any precise idea to his mind, which was then occupied in thinking by
what means the old beggar, who still continued to regard him with a
countenance provokingly sly and intelligent, had contrived to thrust
himself into any knowledge of his affairs. He put his hand in his pocket
as the readiest mode of intimating his desire of secrecy, and securing
the concurrence of the person whom he addressed; and while he bestowed
on him an alms, the amount of which rather bore proportion to his fears
than to his charity, looked at him with a marked expression, which
the mendicant, a physiognomist by profession, seemed perfectly to
understand.--“Never mind me, sir--I am no tale-pyet; but there are mair
een in the warld than mine,” answered he as he pocketed Lovel’s bounty,
but in a tone to be heard by him alone, and with an expression which
amply filled up what was left unspoken. Then turning to Oldbuck--“I am
awa’ to the manse, your honour. Has your honour ony word there, or to
Sir Arthur, for I’ll come in by Knockwinnock Castle again e’en?”
Oldbuck started as from a dream; and, in a hurried tone, where vexation
strove with a wish to conceal it, paying, at the same time, a tribute
to Edie’s smooth, greasy, unlined hat, he said, “Go down, go down to
Monkbarns--let them give you some dinner--Or stay; if you do go to the
manse, or to Knockwinnock, ye need say nothing about that foolish story
of yours.”
“Who, I?” said the mendicant--“Lord bless your honour, naebody sall ken a
word about it frae me, mair than if the bit bourock had been there since
Noah’s flood. But, Lord, they tell me your honour has gien Johnnie Howie
acre for acre of the laigh crofts for this heathery knowe! Now, if he
has really imposed the bourock on ye for an ancient wark, it’s my real
opinion the bargain will never haud gude, if you would just bring down
your heart to try it at the law, and say that he beguiled ye.”
“Provoking scoundrel!” muttered the indignant Antiquary between his
teeths--“I’ll have the hangman’s lash and his back acquainted for this.”
And then, in a louder tone,--“Never mind, Edie--it is all a mistake.”
“Troth, I am thinking sae,” continued his tormentor, who seemed to have
pleasure in rubbing the galled wound, “troth, I aye thought sae; and
it’s no sae lang since I said to Luckie Gemmers, Never think you,
luckie’ said I, that his honour Monkbarns would hae done sic a daft-like
thing as to gie grund weel worth fifty shillings an acre, for a mailing
that would be dear o’a pund Scots. Na, na,’ quo’ I, depend upon’t the
lard’s been imposed upon wi that wily do-little deevil, Johnnie Howie.’
But Lord haud a care o’ us, sirs, how can that be,’ quo’ she again, when
the laird’s sae book-learned, there’s no the like o’ him in the country
side, and Johnnie Howie has hardly sense eneugh to ca’ the cows out o’
his kale-yard?’ Aweel, aweel,’ quo’ I, but ye’ll hear he’s circumvented
him with some of his auld-warld stories,’--for ye ken, laird, yon other
time about the bodle that ye thought was an auld coin”--
“Go to the devil!” said Oldbuck; and then in a more mild tone, as one
that was conscious his reputation lay at the mercy of his antagonist, he
added--“Away with you down to Monkbarns, and when I come back, I’ll send
ye a bottle of ale to the kitchen.”
“Heaven reward your honour!” This was uttered with the true mendicant
whine, as, setting his pike-staff before him, he began to move in the
direction of Monkbarns.--“But did your honour,” turning round, “ever get
back the siller ye gae to the travelling packman for the bodle?”
“Curse thee, go about thy business!”
“Aweel, aweel, sir, God bless your honour! I hope ye’ll ding Johnnie
Howie yet, and that I’ll live to see it.” And so saying, the old beggar
moved off, relieving Mr. Oldbuck of recollections which were anything
rather than agreeable.
“Who is this familiar old gentleman?” said Lovel, when the mendicant was
out of hearing.
“O, one of the plagues of the country--I have been always against
poor’s-rates and a work-house--I think I’ll vote for them now, to have
that scoundrel shut up. O, your old-remembered guest of a beggar becomes
as well acquainted with you as he is with his dish--as intimate as one
of the beasts familiar to man which signify love, and with which his own
trade is especially conversant. Who is he?--why, he has gone the vole--
has been soldier, ballad-singer, travelling tinker, and is now a
beggar. He is spoiled by our foolish gentry, who laugh at his jokes, and
rehearse Edie Ochiltree’s good thing’s as regularly as Joe Miller’s.”
