CHAPTER I

Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer

REDGAUNTLET

by Sir Walter Scott

CONTENTS.

Introduction

Text

Letters I - XIII

Chapters I - XXIII

Conclusion

Notes

Glossary

Original Transcriber’s Note: Footnotes in the printed book have been

inserted in the etext in square brackets (“[]”) close to the place where

they were referenced by a suffix in the original text. Text in italics

has been written in capital letters. There are some numbered notes at

the end of the text that are referred to by their numbers with brief

notes, also in square brackets, embedded in the text.

INTRODUCTION

The Jacobite enthusiasm of the eighteenth century, particularly during

the rebellion of 1745, afforded a theme, perhaps the finest that could

be selected for fictitious composition, founded upon real or probable

incident. This civil war and its remarkable events were remembered by

the existing generation without any degree of the bitterness of spirit

which seldom fails to attend internal dissension. The Highlanders, who

formed the principal strength of Charles Edward’s army, were an ancient

and high-spirited race, peculiar in their habits of war and of peace,

brave to romance, and exhibiting a character turning upon points more

adapted to poetry than to the prose of real life. Their prince, young,

valiant, patient of fatigue, and despising danger, heading his army

on foot in the most toilsome marches, and defeating a regular force

in three battles--all these were circumstances fascinating to the

imagination, and might well be supposed to seduce young and enthusiastic

minds to the cause in which they were found united, although wisdom and

reason frowned upon the enterprise.

The adventurous prince, as is well known, proved to be one of

those personages who distinguish themselves during some single and

extraordinarily brilliant period of their lives, like the course of a

shooting-star, at which men wonder, as well on account of the

briefness, as the brilliancy of its splendour. A long tract of darkness

overshadowed the subsequent life of a man who, in his youth, showed

himself so capable of great undertakings; and, without the painful task

of tracing his course farther, we may say the latter pursuits and habits

of this unhappy prince are those painfully evincing a broken heart,

which seeks refuge from its own thoughts in sordid enjoyments.

Still, however, it was long ere Charles Edward appeared to be, perhaps

it was long ere he altogether became, so much degraded from his original

self; as he enjoyed for a time the lustre attending the progress and

termination of his enterprise. Those who thought they discerned in his

subsequent conduct an insensibility to the distresses of his followers,

coupled with that egotistical attention to his own interests which has

been often attributed to the Stuart family, and which is the natural

effect of the principles of divine right in which they were brought up,

were now generally considered as dissatisfied and splenetic persons,

who, displeased with the issue of their adventure and finding themselves

involved in the ruins of a falling cause, indulged themselves in

undeserved reproaches against their leader. Indeed, such censures were

by no means frequent among those of his followers who, if what was

alleged had been just, had the best right to complain. Far the greater

number of those unfortunate gentlemen suffered with the most dignified

patience, and were either too proud to take notice of ill-treatment an

the part of their prince, or so prudent as to be aware their complaints

would meet with little sympathy from the world. It may be added, that

the greater part of the banished Jacobites, and those of high rank and

consequence, were not much within reach of the influence of the prince’s

character and conduct, whether well regulated or otherwise.

In the meantime that great Jacobite conspiracy, of which the

insurrection of 1745-6 was but a small part precipitated into action on

the failure of a far more general scheme, was resumed and again put into

motion by the Jacobites of England, whose force had never been broken,

as they had prudently avoided bringing it into the field. The surprising

effect which had been produced by small means, in 1745-6, animated their

hopes for more important successes, when the whole nonjuring interest

of Britain, identified as it then was with great part of the landed

gentlemen, should come forward to finish what had been gallantly

attempted by a few Highland chiefs.

It is probable, indeed, that the Jacobites of the day were incapable of

considering that the very small scale on which the effort was made, was

in one great measure the cause of its unexpected success. The remarkable

speed with which the insurgents marched, the singularly good discipline

which they preserved, the union and unanimity which for some time

animated their councils, were all in a considerable degree produced

by the smallness of their numbers. Notwithstanding the discomfiture

of Charles Edward, the nonjurors of the period long continued to nurse

unlawful schemes, and to drink treasonable toasts, until age stole upon

them. Another generation arose, who did not share the sentiments which

they cherished; and at length the sparkles of disaffection, which had

long smouldered, but had never been heated enough to burst into actual

flame, became entirely extinguished. But in proportion as the political

enthusiasm died gradually away among men of ordinary temperament, it

influenced those of warm imaginations and weak understandings, and hence

wild schemes were formed, as desperate as they were adventurous.

Thus a young Scottishman of rank is said to have stooped so low as to

plot the surprisal of St. James’s Palace, and the assassination of the

royal family. While these ill-digested and desperate conspiracies were

agitated among the few Jacobites who still adhered with more obstinacy

to their purpose, there is no question but that other plots might have

been brought to an open explosion, had it not suited the policy of Sir

Robert Walpole rather to prevent or disable the conspirators in their

projects, than to promulgate the tale of danger, which might thus have

been believed to be more widely diffused than was really the case.

In one instance alone this very prudential and humane line of conduct

was departed from, and the event seemed to confirm the policy of the

general course. Doctor Archibald Cameron, brother of the celebrated

Donald Cameron of Lochiel, attainted for the rebellion of 1745, was

found by a party of soldiers lurking with a comrade in the wilds of Loch

Katrine five or six years after the battle of Culloden, and was there

seized. There were circumstances in his case, so far as was made known

to the public, which attracted much compassion, and gave to the judicial

proceedings against him an appearance of cold-blooded revenge on the

part of government; and the following argument of a zealous Jacobite in

his favour, was received as conclusive by Dr. Johnson and other persons

who might pretend to impartiality. Dr. Cameron had never borne arms,

although engaged in the Rebellion, but used his medical skill for the

service, indifferently, of the wounded of both parties. His return to

Scotland was ascribed exclusively to family affairs. His behaviour at

the bar was decent, firm, and respectful. His wife threw herself, on

three different occasions, before George II and the members of his

family, was rudely repulsed from their presence, and at length placed,

it was said, in the same prison with her husband, and confined with

unmanly severity.

Dr. Cameron was finally executed with all the severities of the law of

treason; and his death remains in popular estimation a dark blot upon

the memory of George II, being almost publicly imputed to a mean and

personal hatred of Donald Cameron of Lochiel, the sufferer’s heroic

brother.

Yet the fact was that whether the execution of Archibald Cameron was

political or otherwise, it might certainly have been justified, had

the king’s ministers so pleased, upon reasons of a public nature. The

unfortunate sufferer had not come to the Highlands solely upon his

private affairs, as was the general belief; but it was not judged

prudent by the English ministry to let it be generally known that

he came to inquire about a considerable sum of money which had been

remitted from France to the friends of the exiled family. He had also a

commission to hold intercourse with the well-known M’Pherson of Cluny,

chief of the clan Vourich, whom the Chevalier had left behind at his

departure from Scotland in 1746, and who remained during ten years of

proscription and danger, skulking from place to place in the Highlands,

and maintaining an uninterrupted correspondence between Charles and his

friends. That Dr. Cameron should have held a commission to assist this

chief in raking together the dispersed embers of disaffection, is in

itself sufficiently natural, and, considering his political principles,

in no respect dishonourable to his memory. But neither ought it to be

imputed to George II that he suffered the laws to be enforced against

a person taken in the act of breaking them. When he lost his hazardous

game, Dr. Cameron only paid the forfeit which he must have calculated

upon. The ministers, however, thought it proper to leave Dr. Cameron’s

new schemes in concealment, lest, by divulging them, they had indicated

the channel of communication which, it is now well known, they possessed

to all the plots of Charles Edward. But it was equally ill advised and

ungenerous to sacrifice the character of the king to the policy of the

administration. Both points might have been gained by sparing the

life of Dr. Cameron after conviction, and limiting his punishment to

perpetual exile.

These repeated and successive Jacobite plots rose and burst like bubbles

on a fountain; and one of them, at least, the Chevalier judged of

importance enough to induce him to risk himself within the dangerous

precincts of the British capital. This appears from Dr. King’s ANECDOTES

OF HIS OWN TIMES.

‘September, 1750.--I received a note from my Lady Primrose, who desired

to see me immediately. As soon as I waited on her, she led me into her

dressing-room, and presented me to--’ [the Chevalier, doubtless]. ‘If

I was surprised to find him there, I was still more astonished when he

acquainted me with the motives which had induced him to hazard a journey

to England at this juncture. The impatience of his friends who were in

exile had formed a scheme which was impracticable; but although it had

been as feasible as they had represented it to him, yet no preparation

had been made, nor was anything ready to carry it into execution. He was

soon convinced that he had been deceived; and, therefore, after a stay

in London of five days only, he returned to the place from whence he

came.’ Dr. King was in 1750 a keen Jacobite, as may be inferred from the

visit made by him to the prince under such circumstances, and from his

being one of that unfortunate person’s chosen correspondents. He, as

well as other men of sense and observation, began to despair of

making their fortune in the party which they had chosen. It was indeed

sufficiently dangerous; for, during the short visit just described,

one of Dr. King’s servants remarked the stranger’s likeness to Prince

Charles, whom he recognized from the common busts.

The occasion taken for breaking up the Stuart interest we shall tell in

Dr. King’s own words:--‘When he (Charles Edward) was in Scotland, he had

a mistress whose name was Walkinshaw, and whose sister was at that time,

and is still, housekeeper at Leicester House. Some years after he was

released from his prison, and conducted out of France, he sent for

this girl, who soon acquired such a dominion over him, that she was

acquainted with all his schemes, and trusted with his most secret

correspondence. As soon as this was known in England, all those persons

of distinction who were attached to him were greatly alarmed: they

imagined that this wench had been placed in his family by the English

ministers; and, considering her sister’s situation, they seemed to have

some ground for their suspicion; wherefore, they dispatched a gentleman

to Paris, where the prince then was, who had instructions to insist that

Mrs. Walkinshaw should be removed to a convent for a certain term; but

her gallant absolutely refused to comply with this demand; and although

Mr. M’Namara, the gentleman who was sent to him, who has a natural

eloquence and an excellent understanding, urged the most cogent reasons,

and used all the arts of persuasion, to induce him to part with his

mistress, and even proceeded so far as to assure him, according to his

instructions, that an immediate interruption of all correspondence with

his most powerful friends in England, and, in short, that the ruin of

his interest, which was now daily increasing, would be the infallible

consequence of his refusal; yet he continued inflexible, and all

M’Namara’s entreaties and remonstrances were ineffectual. M’Namara

stayed in Paris some days beyond the time prescribed him, endeavouring

to reason the prince into a better temper; but finding him obstinately

persevere in his first answer, he took his leave with concern and

indignation, saying, as he passed out, “What has your family done, sir,

thus to draw down the vengeance of Heaven on every branch of it, through

so many ages?” It is worthy of remark, that in all the conferences which

M’Namara had with the prince on this occasion, the latter declared that

it was not a violent passion, or indeed any particular regard, which

attached him to Mrs. Walkinshaw and that he could see her removed from

him without any concern; but he would not receive directions, in respect

to his private conduct, from any man alive. When M’Namara returned

to London, and reported the prince’s answer to the gentlemen who had

employed him, they were astonished and confounded. However, they soon

resolved on the measures which they were to pursue for the future, and

determined no longer to serve a man who could not be persuaded to serve

himself, and chose rather to endanger the lives of his best and most

faithful friends, than part with an harlot, whom, as he often declared,

he neither loved nor esteemed.’

From this anecdote, the general truth of which is indubitable, the

principal fault of Charles Edward’s temper is sufficiently obvious. It

was a high sense of his own importance, and an obstinate adherence to

what he had once determined on--qualities which, if he had succeeded in

his bold attempt, gave the nation little room to hope that he would have

been found free from the love of prerogative and desire of arbitrary

power, which characterized his unhappy grandfather. He gave a notable

instance how far this was the leading feature of his character, when,

for no reasonable cause that can be assigned, he placed his own single

will in opposition to the necessities of France, which, in order to

purchase a peace become necessary to the kingdom, was reduced to gratify

Britain by prohibiting the residence of Charles within any part of the

French dominions. It was in vain that France endeavoured to lessen the

disgrace of this step by making the most flattering offers, in hopes

to induce the prince of himself to anticipate this disagreeable

alternative, which, if seriously enforced, as it was likely to be, he

had no means whatever of resisting, by leaving the kingdom as of his

own free will. Inspired, however, by the spirit of hereditary obstinacy,

Charles preferred a useless resistance to a dignified submission, and,

by a series of idle bravadoes, laid the French court under the necessity

of arresting their late ally, and sending him to close confinement

in the Bastille, from which he was afterwards sent out of the French

dominions, much in the manner in which a convict is transported to the

place of his destination.

In addition to these repeated instances of a rash and inflexible temper,

Dr. King also adds faults alleged to belong to the prince’s character,

of a kind less consonant with his noble birth and high pretensions.

He is said by this author to have been avaricious, or parsimonious at

least, to such a degree of meanness, as to fail, even when he had

ample means, in relieving the sufferers who had lost their fortune, and

sacrificed all in his ill-fated attempt. [The approach is thus expressed

by Dr. King, who brings the charge:--‘But the most odious part of his

character is his love of money, a vice which I do not remember to have

been imputed by our historians to any of his ancestors, and is the

certain index of a base and little mind. I know it may be urged in his

vindication, that a prince in exile ought to be an economist. And so

he ought; but, nevertheless, his purse should be always open as long as

there is anything in it, to relieve the necessities of his friends and

adherents. King Charles II, during his banishment, would have shared the

last pistole in his pocket with his little family. But I have known this

gentleman, with two thousand louis-d’ors in his strong-box, pretend he

was in great distress, and borrow money from a lady in Paris who was not

in affluent circumstances. His most faithful servants, who had closely

attended him in all his difficulties, were ill rewarded.’--King’s

MEMOIRS.] We must receive, however, with some degree of jealousy what

is said by Dr. King on this subject, recollecting that he had left at

least, if he did not desert, the standard of the unfortunate prince, and

was not therefore a person who was likely to form the fairest estimate

of his virtues and faults. We must also remember that if the exiled

prince gave little, he had but little to give, especially considering

how late he nourished the scheme of another expedition to Scotland, for

which he was long endeavouring to hoard money.

The case, also, of Charles Edward must be allowed to have been a

difficult one. He had to satisfy numerous persons, who, having lost

their all in his cause, had, with that all, seen the extinction of hopes

which they accounted nearly as good as certainties; some of these were

perhaps clamorous in their applications, and certainly ill pleased with

their want of success. Other parts of the Chevalier’s conduct may have

afforded grounds for charging him with coldness to the sufferings of his

devoted followers. One of these was a sentiment which has nothing in it

that is generous, but it was certainly a principle in which the young

prince was trained, and which may be too probably denominated peculiar

to his family, educated in all the high notions of passive obedience

and non-resistance. If the unhappy prince gave implicit faith to the

professions of statesmen holding such notions, which is implied by his

whole conduct.

REDGAUNTLET

LETTER I

DARSIE LATIMER TO ALAN FAIRFORD

DUMFRIES.

CUR ME EXANIMAS QUERELIS TUIS? In plain English, Why do you deafen me

with your croaking? The disconsolate tone in which you bade me farewell

at Noble House, [The first stage on the road from Edinburgh to Dumfries

via Moffat.] and mounted your miserable hack to return to your law

drudgery, still sounds in my ears. It seemed to say, ‘Happy dog! you can

ramble at pleasure over hill and dale, pursue every object of curiosity

that presents itself, and relinquish the chase when it loses interest;

while I, your senior and your better, must, in this brilliant season,

return to my narrow chamber and my musty books.’

Such was the import of the reflections with which you saddened our

parting bottle of claret, and thus I must needs interpret the terms of

your melancholy adieu.

And why should this be so, Alan? Why the deuce should you not be sitting

precisely opposite to me at this moment, in the same comfortable George

Inn; thy heels on the fender, and thy juridical brow expanding its

plications as a pun rose in your fancy? Above all, why, when I fill this

very glass of wine, cannot I push the bottle to you, and say, ‘Fairford,

you are chased!’ Why, I say, should not all this be, except because Alan

Fairford has not the same true sense of friendship as Darsie Latimer,

and will not regard our purses as common, as well as our sentiments?

I am alone in the world; my only guardian writes to me of a large

fortune which will be mine when I reach the age of twenty-five complete;

my present income is, thou knowest, more than sufficient for all

my wants; and yet thou--traitor as thou art to the cause of

friendship--dost deprive me of the pleasure of thy society, and

submittest, besides, to self-denial on thine own part, rather than my

wanderings should cost me a few guineas more! Is this regard for

my purse, or for thine own pride? Is it not equally absurd and

unreasonable, whichever source it springs from? For myself, I tell thee,

I have, and shall have, more than enough for both. This same methodical

Samuel Griffiths, of Ironmonger Lane, Guildhall, London, whose letter

arrives as duly as quarter-day, has sent me, as I told thee, double

allowance for this my twenty-first birthday, and an assurance, in his

brief fashion, that it will be again doubled for the succeeding years,

until I enter into possession of my own property. Still I am to refrain

from visiting England until my twenty-fifth year expires; and it is

recommended that I shall forbear all inquiries concerning my family, and

so forth, for the present.

Were it not that I recollect my poor mother in her deep widow’s weeds,

with a countenance that never smiled but when she looked on me--and

then, in such wan and woful sort, as the sun when he glances through an

April cloud,--were it not, I say, that her mild and matron-like form

and countenance forbid such a suspicion, I might think myself the son of

some Indian director, or rich citizen, who had more wealth than grace,

and a handful of hypocrisy to boot, and who was breeding up privately,

and obscurely enriching, one of whose existence he had some reason to be

ashamed. But, as I said before, I think on my mother, and am convinced

as much as of the existence of my own soul, that no touch of shame could

arise from aught in which she was implicated. Meantime, I am wealthy,

and I am alone, and why does my friend scruple to share my wealth?

Are you not my only friend? and have you not acquired a right to share

my wealth? Answer me that, Alan Fairford. When I was brought from the

solitude of my mother’s dwelling into the tumult of the Gaits’ Class at

the High School--when I was mocked for my English accent--salted with

snow as a Southern--rolled in the gutter for a Saxon pock-pudding,--who,

with stout arguments and stouter blows, stood forth my defender?--why,

Alan Fairford. Who beat me soundly when I brought the arrogance of an

only son, and of course a spoiled urchin, to the forms of the little

republic?--why, Alan. And who taught me to smoke a cobbler, pin a losen,

head a bicker, and hold the bannets?--[Break a window, head a skirmish

with stones, and hold the bonnet, or handkerchief, which used to divide

High School boys when fighting.] Alan, once more. If I became the pride

of the Yards, and the dread of the hucksters in the High School Wynd,

it was under thy patronage; and, but for thee, I had been contented with

humbly passing through the Cowgate Port, without climbing over the

top of it, and had never seen the KITTLE NINE-STEPS nearer than from

Bareford’s Parks. [A pass on the very brink of the Castle rock to the

north, by which it is just possible for a goat, or a High School boy,

to turn the corner of the building where it rises from the edge of the

precipice. This was so favourite a feat with the ‘hell and neck boys’

of the higher classes, that at one time sentinels were posted to prevent

its repetition. One of the nine-steps was rendered more secure because

the climber could take hold of the root of a nettle, so precarious were

the means of passing this celebrated spot. The manning the Cowgate Port,

especially in snowball time, was also a choice amusement, as it offered

an inaccessible station for the boys who used these missiles to the

annoyance of the passengers. The gateway is now demolished; and probably

most of its garrison lie as low as the fortress. To recollect that

the author himself, however naturally disqualified, was one of those

juvenile dreadnoughts, is a sad reflection to one who cannot now step

over a brook without assistance.]

You taught me to keep my fingers off the weak, and to clench my fist

against the strong--to carry no tales out of school--to stand forth like

a true man--obey the stern order of a PANDE MANUM, and endure my pawmies

without wincing, like one that is determined not to be the better for

them. In a word, before I knew thee, I knew nothing.

At college it was the same. When I was incorrigibly idle, your example

and encouragement roused me to mental exertion, and showed me the way

to intellectual enjoyment. You made me an historian, a metaphysician

(INVITA MINERVA)--nay, by Heaven! you had almost made an advocate of me,

as well as of yourself. Yes, rather than part with you, Alan, I attended

a weary season at the Scotch Law Class; a wearier at the Civil; and with

what excellent advantage, my notebook, filled with caricatures of the

professors and my fellow students, is it not yet extant to testify?

Thus far have I held on with thee untired;

and, to say truth, purely and solely that I might travel the same road

with thee. But it will not do, Alan. By my faith, man, I could as soon

think of being one of those ingenious traders who cheat little Master

Jackies on the outside of the partition with tops, balls, bats, and

battledores, as a member of the long-robed fraternity within, who impose

on grown country gentlemen with bouncing brocards of law. [The Hall of

the Parliament House of Edinburgh was, in former days, divided into two

unequal portions by a partition, the inner side of which was consecrated

to the use of the Courts of Justice and the gentlemen of the law; while

the outer division was occupied by the stalls of stationers, toymen, and

the like, as in a modern bazaar. From the old play of THE PLAIN DEALER,

it seems such was formerly the case with Westminster Hall. Minos has now

purified his courts in both cities from all traffic but his own.]

Now, don’t you read this to your worthy father, Alan--he loves me well

enough, I know, of a Saturday night; but he thinks me but idle company

for any other day of the week. And here, I suspect, lies your real

objection to taking a ramble with me through the southern counties in

this delicious weather. I know the good gentleman has hard thoughts

of me for being so unsettled as to leave Edinburgh before the Session

rises; perhaps, too, he quarrels a little--I will not say with my want

of ancestry, but with my want of connexions. He reckons me a lone thing

in this world, Alan, and so, in good truth, I am; and it seems a reason

to him why you should not attach yourself to me, that I can claim no

interest in the general herd.

Do not suppose I forget what I owe him, for permitting me to shelter for

four years under his roof: My obligations to him are not the less, but

the greater, if he never heartily loved me. He is angry, too, that I

will not, or cannot, be a lawyer, and, with reference to you, considers

my disinclination that way as PESSIMI EXEMPLI, as he might say.

But he need not be afraid that a lad of your steadiness will be

influenced by such a reed shaken by the winds as I am. You will go on

doubting with Dirleton, and resolving those doubts with Stewart,

[‘Sir John Nisbett of Dirleton’s DOUBTS AND QUESTIONS UPON THE LAW,

ESPECIALLLY OF SCOTLAND;’ and ‘Sir James Stewart’s DIRLETON’S DOUBTS AND

QUESTIONS ON THE LAW OF SCOTLAND RESOLVED AND ANSWERED,’ are works

of authority in Scottish jurisprudence. As is generally the case, the

doubts are held more in respect than the solution.] until the cramp

speech [Till of late years, every advocate who catered at the Scottish

bar made a Latin address to the Court, faculty, and audience, in set

terms, and said a few words upon a text of the civil law, to show his

Latinity and jurisprudence. He also wore his hat for a minute, in order

to vindicate his right of being covered before the Court, which is said

to have originated from the celebrated lawyer, Sir Thomas Hope, having

two sons on the bench while he himself remained at the bar. Of late this

ceremony has been dispensed with, as occupying the time of the Court

unnecessarily. The entrant lawyer merely takes the oaths to government,

and swears to maintain the rules and privileges of his order.] has

been spoken more SOLITO from the corner of the bench, and with covered

head--until you have sworn to defend the liberties and privileges of the

College of Justice--until the black gown is hung on your shoulders, and

you are free as any of the Faculty to sue or defend. Then will I step

forth, Alan, and in a character which even your father will allow may be

more useful to you than had I shared this splendid termination of your

legal studies. In a word, if I cannot be a counsel, I am determined to

be a CLIENT, a sort of person without whom a lawsuit would be as dull

as a supposed case. Yes, I am determined to give you your first fee. One

can easily, I am assured, get into a lawsuit--it is only the getting out

which is sometimes found troublesome;--and, with your kind father for

an agent, and you for my counsel learned in the law, and the worshipful

Master Samuel Griffiths to back me, a few sessions shall not tire my

patience. In short, I will make my way into court, even if it should

cost me the committing a DELICT, or at least a QUASI DELICT.--You see

all is not lost of what Erskine wrote, and Wallace taught.

Thus far I have fooled it off well enough; and yet, Alan, all is not

at ease within me. I am affected with a sense of loneliness, the more

depressing, that it seems to me to be a solitude peculiarly my own. In a

country where all the world have a circle of consanguinity, extending to

sixth cousins at least, I am a solitary individual, having only one kind

heart to throb in unison with my own. If I were condemned to labour

for my bread, methinks I should less regard this peculiar species of

deprivation, The necessary communication of master and servant would be

at least a tie which would attach me to the rest of my kind--as it is,

my very independence seems to enhance the peculiarity of my situation.

I am in the world as a stranger in the crowded coffeehouse, where he

enters, calls for what refreshment he wants, pays his bill, and is

forgotten so soon as the waiter’s mouth has pronounced his ‘Thank ye,

sir.’

I know your good father would term this SINNING MY MERCIES, [A

peculiar Scottish phrase expressive of ingratitude for the favours of

Providence.] and ask how I should feel if, instead of being able to

throw down my reckoning, I were obliged to deprecate the resentment of

the landlord for consuming that which I could not pay for. I cannot tell

how it is; but, though this very reasonable reflection comes across me,

and though I do confess that four hundred a year in possession, eight

hundred in near prospect, and the L--d knows how many hundreds more in

the distance, are very pretty and comfortable things, yet I would freely

give one half of them to call your father father, though he should

scold me for my idleness every hour of the day, and to call you brother,

though a brother whose merits would throw my own so completely into the

shade.

The faint, yet not improbable, belief has often come across me, that

your father knows something more about my birth and condition than he

is willing to communicate; it is so unlikely that I should be left in

Edinburgh at six years old, without any other recommendation than

the regular payment of my board to old M--, [Probably Mathieson,

the predecessor of Dr. Adams, to whose memory the author and his

contemporaries owe a deep debt of gratitude.] of the High School.

Before that time, as I have often told you, I have but a recollection

of unbounded indulgence on my mother’s part, and the most tyrannical

exertion of caprice on my own. I remember still how bitterly she

sighed, how vainly she strove to soothe me, while, in the full energy

of despotism, I roared like ten bull-calves, for something which it was

impossible to procure for me. She is dead, that kind, that ill-rewarded

mother! I remember the long faces--the darkened rooms--the black

hangings--the mysterious impression made upon my mind by the hearse and

mourning coaches, and the difficulty which I had to reconcile all this

to the disappearance of my mother. I do not think I had before this

event formed, any idea, of death, or that I had even heard of that final

consummation of all that lives. The first acquaintance which I formed

with it deprived me of my only relation.

A clergyman of venerable appearance, our only visitor, was my guide

and companion in a journey of considerable length; and in the charge of

another elderly man, substituted in his place, I know not how or why, I

completed my journey to Scotland--and this is all I recollect.

I repeat the little history now, as I have a hundred times before,

merely because I would wring some sense out of it. Turn, then, thy

sharp, wire-drawing, lawyer-like ingenuity to the same task--make up my

history as though thou wert shaping the blundering allegations of some

blue-bonneted, hard-headed client, into a condescendence of facts

and circumstances, and thou shalt be, not my Apollo--QUID TIBI CUM

LYRA?--but my Lord Stair, [Celebrated as a Scottish lawyer.] Meanwhile,

I have written myself out of my melancholy and blue devils, merely by

prosing about them; so I will now converse half an hour with Roan Robin

in his stall--the rascal knows me already, and snickers whenever I cross

the threshold of the stable.

The black which you bestrode yesterday morning promises to be an

admirable roadster, and ambled as easily with Sam and the portmanteau,

as with you and your load of law-learning. Sam promises to be steady,

and has hitherto been so. No long trial, you will say. He lays the

blame of former inaccuracies on evil company--the people who were at the

livery-stable were too seductive, I suppose--he denies he ever did the

horse injustice--would rather have wanted his own dinner, he says.

In this I believe him, as Roan Robin’s ribs and coat show no marks of

contradiction. However, as he will meet with no saints in the inns we

frequent, and as oats are sometimes as speedily converted into ale

as John Barleycorn himself, I shall keep a look-out after Master Sam.

Stupid fellow! had he not abused my good nature, I might have chatted

to him to keep my tongue in exercise; whereas now I must keep him at a

distance.

Do you remember what Mr. Fairford said to me on this subject--it did not

become my father’s son to speak in that manner to Sam’s father’s son?

I asked you what your father could possibly know of mine; and you

answered, ‘As much, you supposed, as he knew of Sam’s--it was a

proverbial expression.’ This did not quite satisfy me; though I am sure

I cannot tell why it should not. But I am returning to a fruitless

and exhausted subject. Do not be afraid that I shall come back on

this well-trodden yet pathless field of conjecture. I know nothing so

useless, so utterly feeble and contemptible, as the groaning forth one’s

lamentations into the ears of our friends.

I would fain promise you that my letters shall be as entertaining as

I am determined they shall be regular and well filled. We have an

advantage over the dear friends of old, every pair of them.

Neither David and Jonathan, nor Orestes and Pylades, nor Damon and

Pythias--although, in the latter case particularly, a letter by post

would have been very acceptable--ever corresponded together; for they

probably could not write, and certainly had neither post nor franks to

speed their effusions to each other; whereas yours, which you had from

the old peer, being handled gently, and opened with precaution, may be

returned to me again, and serve to make us free of his Majesty’s post

office, during the whole time of my proposed tour. [It is well known

and remembered, that when Members of Parliament enjoyed the unlimited

privilege of franking by the mere writing the name on the cover, it was

extended to the most extraordinary occasions. One noble lord, to express

his regard for a particular regiment, franked a letter for every rank

and file. It was customary also to save the covers and return them,

in order that the correspondence might be carried on as long as the

envelopes could hold together.] Mercy upon us, Alan! what letters I

shall have to send to you, with an account of all that I can collect, of

pleasant or rare, in this wild-goose jaunt of mine! All I stipulate is

that you do not communicate them to the SCOTS MAGAZINE; for though you

used, in a left-handed way, to compliment me on my attainments in the

lighter branches of literature, at the expense of my deficiency in the

weightier matters of the law, I am not yet audacious enough to enter the

portal which the learned Ruddiman so kindly opened for the acolytes of

the Muses.--VALE SIS MEMOR MEI. D. L.

PS. Direct to the Post Office here. I shall leave orders to forward your

letters wherever I may travel.

LETTER II

ALAN FAIRFORD TO DARSIE LATIMER

NEGATUR, my dear Darsie--you have logic and law enough to understand the

word of denial. I deny your conclusion. The premises I admit, namely,

that when I mounted on that infernal hack, I might utter what seemed

a sigh, although I deemed it lost amid the puffs and groans of the

broken-winded brute, matchless in the complication of her complaints by

any save she, the poor man’s mare, renowned in song, that died

A mile aboon Dundee.

[Alluding, as all Scotsmen know, to the humorous old song:--

‘The auld man’s mare’s dead,

The puir man’s mare’s dead,

The auld man’s mare’s dead,

A mile aboon Dundee.’]

But credit me, Darsie, the sigh which escaped me, concerned thee more

than myself, and regarded neither the superior mettle of your cavalry,

nor your greater command of the means of travelling. I could certainly

have cheerfully ridden with you for a few days; and assure yourself I

would not have hesitated to tax your better filled purse for our joint

expenses. But you know my father considers every moment taken from the

law as a step down hill; and I owe much to his anxiety on my account,

although its effects are sometimes troublesome. For example:

I found, on my arrival at the shop in Brown’s Square, that the old

gentleman had returned that very evening, impatient, it seems, of

remaining a night out of the guardianship of the domestic Lares. Having

this information from James, whose brow wore rather an anxious look on

the occasion, I dispatched a Highland chairman to the livery stable with

my Bucephalus, and slunk, with as little noise as might be, into my own

den, where I began to mumble certain half-gnawed and not half-digested

doctrines of our municipal code. I was not long seated, when my father’s

visage was thrust, in a peering sort of way, through the half-opened

door; and withdrawn, on seeing my occupation, with a half-articulated

HUMPH! which seemed to convey a doubt of the seriousness of my

application. If it were so, I cannot condemn him; for recollection of

thee occupied me so entirely during an hour’s reading, that although

Stair lay before me, and notwithstanding that I turned over three or

four pages, the sense of his lordship’s clear and perspicuous style

so far escaped me, that I had the mortification to find my labour was

utterly in vain.

Ere I had brought up my lee-way, James appeared with his summons to our

frugal supper--radishes, cheese, and a bottle of the old ale-only two

plates though--and no chair set for Mr. Darsie, by the attentive James

Wilkinson. Said James, with his long face, lank hair, and very long

pig-tail in its leathern strap, was placed, as usual, at the back of

my father’s chair, upright as a wooden sentinel at the door of a

puppet-show. ‘You may go down, James,’ said my father; and exit

Wilkinson.--What is to come next? thought I; for the weather is not

clear on the paternal brow.

My boots encountered his first glance of displeasure, and he asked me,

with a sneer, which way I had been riding. He expected me to answer,

‘Nowhere,’ and would then have been at me with his usual sarcasm,

touching the humour of walking in shoes at twenty shillings a pair. But

I answered with composure, that I had ridden out to dinner as far as

Noble House. He started (you know his way) as if I had said that I

had dined at Jericho; and as I did not choose to seem to observe his

surprise, but continued munching my radishes in tranquillity, he broke

forth in ire.

‘To Noble House, sir! and what had you to do at Noble House, sir? Do

you remember you are studying law, sir?--that your Scots law trials are

coming on, sir?--that every moment of your time just now is worth hours

at another time?--and have you leisure to go to Noble House, sir?--and

to throw your books behind you for so many hours?--Had it been a turn in

the meadows, or even a game at golf--but Noble House, sir!’

‘I went so far with Darsie Latimer, sir, to see him begin his journey.’

‘Darsie Latimer?’ he replied in a softened tone--‘Humph!--Well, I do not

blame you for being kind to Darsie Latimer; but it would have done as

much good if you had walked with him as far as the toll-bar, and then

made your farewells--it would have saved horse-hire--and your reckoning,

too, at dinner.’

‘Latimer paid that, sir,’ I replied, thinking to soften the matter; but

I had much better have left it unspoken.

‘The reckoning, sir!’ replied my father. ‘And did you sponge upon any

man for a reckoning? Sir, no man should enter the door of a public-house

without paying his lawing.’

‘I admit the general rule, sir,’ I replied; ‘but this was a parting-cup

between Darsie and me; and I should conceive it fell under the exception

of DOCH AN DORROCH.’

‘You think yourself a wit,’ said my father, with as near an approach to

a smile as ever he permits to gild the solemnity of his features; ‘but

I reckon you did not eat your dinner standing, like the Jews at their

Passover? and it was decided in a case before the town-bailies of

Cupar-Angus, when Luckie Simpson’s cow had drunk up Luckie Jamieson’s

browst of ale while it stood in the door to cool, that there was no

damage to pay, because the crummie drank without sitting down; such

being the very circumstance constituting DOCH AN DORROCH, which is a

standing drink, for which no reckoning is paid. Ha, sir! what says your

advocateship (FIERI) to that? EXEPTIO FIRMAT REGULAM--But come, fill

your glass, Alan; I am not sorry ye have shown this attention to Darsie

Latimer, who is a good lad, as times go; and having now lived under my

roof since he left the school, why, there is really no great matter in

coming under this small obligation to him.’

As I saw my father’s scruples were much softened by the consciousness of

his superiority in the legal argument, I took care to accept my pardon

as a matter of grace, rather than of justice; and only replied, we

should feel ourselves duller of an evening, now that you were absent. I

will give you my father’s exact words in reply, Darsie. You know him so

well, that they will not offend you; and you are also aware, that there

mingles with the good man’s preciseness and formality, a fund of shrewd

observation and practical good sense.

‘It is very true,’ he said; ‘Darsie was a pleasant companion-but over

waggish, over waggish, Alan, and somewhat scatter-brained.--By the way,

Wilkinson must get our ale bottled in English pints now, for a quart

bottle is too much, night after night, for you and me, without his

assistance.--But Darsie, as I was saying, is an arch lad, and somewhat

light in the upper story--I wish him well through the world; but he has

little solidity, Alan, little solidity.’

I scorn to desert an absent friend, Darsie, so I said for you a little

more than my conscience warranted: but your defection from your legal

studies had driven you far to leeward in my father’s good opinion.

‘Unstable as water, he shall not excel,’ said my father; ‘or, as the

Septuagint hath it, EFUSA EST SICUT AQUA--NON CRESCAT. He goeth to

dancing-houses, and readeth novels--SAT EST.’

I endeavoured to parry these texts by observing, that the dancing-houses

amounted only to one night at La Pique’s ball--the novels (so far as

matter of notoriety, Darsie) to an odd volume of TOM JONES.

‘But he danced from night to morning,’ replied my father, ‘and he read

the idle trash, which the author should have been scourged for, at least

twenty times over. It was never out of his hand.’

I then hinted, that in all probability your fortune was now so easy as

to dispense with your prosecuting the law any further than you had done;

and therefore you might think you had some title to amuse yourself. This

was the least palatable argument of all.

‘If he cannot amuse himself with the law,’ said my father, snappishly

‘it is the worse for him. If he needs not law to teach him to make a

fortune, I am sure he needs it to teach him how to keep one; and it

would better become him to be learning this, than to be scouring the

country like a land-louper, going he knows not where, to see he knows

not what, and giving treats at Noble House to fools like himself’ (an

angry glance at poor me), ‘Noble House, indeed!’ he repeated, with

elevated voice and sneering tone, as if there were something offensive

to him in the name, though I will venture to say that any place in which

you had been extravagant enough to spend five shillings, would have

stood as deep in his reprobation.

Mindful of your idea, that my father knows more of your real situation

than he thinks proper to mention, I thought I would hazard a fishing

observation. ‘I did not see,’ I said, ‘how the Scottish law would be

useful to a young gentleman whose fortune would seem to be vested in

England.’--I really thought my father would have beat me.

‘D’ye mean to come round me, sir, PER AMBAGES, as Counsellor Pest says?

What is it to you where Darsie Latimer’s fortune is vested, or whether

he hath any fortune, aye or no? And what ill would the Scottish law do

to him, though he had as much of it as either Stair or Bankton, sir? Is

not the foundation of our municipal law the ancient code of the Roman

Empire, devised at a time when it was so much renowned for its civil

polity, sir, and wisdom? Go to your bed, sir, after your expedition to

Noble House, and see that your lamp be burning and your book before you

ere the sun peeps. ARS LONGA, VITA BREVIS--were it not a sin to call the

divine science of the law by the inferior name of art.’

So my lamp did burn, dear Darsie, the next morning, though the owner

took the risk of a domiciliary visitation, and lay snug in bed, trusting

its glimmer might, without further inquiry, be received as sufficient

evidence of his vigilance. And now, upon this the third morning after

your departure, things are but little better; for though the lamp burns

in my den, and VOET ON THE PANDECTS hath his wisdom spread open before

me, yet as I only use him as a reading-desk on which to scribble this

sheet of nonsense to Darsie Latimer, it is probable the vicinity will be

of little furtherance to my studies.

And now, methinks, I hear thee call me an affected hypocritical varlet,

who, living under such a system of distrust and restraint as my father

chooses to govern by, nevertheless pretends not to envy you your freedom

and independence.

Latimer, I will tell you no lies. I wish my father would allow me a

little more exercise of my free will, were it but that I might feel the

pleasure of doing what would please him of my own accord. A little more

spare time, and a little more money to enjoy it, would, besides, neither

misbecome my age nor my condition; and it is, I own, provoking to see so

many in the same situation winging the air at freedom, while I sit here,

caged up like a cobbler’s linnet, to chant the same unvaried lesson

from sunrise to sunset, not to mention the listening to so many lectures

against idleness, as if I enjoyed or was making use of the means of

amusement! But then I cannot at heart blame either the motive or the

object of this severity. For the motive, it is and can only be my

father’s anxious, devoted, and unremitting affection and zeal for my

improvement, with a laudable sense of the honour of the profession to

which he has trained me.

As we have no near relations, the tie betwixt us is of even unusual

closeness, though in itself one of the strongest which nature can form.

