a fine breeze. The captain agreed with

him--said it was a delightful breeze--and added that, if it continued to

blow as it then blew for four-and-twenty hours, he expected they would

be all safe at _Rouen_!

"At whar?" shouted out Johnny, looking aghast at the speaker.

"At Rouen, to be sure," repeated the captain, wondering at Johnny's

amazement.

"Gude's mercy!" exclaimed Johnny, with dreadful energy, "are ye no gaun

to Leith?--is this no a Leith boat?"

"Oh, no," said the captain smiling; "this is the Rouen packet. Were ye

not aware of that, sir? You have got into a sad scrape, my friend, if

you were not," he added, and now laughing outright at the dismal

expression of Johnny's countenance.

"Heaven hae a care o' me!" said Johnny despairingly. "Did I no read

distinctly on the ticket that was fastened to yer shroods, that ye were

bound for Leith?"

"Yes, yes," replied the captain, "you may have seen such a ticket as you

speak of, and there was certainly such a ticket on our shrouds as you

say, but it did not refer to this ship, but to the vessel outside of us.

We allowed the board to be exhibited on our shrouds merely to

accommodate our neighbour, as it could not be read from his--he being on

the outside, and we next the quay. That, my friend, is a piece of

civility very commonly practised at seaports by one vessel to another,

when similarly situated as we and they were. You will see it at all

quays and wharfs."

Johnny Armstrong groaned, but said nothing. At length, however, he

muttered, in a tone of Christian-like resignation--

"The Lord's will be dune! I see it's settled that I am never to get hame

again; but to be keepit gaun frae place to place ower the face o' the

earth, like anither wanderin' Jew. Gude hae a care o' me, but this is

awfu'! Its judgment like."

It certainly was very remarkable, but not in the least mysterious. This

new mistake of Johnny, like all the rest, was a perfectly simple

occurrence; and, like them, too, arose as plainly and naturally out of

circumstances as it was possible for any effect to do from a cause. But,

however, this may be, the captain--although he could not help laughing

at the awkward predicament of his passenger--really felt for him, seeing

the distress he was in, and was so much influenced by this feeling as to

offer to convey him back to Rotterdam, to which, he said, he would

return in two days, free of any charge; adding, with a smile, and with

the kind intention of reconciling Johnny to what could not now be

helped, that it was nothing, after all--that it would make a difference

of only a few days--and that it would be always showing him a little

more of the world.

"Mony thanks to ye," said Johnny, perceiving and appreciating the

friendly purpose of the captain; "and I'll e'en tak advantage o' yer

kind offer; but as to seein' the world, by my faith, I've seen now about

just as muckle o't as I want to see, and maybe a trifle mair--a hantle

mair, at ony rate, than I ever expected to see." Then, in a

soliloquizing tone and manner--"God keep me, whar's Brechin noo! A' that

I wanted, and a' that I intended, was to get to that bit paltry place;

and, instead o' that, here am I within a stane-cast o' the north pole,

for aught I ken to the contrar, and, to a' appearances, no half dune

wi't yet. Heaven kens whar I'll be sent niest!--maybe be landed on

Owhyhee, or on some desert island, like another Robinson Crusoe. Na,

it's certain, if things gang on muckle langer this way."

Of the drift or scope of these remarks, or, at any rate, of the feelings

that dictated them, the captain could make nothing, not knowing Johnny's

precise circumstances; nor did he seek to have them explained, but

contented himself with repeating his offer of conveying Johnny back to

Rotterdam, and renewing his well-meant efforts to reconcile him to his

fate, in so far as his present voyage was concerned. In the meantime,

the wind continued to blow in a manner perfectly satisfactory in every

respect to all on board the _Jungfrau_ of Rotterdam and Rouen; and, in

about the space of time mentioned by the captain, the vessel reached her

destination in safety. Johnny Armstrong, whose whole mind was absorbed

by anxiety to reach that home which he yet seemed destined never again

to see, took no interest whatever in the scenes presented to him in the

part of the world he was now in. Indeed, he never left the vessel at

all, for fear she would slip through his fingers; for, if he was afraid

of accidents of this kind before, he was ten times more so now; and,

with this fear upon him, that the packet might, by some chance or other,

escape him, he determined to stick by her--never to lose sight of her

for a moment, till she had conveyed him back to Rotterdam; and his

vigilance ultimately secured the end he had in view. The _Jungfrau_

sailed from Rouen with Johnny on board, and, in due time, deposited him

once more at Rotterdam. But what was Johnny's surprise, what Dunder

Vander Dunder's amazement, when they again encountered one another, and

that within ten minutes of the former's landing! The amazement of the

latter, however, was, on this occasion, evidently mingled with a degree

of suspicion of the perfect uprightness of Johnny's character. He began

now to think, in short, that there had been more in the circumstance of

Johnny's apprehension than he had been informed of. He did not like

these frequent reappearances; he thought them very odd--and he did not

hesitate to say so.

"Mine Got! vat you here again for, man? Vat is de meaning of all dis,

mine goot freend?" he exclaimed, with a somewhat dry and doubtful

manner, quite at variance with the cordial tone of his former greetings.