“Why, he uses freedom apparently, which is the soul of wit,” answered
Lovel.
“O ay, freedom enough,” said the Antiquary; “he generally invents some
damned improbable lie or another to provoke you, like that nonsense he
talked just now--not that I’ll publish my tract till I have examined the
thing to the bottom.”
“In England,” said Lovel, “such a mendicant would get a speedy check.”
“Yes, your churchwardens and dog-whips would make slender allowance
for his vein of humour! But here, curse him! he is a sort of privileged
nuisance--one of the last specimens of the old fashioned Scottish
mendicant, who kept his rounds within a particular space, and was the
news-carrier, the minstrel, and sometimes the historian of the district.
That rascal, now, knows more old ballads and traditions than any other
man in this and the four next parishes. And after all,” continued he,
softening as he went on describing Edie’s good gifts, “the dog has some
good humour. He has borne his hard fate with unbroken spirits, and it’s
cruel to deny him the comfort of a laugh at his betters. The pleasure of
having quizzed me, as you gay folk would call it, will be meat and drink
to him for a day or two. But I must go back and look after him, or he
will spread his d--d nonsensical story over half the country.” *
* Note C. Praetorium.
So saying our heroes parted, Mr. Oldbuck to return to his hospitium at
Monkbarns, and Lovel to pursue his way to Fairport, where he arrived
without farther adventure.
CHAPTER FIFTH.
Launcelot Gobbo. Mark me now:
Now will I raise the waters.
Merchant of Venice.
The theatre at Fairport had opened, but no Mr. Lovel appeared on the
boards, nor was there anything in the habits or deportment of the young
gentleman so named, which authorised Mr. Oldbuck’s conjecture that his
fellow-traveller was a candidate for the public favour. Regular were the
Antiquary’s inquiries at an old-fashioned barber who dressed the only
three wigs in the parish which, in defiance of taxes and times, were
still subjected to the operation of powdering and frizzling, and who for
that purpose divided his time among the three employers whom fashion
had yet left him; regular, I say, were Mr. Oldbuck’s inquiries at
this personage concerning the news of the little theatre at Fairport,
expecting every day to hear of Mr. Lovel’s appearance; on which occasion
the old gentleman had determined to put himself to charges in honour of
his young friend, and not only to go to the play himself, but to
carry his womankind along with him. But old Jacob Caxon conveyed no
information which warranted his taking so decisive a step as that of
securing a box.
He brought information, on the contrary, that there was a young man
residing at Fairport, of whom the town (by which he meant all the
gossips, who, having no business of their own, fill up their leisure
moments by attending to that of other people) could make nothing. He
sought no society, but rather avoided that which the apparent gentleness
of his manners, and some degree of curiosity, induced many to offer him.
Nothing could be more regular, or less resembling an adventurer, than
his mode of living, which was simple, but so completely well arranged,
that all who had any transactions with him were loud in their
approbation.
“These are not the virtues of a stage-struck hero,” thought Oldbuck to
himself; and, however habitually pertinacious in his opinions, he must
have been compelled to abandon that which he had formed in the
present instance, but for a part of Caxon’s communication. “The young
gentleman,” he said, “was sometimes heard speaking to himsell, and
rampauging about in his room, just as if he was ane o’ the player folk.”
Nothing, however, excepting this single circumstance, occurred to
confirm Mr. Oldbuck’s supposition; and it remained a high and doubtful
question, what a well-informed young man, without friends, connections,
or employment of any kind, could have to do as a resident at Fairport.
Neither port wine nor whist had apparently any charms for him. He
declined dining with the mess of the volunteer cohort which had been
lately embodied, and shunned joining the convivialities of either of
the two parties which then divided Fairport, as they did more important
places. He was too little of an aristocrat to join the club of
Royal True Blues, and too little of a democrat to fraternise with an
affiliated society of the soi-disant Friends of the People, which the
borough had also the happiness of possessing. A coffee-room was his
detestation; and, I grieve to say it, he had as few sympathies with the
tea-table.--In short, since the name was fashionable in novel-writing,
and that is a great while agone, there was never a Master Lovel of whom
so little positive was known, and who was so universally described by
negatives.
One negative, however, was important--nobody knew any harm of Lovel.
