I remarked that Sandy was an extraordinary callant, and that he would
turn out a character that would be heard tell o' in the world; though
that he would ever rise in it, as some term it, or become rich in it I
did not believe. I dinna think that e'er I had to raise the tawse to
Sandy in my life. He had always his task as ready by heart as he could
count his fingers. Ye ne'er saw Sandy looking over his book, or
nodding wi' it before his face. He and his lessons were like twa
acquaintances--fond o' each other's company. I hae observed fra the
window, when the rest o' ye would hae been driving at the hand-ba',
cleeshin your peerie-taps, or endangerin' your legs wi' the
duck-stane, Sandy wad been sitting on his hunkers in the garden,
looking as earnestly on a daisy or ony bit flower, as if the twa
creatures could hae held a crack wi' ane anither, and the bonny leaves
o' the wee silent things whispered to Sandy how they got their
colours, how they peeped forth to meet the kiss o' spring, and how the
same power that created the lowly daisy called man into existence, and
fashioned the bright sun and the glorious firmament. He was ance dux
and aye dux. From the first moment he got to the head o' the class,
there he remained as immoveable as a mountain. There was nae trapping
him; for his memory was like clockwark. I canna say that he had a
great turn for mathematics; but ye will remember, as weel as me, that
he was a great Grecian; and he had screeds o' Virgil as ready aff by
heart as the twenty-third psalm. Mony a time hae I said concerning
him, in the words o' Butler--
"Latin to him's no more difficil,
Than for a blackbird 'tis to whistle."
The classics, indeed, were his particular hobby; and, though I was
proud o' Sandy, I often wished that I could direct his bent to studies
o' greater practical utility. His exercises showed that he had an
evident genius for poetry, and that o' a very high order; but his
parents were poor, and I didna see what poetry was to put in his
pocket. I therefore by no means encouraged him to follow out what I
conceived to be a profitless, though a pleasing, propensity; but, on
the contrary, when I had an opportunity o' speakin' to him by himsel,
I used to say to him--
"Alexander, ye have a happy turn for versification, and there is both
boldness and originality about your ideas--though no doubt they would
require a great deal of pruning before they could appear in a
respectable shape before the world. But you must not indulge in
verse-writing. When you do it, let it only be for an exercise, or for
amusement, when you have nothing better to do. It may make rhyme
jingle in your ears, but it will never make sterling coin jink in your
pockets. Even the immortal Homer had to sing his own verses about the
streets; and ye have heard the epigram--
'Seven cities now contend for _Homer dead_,
Through which the _living Homer_ begg'd his bread.'
Boethius, like Savage in our own days, died in a prison; Terence was a
slave, and Plautus did the work of a horse. Cervantes perished for
lack of food, on the same day that our great Shakspere died; but
Shakspere had worldly wisdom as well as heavenly genius. Camoens died
in an almshouse. The magical Spenser was a supplicant at court for
years, for a paltry pension, till hope deferred made his heart sick,
and he vented his disappointment in these words--
'I was promised, on a time,
To have reason for my rhyme:
From that time unto this season,
I received not rhyme nor reason.'
Butler asked for bread, and they gave him a stone. Dryden lived
between the hand and the mouth. Poor Otway perished through penury;
and Chatterton, the inspired boy, terminated his wretchedness with a
pennyworth of poison. But there is a more striking example than these,
Sandy. It was but the other day that our immortal countryman, Robbie
Burns--the glory o' our age--sank, at our very door, neglected and in
poverty, wi' a broken heart, into the grave. Sandy,' added I, 'never
think o' being a poet. If ye attempt it, ye will embark upon an ocean
where, for every one that reaches their desired haven, ninety-and-nine
become a wreck.'
On such occasions, Sandy used to listen most attentively, and crack to
me very auld-farrantly. Well, sir, it was just after ye went to learn
to be a doctor, that I resolved to try and do something to push him
forward mysel, as his parents were not in ability; and I had made
application to a gentleman on his behalf, to use his influence to
procure him a bursary in ane o' the universities, when Sandy's faither
died, and, puir man, left hardly as muckle behind him as would pay the
expenses o' the funeral. This was a death-blow to Sandy's prospects
and my hopes. He wasna seventeen at the time, and his widowed mother
had five bairns younger. He was the only ane in the family that she
could look up to as a bread-winner. It was about harvest; and, when
the shearing commenced, he went out wi' ithers and took his place on
the rig. As it was his first year, and he was but a learner, his wages
were but sma'; but, sma' as they were, at the end o' the season he
brought them hame, and my puir blighted scholar laddie thought himsel
a man, when he placed his earnings, to a farthing, in his mother's
hand.