Johnny Armstrong explained to him, but seemingly without obtaining

implicit credence for all he said. When he had done--

"'Tis veree odd," said Vander Dunder, coldly; "veree straunge. But, you

really vant to go to Scotlan, dere is vessel going to sail for Leet now,

and I vill see you on board mineself."

It was very questionable whether Vander's civility, in this case,

proceeded from a desire really to serve Johnny, or from a wish to get

fairly rid of him. However this might be, Johnny readily accepted his

offer, and at once accompanied him to the vessel he alluded to, which

was, indeed, on the point of sailing. Vander, taking care that there

should be no mistake in this case, conducted him down into the cabin,

and waited on the quay till he saw the vessel fairly under weigh.

Having brought the disasters of Johnny Armstrong to this point, we

proceed now to finish what we assure our readers, is an "ower true

tale."

As we were strolling down the pier of Leith, with a friend, one

afternoon in the year 18--, we saw a vessel making for the harbour. It

was high water, and the scene altogether was a very pleasing and a very

stirring one. But, amongst the various objects of interest that

presented themselves, there was none that attracted so much of our

attention as the stately vessel that, with outspread canvas, was rapidly

nearing the pier. We asked a seaman who stood beside us, where she was

from. He replied--"Rotterdam."

On approaching the pier, the vessel shortened sail, and, by this

process, enabled us deliberately to scan her decks from our elevated

position, as she glided gently along with us. During this scrutiny, we

observed amongst the passengers a stout little man in a brown greatcoat,

with a large red comforter about his neck, and his hat secured on his

head--for it was blowing pretty hard--by a blue pocket-handkerchief,

which was passed beneath his chin, and gave him, in a very particular

manner, the peculiar air of a traveller or _vóyageur_. There was nothing

whatever in the appearance of the little man in the brown greatcoat

which would have led any one to suppose, _à priori_, that there possibly

could be anything remarkable or extraordinary in his history; but I was

induced suddenly to change my opinion, or at least to take some interest

in him, by my friend's exclaiming, in the utmost amazement, and, at the

same time, pointing to him with the red comforter--

"Gracious Heaven, if there is not Johnny Armstrong! Or it is his ghost!"

"No ghost at all, we warrant you," said we; "ghosts do not generally

wear greatcoats and red comforters. But who in all the world is Johnny

Armstrong?"

"Johnny Armstrong," replied our friend, greatly excited, "is a person, a

particular acquaintance of mine, who has been missing these six weeks;

and who was supposed, by everybody who knew him, to have perished by

some accident or other, but of what nature could never be ascertained,

on his way to Brechin, where he had gone to visit some relations."

We felt interested in Johnny, by this brief sketch of his mysterious

story; and, not a little curious to know where on earth he could

possibly have been all the time, we readily closed with our friend's

proposal to run round to the berth for which we saw the vessel was

making, and to await his coming on shore.

"But how, in all the world," said our friend, communing with himself

during this interval, "has he got into a vessel from Rotterdam? He could

not have been there, surely? It's impossible."

As to this we could say nothing, not knowing at the time anything at all

of Johnny's adventures; but of these we were not now long kept in

ignorance. On his stepping on shore, our friend seized him joyously by

the hand, and expressed great satisfaction at seeing him again. This

satisfaction appeared to be mutual; for Johnny returned his friend's

grasp with great cordiality and warmth. The first salutations over--

"But where on all the earth, Mr. Armstrong," said our friend, "have you

been for these three months back?"

Johnny smiled, and said it was "ower lang a tale" to tell where we then

were; but, as he meant to stop either in Leith or Edinburgh for the

night, it being now pretty far in the evening, if my friend and I would

adjourn with him to some respectable house, where he could get a night's

quarters, he would give us the whole story of his adventures. With this

proposal we readily closed; and on Johnny asking if we could point out

such a house as he alluded to, we at once named the New Ship Tavern.

Thither we accordingly repaired; and, in less than two hours thereafter,

we were put, good reader, in possession, by Johnny himself, of that part

of his story to which the preceding pages have been devoted. What

follows--for Johnny's misfortunes had not yet terminated--we learned

afterwards from another quarter.

On the next day--we mean the day succeeding the evening we spent with

Johnny--the latter proceeded to Edinburgh, with the view of taking

coach there for Carlisle. But, in making his way up Catherine Street,

and when precisely opposite No. 12, Calton Street--we like to be

particular--Johnny found himself suddenly accosted by one of his oldest

and most intimate friends. This was a Mr. James Stevenson, a

fellow-townsman and fellow-shopkeeper of his own.

The astonishment of the latter, on meeting with Johnny, and, indeed, of

finding him at all in the land of the living, was very great; and he

sufficiently expressed this feeling by the lively and highly excited

manner in which he addressed him.

Having put the usual queries, with that air of intense interest which

they naturally excited, as to where Johnny had been, what he had been

about, &c. &c., and having obtained a brief sketch of his adventures,

with the promise of a fuller one afterwards, Mr. Stevenson, in reply,

asked Johnny what course he was now steering.

"Hame, to be sure," said Johnny, with a smile. "It's time noo, I

think--I'm just sae far on my way to tak' oot a ticket for the coach."

"Ye needna do that unless ye like," replied Johnny's friend. "Ye may

save your siller, and no be abune an hour langer tarried, by takin' a

seat wi' me in the gig I hae in wi' me. I'm sure ye're welcome, and I'll

be blythe o' your company."