I am, and have all along been, the exclusive object of my father’s

anxious hopes, and his still more anxious and engrossing fears; so what

title have I to complain, although now and then these fears and hopes

lead him to take a troublesome and incessant charge of all my motions?

Besides, I ought to recollect, and, Darsie, I do recollect, that my

father upon various occasions, has shown that he can be indulgent as

well as strict. The leaving his old apartments in the Luckenbooths was

to him like divorcing the soul from the body; yet Dr. R---- did but

hint that the better air of this new district was more favourable to

my health, as I was then suffering under the penalties of too rapid a

growth, when he exchanged his old and beloved quarters, adjacent to the

very Heart of Midlothian, for one of those new tenements (entire within

themselves) which modern taste has so lately introduced. Instance also

the inestimable favour which he conferred on me by receiving you into

his house, when you had only the unpleasant alternative of remaining,

though a grown-up lad, in the society of mere boys. [The diminutive and

obscure place called Brown’s Square, was hailed about the time of its

erection as an extremely elegant improvement upon the style of designing

and erecting Edinburgh residences. Each house was, in the phrase used

by appraisers, ‘finished within itself,’ or, in the still newer

phraseology, ‘self-contained.’ It was built about the year 1763-4; and

the old part of the city being near and accessible, this square soon

received many inhabitants, who ventured to remove to so moderate a

distance from the High Street.] This was a thing so contrary to all my

father’s ideas of seclusion, of economy, and of the safety to my morals

and industry, which he wished to attain, by preserving me from the

society of other young people, that, upon my word, I am always rather

astonished how I should have had the impudence to make the request, than

that he should have complied with it.

Then for the object of his solicitude--Do not laugh, or hold up your

hands, my good Darsie; but upon my word I like the profession to which

I am in the course of being educated, and am serious in prosecuting the

preliminary studies. The law is my vocation--in an especial, and, I

may say, in an hereditary way, my vocation; for although I have not the

honour to belong to any of the great families who form in Scotland, as

in France, the noblesse of the robe, and with us, at least, carry their

heads as high, or rather higher, than the noblesse of the sword,--for

the former consist more frequently of the ‘first-born of Egypt,’--yet

my grandfather, who, I dare say, was a most excellent person, had the

honour to sign a bitter protest against the Union, in the respectable

character of town-clerk to the ancient Borough of Birlthegroat; and

there is some reason--shall I say to hope, or to suspect?--that he may

have been a natural son of a first cousin of the then Fairford of that

Ilk, who had been long numbered among the minor barons. Now my father

mounted a step higher on the ladder of legal promotion, being, as you

know as well as I do, an eminent and respected Writer to his Majesty’s

Signet; and I myself am destined to mount a round higher still, and wear

the honoured robe which is sometimes supposed, like Charity, to cover

a multitude of sins. I have, therefore, no choice but to climb upwards;

since we have mounted thus high, or else to fall down at the imminent

risk of my neck. So that I reconcile myself to my destiny; and while

you, are looking from mountain peaks, at distant lakes and firths, I am,

DE APICIBUS JURIS, consoling myself with visions of crimson and scarlet

gowns--with the appendages of handsome cowls, well lined with salary.

You smile, Darsie, MORE TUO, and seem to say it is little worth while to

cozen one’s self with such vulgar dreams; yours being, on the contrary,

of a high and heroic character, bearing the same resemblance to mine,

that a bench, covered with purple cloth and plentifully loaded with

session papers, does to some Gothic throne, rough with barbaric pearl

and gold. But what would you have?--SUA QUEMQUE TRAHIT VOLUPTAS. And my

visions of preferment, though they may be as unsubstantial at present,

are nevertheless more capable of being realized, than your aspirations

after the Lord knows what. What says my father’s proverb? ‘Look to a

gown of gold, and you will at least get a sleeve of it.’ Such is my

pursuit; but what dost thou look to? The chance that the mystery, as

you call it, which at present overclouds your birth and connexions, will

clear up into something inexpressibly and inconceivably brilliant;

and this without any effort or exertion of your own, but purely by the

goodwill of Fortune. I know the pride and naughtiness of thy heart, and

sincerely do I wish that thou hadst more beatings to thank me for, than

those which thou dost acknowledge so gratefully. Then had I thumped

these Quixotical expectations out of thee, and thou hadst not, as

now, conceived thyself to be the hero of some romantic history, and

converted, in thy vain imaginations, honest Griffiths, citizen and

broker, who never bestows more than the needful upon his quarterly

epistles, into some wise Alexander or sage Alquife, the mystical and

magical protector of thy peerless destiny. But I know not how it was,

thy skull got harder, I think, and my knuckles became softer; not to

mention that at length thou didst begin to show about thee a spark of

something dangerous, which I was bound to respect at least, if I did not

fear it.

And while I speak of this, it is not much amiss to advise thee to

correct a little this cock-a-hoop courage of thine. I fear much that,

like a hot-mettled horse, it will carry the owner into some scrape, out

of which he will find it difficult to extricate himself, especially if

the daring spirit which bore thee thither should chance to fail thee

at a pinch. Remember, Darsie, thou art not naturally courageous; on

the contrary, we have long since agreed that, quiet as I am, I have the

advantage in this important particular. My courage consists, I think,

in strength of nerves and constitutional indifference to danger; which,

though it never pushes me on adventure, secures me in full use of

my recollection, and tolerably complete self-possession, when danger

actually arrives. Now, thine seems more what may be called intellectual

courage; highness of spirit, and desire of distinction; impulses which

render thee alive to the love of fame, and deaf to the apprehension of

danger, until it forces itself suddenly upon thee. I own that, whether

it is from my having caught my father’s apprehensions, or that I have

reason to entertain doubts of my own, I often think that this wildfire

chase of romantic situation and adventure may lead thee into some

mischief; and then what would become of Alan Fairford? They might make

whom they pleased Lord Advocate or Solicitor-General, I should never

have the heart to strive for it. All my exertions are intended to

Vindicate myself one day in your eyes; and I think I should not care

a farthing for the embroidered silk gown, more than for an old woman’s

apron, unless I had hopes that thou shouldst be walking the boards to

admire, and perhaps to envy me.

That this may be the case, I prithee--beware! See not a Dulcinea, in

every slipshod girl, who, with blue eyes, fair hair, a tattered plaid,

and a willow-wand in her grip, drives out the village cows to the

loaning. Do not think you will meet a gallant Valentine in every English

rider, or an Orson in every Highland drover. View things as they are,

and not as they may be magnified through thy teeming fancy. I have seen

thee look at an old gravel pit, till thou madest out capes, and bays,

and inlets, crags and precipices, and the whole stupendous scenery of

the Isle of Feroe, in what was, to all ordinary eyes, a mere horse-pond.

Besides, did I not once find thee gazing with respect at a lizard, in

the attitude of one who looks upon a crocodile? Now this is, doubtless,

so far a harmless exercise of your imagination; for the puddle cannot

drown you, nor the Lilliputian alligator eat you up. But it is different

in society, where you cannot mistake the character of those you converse

with, or suffer your fancy to exaggerate their qualities, good or bad,

without exposing yourself not only to ridicule, but to great and serious

inconveniences. Keep guard, therefore, on your imagination, my dear

Darsie; and let your old friend assure you, it is the point of your

character most pregnant with peril to its good and generous owner.

Adieu! let not the franks of the worthy peer remain unemployed; above

all, SIS MEMOR MEI. A. F.

LETTER III

DARSIE LATIMER TO ALAN FAIRFORD

SHEPHERD’S BUSH.

I have received thine absurd and most conceited epistle. It is well

for thee that, Lovelace and Belford-like, we came under a convention

to pardon every species of liberty which we may take with each other;

since, upon my word, there are some reflections in your last which would

otherwise have obliged me to return forthwith to Edinburgh, merely to

show you I was not what you took me for.

Why, what a pair of prigs hast thou made of us! I plunging into scrapes,

without having courage to get out of them--thy sagacious self, afraid

to put one foot before the other, lest it should run away from its

companion; and so standing still like a post, out of mere faintness

and coldness of heart, while all the world were driving full speed past

thee. Thou a portrait-painter! I tell thee, Alan, I have seen a better

seated on the fourth round of a ladder, and painting a bare-breeched

Highlander, holding a pint-stoup as big as himself, and a booted

Lowlander, in a bobwig, supporting a glass of like dimensions; the whole

being designed to represent the sign of the Salutation.

How hadst thou the heart to represent thine own individual self, with

all thy motions, like those of a great Dutch doll, depending on the

pressure of certain springs, as duty, reflection, and the like; without

the impulse of which, thou wouldst doubtless have me believe thou

wouldst not budge an inch! But have I not seen Gravity out of his bed at

midnight? and must I, in plain terms, remind thee of certain mad pranks?

Thou hadst ever, with the gravest sentiments in thy mouth and the most

starched reserve in thy manner, a kind of lumbering proclivity towards

mischief, although with more inclination to set it a-going than address

to carry it through; and I cannot but chuckle internally, when I think

of having seen my most venerable monitor, the future president of some

high Scottish court, puffing, blowing, and floundering, like a clumsy

cart-horse in a bog where his efforts to extricate himself only plunged

him deeper at every awkward struggle, till some one--I myself, for

example--took compassion on the moaning monster, and dragged him out by

mane and tail.

As for me, my portrait is, if possible, even more scandalously

caricatured, I fail or quail in spirit at the upcome! Where canst thou

show me the least symptom of the recreant temper, with which thou hast

invested me (as I trust) merely to set off the solid and impassible

dignity of thine own stupid indifference? If you ever saw me tremble, be

assured that my flesh, like that of the old Spanish general, only quaked

at the dangers into which my spirit was about to lead it. Seriously,

Alan, this imputed poverty of spirit is a shabby charge to bring against

your friend. I have examined myself as closely as I can, being, in very

truth, a little hurt at your having such hard thoughts of me, and on

my life I can see no reason for them. I allow you have, perhaps, some

advantage of me in the steadiness and indifference of your temper; but I

should despise myself, if I were conscious of the deficiency in courage

which you seem willing enough to impute to me. However, I suppose, this

ungracious hint proceeds from sincere anxiety for my safety; and so

viewing it, I swallow it as I would do medicine from a friendly doctor,

although I believed in my heart he had mistaken my complaint.

This offensive insinuation disposed of, I thank thee, Alan, for the rest

of thy epistle. I thought I heard your good father pronouncing the word

Noble House, with a mixture of contempt and displeasure, as if the very

name of the poor little hamlet were odious to him, or as if you had

selected, out of all Scotland, the very place at which you had no call

to dine. But if he had had any particular aversion to that blameless

village and very sorry inn, is it not his own fault that I did not

accept the invitation of the Laird of Glengallacher, to shoot a buck

in what he emphatically calls ‘his country’? Truth is, I had a strong

desire to have complied with his lairdship’s invitation. To shoot a

buck! Think how magnificent an idea to one who never shot anything but

hedge-sparrows, and that with a horse-pistol purchased at a broker’s

stand in the Cowgate! You, who stand upon your courage, may remember

that I took the risk of firing the said pistol for the first time, while

you stood at twenty yards’ distance; and that, when you were persuaded

it would go off without bursting, forgetting all law but that of the

biggest and strongest, you possessed yourself of it exclusively for the

rest of the holidays. Such a day’s sport was no complete introduction to

the noble art of deer-stalking, as it is practised in the Highlands; but

I should not have scrupled to accept honest Glengallacher’s invitation,

at the risk of firing a rifle for the first time, had it not been for

the outcry which your father made at my proposal, in the full ardour of

his zeal for King George, the Hanover succession, and the Presbyterian

faith. I wish I had stood out, since I have gained so little upon

his good opinion by submission. All his impressions concerning the

Highlanders are taken from the recollections of the Forty-five, when he

retreated from the West Port with his brother volunteers, each to

the fortalice of his own separate dwelling, so soon as they heard the

Adventurer was arrived with his clans as near them as Kirkliston. The

flight of Falkirk--PARMA NON BENE SELECTA--in which I think your sire

had his share with the undaunted western regiment, does not seem to have

improved his taste for the company of the Highlanders; (quaere,

Alan, dost thou derive the courage thou makest such boast of from an

hereditary source?) and stories of Rob Roy Macgregor, and Sergeant Alan

Mhor Cameron, have served to paint them in still more sable colours to

his imagination. [Of Rob Roy we have had more than enough. Alan Cameron,

commonly called Sergeant Mhor, a freebooter of the same period, was

equally remarkable for strength, courage, and generosity.]

Now, from all I can understand, these ideas, as applied to the present

state of the country, are absolutely chimerical. The Pretender is

no more remembered in the Highlands than if the poor gentleman were

gathered to his hundred and eight fathers, whose portraits adorn the

ancient walls of Holyrood; the broadswords have passed into other hands;

the targets are used to cover the butter churns; and the race has sunk,

or is fast sinking, from ruffling bullies into tame cheaters. Indeed, it

was partly my conviction that there is little to be seen in the north,

which, arriving at your father’s conclusions, though from different

premisses, inclined my course in this direction, where perhaps I shall

see as little.

One thing, however, I HAVE seen; and it was with pleasure the more

indescribable, that I was debarred from treading the land which my eyes

were permitted to gaze upon, like those of the dying prophet from top

of Mount Pisgah,--I have seen, in a word, the fruitful shores of merry

England; merry England! of which I boast myself a native, and on which

I gaze, even while raging floods and unstable quicksands divide us, with

the filial affection of a dutiful son.

Thou canst not have forgotten, Alan--for when didst thou ever forget

what was interesting to thy friend?--that the same letter from my friend

Griffiths, which doubled my income, and placed my motions at my own

free disposal, contained a prohibitory clause, by which, reason none

assigned, I was prohibited, as I respected my present safety and

future fortunes, from visiting England; every other part of the British

dominions, and a tour, if I pleased, on the Continent, being left to my

own choice.--Where is the tale, Alan, of a covered dish in the midst

of a royal banquet, upon which the eyes of every guest were immediately

fixed, neglecting all the dainties with which the table was loaded? This

cause of banishment from England--from my native country--from the land

of the brave, and the wise, and the free--affects me more than I am

rejoiced by the freedom and independence assigned to me in all other

respects. Thus, in seeking this extreme boundary of the country which

I am forbidden to tread, I resemble the poor tethered horse, which, you

may have observed, is always grazing on the very verge of the circle to

which it is limited by its halter.

Do not accuse me of romance for obeying this impulse towards the South;

nor suppose that, to satisfy the imaginary longing of an idle curiosity,

I am in any danger of risking the solid comforts of my present

condition. Whoever has hitherto taken charge of my motions has shown me,

by convincing proofs more weighty than the assurances which they have

witheld, that my real advantage is their principal object. I should be,

therefore, worse than a fool did I object to their authority, even when

it seems somewhat capriciously exercised; for assuredly, at my age, I

might--intrusted as I am with the care and management of myself in every

other particular--expect that the cause of excluding me from England

should be frankly and fairly stated for my own consideration and

guidance. However, I will not grumble about the matter. I shall know the

whole story one day, I suppose; and perhaps, as you sometimes surmise, I

shall not find there is any mighty matter in it after all.

Yet one cannot help wondering--but plague on it, if I wonder any

longer, my letter will be as full of wonders as one of Katterfelto’s

advertisements. I have a month’s mind, instead of this damnable

iteration of guesses and forebodings, to give thee the history of a

little adventure which befell me yesterday; though I am sure you will,

as usual, turn the opposite side of the spyglass on my poor narrative,

and reduce, MORE TUO, to the most petty trivialities, the circumstance

to which thou accusest me of giving undue consequence. Hang thee, Alan,

thou art as unfit a confidant for a youthful gallant with some spice

of imagination, as the old taciturn secretary of Facardin of Trebizond.

Nevertheless, we must each perform our separate destinies. I am doomed

to see, act, and tell; thou, like a Dutchman enclosed in the same

diligence with a Gascon, to hear, and shrug thy shoulders.

Of Dumfries, the capital town of this county, I have but little to say,

and will not abuse your patience by reminding you that it is built on

the gallant river Nith, and that its churchyard, the highest place of

the old town, commands an extensive and fine prospect. Neither will I

take the traveller’s privilege of inflicting upon you the whole history

of Bruce poniarding the Red Comyn in the Church of the Dominicans

at this place, and becoming a king and patriot because he had been a

church-breaker and a murderer. The present Dumfriezers remember and

justify the deed, observing it was only a papist church--in evidence

whereof, its walls have been so completely demolished that no vestiges

of them remain. They are a sturdy set of true-blue Presbyterians, these

burghers of Dumfries; men after your father’s own heart, zealous for the

Protestant succession--the rather that many of the great families around

are suspected to be of a different way of thinking, and shared, a great

many of them, in the insurrection of the Fifteen, and some in the more

recent business of the Forty-five. The town itself suffered in the

latter era; for Lord Elcho, with a large party of the rebels, levied

a severe contribution upon Dumfries, on account of the citizens having

annoyed the rear of the Chevalier during his march into England.

Many of these particulars I learned from Provost C--, who, happening to

see me in the market-place, remembered that I was an intimate of your

father’s, and very kindly asked me to dinner. Pray tell your father that

the effects of his kindness to me follow me everywhere. I became tired,

however, of this pretty town in the course of twenty-four hours, and

crept along the coast eastwards, amusing myself with looking out for

objects of antiquity, and sometimes making, or attempting to make, use

of my new angling-rod. By the way, old Cotton’s instructions, by which

I hoped to qualify myself for one of the gentle society of anglers, are

not worth a farthing for this meridian. I learned this by mere accident,

after I had waited four mortal hours. I shall never forget an impudent

urchin, a cowherd, about twelve years old, without either brogue or

bonnet, barelegged, and with a very indifferent pair of breeches--how

the villain grinned in scorn at my landing-net, my plummet, and the

gorgeous jury of flies which I had assembled to destroy all the fish

in the river. I was induced at last to lend the rod to the sneering

scoundrel, to see what he would make of it; and he had not only half

filled my basket in an hour, but literally taught me to kill two trouts

with my own hand. This, and Sam having found the hay and oats, not

forgetting the ale, very good at this small inn, first made me take

the fancy of resting here for a day or two; and I have got my grinning

blackguard of a piscator leave to attend on me, by paying sixpence a day

for a herd-boy in his stead.

A notably clean Englishwoman keeps this small house, and my bedroom is

sweetened with lavender, has a clean sash-window, and the walls are,

moreover, adorned with ballads of Fair Rosamond and Cruel Barbara Allan.

The woman’s accent, though uncouth enough, sounds yet kindly in my ear;

for I have never yet forgotten the desolate effect produced on my

infant organs, when I heard on all sides your slow and broad northern

pronunciation, which was to me the tone of a foreign land. I am sensible

I myself have since that time acquired Scotch in perfection, and many a

Scotticism withal. Still the sound of the English accentuation comes to

my ears as the tones of a friend; and even when heard from the mouth of

some wandering beggar, it has seldom failed to charm forth my mite.

You Scotch, who are so proud of your own nationality, must make due

allowance for that of other folks.

On the next morning I was about to set forth to the stream where I had

commenced angler the night before, but was prevented by a heavy shower

of rain from stirring abroad the whole forenoon; during all which time,

I heard my varlet of a guide as loud with his blackguard jokes in the

kitchen, as a footman in the shilling gallery; so little are modesty and

innocence the inseparable companions of rusticity and seclusion.

When after dinner the day cleared, and we at length sallied out to the

river side, I found myself subjected to a new trick on the part of my

accomplished preceptor. Apparently, he liked fishing himself better than

the trouble of instructing an awkward novice such as I; and in hopes of

exhausting my patience, and inducing me to resign the rod, as I had done

the preceding day, my friend contrived to keep me thrashing the water

more than an hour with a pointless hook. I detected this trick at last,

by observing the rogue grinning with delight when he saw a large trout

rise and dash harmless away from the angle. I gave him a sound cuff,

Alan; but the next moment was sorry, and, to make amends, yielded

possession of the fishing-rod for the rest of the evening, he

undertaking to bring me home a dish of trouts for my supper, in

atonement for his offences.

Having thus got honourably rid of the trouble of amusing myself in a way

I cared not for, I turned my steps towards the sea, or rather the Solway

Firth which here separates the two sister kingdoms, and which lay at

about a mile’s distance, by a pleasant walk over sandy knells, covered

with short herbage, which you call Links, and we English, Downs.

But the rest of my adventure would weary out my fingers, and must

be deferred until to-morrow, when you shall hear from me, by way of

continuation; and, in the meanwhile, to prevent over-hasty conclusions,

I must just hint to you, we are but yet on the verge of the adventure

which it is my purpose to communicate.

LETTER IV

THE SAME TO THE SAME

SHEPHERD’S BUSH.

I mentioned in my last, that having abandoned my fishing-rod as an

unprofitable implement, I crossed over the open downs which divided me

from the margin of the Solway. When I reached the banks of the great

estuary, which are here very bare and exposed, the waters had receded

from the large and level space of sand, through which a stream,

now feeble and fordable, found its way to the ocean. The whole was

illuminated by the beams of the low and setting sun, who showed

his ruddy front, like a warrior prepared for defence, over a huge

battlemented and turreted wall of crimson and black clouds, which

appeared like an immense Gothic fortress, into which the lord of day was

descending. His setting rays glimmered bright upon the wet surface of

the sands, and the numberless pools of water by which it was covered,

where the inequality of the ground had occasioned their being left by

the tide.

The scene was animated by the exertions of a number of horsemen, who

were actually employed in hunting salmon. Aye, Alan, lift up your

hands and eyes as you will, I can give their mode of fishing no name so

appropriate; for they chased the fish at full gallop, and struck them

with their barbed spears, as you see hunters spearing boars in the old

tapestry. The salmon, to be sure, take the thing more quietly than the

boars; but they are so swift in their own element, that to pursue

and strike them is the task of a good horseman, with a quick eye, a

determined hand, and full command both of his horse and weapon. The

shouts of the fellows as they galloped up and down in the animating

exercise--their loud bursts of laughter when any of their number caught

a fall--and still louder acclamations when any of the party made a

capital stroke with his lance--gave so much animation to the whole

scene, that I caught the enthusiasm of the sport, and ventured forward

a considerable space on the sands. The feats of one horseman, in

particular, called forth so repeatedly the clamorous applause of his

companions, that the very banks rang again with their shouts. He was a

tall man, well mounted on a strong black horse, which he caused to turn

and wind like a bird in the air, carried a longer spear than the others,

and wore a sort of fur cap or bonnet, with a short feather in it,

which gave him on the whole rather a superior appearance to the other

fishermen. He seemed to hold some sort of authority among them, and

occasionally directed their motions both by voice and hand: at which

times I thought his gestures were striking, and his voice uncommonly

sonorous and commanding.

The riders began to make for the shore, and the interest of the scene

was almost over, while I lingered on the sands, with my looks turned to

the shores of England, still gilded by the sun’s last rays, and, as it

seemed, scarce distant a mile from me. The anxious thoughts which

haunt me began to muster in my bosom, and my feet slowly and insensibly

approached the river which divided me from the forbidden precincts,

though without any formed intention, when my steps were arrested by

the sound of a horse galloping; and as I turned, the rider (the same

fisherman whom I had formerly distinguished) called out to me, in

an abrupt manner, ‘Soho, brother! you are too late for Bowness

to-night--the tide will make presently.’

I turned my head and looked at him without answering; for, to my

thinking, his sudden appearance (or rather, I should say, his unexpected

approach) had, amidst the gathering shadows and lingering light,

something in it which was wild and ominous.

‘Are you deaf?’ he added--‘or are you mad?--or have you a mind for the

next world?’

‘I am a stranger,’ I answered,’ and had no other purpose than looking on

at the fishing--I am about to return to the side I came from.’

‘Best make haste then,’ said he. ‘He that dreams on the bed of the

Solway, may wake in the next world. The sky threatens a blast that will

bring in the waves three feet abreast.’

So saying, he turned his horse and rode off, while I began to walk back

towards the Scottish shore, a little alarmed at what I had heard;

for the tide advances with such rapidity upon these fatal sands, that

well-mounted horsemen lay aside hopes of safety, if they see its white

surge advancing while they are yet at a distance from the bank.

These recollections grew more agitating, and, instead of walking

deliberately, I began a race as fast as I could, feeling, or thinking I

felt, each pool of salt water through which I splashed, grow deeper and

deeper. At length the surface of the sand did seem considerably more

intersected with pools and channels full of water--either that the tide

was really beginning to influence the bed of the estuary, or, as I must

own is equally probable, that I had, in the hurry and confusion of my

retreat, involved myself in difficulties which I had avoided in my more

deliberate advance. Either way, it was rather an unpromising state of

affairs, for the sands at the same time turned softer, and my footsteps,

so soon as I had passed, were instantly filled with water. I began to

have odd recollections concerning the snugness of your father’s parlour,

and the secure footing afforded by the pavement of Brown’s Square and

Scott’s Close, when my better genius, the tall fisherman, appeared once

more close to my side, he and his sable horse looming gigantic in the

now darkening twilight.

‘Are you mad?’ he said, in the same deep tone which had before thrilled

on my ear, ‘or are you weary of your life? You will be presently amongst

the quicksands.’ I professed my ignorance of the way, to which he only

replied, ‘There is no time for prating--get up behind me.’

He probably expected me to spring from the ground with the activity

which these Borderers have, by constant practice, acquired in everything

relating to horsemanship; but as I stood irresolute, he extended his

hand, and grasping mine, bid me place my foot on the toe of his boot,

and thus raised me in a trice to the croupe of his horse. I was scarcely

securely seated, ere he shook the reins of his horse, who instantly

sprang forward; but annoyed, doubtless, by the unusual burden, treated

us to two or three bounds, accompanied by as many flourishes of his hind

heels. The rider sat like a tower, notwithstanding that the unexpected

plunging of the animal threw me forward upon him. The horse was soon

compelled to submit to the discipline of the spur and bridle, and went

off at a steady hand gallop; thus shortening the devious, for it was

by no means a direct path, by which the rider, avoiding the loose

quicksands, made for the northern bank.

My friend, perhaps I may call him my preserver,--for, to a stranger, my

situation was fraught with real danger,--continued to press on at the

same speedy pace, but in perfect silence, and I was under too much

anxiety of mind to disturb him with any questions. At length we arrived

at a part of the shore with which I was utterly unacquainted, when I

alighted and began to return in the best fashion I could my thanks for

the important service which he had just rendered me.

The stranger only replied by an impatient ‘pshaw!’ and was about to ride

off, and leave me to my own resources when I implored him to complete

his work of kindness by directing me to Shepherd’s Bush, which was, as I

informed him, my home for the present.

‘To Shepherd’s Bush?’ he said; ‘it is but three miles but if you know

not the land better than the sand, you may break your neck before you

get there; for it is no road for a moping boy in a dark night; and,

besides, there are the brook and the fens to cross.’

I was a little dismayed at this communication of such difficulties as my

habits had not called on me to contend with. Once more the idea of thy

father’s fireside came across me; and I could have been well contented

to have swapped the romance of my situation, together with the glorious

independence of control which I possessed at the moment, for the

comforts of that chimney-corner, though I were obliged to keep my eyes

chained to Erskine’s LARGER INSTITUTES.

I asked my new friend whether he could not direct me to any house of

public entertainment for the night; and supposing it probable he was

himself a poor man, I added, with the conscious dignity of a well-filled

pocket-book, that I could make it worth any man’s while to oblige me.

The fisherman making no answer, I turned away from him with as gallant

an appearance of indifference as I could command, and began to take, as

I thought, the path which he had pointed out to me.

His deep voice immediately sounded after me to recall me. ‘Stay, young

man, stay--you have mistaken the road already.--I wonder your friends

sent out such an inconsiderate youth, without some one wiser than

himself to take care of him.’

‘Perhaps they might not have done so,’ said I, ‘if I had any friends who

cared about the matter.’

‘Well, sir,’ he said, ‘it is not my custom to open my house to

strangers, but your pinch is like to be a smart one; for, besides the

risk from bad roads, fords, and broken ground, and the night,

which looks both black and gloomy, there is bad company on the road

sometimes--at least it has a bad name, and some have come to harm; so

that I think I must for once make my rule give way to your necessity,

and give you a night’s lodging in my cottage.

Why was it, Alan, that I could not help giving an involuntary shudder at

receiving an invitation so seasonable in itself, and so suitable to my

naturally inquisitive disposition? I easily suppressed this untimely

sensation; and as I returned thanks, and expressed my hope that I should

not disarrange, his family, I once more dropped a hint of my desire to

make compensation for any trouble I might occasion. The man answered

very coldly, ‘Your presence will no doubt give me trouble, sir, but it

is of a kind which your purse, cannot compensate; in a word, although

I am content to receive you as my guest, I am no publican to call a

reckoning.’

I begged his pardon, and, at his instance, once more seated myself

behind hint upon the good horse, which went forth steady as before--the

moon, whenever she could penetrate the clouds, throwing the huge shadow

of the animal, with its double burden, on the wild and bare ground over

which we passed.

Thou mayst laugh till thou lettest the letter fall, if thou wilt, but

it reminded me of the magician Atlantes on his hippogriff with a knight

trussed up behind him, in the manner Ariosto has depicted that matter.

Thou art I know, matter-of-fact enough to affect contempt of that

fascinating and delicious poem; but think not that, to conform with

thy bad taste, I shall forbear any suitable illustration which now or

hereafter may occur to me.

On we went, the sky blackening around us, and the wind beginning to pipe

such a wild and melancholy tune as best suited the hollow sounds of the

advancing tide, which I could hear at a distance, like the roar of some

immense monster defrauded of its prey.

At length, our course was crossed by a deep dell or dingle, such as they

call in some parts of Scotland a den, and in others a cleuch or narrow

glen. It seemed, by the broken glances which the moon continued to

throw upon it, to be steep, precipitous, and full of trees, which are,

generally speaking, rather scarce upon these shores. The descent by

which we plunged into this dell was both steep and rugged, with two

or three abrupt turnings; but neither danger nor darkness impeded the

motion of the black horse, who seemed rather to slide upon his haunches,

than to gallop down the pass, throwing me again on the shoulders of the

athletic rider, who, sustaining no inconvenience by the circumstance,

continued to press the horse forward with his heel, steadily supporting

him at the same time by raising his bridle-hand, until we stood in

safety at the bottom of the steep--not a little to my consolation, as,

friend Alan, thou mayst easily conceive.

A very short advance up the glen, the bottom of which we had attained by

this ugly descent, brought us in front of two or three cottages, one

of which another blink of moonshine enabled me to rate as rather better

than those of the Scottish peasantry in this part of the world; for the

sashes seemed glazed, and there were what are called storm-windows in

the roof, giving symptoms of the magnificence of a second story. The

scene around was very interesting; for the cottages, and the yards or

crofts annexed to them, occupied a haugh, or helm, of two acres, which

a brook of some consequence (to judge from its roar) had left upon one

side of the little glen while finding its course close to the farther

bank, and which appeared to be covered and darkened with trees, while

the level space beneath enjoyed such stormy smiles as the moon had that

night to bestow.

I had little time for observation, for my companion’s loud whistle,

seconded by an equally loud halloo, speedily brought to the door of

the principal cottage a man and a woman, together with two large

Newfoundland dogs, the deep baying of which I had for some time heard. A

yelping terrier or two, which had joined the concert, were silent at

the presence of my conductor, and began to whine, jump up, and fawn upon

him. The female drew back when she beheld a stranger; the man, who had

a lighted lantern, advanced, and, without any observation, received the

horse from my host, and led him, doubtless, to stable, while I followed

my conductor into the house. When we had passed the HALLAN, [The

partition which divides a Scottish cottage.] we entered a well-sized

apartment, with a clean brick floor, where a fire blazed (much to my

contentment) in the ordinary projecting sort of a chimney, common in

Scottish houses. There were stone seats within the chimney; and ordinary

utensils, mixed with fishing-spears, nets, and similar implements of

sport, were hung around the walls of the place. The female who had first

appeared at the door, had now retreated into a side apartment. She was

presently followed by my guide, after he had silently motioned me to a

seat; and their place was supplied by an elderly woman, in a grey stuff

gown, with a check apron and toy, obviously a menial, though neater in

her dress than is usual in her apparent rank--an advantage which was

counterbalanced by a very forbidding aspect. But the most singular part

of her attire, in this very Protestant country, was a rosary, in which

the smaller beads were black oak, and those indicating the PATER-NOSTER

of silver, with a crucifix of the same metal.

This person made preparations for supper, by spreading a clean though

coarse cloth over a large oaken table, placing trenchers and salt upon

it, and arranging the fire to receive a gridiron. I observed her motions

in silence; for she took no sort of notice of me, and as her looks were

singularly forbidding, I felt no disposition to commence conversation.

When this duenna had made all preliminary arrangements, she took from

the well-filled pouch of my conductor, which he had hung up by the

door, one or two salmon, or GRILSES, as the smaller sort are termed, and

selecting that which seemed best and in highest season, began to cut

it into slices, and to prepare a GRILLADE; the savoury smell of which

affected me so powerfully that I began sincerely to hope that no delay

would intervene between the platter and the lip.

As this thought came across me, the man who had conducted the horse to

the stable entered the apartment, and discovered to me a countenance yet

more uninviting than that of the old crone who was performing with such

dexterity the office of cook to the party. He was perhaps sixty years

old; yet his brow was not much furrowed, and his jet-black hair was only

grizzled, not whitened, by the advance of age. All his motions spoke

strength unabated; and, though rather undersized, he had very broad

shoulders, was square-made, thin-flanked, and apparently combined in his

frame muscular strength and activity; the last somewhat impaired perhaps

by years, but the first remaining in full vigour. A hard and harsh

countenance--eyes far sunk under projecting eyebrows, which were

grizzled like his hair--a wide mouth, furnished from ear to ear with it

range of unimpaired teeth, of uncommon whiteness, and a size and breadth

which might have become the jaws of an ogre, completed this delightful

portrait. He was clad like a fisherman, in jacket and trousers of the

blue cloth commonly used by seamen, and had a Dutch case-knife, like

that of a Hamburgh skipper, stuck into a broad buff belt, which seemed

as if it might occasionally sustain weapons of a description still less

equivocally calculated for violence.

This man gave me an inquisitive, and, as I thought, a sinister look upon

entering the apartment; but without any further notice of me, took up

the office of arranging the table, which the old lady had abandoned for

that of cooking the fish, and, with more address than I expected from

a person of his coarse appearance, placed two chairs at the head of the

table, and two stools below; accommodating each seat to a cover, beside

which he placed an allowance of barley-bread, and a small jug, which he

replenished with ale from a large black jack. Three of these jugs

were of ordinary earthenware, but the fourth, which he placed by the

right-hand cover at, the upper end of the table, was a flagon of

silver, and displayed armorial bearings. Beside this flagon he placed a

salt-cellar of silver, handsomely wrought, containing salt of exquisite

whiteness, with pepper and other spices. A sliced lemon was also

presented on a small silver salver. The two large water-dogs, who

seemed perfectly to understand the nature of the preparations, seated

themselves one on each side of the table, to be ready to receive their

portion of the entertainment. I never saw finer animals, or which

seemed to be more influenced by a sense of decorum, excepting that they

slobbered a little as the rich scent from the chimney was wafted past

their noses. The small dogs ensconced themselves beneath the table.

I am aware that I am dwelling upon trivial and ordinary circumstances,

and that perhaps I may weary out your patience in doing so. But conceive

me alone in this strange place, which seemed, from the universal

silence, to be the very temple of Harpocrates--remember that this is

my first excursion from home--forget not that the manner in which I had

been brought hither had the dignity of danger and something the air of

an adventure, and that there was a mysterious incongruity in all I had

hitherto witnessed; and you will not, I think, be surprised that these

circumstances, though trifling, should force themselves on my notice at

the time, and dwell in my memory afterwards.

That a fisher, who pursued the sport perhaps for his amusement as well

as profit, should be well mounted and better lodged than the lower class

of peasantry, had in it nothing surprising; but there was something

about all that I saw which seemed to intimate that I was rather in

the abode of a decayed gentleman, who clung to a few of the forms and

observances of former rank, than in that of a common peasant, raised

above his fellows by comparative opulence.

Besides the articles of plate which I have already noticed, the old man

now lighted and placed on the table a silver lamp, or CRUISIE as the

Scottish term it, filled with very pure oil, which in burning diffused

an aromatic fragrance, and gave me a more perfect view of the cottage

walls, which I had hitherto only seen dimly by the light of the fire.

The BINK [The frame of wooden shelves placed in a Scottish kitchen for

holding plates.] with its usual arrangement of pewter and earthenware,

which was most strictly and critically clean, glanced back the flame of

the lamp merrily from one side of the apartment. In a recess, formed

by the small bow of a latticed window, was a large writing-desk of

walnut-tree wood, curiously carved, above which arose shelves of the

same, which supported a few books and papers. The opposite side of the

recess contained (as far as I could discern, for it lay in shadow, and

I could at any rate have seen it but imperfectly from the place where

I was seated) one or two guns, together with swords, pistols, and

other arms a collection which, in a poor cottage, and in a country so

peaceful, appeared singular at least, if not even somewhat suspicious.

All these observations, you may suppose, were made much sooner than I

have recorded, or you (if you have not skipped) have been able to read

them. They were already finished, and I was considering how I should

open some communication with the mute inhabitants of the mansion, when

my conductor re-entered from the side-door by which he had made his

exit.

He had now thrown off his rough riding-cap, and his coarse jockey-coat,

And stood before me in a grey jerkin trimmed with black, which sat close

to, and set off, his large and sinewy frame, and a pair of trousers of

a lighter colour, cut as close to the body as they are used by

Highlandmen. His whole dress was of finer cloth than that of the old

man; and his linen, so minute was my observation, clean and unsullied.

His shirt was without ruffles, and tied at the collar with a black

ribbon, which showed his strong and muscular neck rising from it like

that of an ancient Hercules. His head was small, with a large forehead,

and well-formed ears. He wore neither peruke nor hair-powder; and his

chestnut locks, curling close to his head like those of an antique

statue, showed not the least touch of time, though the owner must have

been at least fifty. His features were high and prominent in such a

degree that one knew not whether to term them harsh or handsome. In

either case, the sparkling grey eye, aquiline nose, and well-formed

mouth, combined to render his physiognomy noble and expressive. An air

of sadness, or severity, or of both, seemed to indicate a melancholy,

and, at the same time, a haughty temper. I could not help running

mentally over the ancient heroes, to whom I might assimilate the noble

form and countenance before me. He was too young, and evinced too little

resignation to his fate, to resemble Belisarius. Coriolanus, standing by

the hearth of Tullus Aufidius, came nearer the mark; yet the gloomy and

haughty look of the stranger had, perhaps, still more of Marius, seated

among the ruins of Carthage.

While I was lost in these imaginations, my host stood by the fire,

gazing on me with the same attention which I paid to him, until,

embarrassed by his look, I was about to break silence at all hazards.

But the supper, now placed upon the table, reminded me, by its

appearance, of those wants which I had almost forgotten while I was

gazing on the fine form of my conductor. He spoke at length, and I

almost started at the deep rich tone of his voice, though what he said

was but to invite me to sit down to the table. He himself assumed the

seat of honour, beside which the silver flagon was placed, and beckoned

to me to sit down beside him.

Thou knowest thy father’s strict and excellent domestic discipline has

trained me to bear the invocation of a blessing before we break the

daily bread, for which we are taught to pray--I paused a moment, and,

without designing to do so, I suppose my manner made him sensible of

what I expected. The two domestics or inferiors, as I should have before

observed, were already seated at the bottom of the table, when my

host shot a glance of a very peculiar expression towards the old man,

observing, with something approaching to a sneer, ‘Cristal Nixon, say

grace--the gentleman expects one.’

‘The foul fiend shall be clerk, and say amen, when I turn chaplain,’

growled out the party addressed, in tones which might have become the

condition of a dying bear; ‘if the gentleman is a whig, he may please

himself with his own mummery. My faith is neither in word nor writ, but

in barley-bread and brown ale.’

‘Mabel Moffat,’ said my guide, looking at the old woman, and raising his

sonorous voice, probably because she was hard of hearing, ‘canst thou

ask a blessing upon our victuals?’

The old woman shook her head, kissed the cross which hung from her

rosary, and was silent.