I was sorry for Sandy. It pained me to see one by whom I had had so
much credit, and who, I was conscious, would make ane o' the brightest
ornaments o' the pu'pit that ever entered it, throwing his learning
and his talents awa', and doomed to be a labouring man. I lost mony a
night's sleep on his account; but I was determined to serve him if I
could, and I at last succeeded in getting him appointed tutor in a
gentleman's family o' the name o' Crompton, owre in Cumberland. He was
to teach twa bits o' laddies English and arithmetic, Latin and Greek.
He wasna out eighteen when he entered upon the duties o' his office;
and great cause had I to be proud o' my scholar, and satisfied wi' my
recommendation; for, before he had been six months in his situation, I
received a letter from the gentleman himsel, intimating his esteem for
Sandy, the great progress his sons had made under his tuition, and
expressing his gratitude to me for recommending such a tutor. He was,
in consequence, kind and generous to my auld scholar, and he doubled
his wages, and made him presents beside; so that Sandy was enabled to
assist his mother and his brethren.
But we ne'er hae a sunny day, though it be the langest day in summer,
but sooner or later, a rainy ane follows it. Now, Mr Crompton had a
daughter about a year younger than Sandy. She wasna what people would
ca' a pretty girl, for I hae seen her; but she had a sonsy face and
intelligent een. She also, forsooth, wrote sonnets to the moon, and
hymns to the rising sun. She, of a' women, was the maist likely to
bewitch puir Sandy; and she did bewitch him. A strong liking sprang up
between them. They couldna conceal their partiality for ane anither.
He was everything that was perfect in her een, and she was an angel in
his. Her name was Ann; and he had celebrated it in every measure, from
the hop-and-step line of four syllables to that o' fourteen, which
rolleth like the echoing o' the trumpet.
Now her faither, though a ceevil and a kind man, was also a shrewd,
sharp-sighted, and determined man; and he saw the flutter that had
risen up in the breasts o' his daughter and the young tutor. So he
sent for Sandy, and without seeming to be angry wi' him, or even
hinting at the cause--
"Mr Rutherford," said he, "you are aware that I am highly gratified
with the manner in which you have discharged the duties of tutor to my
boys; but I have been thinking that it will be more to their advantage
that their education, for the future, be a public one, and to-morrow I
intend sending them to a boarding-school in Yorkshire."
"To-morrow!" said Sandy, mechanically, scarce knowing what he said, or
where he stood.
"To-morrow," added Mr. Crompton; "and I have sent for you, sir, in
order to settle with you respecting your salary."
This was bringing the matter home to the business and the bosom o' the
scholar somewhat suddenly. Little as he was versed in the ways o' the
world, something like the real cause for the hasty removal o' his
pupils to Yorkshire began to dawn upon his mind. He was stricken with
dismay and with great agony, and he longed to pour out his soul upon
the gentle bosom o' Ann. But she had gone on a visit with her mother
to a friend in a different part of the country, and Mr Crompton was to
set out with his sons for Yorkshire on the following day. Then, also,
would Sandy have to return to the humble roof o' his mother. When he
retired to pack up his books and his few things, he wrung his
hands--yea, there were tears upon his cheeks--and, in the bitterness
of the spirit, he said--
"My own sweet Ann! and shall I never see thee again--never hear
thee--never hope!" And he laid his hand upon his forehead, and pressed
it there, repeating as he did so--"never! oh, never!"
I was surprised beyond measure when Sandy came back to Annan, and, wi'
a wobegone countenance, called upon me. I thought that Mr. Crompton
was not a man of the discernment and sagacity that I had given him
credit to be, and I desired Sandy not to lay it so sair to heart, for
that something else would cast up. But, in a day or two, I received a
letter from the gentleman himsel, showing me how matters stood, and
giving me to understand the _why_ and the _wherefore_.
"O the gowk!" said I, "what business had he to fa' in love, when he
had the bairns and his books to mind?"