"Hae ye a gig in wi' ye?" said Johnny, looking pleased by the

intelligence.

"'Deed hae I, Mr. Armstrong, and ye'll just clink down beside me in't."

"I'll do that wi' great thankfu'ness," replied Johnny, "and muckle

obleeged by the offer."

The friends now walked away, arm in arm together; and in about two hours

afterwards--Mr. Stevenson having, in the meantime, despatched what

business he had to do in the city--they were both, seated in the gig,

and birring it on merrily towards Carlisle.

Neither Mr. Stevenson nor Johnny, however, were great whips--a

deficiency which was by no means compensated for by the circumstance of

their having a rather spirited horse, although blind of an eye. He was,

in truth, a very troublesome animal; boggling and shying at everything

that presented itself to his solitary optic. Notwithstanding this, the

travellers got on very well for a time, and were whirling over the

ground at a rapid rate, when an unlucky cart of hay came in their way at

a narrow turn of the road. How this simple occurrence should have

operated so unfavourably as it did for them, we shall explain.

A cart of hay is not a very alarming object to rational creatures like

ourselves, but to the one-eyed horse of the travellers it appeared a

very serious affair; for it had no sooner presented itself to his

solitary organ of vision than he pricked up his ears, snorted furiously,

and began to exhibit sundry other symptoms of disquietude. By dint,

however, of some well-directed punishment from Jamie Stevenson's whip,

which Johnny increased by an energetic application of his stick, the

restive animal was brought _up_ to the waggon of hay; but, for some

time, the inducements just mentioned failed to prevail on him to _pass_

it.

At length, however, Johnny having added greatly to the vigour of his

blows with his stick, and his neighbour to that of his strokes with the

whip, the horse _did_ pass the waggon, and that with a vengeance. Taking

heart, or rather becoming desperate, he bolted past it with the rapidity

of a cannon shot; and not only this, but when he had cleared it,

continued the velocity of his movements with unabated energy, to the

great discomfort and no small terror of both Johnny and his companion,

who now found themselves going at a rate which they had neither

anticipated nor desired. Indeed, this was so very great that both

directly saw that something was wrong. Both saw, in short, what was,

indeed, too true, that the horse had fairly run away with them; for he

was now going like the wind, with fury and distraction in his looks. It

was a shocking and most dreadfully alarming affair; and so Johnny and

his friend felt it to be, as might be distinctly seen by their

horror-stricken faces.

On discovering the predicament they were in, both the travellers--the

one dropping his whip, and the other his stick--seized on the reins, and

began pulling with all their might, in the desperate hope of checking

the animal's speed by main force; Johnny, in his terror, exclaiming the

while, distractedly--

"Mair o't yet, mair o't yet! Lord have a care o' me, but this is awfu'!

This is waur than onything I hae met wi' yet. Waur than the _Fifteen

Sisters_, Dutchmen, and a'. God be wi' us! are my misfortunes never to

hae an end, till they hae finished me outricht? Am I never to get safe

to either ae place or anither?--either to hame or to Brechin? Surely ane

o' them might be permitted to me. O, Jamie, see hoo he's gaun! He doesna

seem to fin' us at his hurdies, nae mair than if we war a pair o'

preencushions."

This was true enough. The horse in his fury did not indeed seem to feel

either them or the vehicle they were seated in, but pushed madly

onwards, till he came to where the road divided itself into two distinct

roads--the one being the right one, and the other, of course, the

wrong--when, as if inspired by Johnny's evil genius, he at once took the

latter, and in little more than twenty minutes, had him and his friend

fully half as many miles out of their way. Now, however, the catastrophe

was to be wound up. A milestone caught one of the wheels of the gig,

canted it over, and threw Johnny sprawling on the road with a broken

leg; his friend, although also thrown, escaping wholly unhurt.

"Aweel, here it's at last," said Johnny, sitting up in the mud amongst

which he had been planted, and fully believing that his injuries were

fatal. "Here it's at last. I'm clean dune for noo, after a' my escapes.

It may be noo plainly seen, I think," he went on, "that some evil spirit

has had me in its power, for these six weeks past at ony rate, and has

been gowfin' me about the world like a fitba', to kill me wi' a gig at

last."

Luckily, Johnny's injuries did not prove so serious as he had feared

they would do; and no less fortunate was it that the accident to which

they were owing happened not far from a small country town in which

there was a resident surgeon. To the latter place Johnny was immediately

removed on a temporary bier, hastily constructed for the purpose by some

labouring men who chanced to be near the spot where the accident

happened, and there he lay for six entire weeks, when the surgeon above

alluded to, and who had attended him all that time, intimated to him

that he might now venture to return home. Delighted with the

intelligence, Johnny instantly acted on it, and next day entered

Carlisle triumphantly in a post-chaise--not looking, nor really being,

after all, much the worse for his unprecedented adventures, save and

except a lameness in the injured limb, which ever after imparted to his

movements the graceful up-and-down motion produced by that peculiar

longitudinal proportion of the nether limbs, designated by the

descriptive definition of "a short leg and a shorter." Having, with this

last occurrence, concluded the story of Johnny's disasters, we have only

to add that Johnny has never, to this good hour, got the length of

Brechin--nor will, he says, ever again make the attempt.