‘Mabel will say grace for no heretic,’ said the master of the house,

with the same latent sneer on his brow and in his accent.

At the same moment, the side-door already mentioned opened, and the

young woman (so she proved) whom I had first seen at the door of the

cottage, advanced a little way into the room, then stopped bashfully, as

if she had observed that I was looking at her, and asked the master of

the house, ‘if he had called?’

‘Not louder than to make old Mabel hear me,’ he replied; ‘and yet,’ be

added, as she turned to retire, ‘it is a shame a stranger should see a

house where not one of the family can or will say a grace--do thou be

our chaplain.’

The girl, who was really pretty, came forward with timid modesty, and,

apparently unconscious that she was doing anything uncommon,

pronounced the benediction in a silver-toned voice, and with affecting

simplicity--her cheek colouring just so much as to show that on a less

solemn occasion she would have felt more embarrassed.

Now, if thou expectest a fine description of this young woman, Alan

Fairford, in order to entitle thee to taunt me with having found a

Dulcinea in the inhabitant of a fisherman’s cottage on the Solway Firth,

thou shalt be disappointed; for, having said she seemed very pretty,

and that she was a sweet and gentle-speaking creature, I have said all

concerning her that I can tell thee. She vanished when the benediction

was spoken.

My host, with a muttered remark on the cold of our ride, and the keen

air of the Solway Sands, to which he did not seem to wish an answer,

loaded my plate from Mabel’s grillade, which, with a large wooden bowl

of potatoes, formed our whole meal. A sprinkling from the lemon gave a

much higher zest than the usual condiment of vinegar; and I promise

you that whatever I might hitherto have felt, either of curiosity or

suspicion, did not prevent me from making a most excellent supper,

during which little passed betwixt me and my entertainer, unless that

he did the usual honours of the table with courtesy, indeed, but

without even the affectation of hearty hospitality, which those in his

(apparent) condition generally affect on such occasions, even when they

do not actually feel it. On the contrary, his manner seemed that of a

polished landlord towards an unexpected and unwelcome guest, whom,

for the sake of his own credit, he receives with civility, but without

either goodwill or cheerfulness.

If you ask how I learned all this, I cannot tell you; nor, were I to

write down at length the insignificant intercourse which took place

between us, would it perhaps serve to justify these observations. It is

sufficient to say, that in helping his dogs, which he did from time

to time with great liberality, he seemed to discharge a duty much more

pleasing to himself, than when he paid the same attention to his guest.

Upon the whole, the result on my mind was as I tell it you.

When supper was over, a small case-bottle of brandy, in a curious frame

of silver filigree, circulated to the guests. I had already taken a

small glass of the liquor, and, when it had passed to Mabel and to

Cristal and was again returned to the upper end of the table, I could

not help taking the bottle in my hand, to look more at the armorial

bearings which were chased with considerable taste on the silver

framework. Encountering the eye of my entertainer, I instantly saw that

my curiosity was highly distasteful; he frowned, bit his lip, and

showed such uncontrollable signs of impatience, that, setting the bottle

immediately down, I attempted some apology. To this he did not deign

either to reply, or even to listen; and Cristal, at a signal from his

master, removed the object of my curiosity, as well as the cup, upon

which the same arms were engraved.

Then ensued an awkward pause, which I endeavoured to break by observing,

that ‘I feared my intrusion upon his hospitality had put his family to

some inconvenience’.

‘I hope you see no appearance of it, sir,’ he replied, with cold

civility. ‘What inconvenience a family so retired as ours may suffer

from receiving an unexpected guest is like to be trifling, in comparison

of what the visitor himself sustains from want of his accustomed

comforts. So far, therefore, as our connexion stands, our accounts stand

clear.’

Notwithstanding this discouraging reply, I blundered on, as is usual in

such cases, wishing to appear civil, and being, perhaps, in reality the

very reverse. ‘I was afraid,’ I said, that my presence had banished one

of the family’ (looking at the side-door) ‘from his table.’

‘If,’ he coldly replied, ‘I meant the young woman whom I had seen in the

apartment, he bid me observe that there was room enough at the table

for her to have seated herself, and meat enough, such as it was, for her

supper. I might, therefore, be assured, if she had chosen it, she would

have supped with us.’

There was no dwelling on this or any other topic longer; for my

entertainer, taking up the lamp, observed, that ‘my wet clothes might

reconcile me for the night to their custom of keeping early hours; that

he was under the necessity of going abroad by peep of day to-morrow

morning, and would call me up at the same time, to point out the way by

which I was to return to the Shepherd’s Bush.’

This left no opening for further explanation; nor was there room for it

on the usual terms of civility; for, as he neither asked my name, nor

expressed the least interest concerning my condition, I--the obliged

person--had no pretence to trouble him with such inquiries on my part.

He took up the lamp, and led me through the side-door into a very small

room, where a bed had been hastily arranged for my accommodation,

and, putting down the lamp, directed me to leave my wet clothes on the

outside of the door, that they might be exposed to the fire during the

night. He then left me, having muttered something which was meant to

pass for good night.

I obeyed his directions with respect to my clothes, the rather that,

in despite of the spirits which I had drunk, I felt my teeth begin

to chatter, and received various hints from an aguish feeling, that

a town-bred youth, like myself, could not at once rush into all the

hardihood of country sports with impunity. But my bed, though coarse and

hard, was dry and clean; and I soon was so little occupied with my heats

and tremors, as to listen with interest to a heavy foot, which seemed to

be that of my landlord, traversing the boards (there was no ceiling,

as you may believe) which roofed my apartment. Light, glancing through

these rude planks, became visible as soon as my lamp was extinguished;

and as the noise of the slow, solemn, and regular step continued, and I

could distinguish that the person turned and returned as he reached the

end of the apartment, it seemed clear to me that the walker was engaged

in no domestic occupation, but merely pacing to and fro for his own

pleasure. ‘An odd amusement this,’ I thought, ‘for one who had been

engaged at least a part of the preceding day in violent exercise, and

who talked of rising by the peep of dawn on the ensuing morning.’

Meantime I heard the storm, which had been brewing during the evening,

begin to descend with a vengeance; sounds as of distant-thunder (the

noise of the more distant waves, doubtless, on the shore) mingled

with the roaring of the neighbouring torrent, and with the crashing,

groaning, and even screaming of the trees in the glen whose boughs were

tormented by the gale. Within the house, windows clattered, and doors

clapped, and the walls, though sufficiently substantial for a building

of the kind, seemed to me to totter in the tempest.

But still the heavy steps perambulating the apartment over my head were

distinctly heard amid the roar and fury of the elements. I thought more

than once I even heard a groan; but I frankly own that, placed in this

unusual situation, my fancy may have misled me. I was tempted several

times to call aloud, and ask whether the turmoil around us did not

threaten danger to the building which we inhabited; but when I thought

of the secluded and unsocial master of the dwelling, who seemed to avoid

human society, and to remain unperturbed amid the elemental war, it

seemed that to speak to him at that moment would have been to address

the spirit of the tempest himself, since no other being, I thought,

could have remained calm and tranquil while winds and waters were thus

raging around.

In process of time, fatigue prevailed over anxiety and curiosity. The

storm abated, or my senses became deadened to its terrors, and I fell

asleep ere yet the mysterious paces of my host had ceased to shake the

flooring over my head.

It might have been expected that the novelty of my situation, although

it did not prevent my slumbers, would have at least diminished their

profoundness, and shortened their duration. It proved otherwise,

however; for I never slept more soundly in my life, and only awoke when,

at morning dawn, my landlord shook me by the shoulder, and dispelled

some dream, of which, fortunately for you, I have no recollection,

otherwise you would have been favoured with it, in hopes you might have

proved a second Daniel upon the occasion.

‘You sleep sound--’ said his full deep voice; ‘ere five years have

rolled over your head, your slumbers will be lighter--unless ere then

you are wrapped in the sleep which is never broken.’

‘How!’ said I, starting up in the bed; ‘do you know anything of me--of

my prospects--of my views in life?’

‘Nothing,’ he answered, with a grim smile; ‘but it is evident you are

entering upon the world young, inexperienced, and full of hopes, and I

do but prophesy to you what I would to any one in your condition. But

come; there lie your clothes--a brown crust and a draught of milk wait

you, if you choose to break your fast; but you must make haste.’

‘I must first,’ I said, ‘take the freedom to spend a few minutes alone,

before beginning the ordinary works of the day.’

‘Oh!--umph!--I cry your devotions pardon,’ he replied, and left the

apartment.

Alan, there is something terrible about this man.

I joined him, as I had promised, in the kitchen where we had supped

overnight, where I found the articles which he had offered me for

breakfast, without butter or any other addition.

He walked up and down while I partook of the bread and milk; and the

slow measured weighty step seemed identified with those which I had

heard last night. His pace, from its funereal slowness, seemed to keep

time with some current of internal passion, dark, slow, and unchanged.

‘We run and leap by the side of a lively and bubbling brook,’ thought I,

internally, ‘as if we would run a race with it; but beside waters deep,

slow, and lonely, our pace is sullen and silent as their course. What

thoughts may be now corresponding with that furrowed brow, and bearing

time with that heavy step?’

‘If you have finished,’ said he, looking up to me with a glance of

impatience, as he observed that I ate no longer, but remained with my

eyes fixed upon him, ‘I wait to show you the way.’

We went out together, no individual of the family having been visible

excepting my landlord. I was disappointed of the opportunity which I

watched for of giving some gratuity to the domestics, as they seemed to

be. As for offering any recompense to the master of the household, it

seemed to me impossible to have attempted it.

What would I have given for a share of thy composure, who wouldst have

thrust half a crown into a man’s hand whose necessities seemed to crave

it, conscious that you did right in making the proffer, and not caring

sixpence whether you hurt the feelings of him whom you meant to serve!

I saw thee once give a penny to a man with a long beard, who, from the

dignity of his exterior, might have represented Solon. I had not thy

courage, and therefore I made no tender to my mysterious host, although,

notwithstanding his display of silver utensils, all around the house

bespoke narrow circumstances, if not actual poverty.

We left the place together. But I hear thee murmur thy very new and

appropriate ejaculation, OHE, JAM SATIS!--The rest for another time.

Perhaps I may delay further communication till I learn how my favours

are valued.

LETTER V

ALAN FAIRFORD TO DARSIE LATIMER

I have thy two last epistles, my dear Darsie, and expecting the third,

have been in no hurry to answer them. Do not think my silence ought to

be ascribed to my failing to take interest in them, for, truly, they

excel (though the task was difficult) thy usual excellings. Since

the moon-calf who earliest discovered the Pandemonium of Milton in an

expiring wood-fire--since the first ingenious urchin who blew bubbles

out of soap and water, thou, my best of friends, hast the highest knack

at making histories out of nothing. Wert thou to plant the bean in the

nursery-tale, thou wouldst make out, so soon as it began to germinate,

that the castle of the giant was about to elevate its battlements on the

top of it. All that happens to thee gets a touch of the wonderful and

the sublime from thy own rich imagination. Didst ever see what artists

call a Claude Lorraine glass, which spreads its own particular hue over

the whole landscape which you see through it?--thou beholdest ordinary

events just through such a medium.

I have looked carefully at the facts of thy last long letter, and they

are just such as might have befallen any little truant of the High

School, who had got down to Leith Sands, gone beyond the PRAWN-DUB, wet

his hose and shoon, and, finally, had been carried home, in compassion,

by some high-kilted fishwife, cursing all the while the trouble which

the brat occasioned her.

I admire the figure which thou must have made, clinging for dear life

behind the old fellow’s back--thy jaws chattering with fear, thy muscles

cramped with anxiety. Thy execrable supper of broiled salmon, which was

enough to ensure the nightmare’s regular visits for a twelvemonth,

may be termed a real affliction; but as for the storm of Thursday

last (such, I observe, was the date), it roared, whistled, howled, and

bellowed, as fearfully amongst the old chimney-heads in the Candlemaker

Row, as it could on the Solway shore, for the very wind of it--TESTE ME

PER TOTAM NOCTEM VIGILANTE. And then in the morning again, when--Lord

help you--in your sentimental delicacy you bid the poor man adieu,

without even tendering him half a crown for supper and lodging!

You laugh at me for giving a penny (to be accurate, though, thou

shouldst have said sixpence) to an old fellow, whom thou, in thy high

flight, wouldst have sent home supperless, because he was like Solon or

Belisarius. But you forget that the affront descended like a benediction

into the pouch of the old gaberlunzie, who overflowed in blessings upon

the generous donor--long ere he would have thanked thee, Darsie, for

thy barren veneration of his beard and his bearing. Then you laugh at

my good father’s retreat from Falkirk, just as if it were not time for a

man to trudge when three or four mountain knaves, with naked claymores,

and heels as light as their fingers, were scampering after him, crying

FURINISH. You remember what he said himself when the Laird of Bucklivat

told him that FURINISH signified ‘stay a while’. ‘What the devil,’

he said, surprised out of his Presbyterian correctness by the

unreasonableness of such a request under the circumstances, ‘would the

scoundrels have had me stop to have my head cut off?’

Imagine such a train at your own heels, Darsie, and ask yourself whether

you would not exert your legs as fast as you did in flying from the

Solway tide. And yet you impeach my father’s courage. I tell you he has

courage enough to do what is right, and to spurn what is wrong--courage

enough to defend a righteous cause with hand and purse, and to take

the part of the poor man against his oppressor, without fear of the

consequences to himself. This is civil courage, Darsie; and it is of

little consequence to most men in this age and country whether they ever

possess military courage or no.

Do not think I am angry with you, though I thus attempt to rectify your

opinions on my father’s account. I am well aware that, upon the whole,

he is scarce regarded with more respect by me than by thee. And, while

I am in a serious humour, which it is difficult to preserve with one who

is perpetually tempting me to laugh at him, pray, dearest Darsie, let

not thy ardour for adventure carry thee into more such scrapes as that

of the Solway Sands. The rest of the story is a mere imagination; but

that stormy evening might have proved, as the clown says to Lear, ‘a

naughty night to swim in.’

As for the rest, if you can work mysterious and romantic heroes out of

old cross-grained fishermen, why, I for one will reap some amusement by

the metamorphosis. Yet hold! even there, there is some need of caution.

This same female chaplain--thou sayest so little of her, and so much of

every one else, that it excites some doubt in my mind. VERY PRETTY she

is, it seems--and that is all thy discretion informs me of. There are

cases in which silence implies other things than consent. Wert thou

ashamed or afraid, Darsie, to trust thyself with the praises of the very

pretty grace-sayer?--As I live, thou blushest! Why, do I not know thee

an inveterate squire of dames? and have I not been in thy confidence?

An elegant elbow, displayed when the rest of the figure was muffled in a

cardinal, or a neat well-turned ankle and instep, seen by chance as its

owner tripped up the Old Assembly Close, [Of old this almost deserted

alley formed the most common access betwixt the High Street and the

southern suburbs.] turned thy brain for eight days. Thou wert once

caught if I remember rightly, with a single glance of a single matchless

eye, which, when the fair owner withdrew her veil, proved to be single

in the literal sense of the word. And, besides, were you not another

time enamoured of a voice--a mere voice, that mingled in the psalmody at

the Old Greyfriars’ Church--until you discovered the proprietor of that

dulcet organ to be Miss Dolly MacIzzard, who is both ‘back and breast’,

as our saying goes?

All these things considered, and contrasted with thy artful silence on

the subject of this grace-saying Nereid of thine, I must beg thee to be

more explicit upon that subject in thy next, unless thou wouldst have me

form the conclusion that thou thinkest more of her than thou carest to

talk of.

You will not expect much news from this quarter, as you know the

monotony of my life, and are aware it must at present be devoted to

uninterrupted study. You have said a thousand times that I am only

qualified to make my way by dint of plodding, and therefore plod I must.

My father seems to be more impatient of your absence than he was after

your first departure. He is sensible, I believe, that our solitary meals

want the light which your gay humour was wont to throw over them, and

feels melancholy as men do when the light of the sun is no longer upon

the landscape. If it is thus with him, thou mayst imagine it is much

more so with me, and canst conceive how heartily I wish that thy frolic

were ended, and thou once more our inmate.----

I resume my pen, after a few hours’ interval, to say that an incident

has occurred on which you will yourself be building a hundred castles

in the air, and which even I, jealous as I am of such baseless fabrics,

cannot but own affords ground for singular conjecture.

My father has of late taken me frequently along with him when he

attends the courts, in his anxiety to see me properly initiated into the

practical forms of business. I own I feel something on his account

and my own from this over-anxiety, which, I dare say, renders us both

ridiculous. But what signifies my repugnance? my father drags me up to

his counsel learned in the law,--‘Are you quite ready to come on to-day,

Mr. Crossbite?--This is my son, designed for the bar--I take the liberty

to bring him with me to-day to the consultation, merely that he may see

how these things are managed.’

Mr. Crossbite smiles and bows; as a lawyer smiles on the solicitor who

employs him, and I dare say, thrusts his tongue into his cheek, and

whispers into the first great wig that passes him, ‘What the d--l does

old Fairford mean by letting loose his whelp on me?’

As I stood beside them, too much vexed at the childish part I was made

to play to derive much information from the valuable arguments of Mr.

Crossbite, I observed a rather elderly man, who stood with his eyes

firmly bent on my father, as if he only waited an end of the business in

which he was engaged, to address him. There was something, I thought, in

the gentleman’s appearance which commanded attention. Yet his dress was

not in the present taste, and though it had once been magnificent, was

now antiquated and unfashionable. His coat was of branched velvet, with

a satin lining, a waistcoat of violet-coloured silk, much embroidered;

his breeches the same stuff as the coat. He wore square-toed shoes, with

foretops, as they are called; and his silk stockings were rolled up over

his knee, as you may have seen in pictures, and here and there on some

of those originals who seem to pique themselves on dressing after the

mode of Methuselah. A CHAPEAU BRAS and sword necessarily completed his

equipment, which, though out of date, showed that it belonged to a man

of distinction.

The instant Mr. Crossbite had ended what he had to say, this gentleman

walked up to my father, with, ‘Your servant, Mr. Fairford--it is long

since you and I met.’

My father, whose politeness, you know, is exact and formal, bowed, and

hemmed, and was confused, and at length professed that the distance

since they had met was so great, that though he remembered the face

perfectly, the name, he was sorry to any, had--really--somehow--escaped

his memory.

‘Have you forgot Herries of Birrenswork?’ said the gentleman, and

my father bowed even more profoundly than before; though I think his

reception of his old friend seemed to lose some of the respectful

civility which he bestowed on him while his name was yet unknown. It now

seemed to be something like the lip-courtesy which the heart would have

denied had ceremony permitted.

My father, however, again bowed low, and hoped he saw him well.

‘So well, my good Mr. Fairford, that I come hither determined to renew

my acquaintance with one or two old friends, and with you in the first

place. I halt at my old resting place--you must dine with me to-day,

at Paterson’s, at the head of the Horse Wynd--it is near your new

fashionable dwelling, and I have business with you.’

My father excused himself respectfully, and not without

embarrassment--‘he was particularly engaged at home.’

‘Then I will dine with you, man,’ said Mr. Herries of Birrenswork; ‘the

few minutes you can spare me after dinner will suffice for my business;

and I will not prevent you a moment from minding your own--I am no

bottle-man.’

You have often remarked that my father, though a scrupulous ohserver of

the rites of hospitality, seems to exercise them rather as a duty than

as a pleasure; indeed, but for a conscientious wish to feed the hungry

and receive the stranger, his doors would open to guests much seldomer

than is the case. I never saw so strong an example of this peculiarity

(which I should otherwise have said is caricatured in your description)

as in his mode of homologating the self-given invitation of Mr. Herries.

The embarsassed brow, and the attempt at a smile which accompanied

his ‘We will expect the honour of seeing you in Brown Square at three

o’clock,’ could not deceive any one, and did not impose upon the old

laird. It was with a look of scorn that he replied, ‘I will relieve you

then till that hour, Mr. Fairford;’ and his whole manner seemed to say,

‘It is my pleasure to dine with you, and I care not whether I am welcome

or no.’

When he turned away, I asked my father who he was.

‘An unfortunate gentleman,’ was the reply.

‘He looks pretty well on his misfortunes,’ replied I. ‘I should not have

suspected that so gay an outside was lacking a dinner.’

‘Who told you that he does?’ replied my father; ‘he is OMNI SUSPICIONE

MAJOR, so far as worldly circumstances are concerned. It is to be hoped

he makes a good use of them; though, if he does, it will be for the

first time in his life.’

‘He has then been an irregular liver?’ insinuated I.

My father replied by that famous brocard with which he silences all

unacceptable queries turning in the slightest degree upon the failings

of our neighbours,--‘If we mend our own faults, Alan, we shall all of us

have enough to do, without sitting in judgement upon other folks.’

Here I was again at fault; but rallying once more, I observed, he had

the air of a man of high rank and family.

‘He is well entitled,’ said my father, ‘representing Herries of

Birrenswork; a branch of that great and once powerful family of Herries,

the elder branch whereof merged in the house of Nithesdale at the

death of Lord Robin the Philosopher, Anno Domini sixteen hundred and

sixty-seven.’

‘Has he still,’ said I, ‘his patrimonial estate of Birrenswork?’

‘No,’ replied my father; ‘so far back as his father’s time, it was

a mere designation--the property being forfeited by Herbert Herries

following his kinsman the Earl of Derwentwater to the Preston affair in

1715. But they keep up the designation, thinking, doubtless, that their

claims may be revived in more favourable times for Jacobites and for

popery; and folks who in no way partake of their fantastic capriccios

do yet allow it to pass unchallenged, EX COMITATE, if not EX

MISERICORDIA.--But were he the Pope and the Pretender both, we must get

some dinner ready for him, since he has thought fit to offer himself. So

hasten home, my lad, and tell Hannah, Cook Epps, and James Wilkinson, to

do their best; and do thou look out a pint or two of Maxwell’s best--it

is in the fifth bin--there are the keys of the wine-cellar. Do not leave

them in the lock--you know poor James’s failing, though he is an honest

creature under all other temptations--and I have but two bottles of the

old brandy left--we must keep it for medicine, Alan.’

Away went I--made my preparations--the hour of dinner came, and so did

Mr. Herries of Birrenswork.

If I had thy power of imagination and description, Darsie, I could make

out a fine, dark, mysterious, Rembrandt-looking portrait of this same

stranger, which should be as far superior to thy fisherman as a shirt

of chain-mail is to a herring-net. I can assure you there is some matter

for description about him; but knowing my own imperfections, I can only

say, I thought him eminently disagreeable and ill-bred.--No, ILL-BRED

is not the proper word on the contrary, he appeared to know the rules of

good-breeding perfectly, and only to think that the rank of the company

did not require that he should attend to them--a view of the matter

infinitely more offensive than if his behaviour had been that of

uneducated and proper rudeness. While my father said grace, the laird

did all but whistle aloud; and when I, at my father’s desire, returned

thanks, he used his toothpick, as if he had waited that moment for its

exercise.

So much for Kirk--with King, matters went even worse. My father, thou

knowest, is particularly full of deference to his guests; and in the

present care, he seemed more than usually desirous to escape every cause

of dispute. He so far compromised his loyalty as to announce merely ‘The

King’ as his first toast after dinner, instead of the emphatic ‘King

George’, which is his usual formula. Our guest made a motion with his

glass, so as to pass it over the water-decanter which stood beside him,

and added, ‘Over the water.’

My father coloured, but would not seem to hear this. Much more there

was of careless and disrespectful in the stranger’s manner and tone of

conversation; so that, though I know my father’s prejudices in favour

of rank and birth, and though I am aware his otherwise masculine

understanding has never entirely shaken off the slavish awe of the great

which in his earlier days they had so many modes of commanding, still I

could hardly excuse him for enduring so much insolence--such it seemed

to be as this self-invited guest was disposed to offer to him at his own

table.

One can endure a traveller in the same carriage, if he treads upon your

toes by accident, or even through negligence; but it is very different

when, knowing that they are rather of a tender description, he continues

to pound away at them with his hoofs. In my poor opinion--and I am a man

of peace--you can, in that case, hardly avoid a declaration of war.

I believe my father read my thoughts in my eye; for, pulling out his

watch, he said; ‘Half-past four, Alan--you should be in your own room by

this time--Birrenswork will excuse you.’

Our visitor nodded carelessly, and I had no longer any pretence to

remain. But as I left the room, I heard this magnate of Nithesdale

distinctly mention the name of Latimer. I lingered; but at length a

direct hint from my father obliged me to withdraw; and when, an hour

afterwards, I was summoned to partake of a cup of tea, our guest had

departed. He had business that evening in the High Street, and could not

spare time even to drink tea. I could not help saying, I considered his

departure as a relief from incivility. ‘What business has he to upbraid

us,’ I said, ‘with the change of our dwelling from a more inconvenient

to a better quarter of the town? What was it to him if we chose

to imitate some of the conveniences or luxuries of an English

dwelling-house, instead of living piled up above each other in flats?

Have his patrician birth and aristocratic fortunes given him any right

to censure those who dispose of the fruits of their own industry,

according to their own pleasure?’

My father took a long pinch of snuff, and replied, ‘Very well, Alan;

very well indeed. I wish Mr. Crossbite or Counsellor Pest had heard

you; they must have acknowledged that you have a talent for forensic

elocution; and it may not be amiss to try a little declamation at

home now and then, to gather audacity and keep yourself in breath. But

touching the subject of this paraffle of words, it’s not worth a pinch

of tobacco. D’ye think that I care for Mr. Herries of Birrenswork more

than any other gentleman who comes here about business, although I do

not care to go tilting at his throat, because he speaks like a grey

goose, as he is? But to say no more about him, I want to have Darsie

Latimer’s present direction; for it is possible I may have to write the

lad a line with my own hand--and yet I do not well know--but give me the

direction at all events.’

I did so, and if you have heard from my father accordingly, you know

more, probably, about the subject of this letter than I who write it.

But if you have not, then shall I have discharged a friend’s duty, in

letting you know that there certainly is something afloat between

this disagreeable laird and my father, in which you are considerably

interested.

Adieu! and although I have given thee a subject for waking dreams,

beware of building a castle too heavy for the foundation; which, in the

present instance, is barely the word Latimer occurring in a conversation

betwixt a gentleman of Dumfriesshire and a W.S. of Edinburgh--CAETERA

PRORSUS IGNORO.

LETTER VI

DARSIE LATIMER TO ALAN FAIRFORD

(In continuation of Letters III and IV.)

I told thee I walked out into the open air with my grave and stern

landlord. I could now see more perfectly than on the preceding night the

secluded glen in which stood the two or three cottages which appeared to

be the abode of him and his family.

It was so narrow, in proportion to its depth, that no ray of the morning

sun was likely to reach it till it should rise high in the horizon.

Looking up the dell, you saw a brawling brook issuing in foamy haste

from a covert of underwood, like a race-horse impatient to arrive at the

goal; and, if you gazed yet; more earnestly, you might observe part of

a high waterfall glimmering through the foliage, and giving occasion,

doubtless, to the precipitate speed of the brook. Lower down, the

stream became more placid, and opened into a quiet piece of water which

afforded a rude haven to two or three fishermen’s boats, then lying high

and dry on the sand, the tide being out. Two or three miserable huts

could be seen beside this little haven, inhabited probably by the owners

of the boats, but inferior in every respect to the establishment of mine

host, though that was miserable enough.

I had but a minute or two to make these observations, yet during that

space my companion showed symptoms of impatience, and more than once

shouted, ‘Cristal--Cristal Nixon,’ until the old man of the preceding

evening appeared at the door of one of the neighbouring cottages or

outhouses, leading the strong black horse which I before commemorated,

ready bridled and saddled. My conductor made Cristal a sign with his

finger, and, turning from the cottage door, led the way up the steep

path or ravine which connected the sequestered dell with the open

country.

Had I been perfectly aware of the character of the road down which I

had been hurried with so much impetuosity on the preceding evening, I

greatly question if I should have ventured the descent; for it deserved

no better name than the channel of a torrent, now in a good measure

filled with water, that dashed in foam and fury into the dell, being

swelled with the rains of the preceding night. I ascended this ugly path

with some difficulty although on foot, and felt dizzy when I observed,

from such traces as the rains had not obliterated, that the horse seemed

almost to have slid down it upon his haunches the evening before.

My host threw himself on his horse’s back, without placing a foot in the

stirrup--passed me in the perilous ascent, against which he pressed his

steed as if the animal had had the footing of a wild cat. The water and

mud splashed from his heels in his reckless course, and a few bounds

placed him on the top of the bank, where I presently joined him, and

found the horse and rider standing still as a statue; the former

panting and expanding his broad nostrils to the morning wind, the latter

motionless, with his eye fixed on the first beams of the rising sun,

which already began to peer above the eastern horizon and gild the

distant mountains of Cumberland and Liddesdale.

He seemed in a reverie, from which he started at my approach, and,

putting his horse in motion, led the way at a leisurely pace through a

broken and sandy road, which traversed a waste, level, and uncultivated

tract of downs, intermixed with morass, much like that in the

neighbourhood of my quarters at Shepherd’s Bush. Indeed, the whole open

ground of this district, where it approaches the sea, has, except in a

few favoured spots, the same uniform and dreary character.

Advancing about a hundred yards from the brink of the glen, we gained

a still more extensive command of this desolate prospect, which seemed

even more dreary, as contrasted with the opposite shores of Cumberland,

crossed and intersected by ten thousand lines of trees growing in

hedgerows, shaded with groves and woods of considerable extent, animated

by hamlets and villas, from which thin clouds of smoke already gave sign

of human life and human industry.

My conductor had extended his arm, and was pointing the road to

Shepherd’s Bush, when the step of a horse was heard approaching us. He

looked sharply round, and having observed who was approaching, proceeded

in his instructions to me, planting himself at the same time in the very

middle of the path, which, at the place where we halted, had a slough on

the one side and a sandbank on the other.

I observed that the rider who approached us slackened his horse’s pace

from a slow trot to a walk, as if desirous to suffer us to proceed, or

at least to avoid passing us at a spot where the difficulty of doing so

must have brought us very close to each other. You know my old failing,

Alan, and that I am always willing to attend to anything in preference

to the individual who has for the time possession of the conversation.

Agreeably to this amiable propensity, I was internally speculating

concerning the cause of the rider keeping aloof from us, when my

companion, elevating his deep voice so suddenly and so sternly as at

once to recall my wandering thoughts, exclaimed, ‘In the name of the

devil, young man, do you think that others have no better use for their

time than you have, that you oblige me to repeat the same thing to you

three times over? Do you see, I say, yonder thing at a mile’s distance,

that looks like a finger-post, or rather like a gallows? I would it

had a dreaming fool hanging upon it, as an example to all meditative

moon-calves!--Yon gibbet-looking pole will guide you to the bridge,

where you must pass the large brook; then proceed straight forwards,

till several roads divide at a cairn. Plague on thee, thou art wandering

again!

It is indeed quite true that at this moment the horseman approached us,

and my attention was again called to him as I made way to let him pass.

His whole exterior at once showed that he belonged to the Society of

Friends, or, as the world and the world’s law calls them, Quakers.

A strong and useful iron-grey galloway showed, by its sleek and

good condition, that the merciful man was merciful to his beast. His

accoutrements were in the usual unostentatious but clean and servicable

order which characterizes these sectaries. His long surtout of dark-grey

superfine cloth descended down to the middle of his leg, and was

buttoned up to his chin, to defend him against the morning air. As

usual, his ample beaver hung down without button or loop, and shaded a

comely and placid countenance, the gravity of which appeared to contain

some seasoning of humour, and had nothing in common with the pinched

puritanical air affected by devotees in general. The brow was open and

free from wrinkles, whether of age or hypocrisy. The eye was clear,

calm, and considerate, yet appeared to be disturbed by apprehension,

not to say fear, as, pronouncing the usual salutation of, ‘I wish thee a

good morrow, friend,’ he indicated, by turning his palfrey close to

one side of the path, a wish to glide past us with as little trouble as

possible--just as a traveller would choose to pass a mastiff of whose

peaceable intentions he is by no means confident.

But my friend, not meaning, perhaps, that he should get off so easily,

put his horse quite across the path, so that, without plunging into the

slough, or scrambling up the bank, the Quaker could not have passed

him. Neither of these was an experiment without hazard greater than the

passenger seemed willing to incur. He halted, therefore, as if waiting

till my companion should make way for him; and, as they sat fronting

each other, I could not help thinking that they might have formed no bad

emblem of Peace and War; for although my conductor was unarmed, yet the

whole of his manner, his stern look, and his upright seat on horseback,

were entirely those of a soldier in undress, He accosted the Quaker

in these words, ‘So ho! friend Joshua, thou art early to the road this

morning. Has the spirit moved thee and thy righteous brethren to act

with some honesty, and pull down yonder tide-nets that keep the fish

from coming up the river?’

‘Surely, friend, not so,’ answered Joshua, firmly, but good-humouredly

at the same time; ‘thou canst not expect that our own hands should pull

down what our purses established. Thou killest the fish with spear,

line, and coble-net; and we, with snares and with nets, which work by

the ebb and the flow of the tide. Each doth what seems best in his eyes

to secure a share of the blessing which Providence hath bestowed on the

river, and that within his own bounds. I prithee seek no quarrel against

us, for thou shalt have no wrong at our hand.’

‘Be assured I will take none at the hand of any man, whether his hat be

cocked or broad-brimmed,’ answered the fisherman. ‘I tell you in fair

terms, Joshua Geddes, that you and your partners are using unlawful

craft to destroy the fish in the Solway by stake-nets and wears; and

that we, who fish fairly, and like men, as our fathers did, have daily

and yearly less sport and less profit. Do not think gravity or hypocrisy

can carry it off as you have done. The world knows you, and we know you.

You will destroy the salmon which makes the livelihood of fifty poor

families, and then wipe your mouth, and go to make a speech at meeting.

But do not hope it will last thus. I give you fair warning, we will be

upon you one morning soon, when we will not leave a stake standing in

the pools of the Solway; and down the tide they shall every one go, and

well if we do not send a lessee along with them.’

‘Friend,’ replied Joshua, with a constrained smile, ‘but that I know

thou dost not mean as thou sayst, I would tell thee we are under the

protection of this country’s laws; nor do we the less trust to obtain

their protection, that our principles permit us not, by any act of

violent resistance, to protect ourselves.’

‘All villainous cant and cowardice,’ exclaimed the fisherman, ‘and

assumed merely as a cloak to your hypocritical avarice.’

‘Nay, say not cowardice, my friend,’ answered the Quaker, ‘since thou

knowest there may be as much courage in enduring as in acting; and I

will be judged by this youth, or by any one else, whether there is not

more cowardice--even in the opinion of that world whose thoughts are the

breath in thy nostrils--in the armed oppressor who doth injury, than in

the defenceless and patient sufferer who endureth it with constancy.’

‘I will change no more words with you on the subject,’ said the

fisherman, who, as if something moved at the last argument which Mr.

Geddes had used, now made room for him to pass forward on his journey.

‘Do not forget, however,’ he added, ‘that you have had fair warning,

nor suppose that we will accept of fair words in apology for foul play.

These nets of yours are unlawful--they spoil our fishings--we will

have them down at all risks and hazards. I am a man of my word, friend

Joshua.’

‘I trust thou art,’ said the Quaker; ‘but thou art the rather bound to

be cautious in rashly affirming what thou wilt never execute. For I tell

thee, friend, that though there is as great a difference between thee

and one of our people as there is between a lion and a sheep, yet I know

and believe thou hast so much of the lion in thee, that thou wouldst

scarce employ thy strength and thy rage upon that which professeth no

means of resistance. Report says so much good of thee, at least, if it

says little more.’

‘Time will try,’ answered the fisherman; ‘and hark thee, Joshua, before

we part I will put thee in the way of doing one good deed, which, credit

me, is better than twenty moral speeches. Here is a stranger youth, whom

Heaven has so scantily gifted with brains, that he will bewilder himself

in the Sands, as he did last night, unless thou wilt kindly show him the

way to Shepherd’s Bush; for I have been in vain endeavouring to make

him comprehend the road thither. Hast thou so much charity under thy

simplicity, Quaker, as to do this good turn?’

‘Nay, it is thou, friend,’ answered Joshua, ‘that dost lack charity, to

suppose any one unwilling to do so simple a kindness.’

‘Thou art right--I should have remembered it can cost thee nothing.

Young gentlemen, this pious pattern of primitive simplicity will teach

thee the right way to the Shepherd’s Bush--aye, and will himself shear

thee like a sheep, if you come to buying and selling with him.’

He then abruptly asked me, how long I intended to remain at Shepherd’s

Bush.

I replied, I was at present uncertain--as long probably, as I could

amuse myself in the neighbourhood.

‘You are fond of sport?’ he added, in the same tone of brief inquiry.

I answered in the affirmative, but added, I was totally inexperienced.

‘Perhaps if you reside here for some days,’ he said, ‘we may meet again,

and I may have the chance of giving you a lesson.’

Ere I could express either thanks or assent, he turned short round with

a wave of his hand by way of adieu, and rode back to the verge of the

dell from which we had emerged together; and as he remained standing

upon the banks, I could long hear his voice while he shouted down to

those within its recesses.

Meanwhile the Quaker and I proceeded on our journey for some time in

silence; he restraining his sober-minded steed to a pace which might

have suited a much less active walker than myself, and looking on

me from time to time with an expression of curiosity, mingled with

benignity. For my part, I cared not to speak first. It happened I had

never before been in company with one of this particular sect, and,

afraid that in addressing him I might unwittingly infringe upon some

of their prejudices or peculiarities, I patiently remained silent. At

length he asked me, whether I had been long in the service of the laird,

as men called him.

I repeated the words ‘in his service?’ with such an accent of surprise,

as induced him to say, ‘Nay, but, friend, I mean no offence; perhaps I

should have said in his society--an inmate, I mean, in his house?’

‘I am totally unknown to the person from whom we have just parted,’ said

I, ‘and our connexion is only temporary. He had the charity to give me

his guidance from the Sands, and a night’s harbourage from the tempest.

So our acquaintance began, and there it is likely to end; for you may

observe that our friend is by no means apt to encourage familiarity.’

‘So little so,’ answered my companion, ‘that thy case is, I think, the

first in which I ever heard of his receiving any one into his house;

that is, if thou hast really spent the night there.’

‘Why should you doubt it?’ replied I; ‘there is no motive I can have to

deceive you, nor is the object worth it.’

‘Be not angry with me,’ said the Quaker; ‘but thou knowest that thine

own people do not, as we humbly endeavour to do, confine themselves

within the simplicity of truth, but employ the language of falsehood,

not only for profit, but for compliment, and sometimes for mere

diversion. I have heard various stories of my neighbour; of most of

which I only believe a small part, and even then they are difficult to

reconcile with each other. But this being the first time I ever beard

of his receiving a stranger within his dwelling, made me express some

doubts. I pray thee let them not offend thee.’

‘He does not,’ said I, ‘appear to possess in much abundance the means

of exercising hospitality, and so may be excused from offering it in

ordinary cases.’

‘That is to say, friend,’ replied Joshua, ‘thou hast supped ill, and

perhaps breakfasted worse. Now my small tenement, called Mount Sharon,

is nearer to us by two miles than thine inn; and although going

thither may prolong thy walk, as taking thee of the straighter road to

Shepherd’s Bush, yet methinks exercise will suit thy youthful limbs,

as well as a good plain meal thy youthful appetite. What sayst thou, my

young acquaintance?’

‘If it puts you not to inconvenience,’ I replied; for the invitation was

cordially given, and my bread and milk had been hastily swallowed, and

in small quantity.

‘Nay,’ said Joshua, ‘use not the language of compliment with those who

renounce it. Had this poor courtesy been very inconvenient, perhaps I

had not offered it.’

‘I accept the invitation, then,’ said I, ‘in the same good spirit in

which you give it.’

The Quaker smiled, reached me his hand, I shook it, and we travelled on

in great cordiality with each other. The fact is, I was much entertained

by contrasting in my own mind, the open manner of the kind-hearted

Joshua Geddes, with the abrupt, dark, and lofty demeanour of my

entertainer on the preceding evening. Both were blunt and unceremonious;

but the plainness of the Quaker had the character of devotional

simplicity, and was mingled with the more real kindness, as if honest

Joshua was desirous of atoning, by his sincerity, for the lack of

external courtesy. On the contrary, the manners of the fisherman were

those of one to whom the rules of good behaviour might be familiar, but

who, either from pride or misanthropy, scorned to observe them. Still

I thought of him with interest and curiosity, notwithstanding so much

about him that was repulsive; and I promised myself, in the course of my

conversation with the Quaker, to learn all that he knew on the subject.