Indeed, had such existed, it would have been speedily made public; for
the natural desire of speaking evil of our neighbour could in his case
have been checked by no feelings of sympathy for a being so unsocial. On
one account alone he fell somewhat under suspicion. As he made free use
of his pencil in his solitary walks, and had drawn several views of the
harbour, in which the signal tower, and even the four-gun battery, were
introduced, some zealous friends of the public sent abroad a whisper,
that this mysterious stranger must certainly be a French spy. The
Sheriff paid his respects to Mr. Lovel accordingly; but in the interview
which followed, it would seem that he had entirely removed that
magistrate’s suspicions, since he not only suffered him to remain
undisturbed in his retirement, but it was credibly reported, sent him
two invitations to dinner-parties, both which were civilly declined. But
what the nature of the explanation was, the magistrate kept a profound
secret, not only from the public at large, but from his substitute, his
clerk, his wife and his two daughters, who formed his privy council on
all questions of official duty.
All these particulars being faithfully reported by Mr. Caxon to his
patron at Monkbarns, tended much to raise Lovel in the opinion of his
former fellow-traveller. “A decent sensible lad,” said he to himself,
“who scorns to enter into the fooleries and nonsense of these idiot
people at Fairport--I must do something for him--I must give him a
dinner;--and I will write Sir Arthur to come to Monkbarns to meet him. I
must consult my womankind.”
Accordingly, such consultation having been previously held, a special
messenger, being no other than Caxon himself, was ordered to prepare
for a walk to Knockwinnock Castle with a letter, “For the honoured Sir
Arthur Wardour, of Knockwinnock, Bart.” The contents ran thus:
“Dear Sir Arthur,
“On Tuesday the 17th curt. _stilo novo_, I hold a coenobitical symposion at
Monkbarns, and pray you to assist thereat, at four o’clock precisely. If
my fair enemy, Miss Isabel, can and will honour us by accompanying you,
my womankind will be but too proud to have the aid of such an auxiliary
in the cause of resistance to awful rule and right supremacy. If not,
I will send the womankind to the manse for the day. I have a young
acquaintance to make known to you, who is touched with some strain of
a better spirit than belongs to these giddy-paced times--reveres his
elders, and has a pretty notion of the classics--and, as such a youth
must have a natural contempt for the people about Fairport, I wish to
show him some rational as well as worshipful society.--I am, Dear Sir
Arthur, etc. etc. etc.”
“Fly with this letter, Caxon,” said the senior, holding out his missive,
signatum atque sigillatum, “fly to Knockwinnock, and bring me back an
answer. Go as fast as if the town-council were met and waiting for the
provost, and the provost was waiting for his new-powdered wig.”
“Ah sir,” answered the messenger, with a deep sigh, “thae days hae lang
gane by. Deil a wig has a provost of Fairport worn sin’ auld Provost
Jervie’s time--and he had a quean of a servant-lass that dressed it
herself, wi’ the doup o’ a candle and a drudging-box. But I hae seen the
day, Monkbarns, when the town-council of Fairport wad hae as soon wanted
their town-clerk, or their gill of brandy ower-head after the haddies,
as they wad hae wanted ilk ane a weel-favoured, sonsy, decent periwig on
his pow. Hegh, sirs! nae wonder the commons will be discontent and rise
against the law, when they see magistrates and bailies, and deacons, and
the provost himsell, wi’ heads as bald and as bare as ane o’ my blocks!”
“And as well furnished within, Caxon. But away with you!--you have an
excellent view of public affairs, and, I dare say, have touched the
cause of our popular discontent as closely as the provost could have
done himself. But away with you, Caxon!”
And off went Caxon upon his walk of three miles--
He hobbled--but his heart was good!
Could he go faster than he could?--
While he is engaged in his journey and return, it may not be impertinent
to inform the reader to whose mansion he was bearing his embassy.
We have said that Mr. Oldbuck kept little company with the surrounding
gentlemen, excepting with one person only. This was Sir Arthur Wardour,
a baronet of ancient descent, and of a large but embarrassed fortune.