THE PROFESSOR'S TALES.[4]

THE MOUNTAIN STORM.

[4] The author of these stories (to be continued), the well-known

Professor Thomas Gillespie, was one of the principal writers in

_Blackwood_ during the "storm and stress" period of that magazine. As an

author, his peculiarity consisted in vivid descriptions of scenery and

incidents coming within the range of a very eccentric experience, all

given with a versatility and _abandon_ which he could not restrain, and

which, being the reflex of a poetical enthusiasm, formed the charm of

his writings.--_Ed._

Packman _loquitur_.--For several days the wind had been easterly, with

an intense frost. At last, however, the weather subsided into a calm and

dense fog, under which, at mid-day, it was difficult to find one's way

amidst those mountain tracks along which, in general, my route lay. The

grass and heath were absolutely loaded with hoar-frost. My cheeks became

encompassed by a powdered covering; my breath was intensely visible, and

floated and lingered about my face with an oppressive and almost

suffocating density. No sun, moon, or star had appeared for upwards of

forty-eight hours; when, according to my preconcerted plan, I reached

the farm town of Burnfoot. I was now in the centre of Queensberry Hills,

the most notable sheep-pasturage in the south of Scotland. It was about

three o'clock of the fifteenth day of January, when, under a cheerful

welcome from the guidwife, I rested my pack (for, be it known, I belong

to this class of peripatetic merchants) upon the meal ark, disengaged my

arms from the leather straps by which the pack was suspended from my

shoulders, and proceeded to light my pipe at the blazing peat-fire.

Refreshments, such as are best suited to the _packman's drouth_, were

soon and amply supplied, and I had the happiness of seeing my old

acquaintances (for I visited Burnfoot twice a year, on my going and

coming from Glasgow to Manchester) drop _in_ from their several

avocations, one after another, and all truly rejoiced to behold my face,

and still more delighted to inspect the treasure and the wonders of "the

pack." At last the guidman himself suspended his plaid from the mid-door

head, put off his shoes and leggings, assumed his slippers, along with

his prescriptive seat at the head or upper end of the lang-settle. The

guidwife, returning _butt_ from bedding the youngest of some half-score

of children, welcomed her husband with a look of the most genuine

affection. She put a little creepie stool under his feet, felt that his

clothes were not wet, scolded the dogs to a respectful distance, and

inspired the peats into a double blaze. The oldest daughter, now "woman

grown," sat combing the hoar-frost from her raven locks, and looking out

from beneath beautifully arched and bushy eyebrows upon the interesting

addition which had been made to the meal-ark. Some half-a-score of

healthy lads and lasses occupied the bench ayont the fire, o'er-canopied

by sheep-skins, aprons, stockings, and footless hose. The dogs, after

various and somewhat noisy differences had been adjusted, fell into

order and position around the hearth, enjoying the warmth, and licking,

peacefully and carefully, the wet from their sides. The cat, by this

time, had made a returning motion from the cupboard head, from which she

had been watching the arrangements and movements beneath. As this

appeared to "Help" to be an infringement of the terms of armistice and

of the frontier laws, he sprang with eagerness over the hearth. Pussy,

finding it dangerous, under this sudden and somewhat unexpected

movement, "_dare terga_," instantly drew up her whole body into an

attitude not only of defence, but defiance; curving herself into a

bristling crescent, with the head of a dragon attached to it, and, with

one horrid hiss and sputter, compelled Help first to hesitate and then

to retreat.

"Three paces back the youth retired,

And saved himself from harm."

The guidwife, however,--who seemed not unaccustomed to such

demonstrations, and who manifestly acted on the humane principle of

assisting the weaker by assailing the stronger combatant--gave Help such

demonstrations of her intentions, as at once reduced matters to the

_status quo ante bellum_. (I have as good a right to scholarship as my

brother packman, Plato, who carried oil to Egypt.) Thus peace and good

order being restored, the treasures of my burden became an immediate and

a universal subject of inquiry. I was compelled, nothing loath, to

unstrap my various packages, and disclose to view all the varied

treasures of the spindle and loom. Shawls were spread out into enormous

display, with central, and corner, and border ornaments, the most

amazing and the most fashionable; waistcoat pieces of every stripe and

figure, from the straight line to the circle, of every hue and colouring

which the rainbow exhibits, were unfolded in the presence and under the

scrutinizing thumb of many purchasers. The guidwife herself half coaxed

and half scolded a fine remnant of Flanders lace, of most tempting

aspect, out of the guidman's reluctant pocket. The very dogs seemed

anxious to be accommodated, and applied their noses to some unopened

bales, with a knowing look of inquiry. Things were proceeding in this

manner, when the door opened, and there entered a young man of the most

prepossessing appearance; in fact, what Burns terms a "strapping youth."

I could observe that, at his entrance, the daughter's eye (of whom I

have formerly made mention) immediately kindled into an expression of

the most universal kindness and benevolence. Hitherto she had taken but

a limited interest in what was going on; but now she became the most

prominent figure in the group--whilst the mother dusted a chair for the

welcome stranger with her apron, and the guidman welcomed him with a--

"Come awa, Willie Wilson, an' tak a seat. The nicht's gay dark an'

dreary. I wonder how ye cleared the Whitstane Cleugh and the Side Scaur,

man, on sic an eerie nicht."