He turned the conversation, however, into a different channel, and

inquired into my own condition of life, and views in visiting this

remote frontier.

I only thought it necessary to mention my name, and add, that I had been

educated to the law, but finding myself possessed of some independence,

I had of late permitted myself some relaxation, and was residing at

Shepherd’s Bush to enjoy the pleasure of angling.

‘I do thee no harm, young man,’ said my new friend, ‘in wishing thee a

better employment for thy grave hours, and a more humane amusement (if

amusement thou must have) for those of a lighter character.’

‘You are severe, sir,’ I replied. ‘I heard you but a moment since refer

yourself to the protection of the laws of the country--if there be laws,

there must be lawyers to explain, and judges to administer them.’

Joshua smiled, and pointed to the sheep which were grazing on the downs

over which we were travelling. ‘Were a wolf,’ he said, ‘to come even now

upon yonder flocks, they would crowd for protection, doubtless, around

the shepherd and his dogs; yet they are bitten and harassed daily by

the one, shorn, and finally killed and eaten by the other. But I say not

this to shock you; for, though laws and lawyers are evils, yet they are

necessary evils in this probationary state of society, till man shall

learn to render unto his fellows that which is their due, according

to the light of his own conscience, and through no other compulsion.

Meanwhile, I have known many righteous men who have followed thy

intended profession in honesty and uprightness of walk. The greater

their merit, who walk erect in a path which so many find slippery.

‘And angling,’ said I:--‘you object to that also as an amusement,

you who, if I understood rightly what passed between you and my late

landlord, are yourself a proprietor of fisheries.’

‘Not a proprietor,’ he replied, ‘I am only, in copartnery with others,

a tacksman or lessee of some valuable salmon-fisheries a little down the

coast. But mistake me not. The evil of angling, with which I class all

sports, as they are called, which have the sufferings of animals for

their end and object, does not consist in the mere catching and killing

those animals with which the bounty of Providence hath stocked the earth

for the good of man, but in making their protracted agony a principle of

delight and enjoyment. I do indeed cause these fisheries to be conducted

for the necessary taking, killing, and selling the fish; and, in the

same way, were I a farmer, I should send my lambs to market. But I

should as soon think of contriving myself a sport and amusement out of

the trade of the butcher as out of that of the fisher.’

We argued the point no further; for though I thought his arguments a

little too high-strained, yet as my mind acquitted me of having taken

delight in aught but the theory of field-sports, I did not think myself

called upon stubbornly to advocate a practice which had afforded me so

little pleasure.

We had by this time arrived at the remains of an old finger-post, which

my host had formerly pointed out as a landmark. Here, a ruinous wooden

bridge, supported by long posts resembling crutches, served me to get

across the water, while my new friend sought a ford a good way higher

up, for the stream was considerably swelled.

As I paused for his rejoining me, I observed an angler at a little

distance pouching trout after trout, as fast almost as he could cast his

line; and I own, in spite of Joshua’s lecture on humanity, I could not

but envy his adroitness and success, so natural is the love of sport

to our minds, or so easily are we taught to assimilate success in

field-sports with ideas of pleasure, and with the praise due to address

and agility. I soon recognized in the successful angler little Benjie,

who had been my guide and tutor in that gentle art, as you have learned

from my former letters. I called--I whistled--the rascal recognized me,

and, starting like a guilty thing, seemed hesitating whether to approach

or to run away; and when he determined on the former, it was to assail

me with a loud, clamorous, and exaggerated report of the anxiety of all

at the Shepherd’s Bush for my personal safety; how my landlady had wept,

how Sam and the ostler had not the heart to go to bed, but sat up all

night drinking--and how he himself had been up long before daybreak to

go in quest of me.

‘And you were switching the water, I suppose,’ said I, ‘to discover my

dead body?’

This observation produced a long ‘Na--a--a’ of acknowledged detection;

but, with his natural impudence, and confidence in my good nature, he

immediately added, ‘that he thought I would like a fresh trout or twa

for breakfast, and the water being in such a rare trim for the saumon

raun, [The bait made of salmon-roe salted and preserved. In a swollen

river, and about the month of October, it is a most deadly bait.] he

couldna help taking a cast.’

While we were engaged in this discussion, the honest Quaker returned to

the farther end of the wooden bridge to tell me he could not venture to

cross the brook in its present state: but would be under the necessity

to ride round by the stone bridge, which was a mile and a half higher

up than his own house. He was about to give me directions how to proceed

without him, and inquire for his sister, when I suggested to him that,

if he pleased to trust his horse to little Benjie, the boy might carry

him round by the bridge, while we walked the shorter and more pleasant

road.

Joshua shook his head, for he was well acquainted with Benjie, who,

he said, was the naughtiest varlet in the whole neighbourhood.

Nevertheless, rather than part company, he agreed to put the pony under

his charge for a short season, with many injunctions that he should not

attempt to mount, but lead the pony (even Solomon) by the bridle, under

the assurances of sixpence in case of proper demeanour, and penalty that

if he transgressed the orders given him, ‘verily he would be scourged.’

Promises cost Benjie nothing, and he showered them out wholesale;

till the Quaker at length yielded up the bridle to him, repeating his

charges, and enforcing them by holding up his forefinger. On my part, I

called to Benjie to leave the fish he had taken at Mount Sharon, making,

at the same time, an apologetic countenance to my new friend, not

being quite aware whether the compliment would be agreeable to such a

condemner of field-sports.

He understood me at once, and reminded me of the practical distinction

betwixt catching the animals as an object of cruel and wanton sport, and

eating them as lawful and gratifying articles of food, after they were

killed. On the latter point he had no scruples; but, on the contrary,

assured me that this brook contained the real red trout, so highly

esteemed by all connoisseurs, and that, when eaten within an hour

of their being caught, they had a peculiar firmness of substance and

delicacy of flavour, which rendered them an agreeable addition to a

morning meal, especially when earned, like ours, by early rising, and an

hour or two’s wholesome exercise.

But to thy alarm be it spoken, Alan, we did not come so far as the

frying of our fish without further adventure. So it is only to spare thy

patience, and mine own eyes, that I pull up for the present, and send

thee the rest of my story in a subsequent letter.

LETTER VII

THE SAME TO THE SAME (In continuation.)

Little Benjie, with the pony, having been sent off on the left side of

the brook, the Quaker and I sauntered on, like the cavalry and infantry

of the same army occupying the opposite banks of a river, and observing

the same line of march. But, while my worthy companion was assuring me

of a pleasant greensward walk to his mansion, little Benjie, who had

been charged to keep in sight, chose to deviate from the path assigned

him, and, turning to the right, led his charge, Solomon, out of our

vision.

‘The villain means to mount him!’ cried Joshua, with more vivacity than

was consistent with his profession of passive endurance.

I endeavoured to appease his apprehensions, as he pushed on, wiping his

brow with vexation, assuring him that, if the boy did mount, he would,

for his own sake, ride gently.

‘You do not know him,’ said Joshua, rejecting all consolation; ‘HE do

anything gently!--no, he will gallop Solomon--he will misuse the sober

patience of the poor animal who has borne me so long! Yes, I was given

over to my own devices when I ever let him touch the bridle, for such a

little miscreant there never was before him in this country.’

He then proceeded to expatiate on every sort of rustic enormity of which

he accused Benjie. He had been suspected of snaring partridges--was

detected by Joshua himself in liming singing-birds--stood fully charged

with having worried several cats, by aid of a lurcher which attended

him, and which was as lean, and ragged, and mischievous, as his master.

Finally, Benjie stood accused of having stolen a duck, to hunt it with

the said lurcher, which was as dexterous on water as on land. I chimed

in with my friend, in order to avoid giving him further irritation, and

declared I should be disposed, from my own experience, to give up Benjie

as one of Satan’s imps. Joshua Geddes began to censure the phrase as

too much exaggerated, and otherwise unbecoming the mouth of a reflecting

person; and, just as I was apologizing for it, as being a term of common

parlance, we heard certain sounds on the opposite side of the brook,

which seemed to indicate that Solomon and Benjie were at issue together.

The sandhills behind which Benjie seemed to take his course, had

concealed from us, as doubtless he meant they should, his ascent into

the forbidden saddle, and, putting Solomon to his mettle, which he was

seldom called upon to exert, they had cantered away together in

great amity, till they came near to the ford from which the palfrey’s

legitimate owner had already turned back.

Here a contest of opinions took place between the horse and his rider.

The latter, according to his instructions, attempted to direct Solomon

towards the distant bridge of stone; but Solomon opined that the ford

was the shortest way to his own stable. The point was sharply contested,

and we heard Benjie gee-hupping, tchek-tcheking, and, above all,

flogging in great style; while Solomon, who, docile in his general

habits, was now stirred beyond his patience, made a great trampling and

recalcitration; and it was their joint noise which we heard, without

being able to see, though Joshua might too well guess, the cause of it.

Alarmed at these indications, the Quaker began to shout out,

‘Benjie--thou varlet! Solomon--thou fool!’ when the couple presented

themselves in full drive, Solomon having now decidedly obtained the

better of the conflict, and bringing his unwilling rider in high career

down to the ford. Never was there anger changed so fast into humane

fear, as that of my good companion. ‘The varlet will be drowned!’ he

exclaimed--‘a widow’s son!--her only son!--and drowned!--let me go’--And

he struggled with me stoutly as I hung upon him, to prevent him from

plunging into the ford.

I had no fear whatever for Benjie; for the blackguard vermin, though he

could not manage the refractory horse, stuck on his seat like a monkey.

Solomon and Benjie scrambled through the ford with little inconvenience,

and resumed their gallop on the other side.

It was impossible to guess whether on this last occasion Benjie was

running off with Solomon, or Solomon with Benjie; but, judging from

character and motives, I rather suspected the former. I could not help

laughing as the rascal passed me, grinning betwixt terror and delight,

perched on the very pommel of the saddle, and holding with extended arms

by bridle and mane while Solomon, the bit secured between his teeth,

and his head bored down betwixt his forelegs, passed his master in this

unwonted guise as hard as he could pelt.

‘The mischievous bastard!’ exclaimed the Quaker, terrified out of his

usual moderation of speech--‘the doomed gallows-bird!--he will break

Solomon’s wind to a certainty.’

I prayed him to be comforted--assured, him a brushing gallop would do

his favourite no harm and reminded him of the censure he had bestowed on

me a minute before, for applying a harsh epithet to the boy.

But Joshua was not without his answer; ‘Friend youth,’ he said, ‘thou

didst speak of the lad’s soul, which thou didst affirm belonged to the

enemy, and of that thou couldst say nothing of thine own knowledge; on

the contrary, I did but speak of his outward man, which will assuredly

be suspended by a cord, if he mendeth not his manners. Men say that,

young as he is, he is one of the laird’s gang.’

‘Of the laird’s gang!’ said I, repeating the words in surprise. ‘Do you

mean the person with whom I slept last night? I heard you call him the

laird. Is he at the head of a gang?’

‘Nay, I meant not precisely a gang,’ said the Quaker, who appeared in

his haste to have spoken more than he intended--a company, or party, I

should have said; but thus it is, friend Latimer, with the wisest men

when they permit themselves to be perturbed with passion, and speak as

in a fever, or as with the tongue of the foolish and the forward. And

although thou hast been hasty to mark my infirmity, yet I grieve not

that thou hast been a witness to it, seeing that the stumbles of the

wise may be no less a caution to youth and inexperience, than is the

fall of the foolish.’

This was a sort of acknowledgement of what I had already begun to

suspect--that my new friend’s real goodness of disposition, joined to

the acquired quietism of his religious sect, had been unable entirely to

check the effervescence of a temper naturally warm and hasty.

Upon the present occasion, as if sensible he had displayed a greater

degree of emotion than became his character, Joshua avoided further

allusion to Benjie and Solomon, and proceeded to solicit my attention to

the natural objects around us, which increased in beauty and interest,

as, still conducted by the meanders of the brook, we left the common

behind us, and entered a more cultivated and enclosed country, where

arable and pasture ground was agreeably varied with groves and hedges.

Descending now almost close to the stream, our course lay through a

little gate, into a pathway kept with great neatness, the sides of which

were decorated with trees and flowering shrubs of the hardier species;

until, ascending by a gentle slope, we issued from the grove, and stood

almost at once in front of a low but very neat building, of an irregular

form; and my guide, shaking me cordially by the hand, made me welcome to

Mount Sharon.

The wood through which we had approached this little mansion was thrown

around it both on the north and north-west, but, breaking off into

different directions, was intersected by a few fields well watered and

sheltered. The house fronted to the south-east, and from thence the

pleasure-ground, or, I should rather say, the gardens, sloped down

to the water. I afterwards understood that the father of the present

proprietor had a considerable taste for horticulture, which had been

inherited by his son, and had formed these gardens, which, with their

shaven turf, pleached alleys, wildernesses, and exotic trees and shrubs,

greatly excelled anything of the kind which had been attempted in the

neighbourhood.

If there was a little vanity in the complacent smile with which Joshua

Geddes saw me gaze with delight on a scene so different from the naked

waste we had that day traversed in company, it might surely be permitted

to one who, cultivating and improving the beauties of nature, had found

therein, as he said, bodily health, and a pleasing relaxation for the

mind. At the bottom of the extended gardens the brook wheeled round in a

wide semicircle, and was itself their boundary. The opposite side was

no part of Joshua’s domain, but the brook was there skirted by a

precipitous rock of limestone, which seemed a barrier of nature’s own

erecting around his little Eden of beauty, comfort, and peace.

‘But I must not let thee forget,’ said the kind Quaker, ‘amidst thy

admiration of these beauties of our little inheritance, that thy

breakfast has been a light one.’

So saying, Joshua conducted me to a small sashed door, opening under

a porch amply mantled by honeysuckle and clematis, into a parlour

of moderate size; the furniture of which, in plainness and excessive

cleanliness, bore the characteristic marks of the sect to which the

owner belonged.

Thy father’s Hannah is generally allowed to be an exception to all

Scottish housekeepers, and stands unparalleled for cleanliness among

the women of Auld Reekie; but the cleanliness of Hannah is sluttishness

compared to the scrupulous purifications of these people, who seem to

carry into the minor decencies of life that conscientious rigour which

they affect in their morals.

The parlour would have been gloomy, for the windows were small and the

ceiling low; but the present proprietor had rendered it more cheerful

by opening one end into a small conservatory, roofed with glass, and

divided from the parlour by a partition of the same. I have never before

seen this very pleasing manner of uniting the comforts of an apartment

with the beauties of a garden, and I wonder it is not more practised

by the great. Something of the kind is hinted at in a paper of the

SPECTATOR.

As I walked towards the conservatory to view it more closely, the

parlour chimney engaged my attention. It was a pile of massive stone,

entirely out of proportion to the size of the apartment. On the front

had once been an armorial scutcheon; for the hammer, or chisel, which

had been employed to deface the shield or crest, had left uninjured

the scroll beneath, which bore the pious motto, ‘TRUST IN GOD.’

Black-letter, you know, was my early passion, and the tombstones in the

Greyfriars’ churchyard early yielded up to my knowledge as a decipherer

what little they could tell of the forgotten dead.

Joshua Geddes paused when he saw my eye fixed on this relic of

antiquity. ‘Thou canst read it?’ he said.

I repeated the motto, and added, there seemed vestiges of a date.

‘It should be 1537,’ said he; ‘for so long ago, at the least

computation, did my ancestors, in the blinded times of Papistry, possess

these lands, and in that year did they build their house.’

‘It is an ancient descent,’ said I, looking with respect upon the

monument. ‘I am sorry the arms have been defaced.’

It was perhaps impossible for my friend, Quaker as he was, to seem

altogether void of respect for the pedigree which he began to recount

to me, disclaiming all the while the vanity usually connected with

the subject; in short, with the air of mingled melancholy, regret, and

conscious dignity, with which Jack Fawkes used to tell us at college of

his ancestor’s unfortunate connexion with the Gunpowder Plot.

‘Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher,’ thus harangued Joshua Gleddes

of Mount Sharon; ‘if we ourselves are nothing in the sight of Heaven,

how much less than nothing must be our derivation from rotten bones and

mouldering dust, whose immortal spirits have long since gone to their

private account? Yes, friend Latimer, my ancestors were renowned among

the ravenous and bloodthirsty men who then dwelt in this vexed country;

and so much were they famed for successful freebooting, robbery, and

bloodshed, that they are said to have been called Geddes, as likening

them to the fish called a Jack, Pike, or Luce, and in our country

tongue, a GED--a goodly distinction truly for Christian men! Yet did

they paint this shark of the fresh waters upon their shields, and these

profane priests of a wicked idolatry, the empty boasters called heralds,

who make engraven images of fishes, fowls, and four-footed beasts, that

men may fall down and worship them, assigned the ged for the device and

escutcheon of my fathers, and hewed it over their chimneys, and placed

it above their tombs; and the men were elated in mind, and became yet

more ged-like, slaying, leading into captivity, and dividing the spoil,

until the place where they dwelt obtained the name of Sharing-Knowe,

from the booty which was there divided amongst them and their

accomplices. But a better judgement was given to my father’s father,

Philip Geddes, who, after trying to light his candle at some of the vain

wildfires then held aloft at different meetings and steeple-houses, at

length obtained a spark from the lamp of the blessed George Fox, who

came into Scotland spreading light among darkness, as he himself hath

written, as plentifully as fly the sparkles from the hoof of the horse

which gallops swiftly along the stony road.’--Here the good Quaker

interrupted himself with, ‘And that is very true, I must go speedily to

see after the condition of Solomon.’

A Quaker servant here entered the room with a tray, and inclining his

head towards his master, but not after the manner of one who bows, said

composedly, ‘Thou art welcome home, friend Joshua, we expected thee not

so early; but what hath befallen Solomon thy horse?’

‘What hath befallen him, indeed?’ said my friend; ‘hath he not been

returned hither by the child whom they call Benjie?’

‘He hath,’ said his domestic, ‘but it was after a strange fashion; for

he came hither at a swift and furious pace, and flung the child Benjie

from his back, upon the heap of dung which is in the stable-yard.’

‘I am glad of it,’ said Joshua, hastily,--‘glad of it, with all my heart

and spirit! But stay, he is the child of the widow--hath the boy any

hurt?’

‘Not so’ answered the servant, ‘for he rose and fled swiftly.’

Joshua muttered something about a scourge, and then inquired after

Solomon’s present condition.

‘He seetheth like a steaming cauldron,’ answered the servant; ‘and

Bauldie, the lad, walketh him about the yard with a halter, lest he take

cold.’

Mr. Geddes hastened to the stable-yard to view personally the condition

of his favourite, and I followed to offer my counsel as a jockey. Don’t

laugh, Alan, sure I have jockeyship enough to assist a Quaker--in this

unpleasing predicament.

The lad who was leading the horse seemed to be no Quaker, though his

intercourse with the family had given him a touch of their prim sobriety

of look and manner. He assured Joshua that his horse had received no

injury, and I even hinted that the exercise would be of service to him.

Solomon himself neighed towards his master, and rubbed his head against

the good Quaker’s shoulder, as if to assure him of his being quite well;

so that Joshua returned in comfort to his parlour, where breakfast was

now about to be displayed.

I have since learned that the affection of Joshua for his pony is

considered as inordinate by some of his own sect; and that he has been

much blamed for permitting it to be called by the name of Solomon, or

any other name whatever; but he has gained so much respect and influence

among them that they overlook these foibles.

I learned from him (whilst the old servant, Jehoiachim, entering and

re-entering, seemed to make no end of the materials which he brought in

for breakfast) that his grandfather Philip, the convert of George Fox,

had suffered much from the persecution to which these harmless devotees

were subjected on all sides during that intolerant period, and much

of their family estate had been dilapidated. But better days dawned

on Joshua’s father, who, connecting himself by marriage with a wealthy

family of Quakers in Lancashire, engaged successfully in various

branches of commerce, and redeemed the remnants of the property,

changing its name in sense, without much alteration of sound, from the

Border appellation of Sharing-Knowe, to the evangelical appellation of

Mount Sharon.

This Philip Geddes, as I before hinted, had imbibed the taste for

horticulture and the pursuits of the florist, which are not uncommon

among the peaceful sect he belonged to. He had destroyed the remnants

of the old peel-house, substituting the modern mansion in its place;

and while he reserved the hearth of his ancestors, in memory of their

hospitality, as also the pious motto which they had chanced to assume,

he failed not to obliterate the worldly and military emblems displayed

upon the shield and helmet, together with all their blazonry.

In a few minutes after Mr. Geddes had concluded the account; of himself

and his family, his sister Rachel, the only surviving member of it,

entered the room. Her appearance is remarkably pleasing, and although

her age is certainly thirty at least, she still retains the shape and

motion of an earlier period. The absence of everything like fashion

or ornament was, as usual, atoned for by the most perfect neatness and

cleanliness of her dress; and her simple close cap was particularly

suited to eyes which had the softness and simplicity of the dove’s.

Her features were also extremely agreeable, but had suffered a little

through the ravages of that professed enemy to beauty, the small-pox; a

disadvantage which was in part counterbalanced by a well-formed mouth,

teeth like pearls, and a pleasing sobriety of smile, that seemed to wish

good here and hereafter to every one she spoke to. You cannot make

any of your vile inferences here, Alan, for I have given a full-length

picture of Rachel Geddes; so that; you cannot say, in this case, as in

the letter I have just received, that she was passed over as a subject

on which I feared to dilate. More of this anon.

Well, we settled to our breakfast after a blessing, or rather an

extempore prayer, which Joshua made upon the occasion, and which

the spirit moved him to prolong rather more than I felt altogether

agreeable. Then, Alan, there was such a dispatching of the good things

of the morning as you have not witnessed since you have seen Darsie

Latimer at breakfast. Tea and chocolate, eggs, ham, and pastry, not

forgetting the broiled fish, disappeared with a celerity which seemed

to astonish the good-humoured Quakers, who kept loading my plate

with supplies, as if desirous of seeing whether they could, by any

possibility, tire me out. One hint, however, I received, which put me in

mind where I was. Miss Geddes had offered me some sweet-cake, which, at

the moment, I declined; but presently afterwards, seeing it within

my reach, I naturally enough helped myself to a slice, and had just;

deposited it beside my plate, when Joshua, mine host, not with the

authoritative air of Sancho’s doctor, Tirteafuera, but in a very calm

and quiet manner, lifted it away and replaced it on the dish, observing

only, ‘Thou didst refuse it before, friend Latimer.’

These good folks, Alan, make no allowance for what your good father

calls the Aberdeen-man’s privilege, of ‘taking his word again;’ or what

the wise call second thoughts.

Bating this slight hint that I was among a precise generation, there

was nothing in my reception that was peculiar--unless, indeed, I were to

notice the solicitous and uniform kindness with which all the attentions

of my new friends were seasoned, as if they were anxious to assure me

that the neglect of worldly compliments interdicted by their sect, only

served to render their hospitality more sincere. At length my hunger was

satisfied, and the worthy Quaker, who, with looks of great good nature,

had watched my progress, thus addressed his sister:--

‘This young man, Rachel, hath last night sojourned in the tents of our

neighbour whom men call the laird. I am sorry I had not met him the

evening before, for our neighbour’s hospitality is too unfrequently

exercised to be well prepared with the means of welcome.’

‘Nay, but, Joshua,’ said Rachel, ‘if our neighbour hath done a kindness,

thou shouldst not grudge him the opportunity; and if our young friend

hath fared ill for a night, he will the better relish what Providence

may send him of better provisions.’

‘And that he may do so at leisure,’ said Joshua, ‘we will pray him,

Rachel, to tarry a day or twain with us: he is young, and is but now

entering upon the world, and our habitation may, if he will, be like a

resting-place, from which he may look abroad upon the pilgrimage which

he must take, and the path which he has to travel.--What sayest thou,

friend Latimer? We constrain not our friends to our ways, and thou art,

I think, too wise to quarrel with us for following our own fashions; and

if we should even give thee a word of advice, thou wilt not, I think, be

angry, so that it is spoken in season.’

You know, Alan, how easily I am determined by anything resembling

cordiality--and so, though a little afraid of the formality of my host

and hostess, I accepted their invitation, provided I could get some

messenger to send to Shepherd’s Bush for my servant and portmanteau.

‘Why, truly, friend,’ said Joshua, ‘thy outward frame would be improved

by cleaner garments; but I will do thine errand myself to the Widow

Gregson’s house of reception, and send thy lad hither with thy clothes.

Meanwhile, Rachel will show thee these little gardens, and then will put

thee in some way of spending thy time usefully, till our meal calls

us together at the second hour after noon. I bid thee farewell for

the present, having some space to walk, seeing I must leave the animal

Solomon to his refreshing rest.’

With these words, Mr. Joshua Geddes withdrew. Some ladies we have known

would have felt, or at least affected, reserve or embarrassment, at

being left to do the honours of the grounds to (it will be out, Alan)--a

smart young fellow--an entire stranger. She went out for a few minutes,

and returned in her plain cloak and bonnet, with her beaver gloves,

prepared to act as my guide, with as much simplicity as if she had been

to wait upon thy father. So forth I sallied with my fair Quakeress.

If the house at Mount Sharon be merely a plain and convenient dwelling,

of moderate size and small pretensions, the gardens and offices, though

not extensive, might rival an earl’s in point of care and expense.

Rachel carried me first to her own favourite resort, a poultry-yard,

stocked with a variety of domestic fowls, of the more rare as well as

the most ordinary kinds, furnished with every accommodation which may

suit their various habits. A rivulet which spread into a pond for the

convenience of the aquatic birds, trickled over gravel as it passed

through the yards dedicated to the land poultry, which were thus amply

supplied with the means they use for digestion.

All these creatures seemed to recognize the presence of their mistress,

and some especial favourites hastened to her feet, and continued to

follow her as far as their limits permitted. She pointed out their

peculiarities and qualities, with the discrimination of one who had made

natural history her study; and I own I never looked on barn-door

fowls with so much interest before--at least until they were boiled

or roasted. I could not help asking the trying question, how she could

order the execution of any of the creatures of which she seemed so

careful.

‘It was painful,’ she said, ‘but it was according to the law of their

being. They must die; but they knew not when death was approaching; and

in making them comfortable while they lived, we contributed to their

happiness as much as the conditions of their existence permitted to us.’

I am not quite of her mind, Alan. I do not believe either pigs or

poultry would admit that the chief end of their being was to be killed

and eaten. However, I did not press the argument, from which my Quaker

seemed rather desirous to escape; for, conducting me to the greenhouse,

which was extensive, and filled with the choicest plants, she pointed

out an aviary which occupied the farther end, where, she said, she

employed herself with attending the inhabitants, without being disturbed

with any painful recollections concerning their future destination.

I will not trouble you with any account of the various hot-houses

and gardens, and their contents. No small sum of money must have been

expended in erecting and maintaining them in the exquisite degree

of good order which they exhibited. The family, I understood, were

connected with that of the celebrated Millar, and had imbibed his taste

for flowers, and for horticulture. But instead of murdering botanical

names, I will rather conduct you to the POLICY, or pleasure-garden,

which the taste of Joshua or his father had extended on the banks

betwixt the house and river. This also, in contradistinction to the

prevailing simplicity, was ornamented in an unusual degree. There were

various compartments, the connexion of which was well managed, and

although the whole ground did not exceed five or six acres, it was so

much varied as to seem four times larger. The space contained close

alleys and open walks; a very pretty artificial waterfall; a fountain

also, consisting of a considerable jet-d’eau, whose streams glittered in

the sunbeams and exhibited a continual rainbow. There was a cabinet of

verdure, as the French call it, to cool the summer heat, and there was

a terrace sheltered from the north-east by a noble holly hedge, with all

its glittering spears where you might have the full advantage of the sun

in the clear frosty days of winter.

I know that you, Alan, will condemn all this as bad and antiquated; for,

ever since Dodsley has described the Leasowes, and talked of Brown’s

imitations of nature and Horace Walpole’s late Essay on Gardening, you

are all for simple nature--condemn walking up and down stairs in the

open air and declare for wood and wilderness. But NE QUID NIMIS. I would

not deface a scene of natural grandeur or beauty, by the introduction

of crowded artificial decorations; yet such may, I think, be very

interesting, where the situation, in its natural state, otherwise has no

particular charms.

So that when I have a country-house (who can say how soon?) you may

look for grottoes, and cascades, and fountains; nay if you vex me by

contradiction, perhaps I may go the length of a temple--so provoke me

not, for you see of what enormities I am capable.

At any rate, Alan, had you condemned as artificial the rest of Friend

Geddes’s grounds, there is a willow walk by the very verge of the

stream, so sad, so solemn, and so silent, that it must have commanded

your admiration. The brook, restrained at the ultimate boundary of the

grounds by a natural dam-dike or ledge of rocks, seemed, even in

its present swollen state, scarcely to glide along: and the pale

willow-trees, dropping their long branches into the stream, gathered

around them little coronals of the foam that floated down from the more

rapid stream above. The high rock, which formed the opposite bank of the

brook, was seen dimly through the branches, and its pale and splintered

front, garlanded with long streamers of briers and other creeping

plants, seemed a barrier between the quiet path which we trod, and the

toiling and bustling world beyond. The path itself, following the sweep

of the stream, made a very gentle curve; enough, however, served by its

inflection completely to hide the end of the walk until you arrived at

it. A deep and sullen sound, which increased as you proceeded, prepared

you for this termination, which was indeed only a plain root-seat, from

which you looked on a fall of about six or seven feet, where the brook

flung itself over the ledge of natural rock I have already mentioned,

which there crossed its course.

The quiet and twilight seclusion of this walk rendered it a fit scene

for confidential communing; and having nothing more interesting to

say to my fair Quaker, I took the liberty of questioning her about the

laird; for you are, or ought to be, aware, that next to discussing the

affairs of the heart, the fair sex are most interested in those of their

neighbours.

I did not conceal either my curiosity, or the check which it had

received from Joshua, and I saw that my companion answered with

embarrassment. ‘I must not speak otherwise than truly,’ she said; ‘and

therefore I tell thee, that my brother dislikes, and that I fear, the

man of whom thou hast asked me. Perhaps we are both wrong--but he is a

man of violence, and hath great influence over many, who, following

the trade of sailors and fishermen, become as rude as the elements with

which they contend. He hath no certain name among them, which is

not unusual, their rude fashion being to distinguish each other

by nicknames; and they have called him the Laird of the Lakes (not

remembering there should be no one called Lord, save one only) in idle

derision; the pools of salt water left by the tide among the sands being

called the Lakes of Solway.’

‘Has he no other revenue than he derives from these sands?’ I asked.

‘That I cannot answer,’ replied Rachel; ‘men say that he wants not

money, though he lives like an ordinary fisherman, and that he imparts

freely of his means to the poor around him. They intimate that he is

a man of consequence, once deeply engaged in the unhappy affair of the

rebellion, and even still too much in danger from the government

to assume his own name. He is often absent from his cottage at

Broken-burn-cliffs, for weeks and months.’

‘I should have thought,’ said I, ‘that the government would scarce, at

this time of day, be likely to proceed against any one even of the most

obnoxious rebels. Many years have passed away’--

‘It is true,’ she replied; ‘yet such persons may understand that their

being connived at depends on their living in obscurity. But indeed there

can nothing certain be known among these rude people. The truth is not

in them--most of them participate in the unlawful trade betwixt these

parts and the neighbouring shore of England; and they are familiar with

every species of falsehood and deceit.’

‘It is a pity,’ I remarked, ‘your brother should have neighbours of such

a description, especially as I understand he is at some variance with

them.’

‘Where, when, and about what matter?’ answered Miss Geddes, with an

eager and timorous anxiety, which made me regret having touched on the

subject.

I told her, in a way as little alarming as I could devise, the purport

of what passed betwixt this Laird of the Lakes and her brother, at their

morning’s interview.

‘You affright me much,’ answered she; ‘it is this very circumstance

which has scared me in the watches of the night. When my brother Joshua

withdrew from an active share in the commercial concerns of my father,

being satisfied with the portion of worldly substance which he already

possessed, there were one or two undertakings in which he retained an

interest, either because his withdrawing might have been prejudicial to

friends, or because he wished to retain some mode of occupying his time.

Amongst the more important of these is a fishing station on the coast,

where, by certain improved modes of erecting snares, opening at the

advance of the tide, and shutting at the reflux, many more fish are

taken than can be destroyed by those who, like the men of Broken-burn,

use only the boat-net and spear, or fishing-rod. They complain of these

tide-nets, as men call them, as an innovation, and pretend to a right

to remove and destroy them by the strong hand. I fear me, this man of

violence, whom they call the laird, will execute these his threats,

which cannot be without both loss and danger to my brother.’

‘Mr. Geddes,’ said I, ‘ought to apply to the civil, magistrate; there

are soldiers at Dumfries who would be detached for his protection.’

‘Thou speakest, friend Latimer,’ answered the lady, ‘as one who is

still in the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity. God forbid that

we should endeavour to preserve nets of flax and stakes of wood, or the

Mammon of gain which they procure for us, by the hands of men of war and

at the risk of spilling human blood.’

‘I respect your scruples,’ I replied; ‘but since such is your way

of thinking, your brother ought to avert the danger by compromise or

submission.’

‘Perhaps it would be best,’ answered Rachel; ‘but what can I say? Even

in the best-trained temper there may remain some leaven of the old Adam;

and I know not whether it is this or a better spirit that maketh my

brother Joshua determine, that though he will not resist force by force,

neither will he yield up his right to mere threats, or encourage wrong

to others by yielding to menaces. His partners, he says, confide in his

steadiness: and that he must not disappoint them by yielding up their

right for the fear of the threats of man, whose breath is in his

nostrils.’

This observation convinced me that the spirit of the old sharers of

the spoil was not utterly departed even from the bosom of the peaceful

Quaker; and I could not help confessing internally that Joshua had the

right, when he averred that there was as much courage in sufferance as

in exertion.

As we approached the farther end of the willow walk, the sullen and

continuous sound of the dashing waters became still more and more

audible, and at length rendered it difficult for us to communicate

with each other. The conversation dropped, but apparently my companion

continued to dwell upon the apprehensions which it had excited. At the

bottom of the walk we obtained a view of the cascade, where the swollen

brook flung itself in foam and tumult over the natural barrier of rock,

which seemed in vain to attempt to bar its course. I gazed with delight,

and, turning to express my sentiment to my companion, I observed that

she had folded her hands in an attitude of sorrowful resignation, which

showed her thoughts were far from the scene which lay before her.

When she saw that her abstraction was observed, she resumed her former

placidity of manner; and having given me sufficient time to admire this

termination of our sober and secluded walk, proposed that me should

return to the house through her brother’s farm. ‘Even we Quakers, as

we are called, have our little pride,’ she said; ‘and my brother Joshua

would not forgive me, were I not to show thee the fields which he taketh

delight to cultivate after the newest and best fashion; for which, I

promise thee, he hath received much praise from good judges, as well as

some ridicule from those who think it folly to improve on the customs of

our ancestors.’

As she spoke, she opened a low door, leading through a moss and

ivy-covered wall, the boundary of the pleasure-ground, into the open

fields; through which we moved by a convenient path, leading, with good

taste and simplicity, by stile and hedgerow, through pasturage, and

arable, and woodland; so that in all ordinary weather, the good man

might, without even soiling his shoes, perform his perambulation round

the farm. There were seats also, on which to rest; and though not

adorned with inscriptions, nor quite so frequent in occurrence as those

mentioned in the account of the Leasowes, their situation was always

chosen with respect to some distant prospect to be commanded, or some

home-view to be enjoyed.

But what struck me most in Joshua’s domain was the quantity and the

tameness of the game. The hen partridge scarce abandoned the roost, at

the foot of the hedge where she had assembled her covey, though the path

went close beside her; and the hare, remaining on her form, gazed at us

as we passed, with her full dark eye, or rising lazily and hopping to

a little distance, stood erect to look at us with more curiosity than

apprehension. I observed to Miss Geddes the extreme tameness of these

timid and shy animals, and she informed me that their confidence arose

from protection in the summer, and relief during the winter.

‘They are pets,’ she said, ‘of my brother, who considers them as the

better entitled to his kindness that they are a race persecuted by the

world in general. He denieth himself,’ she said, ‘even the company of a

dog, that these creatures may here at least enjoy undisturbed security.

Yet this harmless or humane propensity, or humour, hath given offence,’

she added, ‘to our dangerous neighbours.’

She explained this, by telling me that my host of the preceding night

was remarkable for his attachment to field-sports, which he pursued

without much regard to the wishes of the individuals over whose property

he followed them. The undefined mixture of respect and fear with which

he was generally regarded induced most of the neighbouring land-holders

to connive at what they would perhaps in another have punished as a

trespass; but Joshua Geddes would not permit the intrusion of any

one upon his premises, and as he had before offended several country

neighbours, who, because he would neither shoot himself nor permit

others to do so, compared him to the dog in the manger, so he now

aggravated the displeasure which the Laird of the Lakes had already

conceived against him, by positively debarring him from pursuing his

sport over his grounds--‘So that,’ said Rachel Geddes, ‘I sometimes wish

our lot had been cast elsewhere than in these pleasant borders, where,

if we had less of beauty around us, we might have had a neighbourhood of

peace and, goodwill.’

We at length returned to the house, where Miss Geddes showed me a small

study, containing a little collection of books, in two separate presses.

‘These,’ said she, pointing to the smaller press, ‘will, if thou

bestowest thy leisure upon them, do thee good; and these,’ pointing to

the other and larger cabinet, ‘can, I believe, do thee little harm. Some

of our people do indeed hold, that every writer who is not with us

is against us; but brother Joshua is mitigated in his opinions, and

correspondeth with our friend John Scot of Amwell, who hath himself

constructed verses well approved of even in the world. I wish thee many

good thoughts till our family meet at the hour of dinner.’

Left alone, I tried both collections; the first consisted entirely

of religious and controversial tracts, and the latter formed a small

selection of history and of moral writers, both in prose and verse.

Neither collection promising much amusement, thou hast, in these close

pages, the fruits of my tediousness; and truly, I think, writing history

(one’s self being the subject) is as amusing as reading that of foreign

countries, at any time.

Sam, still more drunk than sober, arrived in due time with my

portmanteau, and enabled me to put my dress into order, better befitting

this temple of cleanliness and decorum, where (to conclude) I believe I

shall be a sojourner more days than one. [See Note 1.]

PS.--I have noted your adventure, as you home-bred youths may perhaps

term it, concerning the visit of your doughty laird. We travellers hold

such an incident no great consequence, though it may serve to embellish

the uniform life of Brown’s Square. But art thou not ashamed to attempt

to interest one who is seeing the world at large, and studying human

nature on a large scale, by so bald a narrative? Why, what does it

amount to, after all, but that a Tory laird dined with a Whig lawyer? no

very uncommon matter, especially as you state Mr. Herries to have lost

the estate, though retaining the designation. The laird behaves with

haughtiness and impertinence--nothing out of character in that: is NOT

kicked down stairs, as he ought to have been, were Alan Fairford half

the man that he would wish his friends to think him. Aye, but then, as

the young lawyer, instead of showing his friend the door, chose to make

use of it himself, he overheard the laird aforesaid ask the old lawyer

concerning Darsie Latimer--no doubt earnestly inquiring after the

handsome, accomplished inmate of his family, who has so lately made

Themis his bow and declined the honour of following her farther. You

laugh at me for my air-drawn castles; but confess, have they not surer

footing, in general, than two words spoken by such a man as Herries?

And yet--and yet--I would rally the matter off, Alan; but in dark nights

even the glow-worm becomes an object of lustre, and to one plunged in

my uncertainty and ignorance, the slightest gleam that promises

intelligence is interesting. My life is like the subterranean river in

the Peak of Derby, visible only where it crosses the celebrated cavern.

I am here, and this much I know; but where I have sprung from, or

whither my course of life is like to tend, who shall tell me? Your

father, too, seemed interested and alarmed, and talked of writing; would

to Heaven he may!--I send daily to the post-town for letters.