So I determined to rally him a wee thought on the subject, in order to
bring him back to his senses; for, when a haflins laddie is labouring
under the first dizziness o' a bonnie lassie's influence, I dinna
consider that he is capable o' either seeing, feeling, hearing, or
acting wi' the common-sense discretion o' a reasonable being. It is a
pleasant heating and wandering o' the brain. Therefore, the next time
I saw him--
"Sandy," says I, "wha was't laid Troy in ashes?"
He at first started and stared at me, rather vexed like, but at last
he answered, wi' a sort o' forced laugh, "A woman."
"A woman, was it?" says I; "and wha was the cause o' Sandy Rutherford
losing his situation as tutor, and being sent back to Annan?"
"Sir!" said he, and he scowled down his eyebrows, and gied a look at
me that wad hae spained a ewe's lamb. I saw that he was too far gone,
and that his mind was in a state that it would not be safe to trifle
wi'; so I tried him no more upon the subject.
Weel, as his mother, puir woman, had enough to do, and couldna keep
him in idleness, and as there was naething for him in Annan, he went
to Edinburgh to see what would cast up, and what his talents and
education would do for him there. He had recommendations from several
gentlemen, and also from myself. But month after month passed on, and
he was like to hear of nothing. His mother was becoming extremely
unhappy on his account, and the more so because he had given up
writing, which astonished me a great deal, for I could not divine the
cause of such conduct as not to write to his own mother, to say that
he was well or what he was doing; and I was the more surprised at it,
because of the excellent opinion I had entertained of his character
and disposition. However, I think it would be about six months after
he had left, I received a letter from him; and, as that letter is of
importance in giving you an account of his history, I shall just step
along to the school for it, where I have it carefully placed in my
desk, and shall bring it and any other papers that I think may be
necessary in giving you an account of your other schoolfellows.
Thus saying, Dominie Grierson, taking up his three-cornered hat and
silver-mounted walking-stick, stalked out of the room. And, as people
generally like to have some idea of the sort of person who is telling
them a story, I shall here describe to them the appearance of Mr
Grierson. He was a fine-looking old man, about five feet nine inches
high; his age might be about threescore and fifteen, and he was a
bachelor. His hair was as white as the driven snow, yet as fresh and
as thick as though he had been but thirty. His face was pale. He could
not properly be called corpulent, but his person had an inclination
that way. His shoes were fastened with large silver buckles; he wore a
pair of the finest black lamb's-wool stockings; breeches of the same
colour, fastened at the knees by buckles similar to those in his
shoes. His coat and waistcoat were also black, and both were
exceedingly capacious; for the former, with its broad skirts, which
descended almost to his heels, would have made a greatcoat now-a-days;
and in the kingly flaps of the latter, which defended his loins, was
cloth enough and to spare to have made a modern vest. This, with the
broad-brimmed, round-crowned, three-cornered hat, already referred to,
a pair of spectacles, and the silver-mounted cane, completed the
outward appearance of Dominie Grierson, with the exception of his
cambric handkerchief, which was whiter than his own locks, and did
credit to the cleanliness of his housekeeper, and her skill as a
laundress.