"Indeed," responded the stranger, casting a look, in the meantime,

towards the guidman's buxom, and, indeed, lovely daughter--"indeed, it's

an unco fearfu' nicht--sic a mist and sic a cauld I hae seldom if ever

encountered; but I dinna ken hoo it was--I coulda rest at hame till I

had tellt ye a' the news o' the last Langhom market."

"Ay, ay," interrupted the guidwife; "the last Langhom market, man, is an

auld tale noo, I trow. Na, na, yer mither's son camna here on sic a

nicht, and at sic an hour, on sic an unmeaning errand"--finishing her

sentence, however, by a whisper into Willie's ear, which brought a

deeper red into his cheek, and seemed to operate in a similar manner on

the apparently deeply engaged daughter.

"But, Watty," continued my fair purchaser, "you _must_ give me this

Bible a little cheaper--it's ower dear, man--heard ever onybody o' five

white shillings gien for a Bible, and it only a New Testament, after

a'?--it's baith a sin an' a shame, Watty."

After some suitable reluctance, I was on the point of reducing the price

by a single sixpence, when Willie Wilson advanced towards the pack, and

at once taking up the book and the conversation--

"Ower dear, Jessie, my dear!--it's the word o' God, ye ken--his ain

precious word; and I'll e'en mak ye a present o' the book at Watty's ain

price. Ye ken he maun live, as we a' do, by his trade."

The money was instantly paid down from a purse pretty will filled; for

William Wilson was the son of a wealthy and much respected sheep-farmer

in the neighbourhood, and had had his name _once_ called in the kirk,

along with that of "Janet Harkness of Burnfoot, both in this parish."

"Hoot noo, bairns," rejoined the mother; "ye're baith wrang--that Bible

winna do ava. Ye maun hae a big ha' Bible to take the buik wi', and

worship the God o' yer fathers nicht and morning, as they hae dune afore

ye; and Watty will bring ye ane frae Glasgow the next time he comes

roun'; and it will, maybe, be usefu', ye ken, in _anither way_."

"Tout, mither, wi' yer nonsense," interrupted the conscious bride; "I

never liked to see my name and age marked and pointed out to onybody on

oor muckle Bible; sae just haud yer tongue, mither, and tak a present

frae William and _me_," added she, blushing deeply, "o' that big printed

Testament. The minister, ye ken, seldom meddles wi' the auld Bible,

unless it be a bit o' the Psalms; and yer een noo are no sae gleg as

they were whan ye were married to my father there."

The father, overcome by this well-timed and well-directed evidence of

goodness, piety, and filial affection, rose from his seat on the

long-settle, and, with tears in his eyes, pronounced a most fervent

benediction over the shoulders of his child.

"O God in heaven, bless and preserve my dear Jessie!" said he--his

child's tears now falling fast and faster. "Oh, may the God of thy

fathers make thee happy--thee and thine--him there and his!--and when

thy mother's grey hairs and mine are laid and hid in the dust, mayest

thou have children, such as thy fond and dutiful self, to bless and

comfort, to rejoice and support thy heart!"

There was not, by this time, a dry eye in the family; and, as a painful

silence was on the point of succeeding to this outbreaking of nature,

the venerable parent slowly and deliberately took down the big ha' Bible

from its bole in the wall, and, placing it on the lang-settle table, he

proceeded to family worship with the usual solemn prefatory

annunciation--"Let us worship God."

Love, filial affection, and piety--what a noble, what a beautiful

triumvirate! By means of these, Scotland has rendered herself

comparatively great, independent, and happy. These are the graces which,

in beautiful union, have protected her liberties, sweetened her

enjoyments, and exalted her head amongst the nations, and which, over

all, have cast an expression and a feature irresistibly winning and

nationally characteristic. It is over such scenes as the kitchen

fireside of Burnfoot now presented, that the soul hovers with

ever-awakening and ever-intenser delight; that even amidst the coldness,

and unconcern, and irreligion of an iron age, the mind, at least at

intervals, is redeemed into ecstasy, and feels, in spite of habit, and

example, and deadened apprehensions, that there is a beauty in pure and

virgin love, a depth in genuine and spontaneous filial regard, and an

impulse in communion with Him that is most high, which, even when taken

separately, are hallowing, sacred, and elevating; but which, when

blended and softened down into one great and leading feature, prove

incontestably that man is, in his origin and unalloyed nature, but a

little lower than the angels.

Such was the aspect of matters in this sequestered and sanctified

dwelling, when the house seemed, all at once, to be smitten, like Job's,

at the four corners. The soot fell in showers into the grate; the

rafters creaked; the dust descended; every door in the house rattled on

its sneck and hinges; and the very dogs sprung at once from their

slumbers and barked. There was something so awful in the suddenness and

violence of the commotion, that the prayer was abruptly and suddenly

brought to a conclusion.

"Ay, fearfu', sirs!" were John Harkness' first words when springing to

his feet; "but there's an awfu' nicht. Open the outer door, Jamie, and

let us see what it is like." The outer door was opened; but the drift

burst in with such a suffocating swirl, that a strong lad who

encountered it, reeled and gasped for breath.

"The hogs!" exclaimed the guidman, "and the gimmers!--where did ye leave

them, Jamie?"