LETTER VIII

ALAN FAIRFORD TO DARSIE LATIMER

Thou mayst clap thy wings and crow as thou pleasest. You go in search

of adventures, but adventures come to me unsought for; and oh! in what a

pleasing shape came mine, since it arrived in the form of a client--and

a fair client to boot! What think you of that, Darsie! you who are such

a sworn squire of dames? Will this not match my adventures with thine,

that hunt salmon on horseback, and will it not, besides, eclipse

the history of a whole tribe of Broadbrims?--But I must proceed

methodically.

When I returned to-day from the College, I was surprised to see a broad

grin distending the adust countenance of the faithful James Wilkinson,

which, as the circumstance seldom happens above once a year, was matter

of some surprise. Moreover, he had a knowing glance with his eye,

which I should have as soon expected from a dumb-waiter--an article

of furniture to which James, in his usual state, may be happily

assimilated. ‘What the devil is the matter, James?’

‘The devil may be in the matter, for aught I ken,’ said James, with

another provoking grin; ‘for here has been a woman calling for you,

Maister Alan.’

‘A woman calling for me?’ said I in surprise; for you know well, that

excepting old Aunt Peggy, who comes to dinner of a Sunday, and the

still older Lady Bedrooket, who calls ten times a year for the

quarterly payment of her jointure of four hundred merks, a female scarce

approaches our threshold, as my father visits all his female clients at

their own lodgings. James protested, however, that there had been a

lady calling, and for me. ‘As bonny a lass as I have seen,’ added James,

‘since I was in the Fusileers, and kept company with Peg Baxter.’ Thou

knowest all James’s gay recollections go back to the period of his

military service, the years he has spent in ours having probably been

dull enough.

‘Did the lady leave no name nor place of address?’

‘No,’ replied James; ‘but she asked when you wad be at hame, and I

appointed her for twelve o’clock, when the house wad be quiet, and your

father at the Bank.’

‘For shame, James! how can you think my father’s being at home or abroad

could be of consequence?--The lady is of course a decent person?’

‘I’se uphaud her that, sir--she is nane of your--WHEW’--(Here James

supplied a blank with a low whistle)--‘but I didna ken--my maister makes

an unco wark if a woman comes here.’

I passed into my own room, not ill-pleased that my father was absent,

notwithstanding I had thought it proper to rebuke James for having so

contrived it, I disarranged my books, to give them the appearance of a

graceful confusion on the table, and laying my foils (useless since your

departure) across the mantelpiece, that the lady might see I was TAM

MARTE QUAM MERCURIO--I endeavoured to dispose my dress so as to resemble

an elegant morning deshabille--gave my hair the general shade of powder

which marks the gentleman--laid my watch and seals on the table, to

hint that I understood the value of time;--and when I had made all these

arrangements, of which I am a little ashamed when I think of them, I had

nothing better to do than to watch the dial-plate till the index

pointed to noon. Five minutes elapsed, which. I allowed for variation

of clocks--five minutes more rendered me anxious and doubtful--and five

minutes more would have made me impatient.

Laugh as thou wilt; but remember, Darsie, I was a lawyer, expecting his

first client--a young man, how strictly bred up I need not remind you,

expecting a private interview with a young and beautiful woman. But ere

the third term of five minutes had elapsed, the door-bell was heard to

tinkle low and modestly, as if touched by some timid hand.

James Wilkinson, swift in nothing, is, as thou knowest, peculiarly slow

in answering the door-bell; and I reckoned on five minutes good, ere his

solemn step should have ascended the stair. Time enough, thought I, for

a peep through the blinds, and was hastening to the window accordingly.

But I reckoned without my host; for James, who had his own curiosity

as well as I, was lying PERDU in the lobby, ready to open at the first

tinkle; and there was, ‘This way, ma’am--Yes, ma’am--The lady, Mr.

Alan,’ before I could get to the chair in which I proposed to be

discovered, seated in all legal dignity. The consciousness of being

half-caught in the act of peeping, joined to that native air of awkward

bashfulness of which I am told the law will soon free me, kept me

standing on the floor in some confusion; while the lady, disconcerted

on her part, remained on the threshold of the room. James Wilkinson, who

had his senses most about him, and was perhaps willing to prolong his

stay in the apartment, busied himself in setting a chair for the lady,

and recalled me to my good-breeding by the hint. I invited her to take

possession of it, and bid James withdraw.

My visitor was undeniably a lady, and probably considerably above the

ordinary rank--very modest, too, judging from the mixture of grace and

timidity with which she moved, and at my entreaty sat down. Her dress

was, I should suppose, both handsome and fashionable; but it was much

concealed by a walking-cloak of green silk, fancifully embroidered; in

which, though heavy for the season, her person was enveloped, and which,

moreover, was furnished with a hood.

The devil take that hood, Darsie! for I was just able to distinguish

that, pulled as it was over the face, it concealed from me, as I was

convinced, one of the prettiest countenances I have seen, and which,

from a sense of embarrassment, seemed to be crimsoned with a deep blush.

I could see her complexion was beautiful--her chin finely turned--her

lips coral--and her teeth rivals to ivory. But further the deponent

sayeth not; for a clasp of gold, ornamented with it sapphire, closed

the envious mantle under the incognita’s throat, and the cursed hood

concealed entirely the upper part of the face.

I ought to have spoken first, that is certain; but ere I could get my

phrases well arranged, the young lady, rendered desperate I suppose by

my hesitation opened the conversation herself.

‘I fear I am an intruder, sir--I expected to meet an elderly gentleman.’

This brought me to myself. ‘My father, madam, perhaps. But you inquired

for Alan Fairford--my father’s name is Alexander.’

‘It is Mr. Alan Fairford, undoubtedly, with whom I wished to speak,’ she

said, with greater confusion; ‘but I was told that he was advanced in

life.’

‘Some mistake, madam, I presume, betwixt my father and myself--our

Christian names have the same initials, though the terminations are

different. I--I--I would esteem it a most fortunate mistake if I could

have the honour of supplying my father’s place in anything that could be

of service to you.’

‘You are very obliging, sir,’ A pause, during which she seemed

undetermined whether to rise or sit still.

‘I am just about to be called to the bar, madam,’ said I, in hopes to

remove her scruples to open her case to me; ‘and if my advice or opinion

could be of the slightest use, although I cannot presume to say that

they are much to be depended upon, yet’--

The lady arose. ‘I am truly sensible of your kindness, sir; and I have

no doubt of your talents. I will be very plain with you--it is you whom

I came to visit; although, now that we have met, I find it will be much

better that I should commit my communication to writing.’

‘I hope, madam, you will not be so cruel--so tantalizing, I would

say. Consider, you are my first client--your business my first

consultation--do not do me the displeasure of withdrawing your

confidence because I am a few years younger than you seem to have

expected. My attention shall make amends for my want of experience.’

‘I have no doubt of either,’ said the lady, in a grave tone, calculated

to restrain the air of gallantry with which I had endeavoured to address

her. ‘But when you have received my letter you will find good reasons

assigned why a written communication will best suit my purpose. I wish

you, sir, a good morning.’ And she left the apartment, her poor baffled

counsel scraping, and bowing, and apologizing for anything that might

have been disagreeable to her, although the front of my offence seems to

be my having been discovered to be younger than my father.

The door was opened--out she went--walked along the pavement, turned

down the close, and put the sun, I believe, into her pocket when she

disappeared, so suddenly did dullness and darkness sink down on the

square, when she was no longer visible. I stood for a moment as if I

had been senseless, not recollecting what a fund of entertainment I must

have supplied to our watchful friends on the other side of the green.

Then it darted on my mind that I might dog her, and ascertain at least

who or what she was. Off I set--ran down the close, where she was no

longer to be seen, and demanded of one of the dyer’s lads whether he had

seen a lady go down the close, or had observed which way she turned.

‘A leddy!’--said the dyer, staring at me with his rainbow countenance.

‘Mr. Alan, what takes you out, rinning like daft, without your hat?’

‘The devil take my hat!’ answered I, running back, however, in quest of

it; snatched it up, and again sallied forth. But as I reached the head

of the close once more, I had sense enough to recollect that all pursuit

would be now in vain. Besides, I saw my friend, the journeyman dyer, in

close confabulation with a pea-green personage of his own profession,

and was conscious, like Scrub, that they talked of me, because they

laughed consumedly. I had no mind, by a second sudden appearance, to

confirm the report that Advocate Fairford was ‘gaen daft,’ which had

probably spread from Campbell’s Close-foot to the Meal-market Stairs;

and so slunk back within my own hole again.

My first employment was to remove all traces of that elegant and

fanciful disposition of my effects, from which I had hoped for so much

credit; for I was now ashamed and angry at having thought an instant

upon the mode of receiving a visit which had commenced so agreeably,

but terminated in a manner so unsatisfactory. I put my folios in their

places--threw the foils into the dressing-closet--tormenting myself all

the while with the fruitless doubt, whether I had missed an opportunity

or escaped a stratagem, or whether the young person had been really

startled, as she seemed to intimate, by the extreme youth of her

intended legal adviser. The mirror was not unnaturally called in to aid;

and that cabinet-counsellor pronounced me rather short, thick-set,

with a cast of features fitter, I trust, for the bar than the ball--not

handsome enough for blushing virgins to pine for my sake, or even to

invent sham cases to bring them to my chambers--yet not ugly enough

either to scare those away who came on real business--dark, to be sure,

but--NIGRI SUNT HYACINTHI--there are pretty things to be said in favour

of that complexion.

At length--as common sense will get the better in all cases when a man

will but give it fair play--I began to stand convicted in my own mind,

as an ass before the interview, for having expected too much--an ass

during the interview, for having failed to extract the lady’s real

purpose--and an especial ass, now that it was over, for thinking so much

about it. But I can think of nothing else, and therefore I am determined

to think of this to some good purpose.

You remember Murtough O’Hara’s defence of the Catholic doctrine of

confession; because, ‘by his soul, his sins were always a great burden

to his mind, till he had told them to the priest; and once confessed, he

never thought more about them.’ I have tried his receipt, therefore; and

having poured my secret mortification into thy trusty ear, I will think

no more about this maid of the mist,

Who, with no face, as ‘twere, outfaced me.

--Four o’clock. Plague on her green mantle, she can be nothing

better than a fairy; she keeps possession of my head yet! All during

dinner-time I was terribly absent; but, luckily, my father gave the

whole credit of my reverie to the abstract nature of the doctrine, VINCO

VINCENTEM, ERGO VINCO TE; upon which brocard of law the professor this

morning lectured. So I got an early dismissal to my own crib, and here

am I studying, in one sense, VINCERE VINCENTEM, to get the better of

the silly passion of curiosity--I think--I think it amounts to nothing

else--which has taken such possession of my imagination, and is

perpetually worrying me with the question--will she write or no? She

will not--she will not! So says Reason, and adds, Why should she take

the trouble to enter into correspondence with one who, instead of a

bold, alert, prompt gallant, proved a chicken-hearted boy, and left her

the whole awkwardness of explanation, which he should have met half-way?

But then, says Fancy, she WILL write, for she was not a bit that sort

of person whom you, Mr. Reason, in your wisdom, take her to be. She was

disconcerted enough, without my adding to her distress by any impudent

conduct on my part. And she will write, for--By Heaven, she HAS written,

Darsie, and with a vengeance! Here is her letter, thrown into the

kitchen by a caddie, too faithful to be bribed, either by money or

whisky, to say more than that he received it, with sixpence, from an

ordinary-looking woman, as he was plying on his station near the Cross.

‘FOR ALAN FAIRFORD, ESQUIRE, BARRISTER.

‘SIR,

‘Excuse my mistake of to-day. I had accidentally learnt that Mr. Darsie

Latimer had an intimate friend and associate in Mr. A. Fairford. When I

inquired for such a person, he was pointed out to me at the Cross (as

I think the Exchange of your city is called) in the character of a

respectable elderly man--your father, as I now understand. On inquiry at

Brown’s Square, where I understood he resided, I used the full name of

Alan, which naturally occasioned you the trouble of this day’s visit.

Upon further inquiry, I am led to believe that you are likely to be the

person most active in the matter to which I am now about to direct your

attention; and I regret much that circumstances, arising out of my own

particular situation, prevent my communicating to you personally what I

now apprise you of in this matter.

‘Your friend, Mr. Darsie Latimer, is in a situation of considerable

danger. You are doubtless aware that he has been cautioned not to trust

himself in England. Now, if he has not absolutely transgressed this

friendly injunction, he has at least approached as nearly to the menaced

danger as he could do, consistently with the letter of the prohibition.

He has chosen his abode in a neighbourhood very perilous to him; and

it is only by a speedy return to Edinburgh, or at least by a removal to

some more remote part of Scotland, that he can escape the machinations

of those whose enmity he has to fear. I must speak in mystery, but my

words are not the less certain; and, I believe, you know enough of your

friend’s fortunes to be aware that I could not write this much without

being even more intimate with them than you are.

‘If he cannot, or will not, take the advice here given, it is my opinion

that you should join him, if possible, without delay, and use, by

your personal presence and entreaty, the arguments which may prove

ineffectual in writing. One word more, and I implore of your candour to

take it as it is meant. No one supposes that Mr. Fairford’s zeal in his

friend’s service needs to be quickened by mercenary motives. ‘But report

says, that Mr. Alan Fairford, not having yet entered on his professional

career, may, in such a case as this, want the means, though he cannot

want the inclination, to act with promptitude. The enclosed note Mr.

Alan Fairford must be pleased to consider as his first professional

emolument; and she who sends it hopes it will be the omen of unbounded

success, though the fee comes from a hand so unknown as that of ‘GREEN

MANTLE’.

A bank-note of L20 was the enclosure, and the whole incident left me

speechless with astonishment. I am not able to read over the beginning

of my own letter, which forms the introduction to this extraordinary

communication. I only know that, though mixed with a quantity of foolery

(God knows very much different from my present feelings), it gives an

account sufficiently accurate, of the mysterious person from whom this

letter comes, and that I have neither time nor patience to separate the

absurd commentary from the text, which it is so necessary you should

know.

Combine this warning, so strangely conveyed, with the caution impressed

on you by your London correspondent, Griffiths, against your visiting

England--with the character of your Laird of the Solway Lakes--with the

lawless habits of the people on that frontier country, where warrants

are not easily executed owing to the jealousy entertained by either

country of the legal interference of the other; remember, that even Sir

John Fielding said to my father that he could never trace a rogue beyond

the Briggend of Dumfries--think that the distinctions of Whig and

Tory, Papist and Protestant, still keep that country in a loose and

comparatively lawless state--think of all this, my dearest Darsie, and

remember that, while at this Mount Sharon of yours, you are residing

with a family actually menaced with forcible interference, and who,

while their obstinacy provokes violence, are by principle bound to

abstain from resistance.

Nay, let me tell you, professionally, that the legality of the mode of

fishing practised by your friend Joshua is greatly doubted by our

best lawyers; and that, if the stake-nets be considered as actually an

unlawful obstruction raised in the channel of the estuary, an assembly

of persons who shall proceed, VIA FACTI, to pull dawn and destroy them,

would not, in the eye of the law, be esteemed guilty of a riot. So, by

remaining where you are, YOU are likely to be engaged in a quarrel with

which you have nothing to do, and thus to enable your enemies, whoever

these may be, to execute, amid the confusion of a general hubbub,

whatever designs they may have against your personal safety.

Black-fishers, poachers, and smugglers are a sort of gentry that will

not be much checked, either by your Quaker’s texts, or by your chivalry.

If you are Don Quixote enough to lay lance in rest, in defence of those

of the stake-net, and of the sad-coloured garment, I pronounce you but

a lost knight; for, as I said before, I doubt if these potent redressers

of wrongs, the justices and constables, will hold themselves warranted

to interfere. In a word, return, my dear Amadis; the adventure of the

Solway-nets is not reserved for your worship. Come back, and I will be

your faithful Sancho Panza upon a more hopeful quest. We will beat

about together, in search of this Urganda, the Unknown She of the Green

Mantle, who can read this, the riddle of thy fate, better than wise

Eppie of Buckhaven, [Well known in the Chap-Book, called the History of

Buckhaven.] or Cassandra herself.

I would fain trifle, Darsie; for, in debating with you, jests will

sometimes go farther than arguments; but I am sick at heart and cannot

keep the ball up. If you have a moment’s regard for the friendship we

have so often vowed to each other, let my wishes for once prevail over

your own venturous and romantic temper. I am quite serious in thinking

that the information communicated to my father by this Mr. Herries, and

the admonitory letter of the young lady, bear upon each other; and that,

were you here, you might learn something from one or other, or from

both, that; might throw light on your birth and parentage. You will not,

surely, prefer an idle whim to the prospect which is thus held out to

you?

I would, agreeably to the hint I have received in the young lady’s

letter (for I am confident that such is her condition), have ere now

been with you to urge these things, instead of pouring them out upon

paper. But you know that the day for my trials is appointed; I have

already gone through the form of being introduced to the examinators,

and have gotten my titles assigned me. All this should not keep me at

home, but my father would view any irregularity upon this occasion as a

mortal blow to the hopes which he has cherished most fondly during his

life; viz. my being called to the bar with some credit. For my own

part, I know there is no great difficulty in passing these formal

examinations, else how have some of our acquaintance got through them?

But, to my father, these formalities compose an august and serious

solemnity, to which he has long looked forward, and my absenting myself

at this moment would wellnigh drive him distracted. Yet I shall go

altogether distracted myself, if I have not an instant assurance from

you that you are hastening hither. Meanwhile I have desired Hannah to

get your little crib into the best order possible. I cannot learn

that my father has yet written to you; nor has he spoken more of his

communication with Birrenswork; but when I let him have some inkling

of the dangers you are at present incurring, I know my request that you

will return immediately will have his cordial support.

Another reason yet--I must give a dinner, as usual, upon my admission,

to our friends; and my father, laying aside all his usual considerations

of economy, has desired it may be in the best style possible.

Come hither then, dear Darsie! or, I protest to you, I shall send

examination, admission-dinner, and guests to the devil, and come, in

person, to fetch you with a vengeance. Thine, in much anxiety, A. F.

LETTER IX

ALEXANDER FAIRFORD, W.S., TO MR. DARSIE LATIMER

DEAR MR. DARSIE,

Having been your FACTOR LOCO TUTORIS or rather, I ought to say, in

correctness (since I acted without warrant from the court), your

NEGOTIORUM GESTOR, that connexion occasions my present writing. And

although having rendered an account of my intromissions, which have been

regularly approved of, not only by yourself (whom I could not prevail

upon to look at more than the docket and sum total), but also by the

worthy Mr. Samuel Griffiths of London, being the hand through whom the

remittances were made, I may, in some sense, be considered as to you

FUNCTUS OFFICIO; yet to speak facetiously, I trust you will not hold me

accountable as a vicious intromitter, should I still consider myself as

occasionally interested in your welfare. My motives for writing, at this

time, are twofold.

I have met with a Mr. Herries of Birrenswork, a gentleman of very

ancient descent, but who hath in time past been in difficulties, nor

do I know if his affairs are yet well redd. Birrenswork says that he

believes he was very familiar with your father, whom he states to have

been called Ralph Latimer of Langcote Hall, in Westmoreland; and he

mentioned family affairs, which it may be of the highest importance to

you to be acquainted with; but as he seemed to decline communicating

them to me, I could not civilly urge him thereanent. Thus much I know,

that Mr. Herries had his own share in the late desperate and unhappy

matter of 1745, and was in trouble about it, although that is probably

now over. Moreover, although he did not profess the Popish religion

openly, he had an eye that way. And both of these are reasons why I have

hesitated to recommend him to a youth who maybe hath not altogether so

well founded his opinions concerning Kirk and State, that they might

not be changed by some sudden wind of doctrine. For I have observed

ye, Master Darsie, to be rather tinctured with the old leaven of

prelacy--this under your leave; and although God forbid that you should

be in any manner disaffected to the Protestant Hanoverian line, yet ye

have ever loved to hear the blawing, blazing stories which the Hieland

gentlemen tell of those troublous times, which, if it were their will,

they had better pretermit, as tending rather to shame than to honour.

It is come to me also by a sidewind, as I may say, that you have been

neighbouring more than was needful among some of the pestilent sect of

Quakers--a people who own neither priest nor king, nor civil magistrate,

nor the fabric of our law, and will not depone either IN CIVILIBUS

or CRIMINALIBUS, be the loss to the lieges what it may. Anent which

heresies, it were good ye read ‘The Snake in the Grass’ or ‘The Foot

out of the Snare,’ being both well-approved tracts, touching these

doctrines.

Now, Mr. Darsie, ye are to judge for yourself whether ye can safely to

your soul’s weal remain longer among these Papists and Quakers--these

defections on the right hand, and failings away on the left; and truly

if you can confidently resist these evil examples of doctrine, I think

ye may as well tarry in the bounds where ye are, until you see Mr.

Herries of Birrenswork, who does assuredly know more of your matters

than I thought had been communicated to any man in Scotland. I would

fain have precognosced him myself on these affairs, but found him

unwilling to speak out, as I have partly intimated before.

To call a new cause--I have the pleasure to tell you, that Alan has

passed his private Scots Law examinations with good approbation--a great

relief to my mind; especially as worthy Mr. Pest told me in my ear there

was no fear of ‘the callant’, as he familiarly called him, which gives

me great heart. His public trials, which are nothing in comparison

save a mere form, are to take place, by order of the Honourable Dean

of Faculty, on Wednesday first; and on Friday he puts on the gown, and

gives a bit chack of dinner to his friends and acquaintances, as is, you

know, the custom. Your company will be wished for there, Master Darsie,

by more than him, which I regret to think is impossible to have, as well

by your engagements, as that our cousin, Peter Fairford, comes from the

West on purpose, and we have no place to offer him but your chamber

in the wall. And, to be plain with you, after my use and wont, Master

Darsie, it may be as well that Alan and you do not meet till he is

hefted as it were to his new calling. You are a pleasant gentleman, and

full of daffing, which may well become you, as you have enough (as

I understand) to uphold your merry humour. If you regard the matter

wisely, you would perchance consider that a man of substance should have

a douce and staid demeanour; yet you are so far from growing grave and

considerate with the increase of your annual income, that the richer

you become, the merrier I think you grow. But this must be at your own

pleasure, so far as you are concerned. Alan, however (overpassing my

small savings), has the world to win; and louping and laughing, as you

and he were wont to do, would soon make the powder flee out of his wig,

and the pence out of his pocket. Nevertheless, I trust you will meet

when you return from your rambles; for there is a time, as the wise man

sayeth, for gathering, and a time for casting away; it is always the

part of a man of sense to take the gathering time first. I remain,

dear sir, your well-wishing friend; and obedient to command, ALEXANDER

FAIRFORD.

PS.--Alan’s Thesis is upon the title DE PERICULO ET COMMODO REI

VENDITAE, and is a very pretty piece of Latinity.--Ross House, in our

neighbourhood, is nearly finished, and is thought to excel Duff House in

ornature.

LETTER X

DARSIE LATIMER TO ALAN FAIRFORD

The plot thickens, Alan. I have your letter, and also one from your

father. The last makes it impossible for me to comply with the kind

request which the former urges. No--I cannot be with you, Alan; and

that, for the best of all reasons--I cannot and ought not to counteract

your father’s anxious wishes. I do not take it unkind of him that he

desires my absence. It is natural that he should wish for his son

what his son so well deserves--the advantage of a wiser and steadier

companion than I seem to him. And yet I am sure I have often laboured

hard enough to acquire that decency of demeanour which can no more be

suspected of breaking bounds, than an owl of catching a butterfly.

But it was in vain that I have knitted my brows till I had the headache,

in order to acquire the reputation of a grave, solid, and well-judging

youth. Your father always has discovered, or thought that he discovered,

a hare-brained eccentricity lying folded among the wrinkles of my

forehead, which rendered me a perilous associate for the future

counsellor and ultimate judge. Well, Corporal Nym’s philosophy must

be my comfort--‘Things must be as they may.’--I cannot come to your

father’s house, where he wishes not to see me; and as to your coming

hither,--by all that is dear to me, I vow that if you are guilty of such

a piece of reckless folly--not to say undutiful cruelty, considering

your father’s thoughts and wishes--I will never speak to you again as

long as I live! I am perfectly serious. And besides, your father, while

he in a manner prohibits me from returning to Edinburgh, gives me the

strongest reasons for continuing a little while longer in this country,

by holding out the hope that I may receive from your old friend, Mr.

Herries of Birrenswork, some particulars concerning my origin, with

which that ancient recusant seems to be acquainted.

That gentleman mentioned the name of a family in Westmoreland, with

which he supposes me connected. My inquiries here after such a family

have been ineffectual, for the borderers, on either side, know little

of each other. But I shall doubtless find some English person of whom to

make inquiries, since the confounded fetterlock clapped on my movements

by old Griffiths, prevents me repairing to England in person. At

least, the prospect of obtaining some information is greater here than

elsewhere; it will be an apology for my making a longer stay in this

neighbourhood, a line of conduct which seems to have your father’s

sanction, whose opinion must be sounder than that of your wandering

damoselle.

If the road were paved with dangers which leads to such a discovery, I

cannot for a moment hesitate to tread it. But in fact there is no peril

in the case. If the Tritons of the Solway shall proceed to pull down

honest Joshua’s tide-nets, I am neither Quixote enough in disposition,

nor Goliath enough in person, to attempt their protection. I have no

idea of attempting to prop a falling house by putting my shoulders

against it. And indeed, Joshua gave me a hint that the company which he

belongs to, injured in the way threatened (some of them being men who

thought after the fashion of the world), would pursue the rioters

at law, and recover damages, in which probably his own ideas of

non-resistance will not prevent his participating. Therefore the whole

affair will take its course as law will, as I only mean to interfere

when it may be necessary to direct the course of the plaintiffs to

thy chambers; and I request they may find thee intimate with all the

Scottish statutes concerning salmon fisheries, from the LEX AQUARUM,

downward.

As for the Lady of the Mantle, I will lay a wager that the sun so

bedazzled thine eyes on that memorable morning, that everything thou

didst look upon seemed green; and notwithstanding James Wilkinson’s

experience in the Fusileers, as well as his negative whistle, I will

venture to hold a crown that she is but a what-shall-call-’um after all.

Let not even the gold persuade you to the contrary. She may make a shift

to cause you to disgorge that, and (immense spoil!) a session’s fees

to boot, if you look not all the sharper about you. Or if it should be

otherwise, and if indeed there lurk some mystery under this visitation,

credit me, it is one which thou canst not penetrate, nor can I as yet

even attempt to explain it; since, if I prove mistaken, and mistaken I

may easily be, I would be fain to creep into Phalaris’s bull, were

it standing before me ready heated, rather than be roasted with thy

raillery. Do not tax me with want of confidence; for the instant I can

throw any light on the matter thou shalt have it; but while I am only

blundering about in the dark, I do not choose to call wise folks to see

me, perchance, break my nose against a post. So if you marvel at this,

E’en marvel on till time makes all things plain.

In the meantime, kind Alan, let me proceed in my diurnal.

On the third or fourth day after my arrival at Mount Sharon, Time, that

bald sexton to whom I have just referred you, did certainly limp more

heavily along with me than he had done at first. The quaint morality

of Joshua, and Huguenot simplicity of his sister, began to lose much of

their raciness with their novelty, and my mode of life, by dint of being

very quiet, began to feel abominably dull. It was, as thou say’st, as

if the Quakers had put the sun in their pockets--all around was soft

and mild, and even pleasant; but there was, in the whole routine, a

uniformity, a want of interest, a helpless and hopeless languor, which

rendered life insipid. No doubt, my worthy host and hostess felt none

of this void, this want of excitation, which was becoming oppressive to

their guest. They had their little round of occupations, charities, and

pleasures; Rachel had her poultry-yard and conservatory, and Joshua

his garden. Besides this, they enjoyed, doubtless, their devotional

meditations; and, on the whole, time glided softly and imperceptibly

on with them, though to me, who long for stream and cataract, it seemed

absolutely to stand still. I meditated returning to Shepherd’s Bush, and

began to think, with some hankering, after little Benjie and the rod.

The imp has ventured hither, and hovers about to catch a peep of me

now and then; I suppose the little sharper is angling for a few more

sixpences. But this would have been, in Joshua’s eyes, a return of the

washed sow to wallowing in the mire, and I resolved, while I remained

his guest, to spare him so violent a shock to his prejudices. The next

point was, to shorten the time of my proposed stay; but, alas! that I

felt to be equally impossible. I had named a week; and however rashly my

promise had been pledged, it must be held sacred, even according to the

letter, from which the Friends permit no deviation.

All these considerations wrought me up to a kind of impatience yesterday

evening; so that I snatched up my hat, and prepared for a sally beyond

the cultivated farm and ornamented grounds of Mount Sharon, just as if

I were desirous to escape from the realms of art, into those of free and

unconstrained nature.

I was scarcely more delighted when I first entered this peaceful

demesne, than I now was--such is the instability and inconsistency

of human nature!--when I escaped from it to the open downs, which had

formerly seemed so waste and dreary, The air I breathed felt purer and

more bracing. The clouds, riding high upon a summer breeze, drove, in

gay succession, over my head, now obscuring the sun, now letting its

rays stream in transient flashes upon various parts of the landscape,

and especially upon the broad mirror of the distant Firth of Solway.

I advanced on the scene with the light step of a liberated captive; and,

like John Bunyan’s Pilgrim, could have found in my heart to sing as

I went on my way. It seemed as if my gaiety had accumulated while

suppressed, and that I was, in my present joyous mood, entitled to

expend the savings of the previous week. But just as I was about to

uplift a merry stave, I heard, to my joyful surprise, the voices of

three or more choristers, singing, with considerable success, the lively

old catch,

For all our men were very very merry,

And all our men were drinking:

There were two men of mine,

Three men of thine,

And three that belonged to old Sir Thom o’ Lyne;

As they went to the ferry, they were very very merry,

And all our men were drinking.’

[The original of this catch is to be found in Cowley’s witty comedy of

THE GUARDIAN, the first edition. It does not exist in the second and

revised edition, called THE CUTTER OF COLEMAN STREET.

CAPTAIN BLADE. Ha, ha, boys, another catch.

AND ALL OUR MEN ARE VERY VERY MERRY,

AND ALL OUR MEN WERE DRINKING.

CUTTER. ONE MAN OF MINE.

DOGREL. TWO MEN OF MINE.

BLADE. THREE MEN OF MINE.

CUTTER. AND ONE MAN OF MINE.

OMNES. AS WE WENT BY THE WAY WE WERE DRUNK, DRUNK, DAMNABLY

DRUNK, AND ALL OUR MEN WERE VERY VERY MERRY, &c.

Such are the words, which are somewhat altered and amplified in the

text. The play was acted in presence of Charles II, then Prince of

Wales, in 1641. The catch in the text has been happily set to music.]

As the chorus ended, there followed a loud and hearty laugh by way

of cheers. Attracted by sounds which were so congenial to my present

feelings, I made towards the spot from which they came,--cautiously,

however, for the downs, as had been repeatedly hinted to me, had no good

name; and the attraction of the music, without rivalling that of the

sirens in melody, might have been followed by similarly inconvenient

consequences to an incautious amateur.

I crept on, therefore, trusting that the sinuosities of the ground,

broken as it was into knells and sand-pits, would permit me to obtain

a sight of the musicians before I should be observed by them. As I

advanced, the old ditty was again raised. The voices seemed those of a

man and two boys; they were rough, but kept good time, and were managed

with too much skill to belong to the ordinary country people.

Jack looked at the sun, and cried, Fire, fire, fire;

Tom stabled his keffel in Birkendale mire;

Jem started a calf, and halloo’d for a stag;

Will mounted a gate-post instead of his nag:

For all our men were very very merry,

And all our men were drinking;

There were two men of mine,

Three men of thine,

And three that belonged to old Sir Thom o’ Lyne;

As they went to the ferry, they were very very merry,

For all our men were drinking.

The voices, as they mixed in their several parts, and ran through them,

untwisting and again entwining all the links of the merry old catch,

seemed to have a little touch of the bacchanalian spirit which they

celebrated, and showed plainly that the musicians were engaged in the

same joyous revel as the MENYIE of old Sir Thom o’ Lyne. At length I

came within sight of them, three in number, where they sat cosily niched

into what you might call a BUNKER, a little sand-pit, dry and snug, and

surrounded by its banks, and a screen of whins in full bloom.

The only one of the trio whom I recognized as a personal acquaintance

was the notorious little Benjie, who, having just finished his stave,

was cramming a huge luncheon of pie-crust into his mouth with one hand,

while in the other he held a foaming tankard, his eyes dancing with all

the glee of a forbidden revel; and his features, which have at all times

a mischievous archness of expression, confessing the full sweetness of

stolen waters, and bread eaten in secret.

There was no mistaking the profession of the male and female, who were

partners with Benjie in these merry doings. The man’s long loose-bodied

greatcoat (wrap-rascal as the vulgar term it), the fiddle-case, with its

straps, which lay beside him, and a small knapsack which might contain

his few necessaries; a clear grey eye; features which, in contending

with many a storm, had not lost a wild and, careless expression of glee,

animated at present, when he was exercising for his own pleasure the

arts which he usually practised for bread,--all announced one of those

peripatetic followers of Orpheus whom the vulgar call a strolling

fiddler. Gazing more attentively, I easily discovered that though the

poor musician’s eyes were open, their sense was shut, and that the

ecstasy with which he turned them up to heaven only derived its apparent

expression from his own internal emotions, but received no assistance

from the visible objects around. Beside him sat his female companion, in

a man’s hat, a blue coat, which seemed also to have been an article of

male apparel, and a red petticoat. She was cleaner, in person and in

clothes, than such itinerants generally are; and, having been in her day

a strapping BONA ROBA, she did not even yet neglect some attention to

her appearance; wore a large amber necklace, and silver ear-rings, and

had her laid fastened across her breast with a brooch of the same metal.

The man also looked clean, notwithstanding the meanness of his attire,

and had a decent silk handkerchief well knotted about his throat, under

which peeped a clean owerlay. His beard, also, instead of displaying a

grizzly stubble, unmowed for several days, flowed in thick and comely

abundance over the breast, to the length of six inches, and mingled with

his hair, which was but beginning to exhibit a touch of age. To sum up

his appearance, the loose garment which I have described was secured

around him by a large old-fashioned belt, with brass studs, in

which hung a dirk, with a knife and fork, its usual accompaniments.

Altogether, there was something more wild and adventurous-looking about

the man than I could have expected to see in an ordinary modern crowder;

and the bow which he now and then drew across the violin, to direct his

little choir, was decidedly that of no ordinary performer.

You must understand that many of these observations were the fruits of

after remark; for I had scarce approached so near as to get a distinct

view of the party, when my friend Benjie’s lurching attendant, which he

calls by the appropriate name of Hemp, began to cock his tail and ears,

and, sensible of my presence, flew, barking like a fury, to the place

where I had meant to lie concealed till I heard another song. I was

obliged, however, to jump on my feet, and intimidate Hemp, who would

otherwise have bit me, by two sound kicks on the ribs, which sent him

howling back to his master.

Little Benjie seemed somewhat dismayed at my appearance; but,

calculating on my placability, and remembering, perhaps, that the

ill-used Solomon was no palfrey of mine, he speedily affected great

glee, and almost in one breath assured the itinerants that I was ‘a

grand gentleman, and had plenty of money, and was very kind to poor

folk;’ and informed me that this was ‘Willie Steenson--Wandering Willie

the best fiddler that ever kittled thairm with horse-hair.’

The woman rose and curtsied; and Wandering Willie sanctioned his own

praises with a nod, and the ejaculation, ‘All is true that the little

boy says.’

I asked him if he was of this country.

‘THIS country!’ replied the blind man--‘I am of every country in broad

Scotland, and a wee bit of England to the boot. But yet I am, in some

sense, of this country; for I was born within hearing of the roar of

Solway. Will I give your honour a touch of the auld bread-winner?’

He preluded as he spoke, in a manner which really excited my curiosity;

and then, taking the old tune of Galashiels for his theme, he graced

it with a number of wild, complicated, and beautiful variations; during

which it was wonderful to observe how his sightless face was lighted up

under the conscious pride and heartfelt delight in the exercise of his

own very considerable powers.

‘What think you of that, now, for threescore and twa?’

I expressed my surprise and pleasure.

‘A rant, man--an auld rant,’ said Willie; ‘naething like the music ye

hae in your ballhouses and your playhouses in Edinbro’; but it’s weel

aneugh anes in a way at a dykeside. Here’s another--it’s no a Scotch

tune, but it passes for ane--Oswald made it himsell, I reckon--he has

cheated mony ane, but he canna cheat Wandering Willie.’

He then played your favourite air of Roslin Castle, with a number of

beautiful variations, some of which I am certain were almost extempore.

‘You have another fiddle there, my friend,’ said I--‘Have you a

comrade?’ But Willie’s ears were deaf, or his attention was still busied

with the tune.

The female replied in his stead, ‘O aye, sir--troth we have a partner--a

gangrel body like oursells. No but my hinny might have been better if he

had liked; for mony a bein nook in mony a braw house has been offered to

my hinny Willie, if he wad but just bide still and play to the gentles.’

‘Whisht, woman! whisht!’ said the blind man, angrily, shaking his locks;

‘dinna deave the gentleman wi’ your havers. Stay in a house and play to

the gentles!--strike up when my leddy pleases, and lay down the bow when

my lord bids! Na, na, that’s nae life for Willie. Look out, Maggie--peer

out, woman, and see if ye can see Robin coming. Deil be in him! He has

got to the lee-side of some smuggler’s punch-bowl, and he wunna budge

the night, I doubt.’

‘That is your consort’s instrument,’ said I--’ Will you give me leave

to try my skill?’ I slipped at the same time a shilling into the woman’s

hand.

‘I dinna ken whether I dare trust Robin’s fiddle to ye,’ said Willie,

bluntly. His wife gave him a twitch. ‘Hout awa, Maggie,’ he said in

contempt of the hint; ‘though the gentleman may hae gien ye siller, he

may have nae bowhand for a’ that, and I’ll no trust Robin’s fiddle wi’

an ignoramus. But that’s no sae muckle amiss,’ he added, as I began to

touch the instrument; ‘I am thinking ye have some skill o’ the craft.’

To confirm him in this favourable opinion, I began to execute such

a complicated flourish as I thought must have turned Crowdero into

a pillar of stone with envy and wonder. I scaled the top of the

finger-board, to dive at once to the bottom--skipped with flying

fingers, like Timotheus, from shift to shift--struck arpeggios and

harmonic tones, but without exciting any of the astonishment which I had

expected.

Willie indeed listened to me with considerable attention; but I was no

sooner finished, than he immediately mimicked on his own instrument

the fantastic complication of tones which I had produced, and made so

whimsical a parody of my performance, that, although somewhat angry, I

could not help laughing heartily, in which I was joined by Benjie,

whose reverence for me held him under no restraint; while the poor dame,

fearful, doubtless, of my taking offence at this familiarity, seemed

divided betwixt her conjugal reverence for her Willie, and her desire to

give him a hint for his guidance.

At length the old man stopped of his own accord, and, as if he had

sufficiently rebuked me by his mimicry, he said, ‘But for a’ that, ye

will play very weel wi’ a little practice and some gude teaching. But ye

maun learn to put the heart into it, man--to put the heart into it.’

I played an air in simpler taste, and received more decided approbation.

‘That’s something like it man. Od, ye are a clever birkie!’

The woman touched his coat again. ‘The gentleman is a gentleman,

Willie--ye maunna speak that gate to him, hinnie.’

‘The deevil I maunna!’ said Willie; ‘and what for maunna I?--If he was

ten gentles, he canna draw a bow like me, can he?’

‘Indeed I cannot, my honest friend,’ said I; ‘and if you will go with me

to a house hard by, I would be glad to have a night with you.’

Here I looked round, and observed Benjie smothering a laugh, which I was

sure had mischief in it. I seized him suddenly by the ear, and made him

confess that he was laughing at the thoughts of the reception which a

fiddler was likely to get from the Quakers at Mount Sharon. I chucked

him from me, not sorry that his mirth had reminded me in time of what I

had for the moment forgotten; and invited the itinerant to go with me to

Shepherd’s Bush, from which I proposed to send word to Mr. Geddes that

I should not return home that evening. But the minstrel declined this

invitation also. He was engaged for the night, he said, to a dance in

the neighbourhood, and vented a round execration on the laziness

or drunkenness of his comrade, who had not appeared at the place of

rendezvous.

