There lived in a country not a thousand miles from Edinburgh, a decent
farmer, who, by patient industry and frugality, and without being
avaricious, had made himself easy in circumstances. He enjoyed life
without being profuse; for he tempered his enjoyments with moderation.
At the age of sixty, he still retained the bloom of health on his
cheek. He lived till that age a bachelor; but his household affairs
were regulated by a young woman, whose attentive zeal for her master's
interest made it easy for him to enjoy his home without a wife. She
was only in the character of his humble servant, but she was virtuous
and prudent. Betty allotted the tasks to the servants in the house,
performed the labor within doors, during harvest, when all the others
were engaged. She saw every thing kept in order, and regulated all
with strict regard to economy and cleanliness. She had the singular
good fortune to be at once beloved by her fellow-servants, as well as
respected and trusted by her master. Her master even consulted her in
matters where he knew she could give advice, and found it often his
interest to do so. But her modesty was such, that she never tendered
her advices gratuitously. Prudence regulated all her actions, and she
kept the most respectful distance from her master. She paid all
attention to his wants and wishes; nor could a wife or daughter have
been more attentive. When he happened to be from home, it was her
province to wait upon him when he returned, provide his refreshment,
and administer to all his wants. Then she reported to him the
occurrences of the day, and the work which had been done. It did not
escape her master's observation, however, that, though she was anxious
to relate the truth, she still strove to extenuate and hide the faults
of those who had committed misdemeanors. Her whole conduct was such,
that, for the period of fifteen years, the breath of slander dared not
to hazard a whisper against her.
It happened, however, that a certain _maiden_ lady in the neighborhood
had cast an eye upon the farmer. She was the niece of a bachelor
minister, and lived at the manse in the character of housekeeper. But,
with all opportunity to become a competitor with Betty, she could
never gain her character. Those people who want personal attractions
take strange means of paying court, and endeavoring to open the way
for themselves. What they cannot effect by treaty, they endeavor to do
by sapping. Scandal is their magazine, by which they attempt to clear
their way from all obstructions. This maiden lady made some sinister
remarks, in such a way, and in such a place, as were sure to reach the
farmer's ear. The farmer was nearly as much interested for the
character of his servant as he was for his own, and so soon as he
discovered the authoress, made her a suitable return. But he made
ample amends to Betty for the injury she had suffered, and, at the
same time, rewarded her for her services, by taking her for his wife.
By this event, the lady, whose intentions had been well understood,
and who had thought of aggrandizing herself at the expense and ruin of
poor Betty, found that she had contributed the very means to advance
her to the realization of a fortune she had never hoped for. May all
intermeddlers of the same cast have the same punishment: they are
pests to society.
Betty's success had created some speculation in the country. Though
every one agreed that Betty deserved her fortune, it was often
wondered how such a modest, unassuming girl had softened the heart of
the bachelor, who, it was thought, was rather flinty in regard to the
fair sex. Betty had an acquaintance, who was situated in nearly the
same circumstances as herself, in being at the head of a bachelor
farmer's house; but it would appear that she had formed a design of
conquering her master. If Betty used artifice, however, it was without
design. But her neighbor could not, it would appear, believe that she
had brought the matter to a bearing without some stratagem; and she
wished Betty to tell her how she had gone about "courting the old
man." There was, withal, so much native simplicity about Betty, and
the manner of relating her own courtship and marriage is so like
herself, that it would lose its _naïveté_ unless told in her own
homely Scotch way. Betty, into all, had a lisp in her speech, that is,
a defect in speech, by which the _s_ is always pronounced as _th_,
which added a still deeper shade of simplicity to her manner; but it
would be trifling to suit the orthography to that common defect. The
reader can easily suppose that he hears Betty lisping, while she is
relating her story to her attentive friend.