"In Capleslacks," was the answer, "by east the Dod. The wind has set in

frae the nor'-east, and fifty score o' sheep, if this continue, will

never see the mornin'."

But what was to be done?

"The wind blew as 'twould blawn its last,"

and the whole atmosphere was one almost solid wreath of penetrating

snow; when you thrust forth your hand into the open air, it was as if

you had perforated an iceberg. Burnfoot stands at the convergence of two

mountain glens, adown one of which the tempest came as from a

funnel--collected, compressed, irresistible. There was a momentary look

of suspense--every one eying the rest with an expression of indecision

and utter helplessness. The young couple, by some law of affinity, stood

together in a corner. The shepherd lads, with Jamie Hogg at their head,

were employed in adjusting plaids to their persons. The guidman had

already resumed his leggings, and the dogs were all exceedingly

excited--amazed at this unexpected movement, but perfectly resolved to

do their duty.

"Jamie," said the guidman, "you and I will try to mak oor way by the

Head Scaur to Capleyetts, where the main hirsel was left; and Will, Tam,

and Geordie will see after the hogs and gimmers ayont the Dod."

"I, too," exclaimed a voice from the corner, over which, however, a fair

hand was pressed, and which was therefore but indistinctly heard--"I

will--(canna ye let me speak, Jessie!)--I will not, I shall not be left

behind--I will accompany the guidman, and do what I can to seek and to

save."

"Indeed and indeed, my dear William, ye can do nae guid--ye dinna ken

the grun' like my faither; and there's mony a kittle step forbye the

Head Scaur; and, the Lord be wi' us! on sic a nicht too." So saying, she

clasped her betrothed firmly around the neck, and absolutely compelled

him to relinquish his purpose. Having gained this one object, the fair

and affectionate bride rushed across the room to her father, and falling

down on her knees, grasped him by the legs, and exclaimed--

"O mither, mither! come and help me--come and help me! faither, my dear

faither, let Jamie Hogg gang, and the rest; they are young, ye ken, and

as weel acquant as yersel' wi' the ly o' the glens! but this is no a

nicht for the faither o' a family to risk his life to save his

substance. O faither, faither! I am soon, ye ken, to leave you and bonny

Burnfoot--grant me, oh, grant me this one, this last request!"

The mother sat all this while wringing her hands and exclaiming--

"Ay, ay, Jenny, get him to stay, get him to stay!"

The father answered not a word, but, making a sign to Hogg, and

whistling on Help, and at the same time kissing his _now_ all but

fainting child, he rushed out of the door (as Mrs. Harkness said) "like

a fey man," and he and his companion, with a suitable accompaniment of

dogs, were almost instantly invisible. The three other lads, suitably

armed and accompanied, followed the example set to them, and the

guidwife, the two lovers, five or six younger branches, and the female

servants of the family, with myself, remained at home in a state of

anxiety and suspense which can be better conceived than expressed.

"The varnished clock that clicked behind the door,"

with a force and a stroke loud and painful in the extreme, struck first

ten, then eleven, then twelve; but there was no return. Again and again

were voices heard commingling with the tempest's rush; again and again

did the outer door seem to move backwards on its hinges; but nothing

entered save the shrill pipe of the blast, accompanied by the comminuted

drift, which penetrated through every seam and cranny. This state of

uncertainty was awful; even the ascertained reality of death, partial or

universal, had perhaps less of soul-benumbing cold in it than this

inconceivable suspense. It required Willie Wilson's utmost efforts and

mine to keep the frantic woman from madly rushing into the drift; and

the voice of lamentation was sad and loud amongst the children and the

servant lasses--each of the latter class lamented, indeed, the fate of

all, but there was always an under prayer offered up for the safety of

Geordie, or Will, or Jamie, in particular. At last the three lads who

had encompassed the Dod arrived--alive, indeed, but almost breathless

and frozen to death. They had, however, surmounted incredible

difficulties, and had succeeded in placing their hirsel in a position of

comparative security; but where were Jamie Hogg and the guidman? The

violence of the storm had nothing abated, the snow was every moment

accumulating, and the danger and difficulty increasing tenfold. Spirits,

heat, and friction gradually restored the three lads to their senses,

and to the kind attentions of their several favourites of the female

order; but _there_ sat the mother and the daughter, whilst the father

was either, in all probability, dead or dying. The very thought was

distracting; and, accordingly, the young bride, now turning to her lover

with a look of inexpressible anguish, exclaimed--

"O Willie! my ain dear Willie, ye maun gang, after a', ye maun gang this

instant," (Willie was on his feet and plaided whilst yet the sentence

was unfinished,) "and try to rescue my dear, dear faither from this

awfu' and untimely end; but tak care, oh tak care o' the big Scaur, and

keep far west by Caplecleuch, and maybe ye'll meet them coming back that

way." These last words were lost in the drift, whilst Willie Wilson,

with his faithful follower, Rover, were penetrating, and flouncing, and

floundering their way towards the place pointed out.