‘I will go with you instead of him,’ said I, in a sudden whim; ‘and I

will give you a crown to introduce me as your comrade.’

‘YOU gang instead of Rob the Rambler! My certie, freend, ye are no

blate!’ answered Wandering Willie, in a tone which announced death to my

frolic.

But Maggie, whom the offer of the crown had not escaped, began to open

on that scent with a maundering sort of lecture. ‘Oh Willie! hinny

Willie, whan will ye learn to be wise? There’s a crown to be win for

naething but saying ae man’s name instead of anither. And, wae’s me! I

hae just a shilling of this gentleman’s gieing, and a boddle of my ain;

and ye wunna, bend your will sae muckle as to take up the siller that’s

flung at your feet! Ye will die the death of a cadger’s powney, in a

wreath of drift! and what can I do better than lie doun and die wi’ you?

for ye winna let me win siller to keep either you or mysell leevin.’

‘Haud your nonsense tongue, woman,’ said Willie, but less absolutely

than before. ‘Is he a real gentleman, or ane of the player-men?’

‘I’se uphaud him a real gentleman,’ said the woman.

‘I’se uphaud ye ken little of the matter,’ said Willie; ‘let us see haud

of your hand, neebor, gin ye like.

I gave him my hand. He said to himself, ‘Aye, aye, here are fingers that

have seen canny service.’ Then running his hand over my hair, my face,

and my dress, he went on with his soliloquy; ‘Aye, aye, muisted hair,

braidclaith o’ the best, and seenteen hundred linen on his back, at the

least o’ it. And how do you think, my braw birkie, that you are to pass

for a tramping fiddler?’

‘My dress is plain,’ said I,--indeed I had chosen my most ordinary suit,

out of compliment to my Quaker friends,--‘and I can easily pass for a

young farmer out upon a frolic. Come, I will double the crown I promised

you.’

‘Damn your crowns!’ said the disinterested man of music. ‘I would like

to have a round wi’ you, that’s certain;--but a farmer, and with a hand

that never held pleugh-stilt or pettle, that will never do. Ye may pass

for a trades-lad from Dumfries, or a student upon the ramble, or the

like o’ that. But hark ye, lad; if ye expect to be ranting among the

queans o’ lasses where ye are gaun, ye will come by the waur, I can tell

ye; for the fishers are wild chaps, and will bide nae taunts.’

I promised to be civil and cautious; and, to smooth the good woman, I

slipped the promised piece into her hand. The acute organs of the blind

man detected this little manoeuvre.

‘Are ye at it again wi’ the siller, ye jaud? I’ll be sworn ye wad rather

hear ae twalpenny clink against another, than have a spring from Rory

Dall, [Blind Rorie, a famous musician according to tradition.] if

he was-coming alive again anes errand. Gang doun the gate to Lucky

Gregson’s and get the things ye want, and bide there till ele’en hours

in the morn; and if you see Robin, send him on to me.’

‘Am I no gaun to the ploy, then?’ said Maggie, in a disappointed tone.

‘And what for should ye?’ said her lord and master; ‘to dance a’ night,

I’se warrant, and no to be fit to walk your tae’s-length the morn, and

we have ten Scots miles afore us? Na, na. Stable the steed, and pit your

wife to bed, when there’s night wark to do.’

‘Aweel, aweel, Willie hinnie, ye ken best; but oh, take an unco care o’

yoursell, and mind ye haena the blessing o’ sight.’

‘Your tongue gars me whiles tire of the blessing of hearing, woman,’

replied ‘Willie, in answer to this tender exhortation.

But I now put in for my interest. ‘Hollo, good folks, remember that I am

to send the boy to Mount Sharon, and if you go to the Shepherd’s Bush,

honest woman, how the deuce am I to guide the blind man where he is

going? I know little or nothing of the country.’

‘And ye ken mickle less of my hinnie, sir,’ replied Maggie, ‘that

think he needs ony guiding; he’s the best guide himsell that ye’ll find

between Criffell and Carlisle. Horse-road and foot-path, parish-road

and kirk-road, high-road and cross-road, he kens ilka foot of ground in

Nithsdale.’

‘Aye, ye might have said in braid Scotland, gudewife,’ added the

fiddler. ‘But gang your ways, Maggie, that’s the first wise word ye hae

spoke the day. I wish it was dark night, and rain, and wind, for the

gentleman’s sake, that I might show him there is whiles when ane had

better want een than have them; for I am as true a guide by darkness as

by daylight.’

Internally as well pleased that my companion was not put to give me this

last proof of his skill, I wrote a note with a pencil, desiring Samuel

to bring my horses at midnight, when I thought my frolic would be

wellnigh over, to the place to which the bearer should direct him, and I

sent little Benjie with an apology to the worthy Quakers.

As we parted in different directions, the good woman said, ‘Oh, sir, if

ye wad but ask Willie to tell ye ane of his tales to shorten the gate!

He can speak like ony minister frae the pu’pit, and he might have been a

minister himsell, but’--

‘Haud your tongue, ye fule!’ said Willie,--‘But stay, Meg--gie me

a kiss, ne maunna part in anger, neither.’--And thus our society

separated.

[It is certain that in many cases the blind have, by constant exercise

of their other organs, learned to overcome a defect which one would

think incapable of being supplied. Every reader must remember the

celebrated Blind Jack of Knaresborough, who lived by laying out roads.]

LETTER XI

THE SAME TO THE SAME

You are now to conceive us proceeding in our different directions across

the bare downs. Yonder flies little Benjie to the northward with Hemp

scampering at his heels, both running as if for dear life so long as the

rogue is within sight of his employer, and certain to take the walk very

easy so soon as he is out of ken. Stepping westward, you see Maggie’s

tall form and high-crowned hat, relieved by the fluttering of her plaid

upon the left shoulder, darkening as the distance diminishes her size

and as the level sunbeams begin to sink upon the sea. She is taking her

quiet journey to the Shepherd’s Bush.

Then, stoutly striding over the lea, you have a full view of Darsie

Latimer, with his new acquaintance, Wandering Willie, who, bating that

he touched the ground now and then with his staff, not in a doubtful

groping manner, but with the confident air of an experienced pilot,

heaving the lead when he has the soundings by heart, walks as firmly and

boldly as if he possessed the eyes of Argus. There they go, each with

his violin slung at his back, but one of them at least totally ignorant

whither their course is directed.

And wherefore did you enter so keenly into such a mad frolic? says

my wise counsellor.--Why, I think, upon the whole, that as a sense of

loneliness, and a longing for that kindness which is interchanged in

society, led me to take up my temporary residence at Mount Sharon, the

monotony of my life there, the quiet simplicity of the conversation of

the Geddeses, and the uniformity of their amusements and employments,

wearied out my impatient temper, and prepared me for the first escapade

which chance might throw in my way.

What would I have given that I could have procured that solemn grave

visage of thine, to dignify this joke, as it has done full many a one of

thine own! Thou hast so happy a knack of doing the most foolish things

in the wisest manner, that thou mightst pass thy extravagances for

rational actions, even in the eyes of Prudence herself.

From the direction which my guide observed, I began to suspect that the

dell at Brokenburn was our probable destination; and it became important

to me to consider whether I could, with propriety, or even perfect

safety, intrude myself again upon the hospitality of my former host. I

therefore asked Willie whether we were bound for the laird’s, as folk

called him.

‘Do ye ken the laird?’ said Willie, interrupting a sonata of Corelli, of

which he had whistled several bars with great precision.

‘I know the laird a little,’ said I; ‘and therefore I was doubting

whether I ought to go to his town in disguise.’

‘I should doubt, not a little only, but a great deal, before I took ye

there, my chap,’ said Wandering Willie; ‘for I am thinking it wad be

worth little less than broken banes baith to you and me. Na, na,

chap, we are no ganging to the laird’s, but to a blithe birling at the

Brokenburn-foot, where there will be mony a braw lad and lass; and

maybe there may be some of the laird’s folks, for he never comes to sic

splores himsell. He is all for fowling-piece and salmon-spear, now that

pike and musket are out of the question.’

‘He has been at soldier, then?’ said I.

‘I’se warrant him a soger,’ answered Willie; ‘but take my advice, and

speer as little about him as he does about you. Best to let sleeping

dogs lie. Better say naething about the laird, my man, and tell me

instead, what sort of a chap ye are that are sae ready to cleik in with

an auld gaberlunzie fiddler? Maggie says ye’re gentle, but a shilling

maks a’ the difference that Maggie kens between a gentle and a semple,

and your crowns wad mak ye a prince of the blood in her een. But I am

ane that ken full weel that ye may wear good claithes, and have a saft

hand, and yet that may come of idleness as weel as gentrice.’

I told him my name, with the same addition I had formerly given to

Mr. Joshua Geddes; that I was a law-student, tired of my studies, and

rambling about for exercise and amusement.

‘And are ye in the wont of drawing up wi’ a’ the gangrel bodies that

ye meet on the high-road, or find cowering in a sand-bunker upon the

links?’ demanded Willie.

‘Oh, no; only with honest folks like yourself, Willie,’ was my reply.

‘Honest folks like me! How do ye ken whether I am honest, or what I am?

I may be the deevil himsell for what ye ken; for he has power to come

disguised like an angel of light; and besides he is a prime fiddler. He

played a sonata to Corelli, ye ken.’

There was something odd in this speech, and the tone in which it was

said. It seemed as if my companion was not always in his constant mind,

or that he was willing to try if he could frighten me. I laughed at the

extravagance of his language, however, and asked him in reply, if he

was fool enough to believe that the foul fiend would play so silly a

masquerade.

‘Ye ken little about it--little about it,’ said the old man, shaking his

head and beard, and knitting his brows, ‘I could tell ye something about

that.’

What his wife mentioned of his being a tale-teller, as well as

a musician, now occurred to me; and as you know I like tales of

superstition, I begged to have a specimen of his talent as we went

along.

‘It is very true,’ said the blind man, ‘that when I am tired of scraping

thairm or singing ballants, I whiles mak a tale serve the turn among

the country bodies; and I have some fearsome anes, that make the auld

carlines shake on the settle, and the bits o’ bairns skirl on their

minnies out frae their beds. But this that I am gaun to tell you was

a thing that befell in our ain house in my father’s time--that is, my

father was then a hafflins callant; and I tell it to you that it may be

a lesson to you, that are but a young, thoughtless chap, wha ye draw up

wi’ on a lonely road; for muckle was the dool and care that came o’t to

my gudesire.’

He commenced his tale accordingly, in a distinct narrative tone of voice

which he raised and depressed with considerable skill; at times sinking

almost into a whisper, and turning his clear but sightless eyeballs upon

my face, as if it had been possible for him to witness the impression

which his narrative made upon my features. I will not spare you a

syllable of it, although it be of the longest; so I make a dash--and

begin

WANDERING WILLIE’S TALE.

Ye maun have heard of Sir Robert Redgauntlet of that Ilk, who lived in

these parts before the dear years. The country will lang mind him; and

our fathers used to draw breath thick if ever they heard him named. He

was out wi’ the Hielandmen in Montrose’s time; and again he was in the

hills wi’ Glencairn in the saxteen hundred and fifty-twa; and sae when

King Charles the Second came in, wha was in sic favour as the Laird of

Redgauntlet? He was knighted at Lonon court, wi’ the king’s ain sword;

and being a redhot prelatist, he came down here, rampauging like a lion,

with commissions of lieutenancy (and of lunacy, for what I ken) to put

down a’ the Whigs and Covenanters in the country. Wild wark they made of

it; for the Whigs were as dour as the Cavaliers were fierce, and it was

which should first tire the other. Redgauntlet was ay for the strong

hand; and his name is kend as wide in the country as Claverhouse’s or

Tam Dalyell’s. Glen, nor dargle, nor mountain, nor cave, could hide the

puir hill-folk when Redgauntlet was out with bugle and bloodhound after

them, as if they had been sae mony deer. And troth when they fand them,

they didna mak muckle mair ceremony than a Hielandman wi’ a

roebuck--it was just, ‘Will ye tak the test?’--if not, ‘Make

ready--present--fire!’--and there lay the recusant.

Far and wide was Sir Robert hated and feared. Men thought he had a

direct compact with Satan--that he was proof against steel--and that

bullets happed aff his buff-coat like hailstanes from a hearth--that

he had a mear that would turn a hare on the side of Carrifra-gawns [A

precipitous side of a mountain in Moffatdale.]--and muckle to the same

purpose, of whilk mair anon. The best blessing they wared on him was,

‘Deil scowp wi’ Redgauntlet!’ He wasna a bad master to his ain folk,

though, and was weel aneugh liked by his tenants; and as for the lackies

and troopers that raid out wi’ him to the persecutions, as the Whigs

caa’d those killing times, they wad hae drunken themsells blind to his

health at ony time.

Now you are to ken that my gudesire lived on Redgauntlet’s grund--they

ca’ the place Primrose Knowe. We had lived on the grund, and under the

Redgauntlets, since the riding days, and lang before. It was a pleasant

bit; and I think the air is callerer and fresher there than onywhere

else in the country. It’s a’ deserted now; and I sat on the broken

door-cheek three days since, and was glad I couldna see the plight the

place was in; but that’s a’ wide o’ the mark. There dwelt my gudesire,

Steenie Steenson, a rambling, rattling chiel’ he had been in his young

days, and could play weel on the pipes; he was famous at ‘Hoopers and

Girders’--a’ Cumberland couldna, touch him at ‘Jockie Lattin’--and he

had the finest finger for the back-lilt between Berwick and Carlisle.

The like o’ Steenie wasna the sort that they made Whigs o’. And so he

became a Tory, as they ca’ it, which we now ca’ Jacobites, just out of a

kind of needcessity, that he might belang to some side or other. He had

nae ill will to the Whig bodies, and liked little to see the blude rin,

though, being obliged to follow Sir Robert in hunting and hoisting,

watching and warding, he saw muckle mischief, and maybe did some, that

he couldna avoid.

Now Steenie was a kind of favourite with his master, and kend a’ the

folks about the castle, and was often sent for to play the pipes when

they were at their merriment. Auld Dougal MacCallum, the butler, that

had followed Sir Robert through gude and ill, thick and thin, pool and

stream, was specially fond of the pipes, and ay gae my gudesire his gude

word wi’ the laird; for Dougal could turn his master round his finger.

Weel, round came the Revolution, and it had like to have broken

the hearts baith of Dougal and his master. But the change was not

a’thegether sae great as they feared, and other folk thought for. The

Whigs made an unco crawing what they wad do with their auld enemies, and

in special wi’ Sir Robert Redgauntlet. But there were ower mony great

folks dipped in the same doings, to mak a spick and span new warld. So

Parliament passed it a’ ower easy; and Sir Robert, bating that he was

held to hunting foxes instead of Covenanters, remained just the man he

was. [The caution and moderation of King William III, and his principles

of unlimited toleration, deprived the Cameronians of the opportunity

they ardently desired, to retaliate the injuries which they had received

during the reign of prelacy, and purify the land, as they called it,

from the pollution of blood. They esteemed the Revolution, therefore,

only a half measure, which neither comprehended the rebuilding the Kirk

in its full splendour, nor the revenge of the death of the Saints on

their persecutors.] His revel was as loud, and his hall as weel

lighted, as ever it had been, though maybe he lacked the fines of the

nonconformists, that used to come to stock his larder and cellar; for it

is certain he began to be keener about the rents than his tenants used

to find him before, and they behoved to be prompt to the rent-day,

or else the laird wasna pleased. And he was sic an awsome body, that

naebody cared to anger him; for the oaths he swore, and the rage that he

used to get into, and the looks that he put on, made men sometimes think

him a devil incarnate.

Weel, my gudesire was nae manager--no that he was a very great

misguider--but he hadna the saving gift, and he got twa terms’ rent in

arrear. He got the first brash at Whitsunday put ower wi’ fair word

and piping; but when Martinmas came, there was a summons from the

grund-officer to come wi’ the rent on a day preceese, or else Steenie

behoved to flit. Sair wark he had to get the siller; but he was

weel-freended, and at last he got the haill scraped thegether--a

thousand merks--the maist of it was from a neighbour they ca’d Laurie

Lapraik--a sly tod. Laurie had walth o’ gear--could hunt wi’ the hound

and rin wi’ the hare--and be Whig or Tory, saunt or sinner, as the wind

stood. He was a professor in this Revolution warld, but he liked an orra

sough of this warld, and a tune on the pipes weel aneugh at a bytime;

and abune a’, he thought he had gude security for the siller he lent my

gudesire ower the stocking at Primrose Knowe.

Away trots my gudesire to Redgauntlet Castle wi’ a heavy purse and a

light heart, glad to be out of the laird’s danger. Weel, the first thing

he learned at the castle was, that Sir Robert had fretted himsell into

a fit of the gout, because he did not appear before twelve’ o’clock. It

wasna a’thegether for sake of the money, Dougal thought; but because he

didna like to part wi’ my gudesire aff the grund. Dougal was glad to see

Steenie, and brought him into the great oak parlour, and there sat

the laird his leesome lane, excepting that he had beside him a great,

ill-favoured jackanape, that was a special pet of his; a cankered beast

it was, and mony an ill-natured trick it played--ill to please it was,

and easily angered--ran about the haill castle, chattering and yowling,

and pinching, and biting folk, specially before ill weather, or

disturbances in the state. Sir Robert caa’d it Major Weir, after the

warlock that was burnt; [A celebrated wizard, executed at Edinburgh for

sorcery and other crimes.] and few folk liked either the name or the

conditions of the creature--they thought there was something in it by

ordinar--and my gudesire was not just easy in mind when the door shut

on him, and he saw himself in the room wi’ naebody but the laird, Dougal

MacCallum, and the major, a thing that hadna chanced to him before.

Sir Robert sat, or, I should say, lay, in a great armed chair, wi’ his

grand velvet gown, and his feet on a cradle; for he had baith gout and

gravel, and his face looked as gash and ghastly as Satan’s. Major Weir

sat opposite to him, in a red laced coat, and the laird’s wig on his

head; and ay as Sir Robert girned wi’ pain, the jackanape girned too,

like a sheep’s-head between a pair of tangs--an ill-faur’d, fearsome

couple they were. The laird’s buff-coat was hung on a pin behind him,

and his broadsword and his pistols within reach; for he keepit up the

auld fashion of having the weapons ready, and a horse saddled day and

night, just as he used to do when he was able to loup on horseback, and

away after ony of the hill-folk he could get speerings of. Some said it

was for fear of the Whigs taking vengeance, but I judge it was just his

auld custom--he wasna, gien to fear onything. The rental-book, wi’

its black cover and brass clasps, was lying beside him; and a book of

sculduddry sangs was put betwixt the leaves, to keep it open at the

place where it bore evidence against the Goodman of Primrose Knowe, as

behind the hand with his mails and duties. Sir Robert gave my gudesire

a look, as if he would have withered his heart in his bosom. Ye maun ken

he had a way of bending his brows, that men saw the visible mark of a

horseshoe in his forehead, deep dinted, as if it had been stamped there.

‘Are ye come light-handed, ye son of a toom whistle?’ said Sir Robert.

‘Zounds! if you are’--

My gudesire, with as gude acountenance as he could put on, made a leg,

and placed the bag of money on the table wi’ a dash, like a man that

does something clever. The laird drew it to him hastily--‘Is it all

here, Steenie, man?’

‘Your honour will find it right,’ said my gudesire.

‘Here, Dougal,’ said the laird, ‘gie Steenie a tass of brandy

downstairs, till I count the siller and write the receipt.’

But they werena weel out of the room, when Sir Robert gied a

yelloch that garr’d the castle rock. Back ran Dougal--in flew the

livery-men--yell on yell gied the laird, ilk ane mair awfu’ than the

ither. My gudesire knew not whether to stand or flee, but he ventured

back into the parlour, where a’ was gaun hirdy-girdie--naebody to say

‘come in,’ or ‘gae out.’ Terribly the laird roared for cauld water to

his feet, and wine to cool his throat; and Hell, hell, hell, and its

flames, was ay the word in his mouth. They brought him water, and when

they plunged his swollen feet into the tub, he cried out it was burning;

and folk say that it DID bubble and sparkle like a seething cauldron. He

flung the cup at Dougal’s head, and said he had given him blood instead

of burgundy; and, sure aneugh, the lass washed clotted blood aff the

carpet; the neist day. The jackanape they caa’d Major Weir, it jibbered

and cried as if it was mocking its master; my gudesire’s head was like

to turn--he forgot baith siller and receipt, and downstairs he

banged; but as he ran, the shrieks came faint and fainter; there was a

deep-drawn shivering groan, and word gaed through the castle that the

laird was dead.

Weel, away came my gudesire, wi’ his finger in his mouth, and his best

hope was that Dougal had seen the money-bag, and heard the laird

speak of writing the receipt. The young laird, now Sir John, came from

Edinburgh, to see things put to rights. Sir John and his father never

gree’d weel. Sir John had been bred an advocate, and afterwards sat in

the last Scots Parliament and voted for the Union, having gotten, it was

thought, a rug of the compensations--if his father could have come out

of his grave, he would have brained him for it on his awn hearthstane.

Some thought it was easier counting with the auld rough knight than the

fair-spoken young ane--but mair of that anon.

Dougal MacCallum, poor body, neither grat nor grained, but gaed about

the house looking like a corpse, but directing, as was his duty, a’

the order of the grand funeral. Now Dougal looked ay waur and waur when

night was coming, and was ay the last to gang to his bed, whilk was in

a little round just opposite the chamber of dais, whilk his master

occupied while he was living, and where he now lay in state, as they

caa’d it, weel-a-day! The night before the funeral, Dougal could keep

his awn counsel nae langer; he came doun with his proud spirit, and

fairly asked auld Hutcheon to sit in his room with him for an hour. When

they were in the round, Dougal took ae tass of brandy to himsell, and

gave another to Hutcheon, and wished him all health and lang life, and

said that, for himsell, he wasna lang for this world; for that, every

night since Sir Robert’s death, his silver call had sounded from the

state chamber, just as it used to do at nights in his lifetime, to call

Dougal to help to turn him in his bed. Dougal said that being alone

with the dead on that floor of the tower (for naebody cared to wake Sir

Robert Redgauntlet like another corpse) he had never daured to answer

the call, but that now his conscience checked him for neglecting his

duty; for, ‘though death breaks service,’ said MacCallum, ‘it shall

never break my service to Sir Robert; and I will answer his next

whistle, so be you will stand by me, Hutcheon.’

Hutcheon had nae will to the wark, but he had stood by Dougal in battle

and broil, and he wad not fail him at this pinch; so down the carles

sat ower a stoup of brandy, and Hutcheon, who was something of a clerk,

would have read a chapter of the Bible; but Dougal would hear naething

but a blaud of Davie Lindsay, whilk was the waur preparation.

When midnight came, and the house was quiet as the grave, sure enough

the silver whistle sounded as sharp and shrill as if Sir Robert was

blowing it, and up got the twa auld serving-men, and tottered into the

room where the dead man lay. Hutcheon saw aneugh at the first glance;

for there were torches in the room, which showed him the foul fiend, in

his ain shape, sitting on the laird’s coffin! Ower he cowped as if he

had been dead. He could not tell how lang he lay in a trance at the

door, but when he gathered himself, he cried on his neighbour, and

getting nae answer, raised the house, when Dougal was found lying dead

within twa steps of the bed where his master’s coffin was placed. As for

the whistle, it was gaen anes and ay; but mony a time was it heard at

the top of the house on the bartizan, and amang the auld chimneys and

turrets where the howlets have their nests. Sir John hushed the matter

up, and the funeral passed over without mair bogle-wark.

But when a’ was ower, and the laird was beginning to settle his affairs,

every tenant was called up for his arrears, and my gudesire for the full

sum that stood against him in the rental-book. Weel, away he trots to

the castle, to tell his story, and there he is introduced to Sir John,

sitting in his father’s chair, in deep mourning, with weepers and

hanging cravat, and a small wallring rapier by his side, instead of the

auld broadsword that had a hundredweight of steel about it, what with

blade, chape, and basket-hilt. I have heard their communing so often

tauld ower, that I almost think I was there mysell, though I couldna

be born at the time. (In fact, Alan, my companion mimicked, with a

good deal of humour, the flattering, conciliating tone of the tenant’s

address, and the hypocritical melancholy of the laird’s reply. His

grandfather, he said, had, while he spoke, his eye fixed on the

rental-book, as if it were a mastiff-dog that he was afraid would spring

up and bite him).

‘I wuss ye joy, sir, of the head seat, and the white loaf, and the braid

lairdship. Your father was a kind man to friends and followers; muckle

grace to you, Sir John, to fill his shoon--his boots, I suld say, for he

seldom wore shoon, unless it were muils when he had the gout.’

‘Aye, Steenie,’ quoth the laird, sighing deeply, and putting his

napkin to his een, ‘his was a sudden call, and he will be missed in the

country; no time to set his house in order--weel prepared Godward, no

doubt, which is the root of the matter--but left us behind a tangled

heap to wind, Steenie.--Hem! hem! We maun go to business, Steenie; much

to do, and little time to do it in.’

Here he opened the fatal volume. I have heard of a thing they call

Doomsday Book--I am clear it has been a rental of back-ganging tenants.

‘Stephen,’ said Sir John, still in the same soft, sleekit tone of

voice--‘Stephen Stevenson, or Steenson, ye are down here for a year’s

rent behind the hand--due at last term.’

STEPHEN. ‘Please your honour, Sir John, I paid it to your father.’

SIR JOHN. ‘Ye took a receipt, then, doubtless, Stephen; and can produce

it?’

STEPHEN. ‘Indeed I hadna time, an it like your honour; for nae sooner

had I set doun the siller, and just as his honour, Sir Robert, that’s

gaen, drew it till him to count it, and write out the receipt, he was

ta’en wi’ the pains that removed him.’

‘That was unlucky,’ said Sir John, after a pause. ‘But ye maybe paid

it in the presence of somebody, I want but a TALIS QUALIS evidence,

Stephen. I would go ower strictly to work with no poor man.’

STEPHEN. ‘Troth, Sir John, there was naebody in the room but Dougal

MacCallum the butler. But, as your honour kens, he has e’en followed his

auld master.

‘Very unlucky again, Stephen,’ said Sir John, without altering his voice

a single note. ‘The man to whom ye paid the money is dead--and the man

who witnessed the payment is dead too--and the siller, which should have

been to the fore, is neither seen nor heard tell of in the repositories.

How am I to believe a’ this?’

STEPHEN. ‘I dinna, ken, your honour; but there is a bit memorandum

note of the very coins; for, God help me! I had to borrow out of twenty

purses; and I am sure that ilka man there set down will take his grit

oath for what purpose I borrowed the money.’

SIR JOHN. ‘I have little doubt ye BORROWED the money, Steenie. It is the

PAYMENT to my father that I want to have some proof of.’

STEPHEN. ‘The siller maun be about the house, Sir John. And since your

honour never got it, and his honour that was canna have taen it wi’ him,

maybe some of the family may have seen it.’

SIR JOHN. ‘We will examine the servants, Stephen; that is but

reasonable.’

But lackey and lass, and page and groom, all denied stoutly that they

had ever seen such a bag of money as my gudesire described. What was

waur, he had unluckily not mentioned to any living soul of them his

purpose of paying his rent. Ae quean had noticed something under his

arm, but she took it for the pipes.

Sir John Redgauntlet ordered the servants out of the room, and then said

to my gudesire, ‘Now, Steenie, ye see ye have fair play; and, as I have

little doubt ye ken better where to find the siller than ony other body,

I beg, in fair terms, and for your own sake, that you will end this

fasherie; for, Stephen, ye maun pay or flit.’

‘The Lord forgie your opinion,’ said Stephen, driven almost to his wit’s

end--‘I am an honest man.’

‘So am I, Stephen,’ said his honour; ‘and so are all the folks in the

house, I hope. But if there be a knave amongst us, it must be he that

tells the story he cannot prove.’ He paused, and then added, mair

sternly, ‘If I understand your trick, sir, you want to take advantage

of some malicious reports concerning things in this family, and

particularly respecting my father’s sudden death, thereby to cheat me

out of the money, and perhaps take away my character, by insinuating

that I have received the rent I am demanding. Where do you suppose this

money to be? I insist upon knowing.’

My gudesire saw everything look so muckle against him, that he grew

nearly desperate--however, he shifted from one foot to another, looked

to every corner of the room, and made no answer.

‘Speak out, sirrah,’ said the laird, assuming a look of his father’s, a

very particular ane, which he had when he was angry--it seemed as if the

wrinkles of his frown made that selfsame fearful shape of a horse’s

shoe in the middle of his brow;--‘Speak out, sir! I WILL know your

thoughts;--do you suppose that I have this money?’

‘Far be it frae me to say so,’ said Stephen.

‘Do you charge any of my people with having taken it?’

‘I wad be laith to charge them that may be innocent,’ said my gudesire;

‘and if there be any one that is guilty, I have nae proof.’

‘Somewhere the money must be, if there is a word of truth in your

story,’ said Sir John; ‘I ask where you think it is--and demand a

correct answer?’

‘In HELL, if you will have my thoughts of it,’ said my gudesire, driven

to extremity, ‘in hell! with your father, his jackanape, and his silver

whistle.’

Down the stairs he ran (for the parlour was nae place for him after such

a word) and he heard the laird swearing blood and wounds behind him,

as fast; as ever did Sir Robert, and roaring for the bailie and the

baron-officer.

Away rode my gudesire to his chief creditor (him they ca’d Laurie

Lapraik) to try if he could make onything out of him; but when he tauld

his story, he got but the worst word in his wame--thief, beggar, and

dyvour, were the saftest terms; and to the boot of these hard terms,

Laurie brought up the auld story of his dipping his hand in the blood

of God’s saunts, just as if a tenant could have helped riding with the

laird, and that a laird like Sir Robert Redgauntlet. My gudesire was, by

this time, far beyond the bounds of patience, and, while he and

Laurie were at deil speed the liars, he was wanchancie aneugh to abuse

Lapraik’s doctrine as weel as the man, ond said things that garr’d

folks’ flesh grue that heard them;--he wasna just himsell, and he had

lived wi’ a wild set in his day.

At last they parted, and my gudesire was to ride hame through the wood

of Pitmurkie, that is a’ fou of black firs, as they say.--I ken the

wood, but the firs may be black or white for what I can tell.--At the

entry of the wood there is a wild common, and on the edge of the common,

a little lonely change-house, that was keepit then by an ostler-wife,

they suld hae caa’d her Tibbie Faw, and there puir Steenie cried for a

mutchkin of brandy, for he had had no refreshment the haill day. Tibbie

was earnest wi’ him to take a bite of meat, but he couldna think o’t,

nor would he take his foot out of the stirrup, and took off the brandy

wholely at twa draughts, and named a toast at each:--the first was the

memory of Sir Robert Redgauntlet, and might he never lie quiet in his

grave till he had righted his poor bond-tenant; and the second was a

health to Man’s Enemy, if he would but get him back the pock of siller

or tell him what came o’t, for he saw the haill world was like to regard

him as a thief and a cheat, and he took that waur than even the ruin of

his house and hauld.

On he rode, little caring where. It was a dark night turned, and the

trees made it yet darker, and he let the beast take its ain road through

the wood; when all of a sudden, from tired and wearied that it was

before, the nag began to spring and flee, and stend, that my gudesire

could hardly keep the saddle. Upon the whilk, a horseman, suddenly

riding up beside him, said, ‘That’s a mettle beast of yours, freend;

will you sell him?’ So saying, he touched the horse’s neck with his

riding-wand, and it fell into its auld heigh-ho of a stumbling trot.

‘But his spunk’s soon out of him, I think,’ continued the stranger, ‘and

that is like mony a man’s courage, that thinks he wad do great things

till he come to the proof.’

My gudesire scarce listened to this, but spurred his horse, with ‘Gude

e’en to you, freend.’

But it’s like the stranger was ane that doesna lightly yield his point;

for, ride as Steenie liked, he was ay beside him at the selfsame pace.

At last my gudesire, Steenie Steenson, grew half angry, and, to say the

truth, half feared.

‘What is it that ye want with me, freend?’ he said. ‘If ye be a robber,

I have nae money; if ye be a leal man, wanting company, I have nae heart

to mirth or speaking; and if ye want to ken the road, I scarce ken it

mysell.’

‘If you will tell me your grief,’ said the stranger, ‘I am one that,

though I have been sair miscaa’d in the world, am the only hand for

helping my freends.’

So my gudesire, to ease his ain heart, mair than from any hope of help,

told him the story from beginning to end.

‘It’s a hard pinch,’ said the stranger; ‘but I think I can help you.’

‘If you could lend the money, sir, and take a lang day--I ken nae other

help on earth,’ said my gudesire.

‘But there may be some under the earth,’ said the stranger. ‘Come, I’ll

be frank wi’ you; I could lend you the money on bond, but you would

maybe scruple my terms. Now, I can tell you, that your auld laird is

disturbed in his grave by your curses, and the wailing of your family,

and if ye daur venture to go to see him, he will give you the receipt.’

My gudesire’s hair stood on end at this proposal, but he thought his

companion might be some humoursome chield that was trying to frighten

him, and might end with lending him the money. Besides, he was bauld wi’

brandy, and desperate wi’ distress; and he said he had courage to go

to the gate of hell, and a step farther, for that receipt. The stranger

laughed.

Weel, they rode on through the thickest of the wood, when, all of a

sudden, the horse stopped at the door of a great house; and, but that he

knew the place was ten miles off, my father would have thought he was

at Redgauntlet Castle. They rode into the outer courtyard, through the

muckle faulding yetts and aneath the auld portcullis; and the whole

front of the house was lighted, and there were pipes and fiddles, and

as much dancing and deray within as used to be at Sir Robert’s house at

Pace and Yule, and such high seasons. They lap off, and my gudesire, as

seemed to him, fastened his horse to the very ring he had tied him to

that morning, when he gaed to wait on the young Sir John.

‘God!’ said my gudesire, ‘if Sir Robert’s death be but a dream!’

He knocked at the ha’ door just as he was wont, and his auld

acquaintance, Dougal MacCallum--just after his wont, too,--came to open

the door, and said, ‘Piper Steenie, are ye there, lad? Sir Robert has

been crying for you.’

My gudesire was like a man in a dream--he looked for the stranger, but

he was gane for the time. At last he just tried to say, ‘Ha! Dougal

Driveower, are ye living? I thought ye had been dead.’

‘Never fash yoursell wi’ me,’ said Dougal, ‘but look to yoursell; and

see ye tak naethlng frae ony body here, neither meat, drink, or siller,

except just the receipt that is your ain.’

So saying, he led the way out through halls and trances that were weel

kend to my gudesire, and into the auld oak parlour; and there was as

much singing of profane sangs, and birling of red wine, and speaking

blasphemy and sculduddry, as had ever been in Redgauntlet Castle when it

was at the blithest.

But, Lord take us in keeping, what a set of ghastly revellers they were

that sat around that table! My gudesire kend mony that had long before

gane to their place, for often had he piped to the most part in the

hall of Redgauntlet. There was the fierce Middleton, and the dissolute

Rothes, and the crafty Lauderdale; and Dalyell, with his bald head and

a beard to his girdle; and Earlshall, with Cameron’s blude on his hand;

and wild Bonshaw, that tied blessed Mr. Cargill’s limbs till the blude

sprung; and Dunbarton Douglas, the twice-turned traitor baith to country

and king. There was the Bluidy Advocate MacKenyie, who, for his worldly

wit and wisdom had been to the rest as a god. And there was Claverhouse,

as beautiful as when he lived, with his long, dark, curled locks

streaming down over his laced buff-coat, and his left hand always on his

right spule-blade, to hide the wound that the silver bullet had made.

[See Note 2.] He sat apart from them all, and looked at them with a

melancholy, haughty countenance; while the rest hallooed, and sang, and

laughed, that the room rang. But their smiles were fearfully contorted

from time to time; and their laugh passed into such wild sounds as made

my gudesire’s very nails grow blue, and chilled the marrow in his banes.

They that waited at the table were just the wicked serving-men and

troopers, that had done their work and cruel bidding on earth. There

was the Lang Lad of the Nethertown, that helped to take Argyle; and

the bishop’s summoner, that they called the Deil’s Rattle-bag; and the

wicked guardsmen in their laced coats; and the savage Highland Amorites,

that shed blood like water; and many a proud serving-man, haughty of

heart and bloody of hand, cringing to the rich, and making them wickeder

than they would be; grinding the poor to powder, when the rich had

broken them to fragments. And mony, mony mair were coming and ganging,

a’ as busy in their vocation as if they had been alive.

Sir Robert Redgauntlet, in the midst of a’ this fearful riot, cried, wi’

a voice like thunder, on Steenie Piper to come to the board-head where

he was sitting; his legs stretched out before him, and swathed up with

flannel, with his holster pistols aside him, while the great broadsword

rested against his chair, just as my gudesire had seen him the last time

upon earth--the very cushion for the jackanape was close to him, but the

creature itself was not there--it wasna its hour, it’s likely; for he

heard them say as he came forward, ‘Is not the major come yet?’ And

another answered, ‘The jackanape will be here betimes the morn.’ And

when my gudesire came forward, Sir Robert, or his ghaist, or the deevil

in his likeness, said, ‘Weel, piper, hae ye settled wi’ my son for the

year’s rent?’

With much ado my father gat breath to say that Sir John would not settle

without his honour’s receipt.

‘Ye shall hae that for a tune of the pipes, Steenie,’ said the

appearance of Sir Robert--‘Play us up “Weel hoddled, Luckie”.’

Now this was a tune my gudesire learned frae a warlock, that heard it

when they were worshipping Satan at their meetings, and my gudesire had

sometimes played it at the ranting suppers in Redgauntlet Castle, but

never very willingly; and now he grew cauld at the very name of it, and

said, for excuse, he hadna his pipes wi’ him.

‘MacCallum, ye limb of Beelzebub,’ said the fearfu’ Sir Robert, ‘bring

Steenie the pipes that I am keeping for him!’

MacCallum brought a pair of pipes might have served the piper of Donald

of the Isles. But he gave my gudesire a nudge as he offered them; and

looking secretly and closely, Steenie saw that the chanter was of steel,

and heated to a white heat; so he had fair warning not to trust his

fingers with it. So he excused himself again, and said he was faint and

frightened, and had not wind aneugh to fill the bag.

‘Then ye maun eat and drink, Steenie,’ said the figure; ‘for we

do little else here; and it’s ill speaking between a fou man and a

fasting.’

Now these were the very words that the bloody Earl of Douglas said to

keep the king’s messenger in hand while he cut the head off MacLellan of

Bombie, at the Threave Castle, [The reader is referred for particulars

to Pitscottie’s HISTORY OF SCOTLAND.] and that put Steenie mair and mair

on his guard. So he spoke up like a man, and said he came neither to

eat, or drink or make minstrelsy; but simply for his ain--to ken what

was come o’ the money he had paid, and to get a discharge for it; and

he was so stout-hearted by this time that he charged Sir Robert for

conscience-sake (he had no power to say the holy name) and as he hoped

for peace and rest, to spread no snares for him, but just to give him

his ain.

The appearance gnashed its teeth and laughed, but it took from a large

pocket-book the receipt, and handed it to Steenie. ‘There is your

receipt, ye pitiful cur; and for the money, my dog-whelp of a son may go

look for it in the Cat’s Cradle.’

My gudesire uttered mony thanks, and was about to retire when Sir Robert

roared aloud, ‘Stop, though, thou sack-doudling son of a whore! I am not

done with thee. HERE we do nothing for nothing; and you must return on

this very day twelvemonth, to pay your master the homage that you owe me

for my protection.’

My father’s tongue was loosed of a suddenty, and he said aloud, ‘I refer

mysell to God’s pleasure, and not to yours.’

He had no sooner uttered the word than all was dark around him; and he

sank on the earth with such a sudden shock, that he lost both breath and

sense.