"Weel, Betty," says her acquaintance, "come, gi'e me a sketch, an'
tell me a' about it; for I may ha'e a chance mysel'. We dinna ken
what's afore us. We're no the waur o' ha'ein' some body to tell us the
road, whan we dinna ken a' the cruiks and thraws in't." "Deed," says
Betty, "there was little about it ava. Our maister was awa at the fair
ae day selling the lambs, and it was gey late afore he cam' hame. Our
maister verra seldom steys late, for he's a douce man as can be. Weel,
ye see, he was mair herty than I had seen him for a lang time; but I
opine he had a gude merket for his lambs, and ther's room for excuse
whan ane drives a gude bergen. Indeed, to tell even on truth, he had
rather better than a wee drap in his e'e. It was my usual to sit up
till he cam' hame, when he was awa. When he cam' in and gaed up
stairs, he fand his sipper ready for him. 'Betty,' says he, very
saft-like. 'Sir,' says I. 'Betty,' says he, 'what has been gaun on the
day--a's right, I houp?' 'Ouy, sir,' says I. 'Very weel, very weel,'
says he, in his ain canny way. He ga'e me a clap on the shouther, and
said I was a gude lassie. When I had telt him a' that had been dune
throu' the day, just as I aye did, he ga'e me another clap on the
shouther, and said he was a fortunate man to ha'e sic a carefu' person
about the house. I never had heard him say as muckle to my face
before, tho' he aften said mair ahint my back. I really thocht he was
fey. Our maister, when he had gotten his sipper finished, began to be
verra joky ways, and said that I was baith a gude and bonny lassie. I
kent that folks arna' themsels whan in drink, and they say rather mair
than they wad do if they were sober. Sae I cam' awa' doon into the
kitchen.
"Twa or three days after that, our maister cam' into the
kitchen--'Betty,' says he. 'Sir,' says I. 'Betty,' says he, 'come up
stairs; I want to speak t'ye,' says he. 'Verra weel, sir,' says I. Sae
I went up stairs after him, thinking a' the road that he was gaun to
tell me something about the feeding o' the swine, or killing the
heefer, or something like that. But whan he telt me to sit doun, I saw
there was something serious, for he never bad me sit doun afore but
ance, and that was whan he was gaun to Glasgow fair. 'Betty,' says he,
'ye ha'e been lang a servant to me,' says he, 'and a gude and honest
servant. Since ye're sae gude a servant, I aften think ye'll make a
better wife. Ha'e ye ony objection to be a wife, Betty?' says he. 'I
dinna ken, sir,' says I. 'A body canna just say hou they like a
bargain till they see the article.' 'Weel, Betty,' says he, 'ye're
very right there again. I ha'e had ye for a servant these fifteen
years, and I never knew that I could find fau't wi' ye for onything.
Ye're carefu', honest, an' attentif, an'--.' 'O, sir,' says I, 'ye
always paid me for't, and it was only my duty,' 'Weel, weel,' says he,
'Betty, that's true; but then I mean to mak' amens t'ye for the evil
speculation that Tibby Langtongue raised about you and me, and forby,
the warld are taking the same liberty: sae, to stop a' their mouths,
you and I sall be married.' 'Verra weel, sir,' says I; for what cou'd
I say?
"Our maister looks into the kitchen another day, an' says, 'Betty,'
says he. 'Sir,' says I. 'Betty,' says he, 'I am gaun to gi'e in our
names to be cried in the kirk, this and next Sabbath.' 'Verra weel,
sir,' says I.
"About eight days after this, our maister says to me, 'Betty,' says
he. 'Sir,' says I. 'I think,' says he, 'we will ha'e the marriage put
owre neist Friday, if ye ha'e nae objection.' 'Verra weel, sir,' says
I. 'And ye'll tak' the grey yad, and gang to the toun on Monday, an'
get your bits o' wedding braws. I ha'e spoken to Mr. Cheap, the
draper, and ye can tak' aff onything ye want, an' please yoursell, for
I canna get awa that day.' 'Verra weel, sir,' says I.