His father, Sir Anthony, had been a Jacobite, and had displayed all the
enthusiasm of that party, while it could be served with words only. No
man squeezed the orange with more significant gesture; no one could more
dexterously intimate a dangerous health without coming under the penal
statutes; and, above all, none drank success to the cause more deeply
and devoutly. But, on the approach of the Highland army in 1745,
it would appear that the worthy baronet’s zeal became a little more
moderate just when its warmth was of most consequence. He talked much,
indeed, of taking the field for the rights of Scotland and Charles
Stuart; but his demi-pique saddle would suit only one of his horses;
and that horse could by no means be brought to stand fire. Perhaps
the worshipful owner sympathized in the scruples of this sagacious
quadruped, and began to think, that what was so much dreaded by the
horse could not be very wholesome for the rider. At any rate, while Sir
Anthony Wardour talked, and drank, and hesitated, the Sturdy provost of
Fairport (who, as we before noticed, was the father of our Antiquary)
sallied from his ancient burgh, heading a body of whig-burghers,
and seized at once, in the name of George II., upon the Castle of
Knockwinnock, and on the four carriage-horses, and person of the
proprietor. Sir Anthony was shortly after sent off to the Tower of
London by a secretary of state’s warrant, and with him went his son,
Arthur, then a youth. But as nothing appeared like an overt act of
treason, both father and son were soon set at liberty, and returned to
their own mansion of Knockwinnock, to drink healths five fathoms deep,
and talk of their sufferings in the royal cause. This became so much a
matter of habit with Sir Arthur, that, even after his father’s death,
the non-juring chaplain used to pray regularly for the restoration
of the rightful sovereign, for the downfall of the usurper, and for
deliverance from their cruel and bloodthirsty enemies; although all idea
of serious opposition to the House of Hanover had long mouldered away,
and this treasonable liturgy was kept up rather as a matter of form
than as conveying any distinct meaning. So much was this the case, that,
about the year 1770, upon a disputed election occurring in the county,
the worthy knight fairly gulped down the oaths of abjuration
and allegiance, in order to serve a candidate in whom he was
interested;--thus renouncing the heir for whose restoration he weekly
petitioned Heaven, and acknowledging the usurper whose dethronement he
had never ceased to pray for. And to add to this melancholy instance
of human inconsistency, Sir Arthur continued to pray for the House
of Stuart even after the family had been extinct, and when, in truth,
though in his theoretical loyalty he was pleased to regard them as
alive, yet, in all actual service and practical exertion, he was a most
zealous and devoted subject of George III.
In other respects, Sir Arthur Wardour lived like most country gentlemen
in Scotland, hunted and fished--gave and received dinners--attended races
and county meetings--was a deputy-lieutenant and trustee upon turnpike
acts. But, in his more advanced years, as he became too lazy or unwieldy
for field-sports, he supplied them by now and then reading Scottish
history; and, having gradually acquired a taste for antiquities, though
neither very deep nor very correct, he became a crony of his neighbour,
Mr. Oldbuck of Monkbarns, and a joint-labourer with him in his
antiquarian pursuits.
There were, however, points of difference between these two humourists,
which sometimes occasioned discord. The faith of Sir Arthur, as an
antiquary, was boundless, and Mr. Oldbuck (notwithstanding the affair
of the Praetorium at the Kaim of Kinprunes) was much more scrupulous in
receiving legends as current and authentic coin. Sir Arthur would have
deemed himself guilty of the crime of leze-majesty had he doubted the
existence of any single individual of that formidable head-roll of one
hundred and four kings of Scotland, received by Boethius, and rendered
classical by Buchanan, in virtue of whom James VI. claimed to rule his
ancient kingdom, and whose portraits still frown grimly upon the walls
of the gallery of Holyrood. Now Oldbuck, a shrewd and suspicious man,
and no respecter of divine hereditary right, was apt to cavil at this
sacred list, and to affirm, that the procession of the posterity
of Fergus through the pages of Scottish history, was as vain and
unsubstantial as the gleamy pageant of the descendants of Banquo through
the cavern of Hecate.
Another tender topic was the good fame of Queen Mary, of which the
knight was a most chivalrous assertor, while the esquire impugned it,
in spite both of her beauty and misfortunes. When, unhappily, their
conversation turned on yet later times, motives of discord occurred in
almost every page of history. Oldbuck was, upon principle, a staunch
Presbyterian, a ruling elder of the kirk, and a friend to revolution
principles and Protestant succession, while Sir Arthur was the very
reverse of all this. They agreed, it is true, in dutiful love and
allegiance to the sovereign who now fills* the throne; but this was
their only point of union.
* The reader will understand that this refers to the reign of our late
gracious Sovereign, George the Third.