How lang Steenie lay there, he could not tell; but when he came to

himsell, he was lying in the auld kirkyard of Redgauntlet parochine just

at the door of the family aisle, and the scutcheon of the auld knight,

Sir Robert, hanging over his head. There was a deep morning fog on grass

and gravestane around him, and his horse was feeding quietly beside the

minister’s twa cows. Steenie would have thought the whole was a dream,

but he had the receipt in his hand, fairly written and signed by the

auld laird; only the last letters of his name were a little disorderly,

written like one seized with sudden pain.

Sorely troubled in his mind, he left that dreary place, rode through

the mist to Redgauntlet Castle, and with much ado he got speech of the

laird.

‘Well, you dyvour bankrupt,’ was the first word, ‘have you brought me my

rent?’

‘No,’ answered my gudesire, ‘I have not; but I have brought your honour

Sir Robert’s receipt for it.’

‘Wow, sirrah? Sir Robert’s receipt! You told me he had not given you

one.’

‘Will your honour please to see if that bit line is right?’

Sir John looked at every line, and at every letter, with much attention;

and at last, at the date, which my gudesire had not observed,--‘FROM MY

APPOINTED PLACE,’ he read, ‘THIS TWENTY-FIFTH OF NOVEMBER.’--‘What!

That is yesterday!--Villain, thou must have gone to hell for this!’

‘I got it from your honour’s father--whether he be in heaven or hell, I

know not,’ said Steenie.

‘I will delate you for a warlock to the Privy Council!’ said Sir

John. ‘I will send you to your master, the devil, with the help of a

tar-barrel and a torch!’

‘I intend to delate mysell to the Presbytery,’ said Steenie, ‘and tell

them all I have seen last night, whilk are things fitter for them to

judge of than a borrel man like me.’

Sir John paused, composed himsell, and desired to hear the full history;

and my gudesire told it him from point to point, as I have told it

you--word for word, neither more nor less.

Sir John was silent again for a long time, and at last he said, very

composedly, ‘Steenie, this story of yours concerns the honour of many

a noble family besides mine; and if it be a leasing-making, to keep

yourself out of my danger, the least you can expect is to have a redhot

iron driven through your tongue, and that will be as bad as scauding

your fingers wi’ a redhot chanter. But yet it may be true, Steenie; and

if the money cast up I shall not know what to think of it. But where

shall we find the Cat’s Cradle? There are cats enough about the old

house, but I think they kitten without the ceremony of bed or cradle.’

‘We were best ask Hutcheon,’ said my gudesire; ‘he kens a’ the odd

corners about as weel as--another serving-man that is now gane, and that

I wad not like to name.’

Aweel, Hutcheon, when he was asked, told them, that a ruinous turret,

lang disused, next to the clock-house, only accessible by a ladder,

for the opening was on the outside, and far above the battlements, was

called of old the Cat’s Cradle.

‘There will I go immediately,’ said Sir John; and he took (with what

purpose, Heaven kens) one of his father’s pistols from the hall-table,

where they had lain since the night he died, and hastened to the

battlements.

It was a dangerous place to climb, for the ladder was auld and frail,

and wanted ane or twa rounds. However, up got Sir John, and entered at

the turret-door, where his body stopped the only little light that was

in the bit turret. Something flees at him wi’ a vengeance, maist dang

him back ower--bang gaed the knight’s pistol, and Hutcheon, that

held the ladder, and my gudesire that stood beside him, hears a loud

skelloch. A minute after, Sir John flings the body of the jackanape down

to them, and cries that the siller is fund, and that they should come up

and help him. And there was the bag of siller sure aneugh, and mony orra

thing besides, that had been missing for mony a day. And Sir John, when

he had riped the turret weel, led my gudesire into the dining-parlour,

and took him by the hand and spoke kindly to him, and said he was sorry

he should have doubted his word and that he would hereafter be a good

master to him to make amends.

‘And now, Steenie,’ said Sir John, ‘although this vision of yours tend,

on the whole, to my father’s credit, as an honest man, that he should,

even after his death, desire to see justice done to a poor man like

you, yet you are sensible that ill-dispositioned men might make bad

constructions upon it, concerning his soul’s health. So, I think, we had

better lay the haill dirdum on that ill-deedie creature, Major Weir, and

say naething about your dream in the wood of Pitmurkie. You had taken

ower muckle brandy to be very certain about onything; and, Steenie, this

receipt’ (his hand shook while he held it out),--‘it’s but a queer kind

of document, and we will do best, I think, to put it quietly in the

fire.’

‘Od, but for as queer as it is, it’s a’ the voucher I have for my rent,’

said my gudesire, who was afraid, it may be, of losing the benefit of

Sir Robert’s discharge.

‘I will bear the contents to your credit in the rental-book, and give

you a discharge under my own hand,’ said Sir John, ‘and that on the

spot. And, Steenie, if you can hold your tongue about this matter, you

shall sit, from this term downward, at an easier rent.’

‘Mony thanks to your honour,’ said Steenie, who saw easily in what

corner the wind was; ‘doubtless I will be comformable to all your

honour’s commands; only I would willingly speak wi’ some powerful

minister on the subject, for I do not like the sort of sommons of

appointment whilk your honour’s father’--

‘Do not call the phantom my father!’ said Sir John, interrupting him.

‘Weel, then, the thing that was so like him,’ said my gudesire; ‘he

spoke of my coming back to see him this time twelvemonth, and it’s a

weight on my conscience.’

‘Aweel, then,’ said Sir John, ‘if you be so much distressed in mind, you

may speak to our minister of the parish; he is a douce man, regards the

honour of our family, and the mair that he may look for some patronage

from me.’

Wi’ that, my father readily agreed that the receipt should be burnt, and

the laird threw it into the chimney with his ain hand. Burn it would

not for them, though; but away it flew up the lum, wi’ a lang train of

sparks at its tail, and a hissing noise like a squib.

My gudesire gaed down to the Manse, and the minister, when he had heard

the story, said it was his real opinion that though my gudesire had gaen

very far in tampering with dangerous matters, yet, as he had refused the

devil’s arles (for such was the offer of meat and drink) and had refused

to do homage by piping at his bidding, he hoped, that if he held a

circumspect walk hereafter, Satan could take little advantage by what

was come and gane. And, indeed, my gudesire, of his ain accord, lang

foreswore baith the pipes and the brandy--it was not even till the

year was out, and the fatal day past, that he would so much as take the

fiddle, or drink usquebaugh or tippeny.

Sir John made up his story about the jackanape as he liked himsell;

and some believe till this day there was no more in the matter than the

filching nature of the brute. Indeed, ye’ll no hinder some to threap

that it was nane o’ the auld Enemy that Dougal and my gudesire saw in

the laird’s room, but only that wanchancy creature, the major, capering

on the coffin; and that, as to the blawing on the laird’s whistle that

was heard after he was dead, the filthy brute could do that as weel as

the laird himsell, if no better. But Heaven kens the truth, whilk first

came out by the minister’s wife, after Sir John and her ain gudeman were

baith in the moulds. And then my gudesire, wha was failed in his limbs,

but not in his judgement or memory--at least nothing to speak of--was

obliged to tell the real narrative to his friends, for the credit of his

good name. He might else have been charged for a warlock. [See Note 3.]

The shades of evening were growing thicker around us as my conductor

finished his long narrative with this moral--‘Ye see, birkie, it is nae

chancy thing to tak a stranger traveller for a guide, when you are in an

uncouth land.’

‘I should not have made that inference,’ said I. ‘Your grandfather’s

adventure was fortunate for himself, whom it saved from ruin and

distress; and fortunate for his landlord also, whom it prevented from

committing a gross act of injustice.’

‘Aye, but they had baith to sup the sauce o’t sooner or later,’ said

Wandering Willie--‘what was fristed wasna forgiven. Sir John died

before he was much over three-score; and it was just like of a moment’s

illness. And for my gudesire, though he departed in fullness of life,

yet there was my father, a yauld man of forty-five, fell down betwixt

the stilts of his pleugh, and rase never again, and left nae bairn but

me, a puir sightless, fatherless, motherless creature, could neither

work nor want. Things gaed weel aneugh at first; for Sir Redwald

Redgauntlet, the only son of Sir John, and the oye of auld Sir Robert,

and, waes me! the last of the honourable house, took the farm aff our

hands, and brought me into his household to have care of me. He liked

music, and I had the best teachers baith England and Scotland could gie

me. Mony a merry year was I wi’ him; but waes me! he gaed out with other

pretty men in the Forty-five--I’ll say nae mair about it--My head never

settled weel since I lost him; and if I say another word about it, deil

a bar will I have the heart to play the night.--Look out, my gentle

chap,’ he resumed in a different tone, ‘ye should see the lights at

Brokenburn glen by this time.’

LETTER XII

THE SAME TO THE SAME

Tam Luter was their minstrel meet,

Gude Lord as he could lance,

He play’d sae shrill, and sang sae sweet,

Till Towsie took a trance.

Auld Lightfoot there he did forleet,

And counterfeited France;

He used himself as man discreet,

And up took Morrice danse sae loud,

At Christ’s Kirk on the Green that day.

KING JAMES I.

I continue to scribble at length, though the subject may seem somewhat

deficient in interest. Let the grace of the narrative, therefore,

and the concern we take in each other’s matters, make amends for its

tenuity. We fools of fancy who suffer ourselves, like Malvolio, to be

cheated with our own visions, have, nevertheless, this advantage over

the wise ones of the earth, that we have our whole stock of enjoyments

under our own command, and can dish for ourselves an intellectual

banquet with most moderate assistance from external objects. It is,

to be sure, something like the feast which the Barmecide served up to

Alnaschar; and we cannot expect to get fat upon such diet. But then,

neither is there repletion nor nausea, which often succeed the grosser

and more material revel. On the whole, I still pray, with the Ode to

Castle Building--

Give me thy hope which sickens not the heart;

Give me thy wealth which has no wings to fly;

Give me the bliss thy visions can impart:

Thy friendship give me, warm in poverty!

And so, despite thy solemn smile and sapient shake of the head, I will

go on picking such interest as I can out of my trivial adventures, even

though that interest should be the creation of my own fancy; nor will I

cease to indict on thy devoted eyes the labour of perusing the scrolls

in which I shall record my narrative.

My last broke off as we were on the point of descending into the glen

at Brokenburn, by the dangerous track which I had first travelled EN

CROUPE, behind a furious horseman, and was now again to brave under the

precarious guidance of a blind man.

It was now getting dark; but this was no inconvenience to my guide, who

moved on, as formerly, with instinctive security of step, so that we

soon reached the bottom, and I could see lights twinkling in the cottage

which had been my place of refuge on a former occasion. It was not

thither, however, that our course was directed. We left the habitation

of the laird to the left, and turning down the brook, soon approached

the small hamlet which had been erected at the mouth of the stream,

probably on account of the convenience which it afforded as a harbour

to the fishing-boats. A large, low cottage, full in our front, seemed

highly illuminated; for the light not only glanced from every window

and aperture in its frail walls, but was even visible from rents and

fractures in the roof, composed of tarred shingles, repaired in part by

thatch and divot.

While these appearances engaged my attention, that of my companion was

attracted by a regular succession of sounds, like a bouncing on the

floor, mixed with a very faint noise of music, which Willie’s acute

organs at once recognized and accounted for, while to me it was almost

inaudible. The old man struck the earth with his staff in a violent

passion. ‘The whoreson fisher rabble! They have brought another violer

upon my walk! They are such smuggling blackguards, that they must run

in their very music; but I’ll sort them waur than ony gauger in the

country.--Stay--hark--it ‘s no a fiddle neither--it’s the pipe and tabor

bastard, Simon of Sowport, frae the Nicol Forest; but I’ll pipe and

tabor him!--Let me hae ance my left hand on his cravat, and ye shall see

what my right will do. Come away, chap--come away, gentle chap--nae time

to be picking and waling your steps.’ And on he passed with long and

determined strides, dragging me along with him.

I was not quite easy in his company; for, now that his minstrel pride

was hurt, the man had changed from the quiet, decorous, I might almost

say respectable person, which he seemed while he told his tale, into the

appearance of a fierce, brawling, dissolute stroller. So that when he

entered the large hut, where a great number of fishers, with their wives

and daughters, were engaged in eating, drinking, and dancing, I was

somewhat afraid that the impatient violence of my companion might

procure us an indifferent reception.

But the universal shout of welcome with which Wandering Willie was

received--the hearty congratulations--the repeated ‘Here’s t’ ye,

Willie!’--‘Where hae ya been, ye blind deevil?’ and the call upon him

to pledge them--above all, the speed with which the obnoxious pipe and

tabor were put to silence, gave the old man such effectual assurance of

undiminished popularity and importance, as at once put his jealousy to

rest, and changed his tone of offended dignity into one better fitted

to receive such cordial greetings. Young men and women crowded round, to

tell how much they were afraid some mischance had detained him, and how

two or three young fellows had set out in quest of him.

‘It was nae mischance, praised be Heaven,’ said Willie, ‘but the absence

of the lazy loon Rob the Rambler, my comrade, that didna come to meet

me on the Links; but I hae gotten a braw consort in his stead, worth a

dozen of him, the unhanged blackguard.’

‘And wha is’t tou’s gotten, Wullie, lad?’ said half a score of voices,

while all eyes were turned on your humble servant, who kept the best

countenance he could, though not quite easy at becoming the centre to

which all eyes were pointed.

‘I ken him by his hemmed cravat,’ said one fellow; ‘it’s Gil Hobson, the

souple tailor frae Burgh. Ye are welcome to Scotland, ye prick-the-clout

loon,’ he said, thrusting forth a paw; much the colour of a badger’s

back, and of most portentous dimensions.

‘Gil Hobson? Gil whoreson!’ exclaimed Wandering Willie; ‘it’s a gentle

chap that I judge to be an apprentice wi’ auld Joshua Geddes, to the

quaker-trade.’

‘What trade be’s that, man?’ said he of the badger-coloured fist.

‘Canting and lying,’--said Willie, which produced a thundering laugh;

‘but I am teaching the callant a better trade, and that is, feasting and

fiddling.’

Willie’s conduct in thus announcing something like my real character,

was contrary to compact; and yet I was rather glad he did so, for the

consequence of putting a trick upon these rude and ferocious men, might,

in case of discovery, have been dangerous to us both, and I was at the

same time delivered from the painful effort to support a fictitious

character. The good company, except perhaps one or two of the young

women whose looks expressed some desire for better acquaintance, gave

themselves no further trouble about me; but, while the seniors resumed

their places near an immense bowl or rather reeking cauldron of

brandy-punch, the younger arranged themselves on the floor and called

loudly on Willie to strike up.

With a brief caution to me, to ‘mind my credit, for fishers have ears,

though fish have none,’ Willie led off in capital style, and I followed,

certainly not so as to disgrace my companion, who, every now and then,

gave me a nod of approbation. The dances were, of course, the Scottish

jigs, and reels, and ‘twasome dances’, with a strathspey or hornpipe for

interlude; and the want of grace on the part of the performers was amply

supplied by truth of ear, vigour and decision of step, and the agility

proper to the northern performers. My own spirits rose with the mirth

around me, and with old Willie’s admirable execution, and frequent ‘weel

dune, gentle chap, yet;’--and, to confess the truth, I felt a great deal

more pleasure in this rustic revel, than I have done at the more formal

balls and concerts in your famed city, to which I have sometimes made my

way. Perhaps this was because I was a person of more importance to the

presiding matron of Brokenburn-foot, than I had the means of rendering

myself to the far-famed Miss Nickie Murray, the patroness of your

Edinburgh assemblies. The person I mean was a buxom dame of about

thirty, her fingers loaded with many a silver ring, and three or four

of gold; her ankles liberally displayed from under her numerous blue,

white, and scarlet; short petticoats, and attired in hose of the finest

and whitest lamb’s-wool, which arose from shoes of Spanish cordwain,

fastened with silver buckles. She took the lead in my favour, and

declared, ‘that the brave young gentleman should not weary himself to

death wi’ playing, but take the floor for a dance or twa.’

‘And what’s to come of me, Dame Martin?’ said Willie.

‘Come o’ thee?’ said the dame; ‘mishanter on the auld beard o’ ye! ye

could play for twenty hours on end, and tire out the haill countryside

wi’ dancing before ye laid down your bow, saving for a by-drink or the

like o’ that.’

‘In troth, dame,’ answered Willie, ‘ye are no sae far wrang; sae if my

comrade is to take his dance, ye maun gie me my drink, and then bob it

away like Madge of Middlebie.’

The drink was soon brought; but while Willie was partaking of it,

a party entered the hut, which arrested my attention at once, and

intercepted the intended gallantry with which I had proposed to present

my hand to the fresh-coloured, well-made, white-ankled Thetis, who had

obtained me manumission from my musical task.

This was nothing less than the sudden appearance of the old woman whom

the laird had termed Mabel; Cristal Nixon, his male attendant; and the

young person who had said grace to us when I supped with him.

This young person--Alan, thou art in thy way a bit of a conjurer--this

young person whom I DID NOT describe, and whom you, for that very

reason, suspected was not an indifferent object to me--is, I am sorry to

say it, in very fact not so much so as in prudence she ought. I will not

use the name of love on this occasion; for I have applied it too often

to transient whims and fancies to escape your satire, should I venture

to apply it now. For it is a phrase, I must confess, which I have

used--a romancer would say, profaned--a little too often, considering

how few years have passed over my head. But seriously, the fair chaplain

of Brokenburn has been often in my head when she had no business

there; and if this can give thee any clue for explaining my motives

in lingering about the country, and assuming the character of Willie’s

companion, why, hang thee, thou art welcome to make use of it--a

permission for which thou need’st not thank me much, as thou wouldst not

have failed to assume it whether it were given or no.

Such being my feelings, conceive how they must have been excited, when,

like a beam upon a cloud, I saw this uncommonly beautiful girl enter the

apartment in which they were dancing; not, however, with the air of

an equal, but that of a superior, come to grace with her presence the

festival of her dependants. The old man and woman attended, with looks

as sinister as hers were lovely, like two of the worst winter months

waiting upon the bright-eyed May.

When she entered--wonder if thou wilt--she wore A GREEN MANTLE, such as

thou hast described as the garb of thy fair client, and confirmed what

I had partly guessed from thy personal description, that my chaplain and

thy visitor were the same person. There was an alteration on her

brow the instant she recognized me. She gave her cloak to her female

attendant, and, after a momentary hesitation, as if uncertain whether to

advance or retire, she walked into the room with dignity and

composure, all making way, the men unbonneting, and the women curtsying

respectfully, as she assumed a chair which was reverently placed for her

accommodation, apart from others.

There was then a pause, until the bustling mistress of the ceremonies,

with awkward but kindly courtesy, offered the young lady a glass of

wine, which was at first declined, and at length only thus far accepted,

that, bowing round to the festive company, the fair visitor wished them

all health and mirth, and just touching the brim with her lip, replaced

it on the salver. There was another pause; and I did not immediately

recollect, confused as I was by this unexpected apparition, that it

belonged to me to break it. At length a murmur was heard around me,

being expected to exhibit,--nay, to lead down the dance,--in consequence

of the previous conversation.

‘Deil’s in the fiddler lad,’ was muttered from more quarters than

one--‘saw folk ever sic a thing as a shame-faced fiddler before?’

At length a venerable Triton, seconding his remonstrances with a hearty

thump on my shoulder, cried out, ‘To the floor--to the floor, and let us

see how ye can fling--the lasses are a’ waiting.’

Up I jumped, sprang from the elevated station which constituted our

orchestra, and, arranging my ideas as rapidly as I could, advanced

to the head of the room, and, instead of offering my hand to the

white-footed Thetis aforesaid, I venturously made the same proposal to

her of the Green Mantle.

The nymph’s lovely eyes seemed to open with astonishment at the

audacity of this offer; and, from the murmurs I heard around me, I also

understood that it surprised, and perhaps offended, the bystanders. But

after the first moment’s emotion, she wreathed her neck, and drawing

herself haughtily up, like one who was willing to show that she was

sensible of the full extent of her own condescension, extended her hand

towards me, like a princess gracing a squire of low degree.

There is affectation in all this, thought I to myself, if the Green

Mantle has borne true evidence--for young ladies do not make visits, or

write letters to counsel learned in the law, to interfere in the motions

of those whom they hold as cheap as this nymph seems to do me; and if

I am cheated by a resemblance of cloaks, still I am interested to show

myself, in some degree, worthy of the favour she has granted with so

much state and reserve. The dance to be performed was the old Scots Jig,

in which you are aware I used to play no sorry figure at La Pique’s,

when thy clumsy movements used to be rebuked by raps over the knuckles

with that great professor’s fiddlestick. The choice of the tune was left

to my comrade Willie, who, having finished his drink, feloniously struck

up the well-known and popular measure,

Merrily danced the Quaker’s wife,

And merrily danced the Quaker.

An astounding laugh arose at my expense, and I should have been

annihilated, but that the smile which mantled on the lip of my partner,

had a different expression from that of ridicule, and seemed to say,

‘Do not take this to heart.’ And I did not, Alan--my partner danced

admirably, and I like one who was determined, if outshone, which I could

not help, not to be altogether thrown into the shade.

I assure you our performance, as well as Willie’s music, deserved

more polished spectators and auditors; but we could not then have been

greeted with such enthusiastic shouts of applause as attended while I

handed my partner to her seat, and took my place by her side, as one who

had a right to offer the attentions usual on such an occasion. She was

visibly embarrassed, but I was determined not to observe her confusion,

and to avail myself of the opportunity of learning whether this

beautiful creature’s mind was worthy of the casket in which nature had

lodged it.

Nevertheless, however courageously I formed this resolution, you cannot

but too well guess the difficulties I must needs have felt in carrying

it into execution; since want of habitual intercourse with the charmers

of the other sex has rendered me a sheepish cur, only one grain less

awkward than thyself. Then she was so very beautiful, and assumed an

air of so much dignity, that I was like to fall under the fatal error of

supposing she should only be addressed with something very clever; and

in the hasty raking which my brains underwent in this persuasion, not a

single idea occurred that common sense did not reject as fustian on the

one hand, or weary, flat, and stale triticism on the other. I felt as

if my understanding were no longer my own, but was alternately under the

dominion of Aldeborontiphoscophornio, and that of his facetious friend

Rigdum-Funnidos. How did I envy at that moment our friend Jack Oliver,

who produces with such happy complacence his fardel of small talk, and

who, as he never doubts his own powers of affording amusement, passes

them current with every pretty woman he approaches, and fills up the

intervals of chat by his complete acquaintance with the exercise of the

fan, the FLACON, and the other duties of the CAVALIERE SERVENTE. Some

of these I attempted, but I suppose it was awkwardly; at least the Lady

Green Mantle received them as a princess accepts the homage of a clown.

Meantime the floor remained empty, and as the mirth of the good meeting

was somewhat checked, I ventured, as a DERNIER RESSORT, to propose a

minuet. She thanked me, and told me haughtily enough, ‘she was here

to encourage the harmless pleasures of these good folks, but was not

disposed to make an exhibition of her own indifferent dancing for their

amusement.’

She paused a moment, as if she expected me to suggest something; and as

I remained silent and rebuked, she bowed her head more graciously, and

said, ‘Not to affront you, however, a country-dance, if you please.’

What an ass was I, Alan, not to have anticipated her wishes! Should I

not have observed that the ill-favoured couple, Mabel and Cristal, had

placed themselves on each side of her seat, like the supporters of the

royal arms? the man, thick, short, shaggy, and hirsute, as the lion; the

female, skin-dried, tight-laced, long, lean, and hungry-faced, like the

unicorn. I ought to have recollected, that under the close inspection

of two such watchful salvages, our communication, while in repose, could

not have been easy; that the period of dancing a minuet was not the very

choicest time for conversation; but that the noise, the exercise,

and the mazy confusion of a country-dance, where the inexperienced

performers were every now and then running against each other, and

compelling the other couples to stand still for a minute at a time,

besides the more regular repose afforded by the intervals of the dance

itself, gave the best possible openings for a word or two spoken in

season, and without being liable to observation.

We had but just led down, when an opportunity of the kind occurred, and

my partner said, with great gentleness and modesty, ‘It is not perhaps

very proper in me to acknowledge an acquaintance that is not claimed;

but I believe I speak to Mr. Darsie Latimer?’

‘Darsie Latimer was indeed the person that had now the honour and

happiness’--

I would have gone on in the false gallop of compliment, but she cut me

short. ‘And why,’ she said, ‘is Mr. Latimer here, and in disguise, or at

least assuming an office unworthy of a man of education?--I beg pardon,’

she continued,--‘I would not give you pain, but surely making, an

associate of a person of that description’--

She looked towards my friend Willie, and was silent. I felt heartily

ashamed of myself, and hastened to say it was an idle frolic, which want

of occupation had suggested, and which I could not regret, since it had

procured me the pleasure I at present enjoyed.

Without seeming to notice my compliment, she took the next opportunity

to say, ‘Will Mr. Latimer permit a stranger who wishes him well to ask,

whether it is right that, at his active age, he should be in so far void

of occupation, as to be ready to adopt low society for the sake of idle

amusement?’

‘You are severe, madam,’ I answered; ‘but I cannot think myself degraded

by mixing with any society where I meet’--

Here I stopped short, conscious that I was giving my answer an

unhandsome turn. The ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM, the last to which a polite

man has recourse, may, however, be justified by circumstances, but

seldom or never the ARGUMENTUM AD FOEMINAM.

She filled up the blank herself which I had left. ‘Where you meet ME, I

suppose you would say? But the case is different. I am, from my unhappy

fate, obliged to move by the will of others, and to be in places which

I would by my own will gladly avoid. Besides, I am, except for these few

minutes, no participator of the revels--a spectator only, and attended

by my servants. Your situation is different--you are here by choice,

the partaker and minister of the pleasures of a class below you in

education, birth, and fortunes. If I speak harshly, Mr. Latimer,’ she

added, with much sweetness of manner, ‘I mean kindly.’

I was confounded by her speech, ‘severe in youthful wisdom’; all

of naive or lively, suitable to such a dialogue, vanished from my

recollection, and I answered with gravity like her own, ‘I am, indeed,

better educated than these poor people; but you, madam, whose kind

admonition I am grateful for, must know more of my condition than I

do myself--I dare not say I am their superior in birth, since I know

nothing of my own, or in fortunes, over which hangs an impenetrable

cloud.’

‘And why should your ignorance on these points drive you into low

society and idle habits?’ answered my female monitor. ‘Is it manly to

wait till fortune cast her beams upon you, when by exertion of your own

energy you might distinguish yourself? Do not the pursuits of learning

lie open to you--of manly ambition--of war? But no--not of war, that has

already cost you too dear.’

‘I will be what you wish me to be,’ I replied with eagerness--‘You have

but to choose my path, and you shall see if I do not pursue it with

energy, were it only because you command me.’

‘Not because I command you,’ said the maiden, ‘but because reason,

common sense, manhood, and, in one word, regard for your own safety,

give the same counsel.’

‘At least permit me to reply, that reason and sense never assumed

a fairer form--of persuasion,’ I hastily added; for she turned from

me--nor did she give me another opportunity of continuing what I had

to say till the next pause of the dance, when, determined to bring our

dialogue to a point, I said, ‘You mentioned manhood also, and in the

same breath, personal danger. My ideas of manhood suggest that it is

cowardice to retreat before dangers of a doubtful character. You, who

appear to know so much of my fortunes that I might call you my guardian

angel, tell me what these dangers are, that I may judge whether manhood

calls on me to face or to fly them.’

She was evidently perplexed by this appeal.

‘You make me pay dearly for acting as your humane adviser,’ she replied

at last: ‘I acknowledge an interest in your fate, and yet I dare not

tell you whence it arises; neither am I at liberty to say why, or from

whom, you are in danger; but it is not less true that danger is near

and imminent. Ask me no more, but, for your own sake, begone from this

country. Elsewhere you are safe--here you do but invite your fate.’

‘But am I doomed to bid thus farewell to almost the only human being who

has showed an interest in my welfare? Do not say so--say that we shall

meet again, and the hope shall be the leading star to regulate my

course!’

‘It is more than probable,’ she said--‘much more than probable, that we

may never meet again. The help which I now render you is all that may be

in my power; it is such as I should render to a blind man whom I might

observe approaching the verge of a precipice; it ought to excite no

surprise, and requires no gratitude.’

So saying, she again turned from me, nor did she address me until the

dance was on the point of ending, when she said, ‘Do not attempt to

speak to or approach me again in the course of the night; leave the

company as soon as you can, but not abruptly, and God be with you.’

I handed her to her seat, and did not quit the fair palm I held, without

expressing my feelings by a gentle pressure. She coloured slightly, and

withdrew her hand, but not angrily. Seeing the eyes of Cristal and Mabel

sternly fixed on me, I bowed deeply, and withdrew from her; my heart

saddening, and my eyes becoming dim in spite of me, as the shifting

crowd hid us from each other.

It was my intention to have crept back to my comrade Willie, and resumed

my bow with such spirit as I might, although, at the moment, I would

have given half my income for an instant’s solitude. But my retreat was

cut off by Dame Martin, with the frankness--if it is not an inconsistent

phrase-of rustic coquetry, that goes straight up to the point.

‘Aye, lad, ye seem unco sune weary, to dance sae lightly? Better the nag

that ambles a’ the day, than him that makes a brattle for a mile, and

then’s dune wi’ the road.’

This was a fair challenge, and I could not decline accepting it.

Besides, I could see Dame Martin was queen of the revels; and so many

were the rude and singular figures about me, that I was by no means

certain whether I might not need some protection. I seized on her

willing hand, and we took our places in the dance, where, if I did not

acquit myself with all the accuracy of step and movement which I had

before attempted, I at least came up to the expectations of my partner,

who said, and almost swore, ‘I was prime at it;’ while, stimulated

to her utmost exertions, she herself frisked like a kid, snapped her

fingers like castanets, whooped like a Bacchanal, and bounded from the

floor like a tennis-ball,--aye, till the colour of her garters was no

particular mystery. She made the less secret of this, perhaps, that they

were sky-blue, and fringed with silver.

The time has been that this would have been special fun; or rather, last

night was the only time I can recollect these four years when it would

not have been so; yet, at this moment, I cannot tell you how I longed

to be rid of Dame Martin. I almost wished she would sprain one of those

‘many-twinkling’ ankles, which served her so alertly; and when, in the

midst of her exuberant caprioling, I saw my former partner leaving

the apartment, and with eyes, as I thought, turning towards me, this

unwillingness to carry on the dance increased to such a point, that I

was almost about to feign a sprain or a dislocation myself, in order to

put an end to the performance. But there were around me scores of old

women, all of whom looked as if they might have some sovereign recipe

for such an accident; and, remembering Gil Blas, and his pretended

disorder in the robber’s cavern, I thought it as wise to play Dame

Martin fair, and dance till she thought proper to dismiss me. What I did

I resolved to do strenuously, and in the latter part of the exhibition

I cut and sprang from the floor as high and as perpendicularly as Dame

Martin herself; and received, I promise you, thunders of applause, for

the common people always prefer exertion and agility to grace. At length

Dame Martin could dance no more, and, rejoicing at my release, I led her

to a seat, and took the privilege of a partner to attend her.

‘Hegh, sirs,’ exclaimed Dame Martin, ‘I am sair forfoughen! Troth!

callant, I think ye hae been amaist the death o’ me.’

I could only atone for the alleged offence by fetching her some

refreshment, of which she readily partook.

‘I have been lucky in my partners,’ I said, ‘first that pretty young

lady, and then you, Mrs. Martin.’

‘Hout wi’ your fleeching,’ said Dame Martin. ‘Gae wa--gae wa, lad; dinna

blaw in folk’s lugs that gate; me and Miss Lilias even’d thegither! Na,

na, lad--od, she is maybe four or five years younger than the like o’

me,--bye and attour her gentle havings.’

‘She is the laird’s daughter?’ said I, in as careless a tone of inquiry

as I could assume.

‘His daughter, man? Na, na, only his niece--and sib aneugh to him, I

think.’

‘Aye, indeed,’ I replied; ‘I thought she had borne his name?’

‘She bears her ain name, and that’s Lilias.’

‘And has she no other name?’ asked I.

‘What needs she another till she gets a gudeman?’ answered my Thetis,

a little miffed perhaps--to use the women’s phrase--that I turned

the conversation upon my former partner, rather than addressed it to

herself.

There was a little pause, which was interrupted by Dame Martin

observing, ‘They are standing up again.’

‘True,’ said I, having no mind to renew my late violent CAPRIOLE, and I

must go help old Willie.’

Ere I could extricate myself, I heard poor Thetis address herself to

a sort of merman in a jacket of seaman’s blue, and a pair of trousers

(whose hand, by the way, she had rejected at an earlier part of the

evening) and intimate that she was now disposed to take a trip.

‘Trip away, then, dearie,’ said the vindictive man of the waters,

without offering his hand; ‘there,’ pointing to the floor, ‘is a roomy

berth for you.’

Certain I had made one enemy, and perhaps two, I hastened to my original

seat beside Willie, and began to handle my bow. But I could see that my

conduct had made an unfavourable impression; the words, ‘flory conceited

chap,’--‘hafflins gentle,’ and at length, the still more alarming

epithet of ‘spy,’ began to be buzzed about, and I was heartily glad when

the apparition of Sam’s visage at the door, who was already possessed of

and draining a can of punch, gave me assurance that my means of retreat

were at hand. I intimated as much to Willie, who probably had heard

more of the murmurs of the company than I had, for he whispered, ‘Aye,

aye,--awa wi’ ye--ower lang here--slide out canny--dinna let them see ye

are on the tramp.’

I slipped half a guinea into the old man’s hand, who answered, ‘Truts

pruts! nonsense but I ‘se no refuse, trusting ye can afford it. Awa wi’

ye--and if ony body stops ye, cry on me.’

I glided, by his advice, along the room as if looking for a partner,

joined Sam, whom I disengaged with some difficulty from his can, and

we left the cottage together in a manner to attract the least possible

observation. The horses were tied in a neighbouring shed, and as

the moon was up, and I was now familiar with the road, broken and

complicated as it is, we soon reached the Shepherd’s Bush, where the old

landlady was sitting up waiting for us, under some anxiety of mind, to

account for which she did not hesitate to tell me that some folks had

gone to Brokenburn from her house, or neighbouring towns, that did not

come so safe back again. ‘Wandering Willie,’ she said, ‘was doubtless a

kind of protection.’

Here Willie’s wife, who was smoking in the chimney corner, took up the

praises of her ‘hinnie,’ as she called him, and endeavoured to awaken

my generosity afresh, by describing the dangers from which, as she was

pleased to allege, her husband’s countenance had assuredly been the

means of preserving me. I was not, however, to be fooled out of

more money at this time, and went to bed in haste, full of vanous

cogitations.

I have since spent a couple of days betwixt Mount Sharon and this place,

and betwixt reading, writing to thee this momentous history, forming

plans for seeing the lovely Lilias, and--partly, I think, for the sake

of contradiction--angling a little in spite of Joshua’a scruples--though

I am rather liking the amusement better as I begin to have some success

in it.

And now, my dearest Alan, you are in full possession of my secret--let

me as frankly into the recesses of your bosom. How do you feel towards

this fair ignis fatuus, this lily of the desert? Tell me honestly; for

however the recollection of her may haunt my own mind, my love for Alan

Fairford surpasses the love of woman, I know, too, that when you DO

love, it will be to

Love once and love no more.

A deep-consuming passion, once kindled in a breast so steady as yours,

would never be extinguished but with life. I am of another and more

volatile temper, and though I shall open your next with a trembling hand

and uncertain heart, yet let it bring a frank confession that this fair

unknown has made a deeper impression on your gravity than you reckoned

for, and you will see I can tear the arrow from my own wound, barb and

all. In the meantime, though I have formed schemes once more to see her,

I will, you may rely on it, take no step for putting them into practice.

I have refrained from this hitherto, and I give you my word of honour,

I shall continue to do so; yet why should you need any further assurance

from one who is so entirely yours as D.L.

PS.--I shall be on thorns till I receive your answer. I read, and

re-read your letter, and cannot for my soul discover what your real

sentiments are. Sometimes I think you write of her as one in jest--and

sometimes I think that cannot be. Put me at ease as soon as possible.

LETTER XIII

ALAN FAIRFORD TO DARSIE LATIMER

I write on the instant, as you direct; and in a tragi-comic humour, for

I have a tear in my eye and a smile on my cheek. Dearest Darsie, sure

never a being but yourself could be so generous--sure never a being but

yourself could be so absurd! I remember when you were a boy you wished

to make your fine new whip a present to old Aunt Peggy, merely because

she admired it; and now, with like unreflecting and inappropriate

liberality, you would resign your beloved to a smoke-dried young

sophister, who cares not one of the hairs which it is his occupation to

split, for all the daughters of Eve. I in love with your Lilias--your

Green Mantle--your unknown enchantress!--why I scarce saw her for five

minutes, and even then only the tip of her chin was distinctly visible.

She was well made, and the tip of her chin was of a most promising cast

for the rest of the face; but, Heaven save you! she came upon business!

and for a lawyer to fall in love with a pretty client on a single

consultation, would be as wise as if he became enamoured of a

particularly bright sunbeam which chanced for a moment to gild his

bar-wig. I give you my word I am heart-whole and moreover, I assure you,

that before I suffer a woman to sit near my heart’s core, I must see her

full face, without mask or mantle, aye, and know a good deal of her

mind into the bargain. So never fret yourself on my account, my kind and

generous Darsie; but, for your own sake, have a care and let not an idle

attachment, so lightly taken up, lead you into serious danger.

On this subject I feel so apprehensive, that now when I am decorated

with the honours of the gown, I should have abandoned my career at the

very starting to come to you, but for my father having contrived to

clog my heels with fetters of a professional nature. I will tell you the

matter at length, for it is comical enough; and why should not you

list to my juridical adventures, as well as I to those of your fiddling

knight-errantry?

It was after dinner, and I was considering how I might best introduce

to my father the private resolution I had formed to set off for

Dumfriesshire, or whether I had not better run away at once, and plead

my excuse by letter, when, assuming the peculiar look with which he

communicates any of his intentions respecting me, that he suspects may

not be altogether acceptable, ‘Alan,’ he said, ‘ye now wear a gown--ye

have opened shop, as we would say of a more mechanical profession; and,

doubtless, ye think the floor of the courts is strewed with guineas, and

that ye have only to stoop down to gather them?’

‘I hope I am sensible, sir,’ I replied, ‘that I have some knowledge and

practice to acquire, and must stoop for that in the first place.’

‘It is well said,’ answered my father; and, always afraid to give too

much encouragement, added, ‘Very well said, if it be well acted up

to--Stoop to get knowledge and practice is the very word. Ye know very

well, Alan, that in the other faculty who study the ARS MEDENDI, before

the young doctor gets to the bedsides of palaces, he must, as they call

it, walk the hospitals; and cure Lazarus of his sores, before he be

admitted to prescribe for Dives, when he has gout or indigestion’--

‘I am aware, sir, that’--

‘Whisht--do not interrupt the court. Well--also the chirurgeons have

a useful practice, by which they put their apprentices and tyrones to

work; upon senseless dead bodies, to which, as they can do no good, so

they certainly can do as little harm; while at the same time the tyro,

or apprentice, gains experience, and becomes fit to whip off a leg or

arm from a living subject, as cleanly as ye would slice an onion.’

‘I believe I guess your meaning, sir,’ answered I; ‘and were it not for

a very particular engagement’--

‘Do not speak to me of engagements; but whisht--there is a good lad--and

do not interrupt the court.’

My father, you know, is apt--be it said with all filial duty--to be a

little prolix in his harangues. I had nothing for it but to lean back

and listen.

‘Maybe you think, Alan, because I have, doubtless, the management of

some actions in dependence, whilk my worthy clients have intrusted

me with, that I may think of airting them your way INSTANTER; and so

setting you up in practice, so far as my small business or influence may

go; and, doubtless, Alan, that is a day whilk I hope may come round. But

then, before I give, as the proverb hath it, “My own fish-guts to my own

sea-maws,” I must, for the sake of my own character, be very sure that

my sea-maw can pick them to some purpose. What say ye?’

‘I am so far,’ answered I, ‘from wishing to get early into practice,

sir, that I would willingly bestow a few days’--

‘In further study, ye would say, Alan. But that is not the way

either--ye must walk the hospitals--ye must cure Lazarus--ye must cut

and carve on a departed subject, to show your skill.’