In about half an hour after this, the howl and scratch of a dog were

heard at the door-back, and Help immediately rushed in, the welcome

forerunner of his master and Hogg. They had, indeed, had a fearful

struggle, and fearful wanderings; but, in endeavouring to avoid the

dangerous, because precipitous, Head Scaur, they had wandered from the

track, and from the object of their travel; and, after having been

inclined once or twice to lie down and take a rest (the deceitful

messenger of death), they had at last got upon the track of Caple Water;

and, by keeping to its windings--which they had often traced at the risk

of being drowned--they had at last weathered the old cham'er, the byre,

and peat-stack, and were now, thank God! within "bigget wa's."

But where, alas! was Willie Wilson? Him, in consequence of their

deviations, they had missed; and over him, thus exposed, the tempest was

still renewing at intervals its hurricane gusts. There was one scream

heard, such as would have penetrated the heart of a tiger, and all was

still. There she lay, the beauteous, but now marble bride; her head

reposing on her mother's lap, her lips pale as the snowdrop, her eyes

fixed and soulless, her cheek without a tint, and her mouth half-open

and breathless. Long, long was the withdrawment--again and again was the

dram-glass applied to the mouth, to catch the first expiration of

returning breath--ere the frame began to quiver, the hands to move, the

lips and cheeks to colour, and the eyes to indicate the approaching

return to reason and perception.

"I have killed him! I have killed him!" were the first frantic accents.

"I have murdered, murdered my dear Willie! It was me that sent

him--forced him--compelled him out--out into the drift--the cold, cold

drift. Away!" added the maniac--"away! I'll go after him--I'll perish

with him--where he lies, there will I lie, and there will I be buried.

What! is there none of ye that will make an effort to save a

perishing--a choking--oh, my God! a suffocating man?"

Hereupon she again sank backwards, and was prevented from falling by the

arms of a father.

"O my child!" said parental love and affection--"O my dear wean!--oh, be

patient!--God is guid--He has preserved _us_ all--He will not desert

_him_ in the hour of his need--He neither slumbers nor sleeps--His hand

is not shortened that He cannot save--and what He can, He will--He never

deserted any that trusted in Him. O my child! my bairn!--my

first-born!--be patient--be patient. There--there--there is a scratch at

the door-back--it is Rover."

And to be sure Rover it was--but Rover in despair. His faithful

companion and friend only entered the house to solicit immediate aid--he

ran round and round, looking up into the face of every one with an

expression of the most imploring anxiety. The poor frantic girl sprung

from her father's embrace, and clung to the neck of the well-known

cur--she absolutely kissed him--(oh, to what will not love, omnipotent,

virtuous love, descend!)--then rising, in renewed recollection, she sat

herself down on the long-settle beside her father, and burst into loud

and passionate grief.

It was now manifest to all that something must be attempted, else the

young farmer must perish. Hogg, though awfully exhausted, was the first

to volunteer a new excursion. The whole band were at once on their

feet; but Jessie now clung to her father, as she had formerly done to

her lover, and would not let him go--indeed, the guidman was in no

danger of putting his purpose into effect, for he could scarcely stand

on his feet. He sat, or rather fell down, consequently, beside his

daughter, and continued in constant prayer and supplication at the

throne of grace. The daughter listened, and said she was comforted--the

voyagers were again on their way--the tempest had somewhat abated--the

moon had once or twice shone out--and there was now a greater chance of

success in their undertaking.

How we all contrived to exist during an interval of about two hours, I

cannot say; but this I know, that the endurance of this second trial was

worse than the first, to all but the sweet bride herself. Her mind had

now taken a more calm and religious view of the case. She repeated, at

intervals and pauses in her father's ejaculatory prayer--

"Yes--oh, yes--_His_ will--His holy will be done! The Lord giveth and

the Lord taketh away--blessed be the name of the Lord for ever! We shall

meet again--oh, yes--where the weary are at rest.

'A few short years of evil past,

We reach the happy shore

Where death-divided friends at last

Shall meet, to part no more.'

O father, is not that a gracious saying, and worthy of all acceptation!"

At length the door opened, and in walked William Wilson.

The reader need scarcely to be told that the sagacious dog had left his

master floundered, and unable to extricate himself in a snow wreath;

that the same faithful guide had taken the searchers to the spot, where

they found Wilson just in the act of falling into a sleep--from which,

indeed, but for the providential sagacity of his dog, he had never

wakened; and that, by means of some spirits which they had taken in a

bottle, they completely restored and conducted him home.

"Lives there one with soul so dead"

as not now to image the happy meeting betwixt bride and bridegroom, and,

above all, the influence which this trial had upon the happiness and

religious character of their future married and prosperous lot?

It is, indeed, long since I have laid aside the pack--to which, after a

good education, I had taken, from a wandering propensity--and taken up

my residence in the flourishing village of Thornhill, Dumfriesshire;

living, at first, on the profits of my shop, and now retired on my

little, but, to me, ample competency; but I still have great pleasure in

paying a yearly visit to my friends of Mitchelslacks, and in recalling

with them, over a comfortable meal, the interesting incidents of the

snow storm 1794.

THE FAIR MAID OF CELLARDYKES.

I did not like the idea of having all the specimens of the fine arts in

Europe collected into one "bonne bouche" at the Louvre. It was like

collecting, while a boy, a handful of strawberries, and devouring them

at one indiscriminating gulp. I do not like floral exhibitions, for the

same reason. I had rather a thousand times meet my old and my new

friends in my solitary walks, or in my country rambles. All museums in

this way confound and bewilder me; and had the Turk not been master of

Greece, I should have preferred a view of the Elgin marbles in the land

of their nativity. And it is for a similar reason that my mind still

reverts, with a kind of dreamy delight, to the time when I viewed

mankind in detail, and in all their individual and natural

peculiarities, rather than _en masse_, and in one regimental uniform.