It therefore often happened, that bickerings hot broke out between them,
in which Oldbuck was not always able to suppress his caustic humour,
while it would sometimes occur to the Baronet that the descendant of a
German printer, whose sires had “sought the base fellowship of paltry
burghers,” forgot himself, and took an unlicensed freedom of debate,
considering the rank and ancient descent of his antagonist. This, with
the old feud of the coach-horses, and the seizure of his manor-place and
tower of strength by Mr. Oldbuck’s father, would at times rush upon his
mind, and inflame at once his cheeks and his arguments. And, lastly, as
Mr. Oldbuck thought his worthy friend and compeer was in some respects
little better than a fool, he was apt to come more near communicating
to him that unfavourable opinion, than the rules of modern politeness
warrant. In such cases they often parted in deep dudgeon, and with
something like a resolution to forbear each other’s company in future:
But with the morning calm reflection came; and as each was sensible that
the society of the other had become, through habit, essential to
his comfort, the breach was speedily made up between them. On such
occasions, Oldbuck, considering that the Baronet’s pettishness resembled
that of a child, usually showed his superior sense by compassionately
making the first advances to reconciliation. But it once or twice
happened that the aristocratic pride of the far-descended knight took
a flight too offensive to the feelings of the representative of the
typographer. In these cases, the breach between these two originals
might have been immortal, but for the kind exertion and interposition
of the Baronet’s daughter, Miss Isabella Wardour, who, with a son, now
absent upon foreign and military service, formed his whole surviving
family. She was well aware how necessary Mr. Oldbuck was to her father’s
amusement and comfort, and seldom failed to interpose with effect, when
the office of a mediator between them was rendered necessary by the
satirical shrewdness of the one, or the assumed superiority of the
other. Under Isabella’s mild influence, the wrongs of Queen Mary were
forgotten by her father, and Mr. Oldbuck forgave the blasphemy which
reviled the memory of King William. However, as she used in general to
take her father’s part playfully in these disputes, Oldbuck was wont to
call Isabella his fair enemy, though in fact he made more account of her
than any other of her sex, of whom, as we have seen, he, was no admirer.
There existed another connection betwixt these worthies, which had
alternately a repelling and attractive influence upon their intimacy.
Sir Arthur always wished to borrow; Mr. Oldbuck was not always willing
to lend. Mr. Oldbuck, per contra, always wished to be repaid with
regularity; Sir Arthur was not always, nor indeed often, prepared to
gratify this reasonable desire; and, in accomplishing an arrangement
between tendencies so opposite, little miffs would occasionally take
place. Still there was a spirit of mutual accommodation upon the whole,
and they dragged on like dogs in couples, with some difficulty and
occasional snarling, but without absolutely coming to a stand-still or
throttling each other.
Some little disagreement, such as we have mentioned, arising out of
business, or politics, had divided the houses of Knockwinnock and
Monkbarns, when the emissary of the latter arrived to discharge his
errand. In his ancient Gothic parlour, whose windows on one side looked
out upon the restless ocean, and, on the other, upon the long straight
avenue, was the Baronet seated, now turning over the leaves of a folio,
now casting a weary glance where the sun quivered on the dark-green
foliage and smooth trunks of the large and branching limes with which
the avenue was planted. At length, sight of joy! a moving object is
seen, and it gives rise to the usual inquiries, Who is it? and what can
be his errand? The old whitish-grey coat, the hobbling gait, the hat
half-slouched, half-cocked, announced the forlorn maker of periwigs, and
left for investigation only the second query. This was soon solved by a
servant entering the parlour,--“A letter from Monkbarns, Sir Arthur.”
Sir Arthur took the epistle with a due assumption of consequential
dignity.
“Take the old man into the kitchen, and let him get some refreshment,”
said the young lady, whose compassionate eye had remarked his thin grey
hair and wearied gait.
“Mr. Oldbuck, my love, invites us to dinner on Tuesday the 17th,” said
the Baronet, pausing;--“he really seems to forget that he has not of late
conducted himself so civilly towards me as might have been expected.”
“Dear sir, you have so many advantages over poor Mr. Oldbuck, that no
wonder it should put him a little out of humour; but I know he has much
respect for your person and your conversation;--nothing would give him
more pain than to be wanting in any real attention.”
“True, true, Isabella; and one must allow for the original
descent;--something of the German boorishness still flows in the blood;
something of the whiggish and perverse opposition to established rank
and privilege. You may observe that he never has any advantage of me
in dispute, unless when he avails himself of a sort of pettifogging
intimacy with dates, names, and trifling matters of fact--a tiresome and
frivolous accuracy of memory, which is entirely owing to his mechanical
descent.”