"Sae I gaed awa to the toun on Monday, an' bought some wee bits o'
things; but I had plenty o' claes, and I cou'dna think o' being
'stravagant. I took them to the manty-maker, to get made, and they
were sent hame on Thursday.
"On Thursday night, our maister says to me, 'Betty,' says he. 'Sir,'
says I. 'To-morrow is our wedding-day,' says he, 'an' ye maun see that
a' things are prepared for the denner,' says he, 'an' see every thing
dune yoursel,' says he, 'for I expect some company, an' I wad like to
see every thing feat and tiddy in your ain way,' says he. 'Verra weel,
sir,' says I.
"I had never ta'en a serious thought about the matter till now; and I
began to consider that I must exert mysel to please my maister and the
company. Sae I got every thing in readiness, and got every thing
clean--I cou'dna think ought was dune right except my ain hand was
in't.
"On Friday morning, our maister says to me, 'Betty,' says he. 'Sir,'
says I. 'Go away and get yoursel dressed,' says he, 'for the company
will soon be here, and ye maun be decent. An' ye maun stay in the room
up stairs,' says he, 'till ye're sent for,' says he. 'Verra weel,
sir,' says I. But there was sic a great deal to do, and sae many grand
dishes to prepare for the dinner to the company, that I could not get
awa', and the hail folk were come afore I got mysel dressed.
"Our maister cam' doun stairs, and telt me to go up that instant and
dress mysel, for the minister was just comin doun the loan. Sae I was
obliged to leave every thing to the rest of the servants, an' gang up
stain, an' pit on my claes.
"When I was wanted, Mr. Brown o' the Haaslybrae cam' and took me into
the room among a' the gran' fouk, an' the minister. I was maist like
to fent; for I never saw sae mony gran' folk together a' my born days
afore, an' I didna ken whar to look. At last, our maister took me by
the han', an' I was greatly relieved. The minister said a great deal
to us--but I canna mind it a'--and then he said a prayer. After this,
I thought I should ha'e been worried wi' folk kissing me,--mony a yin
shook hands wi' me I had never seen afore, and wished me much joy.
"After the ceremony was o'er, I slipped awa' doun into the kitchen
again amang the rest o' the servants to see if the dinner was a'
right. But in a wee time our maister cam' into the kitchen, an' says,
'Betty,' says he. 'Sir,' says I. 'Betty,' says he, 'ye must consider
that ye're no longer my servant, but my wife,' says he; 'and therefore
ye must come up stairs and sit amongst the rest of the company,' says
he. 'Verra weel, sir,' says I. Sae what could I do, but gang up stairs
to the rest of the company, an' sit doun among them? I sat there in a
corner, as weel out o' sight as I could, for they were a' speaking to
me or looking at me, an' I didna ken how to behave amang sic braw
company, or how to answer them. I sat there till it was gey late, and
our maister made me drink the company's healths, and they gaed a'
away.
"When the company were a' gaen awa', I went doun to the kitchen, and
saw that every thing was right; and after I put a candle into my
maister's bed-room, I took another, and gaed away up to my ain wee
room, in the garret. Just whan I was casting aff my shune, I hears our
maister first gang into his ain room, and then come straight awa' up
towards mine. I think I can hear him yet, for it was siccan
extraord'nar thing, and I never saw him there afore; and every stamp
o' his feet gaed thunt, thunt to my very hert. He stood at the cheek
o' the door, and said, very saftly, 'Betty,' says he. 'Sir,' says
I--'But what brought ye here, sir,' says I. 'Naething,' says he.
'Verra weel, naething be it, sir,' says I. 'But,' says he, 'remember
that ye're no longer my servant, but my wife,' says he. 'Verra weel,
sir,' says I; 'I will remember that.' 'And ye must come down stairs,'
says he. 'Verra weel, sir,' says I; for what could I do? I had always
obeyed my maister before, and it was nae time to disobey him now.
"Sae, Jean, that was a' that was about my courtship or marriage."
For the Southern Literary Messenger.