Educate up! Educate up! Invent machinery--discover agencies--saddle

nature with the panniers of labour--and, at last, stand alongside of

her, clothed, from the peasant to the prince, in the wonders of her

manufacture, and merrily whistling, in idle unconcern, to the tune of

her unerring despatch! But what have we gained? One mass of

similarities: the housemaid, the housekeeper, the lady, and the

princess, speaking the same language, clothed in the same habiliments,

and enjoying the same immunities from corporeal labour--the colours of

the rainbow whirled and blended into one glare of white! Towards this

_ultimatum_ we are now fast hastening. Where is the shepherd

stocking-weaver, with his wires and his fingers moving invisibly? Where

the "wee and the muckle wheel," with the aged dames, in pletted toys,

singing "Tarry woo?" Where the hodden-grey clad patriarch, sitting in

the midst of his family, and mixing familiarly, and in perfect equality

with all the household--servant and child? My heart constantly warms to

these recollections; and I feel as if wandering over a landscape

variegated by pleasant and contrasting colouring, and overshadowed with

associations which have long been a part of myself. One exception to the

general progression and assimilation still happily remains to gratify, I

must confess, my liking for things as they were. The fisher population

of Newhaven, Buckhaven, and Cellardykes--(my observation extends no

farther, and I limit my remarks accordingly)--are, in fact, the Scottish

highlanders, the Irish, the Welsh, and the Manks of Fisherdom. Differing

each somewhat from the other, they are united by one common bond of

character--they are varieties of the same animal--the different species

under one genus. I like this. I am always in high spirits when I pass

through a fishing village or a fisher street. No accumulation of filth

in every hue--of shell, and gill, and fish-tail--can disgust me. I even

smell a sweet savour from their empty baskets, as they exhale themselves

dry in the sunbeam. And then there is a hue of robust health over all.

No mincing of matters. Female arms and legs of the true Tuscan

order--cheeks and chins where neither the rose nor the bone has been

stinted. Children of the dub and the mire--all agog in demi-nudity, and

following nature most vociferously. Snug, comfortable cabins, where

garish day makes no unhandsome inquiries, and where rousing fires and

plentiful meals abide from June to January. They have a language, too,

of their own--the true Mucklebacket dialect; and freely and firmly do

they throw from them censure, praise, or ribaldry. The men are here but

men; mere human machines--useful, but not ornamental--necessary

incumbrances rather than valuable protectors. "Poor creature!" says Meg

of the Mucklebacket, "she canna maintain a man." Sir Walter saw through

the character I am labouring to describe; and, in one sentence, put life

and identity into it. I know he was exceedingly fond of conversing with

fisherwomen in particular. But, whilst such are the general features,

each locality I have mentioned has its distinctive lineaments. The

Newhaven fisherwoman (for the man is unknown) is a bundle of snug

comfort. Her body, her dress, her countenance, her basket, her voice,

all partake of the same character of _enbonpointness_. Yet there is

nothing at all untidy about her. She may ensconce her large limbs in

more plaiden coverings than the gravedigger in "Hamlet" had waistcoats,

but still she moves without constraint; and under a burden which would

press my lady's waiting-maid to the carpet, she moves free, firm,

elastic. Her tongue is not labour-logged, her feet are not

creel-retarded; but, altogether unconscious of the presence of hundreds,

she holds on her way and her discourse as if she were a caravan in the

desert. She is to be found in every street and alley of Auld Reekie,

till her work is accomplished. Her voice of call is exceedingly musical,

and sounds sweetly in the ears of the infirm and bedrid. All night long

she holds her stand close by the theatre, with her broad knife and her

opened oyster. In vain does the young spark endeavour to engage her in

licentious talk. He soon discovers that, wherever her feelings or

affections tend, they do not point in his favour. Thus, loaded with

pence, and primed with gin, she returns by midnight to her home--there

to share a supper-pint with her man and her neighbours, and to prepare,

by deep repose, for the duties of a new day. Far happier and far more

useful she, in her day and generation, than that thing of fashion which

men call a beau or a belle--in whose labours no one rejoices, and in

whose bosom no sentiment but self finds a place. In Buckhaven, again,

the Salique law prevails. There men are men, and women mere appendages.

The sea department is here all in all. The women, indeed, crawl a little

way, and through a few deserted fields, into the surrounding country;

but the man drives the cart, and the cart carries the fish; and the fish

are found in all the larger inland towns eastward. Cellardykes is a

mixture of the two--a kind of William and Mary government, where, side

by side, at the same cart, and not unfrequently in the same boat, are to

be found man and woman, lad and lass. Oh, it is a pretty sight to see

the Cellardyke fishers leaving the coast for the herring-fishing in the

north! I witnessed it some years ago, as I passed to Edinburgh; and this

year I witnessed it again.

Meeting and conversing with my old friend the minister of the parish of

Kilrenny, we laid us down on the sunny slope of the brae facing the east

and the Isle of May, whilst he gave me the following narrative:--