In a few moments he returned, with Sandy's letter and other papers in
his hand, and, helping himself to another glass of wine, he rubbed the
glass of his spectacles with his handkerchief, and said--
"Now, doctor, here is poor Sandy's letter; listen, and ye shall hear
it."--
"_Edinburgh, June 10, 17--_
"HONOURED SIR,--I fear that, on account of my not having written to
you, you will ere now have accused me of ingratitude; and when I
tell you that, until the other day, I have not for months even
written to my mother, you may think me undutiful, as well as
ungrateful. But my own breast holds me guiltless of both. When I
arrived here, I met with nothing but disappointments, and those I
found at every hand. For many weeks I walked the streets of this
city in despair, hopeless as a fallen angel. I was hungry, and no
one gave me to eat; but they knew not that I was in want. Keen
misery held me in its grasp--ruin caressed me, and laughed at its
plaything. I will not pain you by detailing a catalogue of the
privations I endured, and which none but those who have felt and
fathomed the depths of misery can imagine. Through your letter of
recommendation, I was engaged to give private lessons to two
pupils; but the salary was small, and that was only to be paid
quarterly. While I was teaching them, I was starving, living on a
penny a day. But this was not all. I was frequently without a
lodging; and, being expelled from one for lack of the means of
paying for it, it was many days before I could venture to inquire
for another. My lodging was on a common-stair, or on the bare
sides of the Calton; and my clothes, from exposure to the weather,
became unsightly. They were no longer fitting garments for one who
gave lessons in a fashionable family. For several days I observed
the eyes of the lady of the house where I taught fixed with a most
supercilious and scrutinising expression upon my shabby and
unfortunate coat. I saw and felt that she was weighing the
shabbiness of my garments against my qualifications, and I trembled
for the consequence. In a short time my worst fears were realised;
for, one day, calling as usual, instead of being shown into a small
parlour, where I gave my lessons, the man-servant, who opened the
door, permitted me to stand in the lobby, and in two minutes
returned with two guineas upon a small silver plate, intimating, as
he held them before me, that 'the services of Mr Rutherford were no
longer required.' The sight of the two guineas took away the
bitterness and mortification of the abrupt dismissal. I pocketed
them, and engaged a lodging; and never, until that night, did I
know or feel the exquisite luxury of a deep, dreamless sleep. It
was bathing in Lethe, and rising refreshed, having no
consciousness, save the grateful feeling of the cooling waters of
forgetfulness around me. Having some weeks ago translated an old
deed, which was written in Latin, for a gentleman who is what is
called an in-door advocate, and who has an extensive practice, he
has been pleased to take me into his office, and has fixed on me a
liberal salary. He advises me to push my way to the bar, and kindly
promises his assistance. I shall follow his advice, and I despair
not but I may one day solicit the hand of the only woman I ever
have loved, or can love, from her father, as his equal. I am, sir,
yours, indebtedly,
"ALEX. RUTHERFORD."
Now, sir (continued the dominie), about three years after I had
received this letter, my old scholar was called to the bar, and a
brilliant first appearance he made. Bench, bar, and jury were lost in
wonder at the power o' his eloquence. A Demosthenes had risen up
amongst them. The half o' Edinburgh spoke o' naething but the young
advocate. But it was on the very day that he made his first appearance
as a pleader, that I received a letter from Mr. Crompton, begging to
know if I could gie him ony information respecting the old tutor o'
his family, and stating, in the language o' a broken-hearted man, that
his only daughter was then upon her death-bed, and that, before she
died, she begged she might be permitted to see and to speak with
Alexander Rutherford. I enclosed the letter, and sent it off to the
young advocate. He was sitting at a dinner-party, receiving the homage
of beauty and the congratulations of learned men, when the fatal
letter was put into his hands. He broke the seal--his hand shook as he
read--his cheeks grew pale--and large drops of sweat burst upon his
brow. He rose from the table. He scarce knew what he did. But within
half-an-hour he was posting on his way to Cumberland. He reached the
house, her parents received him with tears, and he was conducted into
the room where the dying maiden lay. She knew his voice, as he
approached.
"He is come!--he is come! He loves me still!" cried the poor thing,
endeavouring to raise herself upon her elbow.
Sandy approached the bedside--he burst into tears--he bent down, and
kissed her pale and wasted cheeks, over which death seemed already to
have cast its shadow.
"Ann! my beloved Ann!" said he; and he took her hand in his, and
pressed it to his lips; "do not leave me--we shall yet be happy!"
Her eyes brightened for a moment--in them joy struggled with death,
and the contest was unequal. From the day that he had been sent from
her father's house, she had withered away, as a tender flower that is
transplanted to an unkindly soil. She desired that they would lift her
up, and she placed her hand upon his shoulder, and, gazing anxiously
in his face, said--
"And Alexander still loves me--even in death!"
"Yes, dearest--yes!" he replied. But she had scarce heard his answer,
and returned it with a smile of happiness, when her head sank upon
his bosom, and a deep sigh escaped from hers. It was her last. Her
soul seemed only to have lingered till her eyes might look on him. She
was removed a corpse from his breast; but on that breast the weight of
death was still left. He became melancholy--his ambition died--she
seemed to have been the only object that stimulated him to pursue fame
and to seek for fortune. In intense study he sought to forget his
grief--or rather he made them companions--till his health broke under
them; and in the thirtieth year of his age died one who possessed
talents and learning that would have adorned his country, and rendered
his name immortal. Such, sir, is the brief history o' yer auld
class-fellow, Solitary Sandy.