‘I am sure,’ I replied, ‘I will undertake the cause of any poor man with

pleasure, and bestow as much pains upon it as if it were a duke’s; but

for the next two or three days’--

‘They must be devoted to close study, Alan--very close study indeed; for

ye must stand primed for a hearing, IN PRESENTIA DOMINORUM, upon Tuesday

next.’

‘I, sir?’ I replied in astonishment--‘I have not opened my mouth in the

Outer House yet!’

‘Never mind the court of the Gentiles, man,’ said my father; ‘we will

have you into the Sanctuary at once--over shoes, over boots.’

‘But, sir, I should really spoil any cause thrust on me so hastily.’

‘Ye cannot spoil it, Alan,’ said my father, rubbing his hands with much

complacency; ‘that is the very cream of the business, man--it is just,

as I said before, a subject upon whilk all the TYRONES have been trying

their whittles for fifteen years; and as there have been about ten or a

dozen agents concerned, and each took his own way, the case is come to

that pass, that Stair or Amiston could not mend it; and I do not think

even you, Alan, can do it much harm--ye may get credit by it, but ye can

lose none.’

‘And pray what is the name of my happy client, sir?’ said I,

ungraciously enough, I believe.

‘It is a well-known name in the Parliament House,’ replied my father.

‘To say the truth, I expect him every moment; it is Peter Peebles.’ [See

Note 4.]

‘Peter Peebles!’ exclaimed I, in astonishment; ‘he is an insane

beggar--as poor as Job, and as mad as a March hare!’

‘He has been pleaing in the court for fifteen years,’ said my father, in

a tone of commiseration, which seemed to acknowledge that this fact

was enough to account for the poor man’s condition both in mind and

circumstances.

‘Besides, sir,’ I added, ‘he is on the Poor’s Roll; and you know there

are advocates regularly appointed to manage those cases; and for me to

presume to interfere’--

‘Whisht, Alan!--never interrupt the court--all THAT is managed for ye

like a tee’d ball’ (my father sometimes draws his similes from his once

favourite game of golf); ‘you must know, Alan, that Peter’s cause was

to have been opened by young Dumtoustie--ye may ken the lad, a son of

Dumtoustie of that ilk, member of Parliament for the county of--, and a

nephew of the laird’s younger brother, worthy Lord Bladderskate, whilk

ye are aware sounds as like being akin to a peatship [Formerly, a

lawyer, supposed to be under the peculiar patronage of any particular

judge, was invidiously termed his PEAT or PET.] and a sheriffdom, as a

sieve is sib to a riddle. Now, Peter Drudgeit, my lord’s clerk, came to

me this morning in the House, like ane bereft of his wits; for it seems

that young Dumtoustie is ane of the Poor’s lawyers, and Peter Peebles’s

process had been remitted to him of course. But so soon as the

harebrained goose saw the pokes [Process-bags.] (as indeed, Alan, they

are none of the least) he took fright, called for his nag, lap on, and

away to the country is he gone; and so? said Peter, my lord is at his

wit’s end wi’ vexation, and shame, to see his nevoy break off the course

at the very starting. “I’ll tell you, Peter,” said I, “were I my lord,

and a friend or kinsman of mine should leave the town while the court

was sitting, that kinsman, or be he what he liked, should never darken

my door again.” And then, Alan, I thought to turn the ball our own way;

and I said that you were a gey sharp birkie, just off the irons, and if

it would oblige my lord, and so forth, you would open Peter’s cause on

Tuesday, and make some handsome apology for the necessary absence of

your learned friend, and the loss which your client and the court had

sustained, and so forth. Peter lap at the proposition like a cock at a

grossart; for, he said, the only chance was to get a new hand, that did

not ken the charge he was taking upon him; for there was not a lad of

two sessions’ standing that was not dead-sick of Peter Peebles and his

cause; and he advised me to break the matter gently to you at the

first; but I told him you were, a good bairn, Alan, and had no will and

pleasure in these matters but mine.’

What could I say, Darsie, in answer to this arrangement, so very well

meant--so very vexatious at the same time? To imitate the defection and

flight of young Dumtoustie, was at once to destroy my father’s hopes

of me for ever; nay, such is the keenness with which he regards all

connected with his profession, it might have been a step to breaking

his heart. I was obliged, therefore, to bow in sad acquiescence, when my

father called to James Wilkinson to bring the two bits of pokes he would

find on his table.

Exit James, and presently re-enters, bending under the load of two huge

leathern bags, full of papers to the brim, and labelled on the greasy

backs with the magic impress of the clerks of court, and the title,

PEEBLES AGAINST PLAINSTANES. This huge mass was deposited on the table,

and my father, with no ordinary glee in his countenance, began to draw

out; the various bundles of papers, secured by none of your red tape

or whipcord, but stout, substantial casts of tarred rope, such as might

have held small craft at their moorings.

I made a last and desperate effort to get rid of the impending job. ‘I

am really afraid, sir, that this case seems so much complicated, and

there is so little time to prepare, that we had better move the court to

supersede it till next session.’

‘How, sir?--how, Alan?’ said my father--‘Would you approbate and

reprobate, sir? You have accepted the poor man’s cause, and if you have

not his fee in your pocket, it is because he has none to give you; and

now would you approbate and reprobate in the same breath of your mouth?

Think of your oath of office, Alan, and your duty to your father, my

dear boy.’

Once more, what could I say? I saw from my father’s hurried and alarmed

manner, that nothing could vex him so much as failing in the point he

had determined to carry, and once more intimated my readiness to do my

best, under every disadvantage.

‘Well, well, my boy,’ said my father, ‘the Lord will make your days long

in the land, for the honour you have given to your father’s grey hairs.

You may find wiser advisers, Alan, but none that can wish you better.’

My father, you know, does not usually give way to expressions of

affection, and they are interesting in proportion to their rarity. My

eyes began to fill at seeing his glisten; and my delight at having given

him such sensible gratification would have been unmixed but for the

thoughts of you. These out of the question, I could have grappled with

the bags, had they been as large as corn-sacks. But, to turn what

was grave into farce, the door opened, and Wilkinson ushered in Peter

Peebles.

You must have seen this original, Darsie, who, like others in the same

predicament, continues to haunt the courts of justice, where he has made

shipwreck of time, means, and understanding. Such insane paupers have

sometimes seemed to me to resemble wrecks lying upon the shoals on the

Goodwin Sands, or in Yarmouth Roads, warning other vessels to keep aloof

from the banks on which they have been lost; or rather, such ruined

clients are like scarecrows and potato-bogies, distributed through the

courts to scare away fools from the scene of litigation.

The identical Peter wears a huge greatcoat threadbare and patched

itself, yet carefully so disposed and secured by what buttons remain,

and many supplementary pins, as to conceal the still more infirm state

of his under garments. The shoes and stockings of a ploughman were,

however, seen to meet at his knees with a pair of brownish, blackish

breeches; a rusty-coloured handkerchief, that has been black in its

day, surrounded his throat, and was an apology for linen. His hair, half

grey, half black, escaped in elf-locks around a huge wig, made of tow,

as it seemed to me, and so much shrunk that it stood up on the very top

of his head; above which he plants, when covered, an immense cocked hat,

which, like the chieftain’s banner in an ancient battle, may be seen

any sederunt day betwixt nine and ten, high towering above all

the fluctuating and changeful scene in the Outer House, where his

eccentricities often make him the centre of a group of petulant and

teasing boys, who exercise upon him every art of ingenious torture.

His countenance, originally that of a portly, comely burgess, is now

emaciated with poverty and anxiety, and rendered wild by an insane

lightness about the eyes; a withered and blighted skin and complexion;

features begrimed with snuff, charged with the self-importance peculiar

to insanity; and a habit of perpetually speaking to himself. Such was

my unfortunate client; and I must allow, Darsie, that my profession had

need to do a great deal of good, if, as is much to be feared, it brings

many individuals to such a pass.

After we had been, with a good deal of form, presented to each other,

at which time I easily saw by my father’s manner that he was desirous of

supporting Peter’s character in my eyes, as much as circumstances would

permit, ‘Alan,’ he said, ‘this is the gentleman who has agreed to accept

of you as his counsel, in place of young Dumtoustie.’

‘Entirely out of favour to my old acquaintance your father, said Peter.

with a benign and patronizing countenance, ‘out of respect to your

father, and my old intimacy with Lord Bladderskate. Otherwise, by the

REGIAM MAJESTATEM! I would have presented a petition and complaint

against Daniel Dumtoustie, Advocate, by name and surname--I would, by

all the practiques!--I know the forms of process; and I am not to be

triffled with.’

My father here interrupted my client, and reminded him that there was a

good deal of business to do, as he proposed to give the young counsel

an outline of the state of the conjoined process, with a view to letting

him into the merits of the cause, disencumbered from the points of form.

‘I have made a short abbreviate, Mr. Peebles,’ said he; ‘having sat up

late last night, and employed much of this morning in wading through

these papers, to save Alan some trouble, and I am now about to state the

result.’

‘I will state it myself,’ said Peter, breaking in without reverence upon

his solicitor.

‘No, by no means,’ said my father; ‘I am your agent for the time.’

‘Mine eleventh in number,’ said Peter; ‘I have a new one every year; I

wish I could get a new coat as regularly.’

‘Your agent for the time,’ resumed my father; ‘and you, who are

acquainted with the forms, know that the client states the cause to the

agent--the agent to the counsel’--

‘The counsel to the Lord Ordinary,’ continued Peter, once set a-going,

like the peal of an alarm clock, ‘the Ordinary to the Inner House, the

President to the Bench. It is just like the rope to the man, the man to

the ox, the ox to the water, the water to the fire’--

‘Hush, for Heaven’s sake, Mr. Peebles,’ said my father, cutting his

recitation short; ‘time wears on--we must get to business--you must

not interrupt the court, you know.--Hem, hem! From this abbreviate it

appears’--

‘Before you begin,’ said Peter Peebles ‘I’ll thank you to order me a

morsel of bread and cheese, or some cauld meat, or broth, or the like

alimentary provision; I was so anxious to see your son, that I could not

eat a mouthful of dinner.’

Heartily glad, I believe, to have so good a chance of stopping his

client’s mouth effectually, my father ordered some cold meat; to which

James Wilkinson, for the honour of the house, was about to add the

brandy bottle, which remained on the sideboard, but, at a wink from my

father, supplied its place with small beer. Peter charged the provisions

with the rapacity of a famished lion; and so well did the diversion

engage him, that though, while my father stated the case, he looked at

him repeatedly, as if he meant to interrupt his statement, yet he always

found more agreeable employment for his mouth, and returned to the

cold beef with an avidity which convinced me he had not had such an

opportunity for many a day of satiating his appetite. Omitting much

formal phraseology, and many legal details, I will endeavour to give

you, in exchange for your fiddler’s tale, the history of a litigant, or

rather, the history of his lawsuit.

‘Peter Peebles and Paul Plainstanes,’ said my father, entered into

partnership, in the year--, as mercers and linendrapers, in the

Luckenbooths, and carried on a great line of business to mutual

advantage. But the learned counsel needeth not to be told, SOCIETAS EST

MATER DISCORDIARUM, partnership oft makes pleaship. The company being

dissolved by mutual consent, in the year--, the affairs had to be wound

up, and after certain attempts to settle the matter extra-judicially,

it was at last brought into the court, and has branched out into several

distinct processes, most of whilk have been conjoined by the Ordinary.

It is to the state of these processes that counsel’s attention is

particularly directed. There is the original action of Peebles v.

Plainstanes, convening him for payment of 3000l., less or more, as

alleged balance due by Plainstanes. Secondly, there is a counter action,

in which Plainstanes is pursuer and Peebles defender, for 2500l.,

less or more, being balance alleged per contra, to be due by Peebles.

Thirdly, Mr. Peeble’s seventh agent advised an action of Compt and

Reckoning at his instance, wherein what balance should prove due on

either side might be fairly struck and ascertained. Fourthly, to meet

the hypothetical case, that Peebles might be found liable in a balance

to Plainstanes, Mr. Wildgoose, Mr. Peebles’s eighth agent, recommended a

Multiplepoinding, to bring all parties concerned into the field.’

My brain was like to turn at this account of lawsuit within lawsuit,

like a nest of chip-boxes, with all of which I was expected to make

myself acquainted.

‘I understand,’ I said, ‘that Mr. Peebles claims a sum of money from

Plainstanes--how then can he be his debtor? and if not his debtor, how

can he bring a Multiplepoinding, the very summons of which sets forth,

that the pursuer does owe certain monies, which he is desirous to pay by

warrant of a judge?’ [Multiplepoinding is, I believe, equivalent to what

is called in England a case of Double Distress.]

‘Ye know little of the matter, I doubt, friend,’ said Mr. Peebles; ‘a

Multiplepoinding is the safest REMEDIUM JURIS in the whole; form of

process. I have known it conjoined with a declarator of marriage.--Your

beef is excellent,’ he said to my father, who in vain endeavoured to

resume his legal disquisition; ‘but something highly powdered--and the

twopenny is undeniable; but it is small swipes--small swipes--more of

hop than malt-with your leave, I’ll try your black bottle.’

My father started to help him with his own hand, and in due measure;

but, infinitely to my amusement, Peter got possession of the bottle by

the neck, and my father’s ideas of hospitality were far too scrupulous

to permit his attempting, by any direct means, to redeem it; so that

Peter returned to the table triumphant, with his prey in his clutch.

‘Better have a wine-glass, Mr. Peebles,’ said my father, in an

admonitory tone, ‘you will find it pretty strong.’

‘If the kirk is ower muckle, we can sing mass in the quire,’ said Peter,

helping himself in the goblet out of which he had been drinking the

small beer. ‘What is it, usquebaugh?--BRANDY, as I am an honest man! I

had almost forgotten the name and taste of brandy. Mr. Fairford elder,

your good health’ (a mouthful of brandy), ‘Mr. Alan Fairford, wishing

you well through your arduous undertaking’ (another go-down of the

comfortable liquor). ‘And now, though you have given a tolerable

breviate of this great lawsuit, of whilk everybody has heard something

that has walked the boards in the Outer House (here’s to ye again,

by way of interim decreet) yet ye have omitted to speak a word of the

arrestments.’

‘I was just coming to that point, Mr. Peebles.’

‘Or of the action of suspension of the charge on the bill.’

‘I was just coming to that.’

‘Or the advocation of the Sheriff-Court process.’

‘I was just coming to it.’

‘As Tweed comes to Melrose, I think,’ said the litigant; and then

filling his goblet about a quarter full of brandy, as if in absence of

mind, ‘Oh, Mr. Alan Fairford, ye are a lucky man to buckle to such a

cause as mine at the very outset! it is like a specimen of all causes,

man. By the Regiam, there is not a REMEDIUM JURIS in the practiques

but ye’ll find a spice o’t. Here’s to your getting weel through with

it--Pshut--I am drinking naked spirits, I think. But if the heathen he

ower strong, we’ll christen him with the brewer’ (here he added a

little small beer to his beverage, paused, rolled his eyes, winked,

and proceeded),--‘Mr. Fairford--the action of assault and battery,

Mr. Fairford, when I compelled the villain Plainstanes to pull my

nose within two steps of King Charles’s statue, in the Parliament

Close--there I had him in a hose-net. Never man could tell me how to

shape that process--no counsel that ever selled mind could condescend

and say whether it were best to proceed by way of petition and

complaint, AD VINDICTAM PUBLICAM, with consent of his Majesty’s

advocate, or by action on the statute for battery PENDENTE LITE, whilk

would be the winning my plea at once, and so getting a back-door out of

court.--By the Regiam, that beef and brandy is unco het at my heart--I

maun try the ale again’ (sipped a little beer); ‘and the ale’s but

cauld, I maun e’en put in the rest of the brandy.’

He was as good as his word, and proceeded in so loud and animated

a style of elocution, thumping the table, drinking and snuffing

alternately, that my father, abandoning all attempts to interrupt him,

sat silent and ashamed, suffering, and anxious for the conclusion of the

scene.

‘And then to come back to my pet process of all--my battery and assault

process, when I had the good luck to provoke him to pull my nose at

the very threshold of the court, whilk was the very thing I wanted--Mr.

Pest, ye ken him, Daddie Fairford? Old Pest was for making it out

HAMESUCKEN, for he said the court might be said--said--ugh!--to be my

dwelling-place. I dwell mair there than ony gate else, and the essence

of hamesucken is to strike a man in his dwelling-place--mind that, young

advocate--and so there’s hope Plainstanes may be hanged, as many has

for a less matter; for, my lords,--will Pest say to the Justiciary

bodies,--my lords, the Parliament House is Peebles’ place of

dwelling, says he--being COMMUNE FORUM, and COMMUNE FORUM EST COMMUNE

DOMICILIUM--Lass, fetch another glass of and score it--time to gae

hame--by the practiques, I cannot find the jug--yet there’s twa of them,

I think. By the Regiam, Fairford--Daddie Fairford--lend us twal pennies

to buy sneeshing, mine is done--Macer, call another cause.’

The box fell from his hands, and his body would at the same time have

fallen from the chair, had not I supported him.

‘This is intolerable,’ said my father--‘Call a chairman, James

Wilkinson, to carry this degraded, worthless, drunken beast home.’

When Peter Peebles was removed from this memorable consultation, under

the care of an able-bodied Celt, my father hastily bundled up the

papers, as a showman, whose exhibition has miscarried, hastes to remove

his booth. ‘Here are my memoranda, Alan,’ he said, in a hurried way;

‘look them carefully over--compare them with the processes, and turn

it in your head before Tuesday. Many a good speech has been made for a

beast of a client; and hark ye, lad, hark ye--I never intended to cheat

you of your fee when all was done, though I would have liked to have

heard the speech first; but there is nothing like corning the horse

before the journey. Here are five goud guineas in a silk purse--of your

poor mother’s netting, Alan--she would have been a blithe woman to have

seen her young son with a gown on his back--but no more of that--be a

good boy, and to the work like a tiger.’

I did set to work, Darsie; for who could resist such motives? With my

father’s assistance, I have mastered the details, confused as they are;

and on Tuesday I shall plead as well for Peter Peebles as I could for

a duke. Indeed, I feel my head so clear on the subject as to be able

to write this long letter to you; into which, however, Peter and his

lawsuit have insinuated themselves so far as to show you how much they

at present occupy my thoughts. Once more, be careful of yourself, and

mindful of me, who am ever thine, while ALAN FAIRFORD.

From circumstances, to be hereafter mentioned, it was long ere this

letter reached the person to whom it was addressed.

* * * * *

CHAPTER I

NARRATIVE

The advantage of laying before the reader, in the words of the actors

themselves, the adventures which we must otherwise have narrated in

our own, has given great popularity to the publication of epistolary

correspondence, as practised by various great authors, and by ourselves

in the preceding chapters. Nevertheless, a genuine correspondence of

this kind (and Heaven forbid it should be in any respect sophisticated

by interpolations of our own!) can seldom be found to contain all in

which it is necessary to instruct the reader for his full comprehension

of the story. Also it must often happen that various prolixities and

redundancies occur in the course of an interchange of letters, which

must hang as a dead weight on the progress of the narrative. To avoid

this dilemma, some biographers have used the letters of the personages

concerned, or liberal extracts from them, to describe particular

incidents, or express the sentiments which they entertained; while they

connect them occasionally with such portions of narrative, as may serve

to carry on the thread of the story.

It is thus that the adventurous travellers who explore the summit of

Mont Blanc now move on through the crumbling snowdrift so slowly, that

their progress is almost imperceptible, and anon abridge their journey

by springing over the intervening chasms which cross their path, with

the assistance of their pilgrim-staves. Or, to make a briefer simile,

the course of story-telling which we have for the present adopted,

resembles the original discipline of the dragoons, who were trained to

serve either on foot or horseback, as the emergencies of the service

required. With this explanation, we shall proceed to narrate some

circumstances which Alan Fairford did not, and could not, write to his

correspondent.

Our reader, we trust, has formed somewhat approaching to a distinct

idea of the principal characters who have appeared before him during

our narrative; but in case our good opinion of his sagacity has been

exaggerated, and in order to satisfy such as are addicted to the

laudable practice of SKIPPING (with whom we have at times a strong

fellow-feeling), the following particulars may not be superfluous.

Mr. Saunders Fairford, as he was usually called, was a man of business

of the old school, moderate in his charges, economical and even

niggardly in his expenditure, strictly honest in conducting his own

affairs and those of his clients, but taught by long experience to be

wary and suspicious in observing the motions of others. Punctual as the

clock of Saint Giles tolled nine, the neat dapper form of the little

hale old gentleman was seen at the threshold of the court hall, or at

farthest, at the head of the Back Stairs, trimly dressed in a complete

suit of snuff-coloured brown, with stockings of silk or woollen as,

suited the weather; a bob-wig, and a small cocked hat; shoes blacked

as Warren would have blacked them; silver shoe-buckles, and a gold

stock-buckle. A nosegay in summer, and a sprig of holly in winter,

completed his well-known dress and appearance. His manners corresponded

with his attire, for they were scrupulously civil, and not a little

formal. He was an elder of the kirk, and, of course, zealous for King

George and the Government even to slaying, as he had showed by taking

up arms in their cause. But then, as he had clients and connexions

of business among families of opposite political tenets, he was

particularly cautious to use all the conventional phrases which the

civility of the time had devised, as an admissible mode of language

betwixt the two parties. Thus he spoke sometimes of the Chevalier, but

never either of the Prince, which would have been sacrificing his own

principles, or of the Pretender, which would have been offensive to

those of others. Again, he usually designated the Rebellion as the

AFFAIR of 1745, and spoke of any one engaged in it as a person who had

been OUT at a certain period. [OLD-FASHIONED SCOTTISH CIVILITY.--Such

were literally the points of politeness observed in general society

during the author’s youth, where it was by no means unusual in a company

assembled by chance, to find individuals who had borne arms on one

side or other in the civil broils of 1745. Nothing, according to my

recollection, could be more gentle and decorous than the respect

these old enemies paid to each other’s prejudices. But in this I speak

generally. I have witnessed one or two explosions.] So that, on the

whole, Mr. Fairford was a man much liked and respected on all sides,

though his friends would not have been sorry if he had given a dinner

more frequently, as his little cellar contained some choice old wine, of

which, on such rare occasions he was no niggard.

The whole pleasure of this good old-fashioned man of method, besides

that which he really felt in the discharge of his daily business, was

the hope to see his son Alan, the only fruit of a union which death

early dissolved, attain what in the father’s eyes was the proudest of

all distinctions--the rank and fame of a well-employed lawyer.

Every profession has its peculiar honours, and Mr. Fairford’s mind was

constructed upon so limited and exclusive a plan, that he valued nothing

save the objects of ambition which his own presented. He would have

shuddered at Alan’s acquiring the renown of a hero, and laughed with

scorn at the equally barren laurels of literature; it was by the path of

the law alone that he was desirous to see him rise to eminence, and

the probabilities of success or disappointment were the thoughts of his

father by day, and his dream by night.

The disposition of Alan Fairford, as well as his talents, were such as

to encourage his father’s expectations. He had acuteness of intellect,

joined to habits of long and patient study, improved no doubt by the

discipline of his father’s house; to which, generally speaking, he

conformed with the utmost docility, expressing no wish for greater or

more frequent relaxation than consisted with his father’s anxious and

severe restrictions. When he did indulge in any juvenile frolics, his

father had the candour to lay the whole blame upon his more mercurial

companion, Darsie Latimer.

This youth, as the reader must be aware, had been received as an inmate

into the family of Mr. Fairford, senior, at a time when some of the

delicacy of constitution which had abridged the life of his consort

began to show itself in the son, and when the father was, of course,

peculiarly disposed to indulge his slightest wish. That the young

Englishman was able to pay a considerable board, was a matter of no

importance to Mr. Fairford; it was enough that his presence seemed to

make his son cheerful and happy. He was compelled to allow that ‘Darsie

was a fine lad, though unsettled,’ and he would have had some difficulty

in getting rid of him, and the apprehensions which his levities excited,

had it not been for the voluntary excursion which gave rise to the

preceding correspondence, and in which Mr. Fairford secretly rejoiced,

as affording the means of separating Alan from his gay companion, at

least until he should have assumed, and become accustomed to, the duties

of his dry and laborious profession.

But the absence of Darsie was far from promoting the end which the elder

Mr. Fairford had expected and desired. The young men were united by the

closest bonds of intimacy; and the more so, that neither of them sought

nor desired to admit any others into their society. Alan Fairford was

averse to general company, from a disposition naturally reserved,

and Darsie Latimer from a painful sense of his own unknown origin,

peculiarly afflicting in a country where high and low are professed

genealogists. The young men were all in all to each other; it is no

wonder, therefore, that their separation was painful, and that its

effects upon Alan Fairford, joined to the anxiety occasioned by the

tenor of his friend’s letters, greatly exceeded what the senior had

anticipated. The young man went through his usual duties, his studies,

and the examinations to which he was subjected, but with nothing like

the zeal and assiduity which he had formerly displayed; and his anxious

and observant father saw but too plainly that his heart was with his

absent comrade.

A philosopher would have given way to this tide of feeling, in hopes to

have diminished its excess, and permitted the youths to have been

some time together, that their intimacy might have been broken off by

degrees; but Mr. Fairford only saw the more direct mode of continued

restraint, which, however, he was desirous of veiling under some

plausible pretext. In the anxiety which he felt on this occasion, he had

held communication with an old acquaintance, Peter Drudgeit, with whom

the reader is partly acquainted. ‘Alan,’ he said, ‘was ance wud, and

ay waur; and he was expecting every moment when he would start off in a

wildgoose-chase after the callant Latimer; Will Sampson, the horse-hirer

in Candlemaker Row, had given him a hint that Alan had been looking for

a good hack, to go to the country for a few days. And then to oppose

him downright--he could not but think on the way his poor mother was

removed. Would to Heaven he was yoked to some tight piece of business,

no matter whether well or ill paid, but some job that would hamshackle

him at least until the courts rose, if it were but for decency’s sake.’

Peter Drudgeit sympathized, for Peter had a son, who, reason or none,

would needs exchange the torn and inky fustian sleeves for the blue

jacket and white lapelle; and he suggested, as the reader knows, the

engaging our friend Alan in the matter of Poor Peter Peebles, just

opened by the desertion of young Dumtoustie, whose defection would be at

the same time concealed; and this, Drudgeit said, ‘would be felling two

dogs with one stone.’

With these explanations, the reader will hold a man of the elder

Fairford’s sense and experience free from the hazardous and impatient

curiosity with which boys fling a puppy into a deep pond, merely to see

if the creature can swim. However confident in his son’s talents, which

were really considerable, he would have been very sorry to have involved

him in the duty of pleading a complicated and difficult case, upon

his very first appearance at the bar, had he not resorted to it as an

effectual way to prevent the young man from taking a step which his

habits of thinking represented as a most fatal one at his outset of

life.

Betwixt two evils, Mr. Fairford chose that which was in his own

apprehension the least; and, like a brave officer sending forth his son

to battle, rather chose he should die upon the breach, than desert the

conflict with dishonour. Neither did he leave him to his own unassisted

energies. Like Alpheus preceding Hercules, he himself encountered the

Augean mass of Peter Peebles’ law-matters. It was to the old man a

labour of love to place in a clear and undistorted view the real merits

of this case, which the carelessness and blunders of Peter’s former

solicitors had converted into a huge chaotic mass of unintelligible

technicality; and such was his skill and industry, that he was

able, after the severe toil of two or three days, to present to the

consideration of the young counsel the principal facts of the case, in

a light equally simple and comprehensible. With the assistance of a

solicitor so affectionate and indefatigable, Alan Fairford was enabled,

then the day of trial arrived, to walk towards the court, attended by

his anxious yet encouraging parent, with some degree of confidence that

he would lose no reputation upon this arduous occasion.

They were met at the door of the court by Poor Peter Peebles in his

usual plenitude of wig and celsitude of hat. He seized on the young

pleader like a lion on his prey. ‘How is a’ wi’ you, Mr. Alan--how is

a’ wi’ you, man? The awfu’ day is come at last--a day that will be lang

minded in this house. Poor Peter Peebles against Plainstanes--conjoined

proceases--Hearing in presence--stands for the Short Roll for this

day--I have not been able to sleep for a week for thinking of it, and, I

dare to say, neither has the Lord President himsell--for such a cause!!

But your father garr’d me tak a wee drap ower muckle of his pint bottle

the other night; it’s no right to mix brandy wi’ business, Mr. Fairford.

I would have been the waur o’ liquor if I would have drank as muckle as

you twa would have had me. But there’s a time for a’ things, and if

ye will dine with me after the case is heard, or whilk is the same, or

maybe better, I’LL gang my ways hame wi’ YOU, and I winna object to a

cheerfu’ glass, within the bounds of moderation.’

Old Fairford shrugged his shoulders and hurried past the client, saw

his son wrapped in the sable bombazine, which, in his eyes, was more

venerable than an archbishop’s lawn, and could not help fondly patting

his shoulder, and whispering to him to take courage, and show he was

worthy to wear it. The party entered the Outer Hall of the court, (once

the place of meeting of the ancient Scottish Parliament), and which

corresponds to the use of Westminster Hall in England, serving as a

vestibule to the Inner House, as it is termed, and a place of dominion

to certain sedentary personages called Lords Ordinary.

The earlier part of the morning was spent by old Fairford in reiterating

his instructions to Alan, and in running from one person to another,

from whom he thought he could still glean some grains of information,

either concerning the point at issue, or collateral cases. Meantime,

Poor Peter Peebles, whose shallow brain was altogether unable to bear

the importance of the moment, kept as close to his young counsel as

shadow to substance, affected now to speak loud, now to whisper in his

ear, now to deck his ghastly countenance with wreathed smiles, now to

cloud it with a shade of deep and solemn importance, and anon to contort

it with the sneer of scorn and derision. These moods of the client’s

mind were accompanied with singular ‘mockings and mowings,’ fantastic

gestures, which the man of rags and litigation deemed appropriate to his

changes of countenance. Now he brandished his arm aloft, now thrust his

fist straight out, as if to knock his opponent down. Now he laid his

open palm on his bosom, and now hinging it abroad, he gallantly snapped

his fingers in the air.

These demonstrations, and the obvious shame and embarrassment of Alan

Fairford, did not escape the observation of the juvenile idlers in the

hall. They did not, indeed, approach Peter with their usual familiarity,

from some feeling of deference towards Fairford, though many accused

him of conceit in presuming to undertake, at this early stage of his

practice, a case of considerable difficulty. But Alan, notwithstanding

this forbearance, was not the less sensible that he and his companion

were the subjects of many a passing jest, and many a shout of laughter,

with which that region at all times abounds.

At length the young counsel’s patience gave way, and as it threatened to

carry his presence of mind and recollection along with it, Alan frankly

told his father, that unless he was relieved from the infliction of his

client’s personal presence and instructions, he must necessarily throw

up his brief, and decline pleading the case.

‘Hush, hush, my dear Alan,’ said the old gentleman, almost at his

own wit’s end upon hearing this dilemma; ‘dinna mind the silly

ne’er-do-weel; we cannot keep the man from hearing his own cause, though

he be not quite right in the head.’

‘On my life, sir,’ answered Alan, ‘I shall be unable to go on, he drives

everything out of my remembrance; and if I attempt to speak seriously of

the injuries he has sustained, and the condition he is reduced to, how

can I expect but that the very appearance of such an absurd scarecrow

will turn it all into ridicule?’

‘There is something in that,’ said Saunders Fairford, glancing a look

at Poor Peter, and then cautiously inserting his forefinger under his

bob-wig, in order to rub his temple and aid his invention; ‘he is no

figure for the fore-bar to see without laughing; but how to get rid

of him? To speak sense, or anything like it, is the last thing he will

listen to. Stay, aye,--Alan, my darling, hae patience; I’ll get him off

on the instant, like a gowff ba’.’

So saying, he hastened to his ally, Peter Drudgeit, who on seeing him

with marks of haste in his gait, and care upon his countenance, clapped

his pen behind his ear, with ‘What’s the stir now, Mr. Saunders? Is

there aught wrang?’

‘Here’s a dollar, man,’ said Mr. Saunders; ‘now, or never, Peter, do me

a good turn. Yonder’s your namesake, Peter Peebles, will drive the swine

through our bonny hanks of yarn; get him over to John’s Coffeehouse,

man--gie him his meridian--keep him there, drunk or sober, till the

hearing is ower.’ [The simile is obvious, from the old manufacture of

Scotland, when the gudewife’s thrift, as the yarn wrought in the winter

was called, when laid down to bleach by the burn-side, was peculiarly

exposed to the inroads of pigs, seldom well regulated about a Scottish

farm-house.]

‘Eneugh said,’ quoth Peter Drudgeit, no way displeased with his own

share in the service required, ‘We’se do your bidding.’

Accordingly, the scribe was presently seen whispering in the ear of

Peter Peebles, whose response came forth in the following broken form:--

‘Leave the court for ae minute on this great day of judgement? not I, by

the Reg--Eh! what? Brandy, did ye say--French brandy?--couldna ye fetch

a stoup to the bar under your coat, man? Impossible? Nay, if it’s clean

impossible, and if we have an hour good till they get through the single

bill and the summar-roll, I carena if I cross the close wi’ you; I am

sure I need something to keep my heart up this awful day; but I’ll no

stay above an instant--not above a minute of time--nor drink aboon a

single gill,’

In a few minutes afterwards, the two Peters were seen moving through the

Parliament Close (which new-fangled affectation has termed a Square),

the triumphant Drudgeit leading captive the passive Peebles, whose legs

conducted him towards the dramshop, while his reverted eyes were

fixed upon the court. They dived into the Cimmerian abysses of John’s

Coffeehouse, [See Note 5.] formerly the favourite rendezvous of the

classical and genial Doctor Pitcairn, and were for the present seen no

more.

Relieved from his tormentor, Alan Fairford had time to rally his

recollections, which, in the irritation of his spirits, had nearly

escaped him, and to prepare himself far a task, the successful discharge

or failure in which must, he was aware, have the deepest influence upon

his fortunes. He had pride, was not without a consciousness of talent,

and the sense of his father’s feelings upon the subject impelled him to

the utmost exertion. Above all, he had that sort of self-command

which is essential to success in every arduous undertaking, and he was

constitutionally free from that feverish irritability by which

those whose over-active imaginations exaggerate difficulties, render

themselves incapable of encountering such when they arrive.

Having collected all the scattered and broken associations which were

necessary, Alan’s thoughts reverted to Dumfriesshire, and the precarious

situation in which he feared his beloved friend had placed himself; and

once and again he consulted his watch, eager to have his present task

commenced and ended, that he might hasten to Darsie’s assistance. The

hour and moment at length arrived. The macer shouted, with all his

well-remembered brazen strength of lungs, ‘Poor Peter Peebles VERSUS

Plainstanes, PER Dumtoustie ET Tough!--Maister Da-a-niel Dumtoustie!’

Dumtoustie answered not the summons, which, deep and swelling as it was,

could not reach across the Queensferry; but our Maister Alan Fairford

appeared in his place.

The court was very much crowded; for much amusement had been received

on former occasions when Peter had volunteered his own oratory, and

had been completely successful in routing the gravity of the whole

procedure, and putting to silence, not indeed the counsel of the

opposite party, but his own.

Both bench and audience seemed considerably surprised at the juvenile

appearance of the young man who appeared in the room of Dumtoustie, for

the purpose of opening this complicated and long depending process, and

the common herd were disappointed at the absence of Peter the client,

the Punchinello of the expected entertainment. The judges looked with

a very favourable countenance on our friend Alan, most of them being

acquainted, more or less, with so old a practitioner as his father, and

all, or almost all, affording, from civility, the same fair play to the

first pleading of a counsel, which the House of Commons yields to the

maiden speech of one of its members.

Lord Bladderskate was an exception to this general expression of

benevolence. He scowled upon Alan, from beneath his large, shaggy, grey

eyebrows, just as if the young lawyer had been usurping his nephew’s

honours, instead of covering his disgrace; and, from feelings which did

his lordship little honour, he privately hoped the young man would not

succeed in the cause which his kinsman had abandoned.

Even Lord Bladderskate, however, was, in spite of himself, pleased with

the judicious and modest tone in which Alan began his address to the

court, apologizing for his own presumption, and excusing it by the

sudden illness of his learned brother, for whom the labour of opening

a cause of some difficulty and importance had been much more worthily

designed. He spoke of himself as he really was, and of young Dumtoustie

as what he ought to have been, taking care not to dwell on either topic

a moment longer than was necessary. The old judge’s looks became benign;

his family pride was propitiated, and, pleased equally with the modesty

and civility of the young man whom he had thought forward and officious,

he relaxed the scorn of his features into an expression of profound

attention; the highest compliment, and the greatest encouragement, which

a judge can render to the counsel addressing him.

Having succeeded in securing the favourable attention of the court,

the young lawyer, using the lights which his father’s experience and

knowledge of business had afforded him, proceeded with an address and

clearness, unexpected from one of his years, to remove from the case

itself those complicated formalities with which it had been loaded, as a

surgeon strips from a wound the dressings which had been hastily wrapped

round it, in order to proceed to his cure SECUNDUM ARTEM. Developed of

the cumbrous and complicated technicalities of litigation, with which

the perverse obstinacy of the client, the inconsiderate haste or

ignorance of his agents, and the evasions of a subtle adversary, had

invested the process, the cause of Poor Peter Peebles, standing upon

its simple merits, was no bad subject for the declamation of a young

counsel, nor did our friend Alan fail to avail himself of its strong

points.

He exhibited his client as a simple-hearted, honest, well-meaning

man, who, during a copartnership of twelve years, had gradually become

impoverished, while his partner (his former clerk) having no funds but

his share of the same business, into which he had been admitted without

any advance of stock, had become gradually more and more wealthy.

‘Their association,’ said Alan, and the little flight was received

with some applause, ‘resembled the ancient story of the fruit which was

carved with a knife poisoned on one side of the blade only, so that

the individual to whom the envenomed portion was served, drew decay and

death from what afforded savour and sustenance to the consumer of the

other moiety.’ He then plunged boldly into the MARE MAGNUM of accompts

between the parties; he pursued each false statement from the waste-book

to the day-book, from the day-book to the bill-book, from the bill-book

to the ledger; placed the artful interpolations and insertions of the

fallacious Plainstanes in array against each other, and against the

fact; and availing himself to the utmost of his father’s previous

labours, and his own knowledge of accompts, in which he had been

sedulously trained, he laid before the court a clear and intelligible

statement of the affairs of the copartnery, showing, with precision,

that a large balance must, at the dissolution, have been due to his

client, sufficient to have enabled him to have carried on business on

his own account, and thus to have retained his situation in society as

an independent and industrious tradesman. ‘But instead of this justice

being voluntarily rendered by the former clerk to his former master,--by

the party obliged to his benefactor,--by one honest man to another,--his

wretched client had been compelled to follow his quondam clerk, his

present debtor, from court to court; had found his just claims met with

well-invented but unfounded counter-claims, had seen his party shift

his character of pursuer or defender, as often as Harlequin effects his

transformations, till, in a chase so varied and so long, the unhappy

litigant had lost substance, reputation, and almost the use of reason

itself, and came before their lordships an object of thoughtless

derision to the unreflecting, of compassion to the better-hearted, and

of awful meditation to every one who considered that, in a country where

excellent laws were administered by upright and incorruptible judges, a

man might pursue an almost indisputable claim through all the mazes of

litigation; lose fortune, reputation, and reason itself in the chase,

and now come before the supreme court of his country in the wretched

condition of his unhappy client, a victim to protracted justice, and to

that hope delayed which sickens the heart.’

The force of this appeal to feeling made as much impression on the Bench

as had been previously effected by the clearness of Alan’s argument.

The absurd form of Peter himself, with his tow-wig, was fortunately not

present to excite any ludicrous emotion, and the pause that took place

when the young lawyer had concluded his speech, was followed by a murmur

of approbation, which the ears of his father drank in as the sweetest

sounds that had ever entered them. Many a hand of gratulation was thrust

out to his grasp, trembling as it was with anxiety, and finally with

delight; his voice faltering as he replied, ‘Aye, aye, I kend Alan was

the lad to make a spoon or spoil a horn.’ [Said of an adventurous gipsy,

who resolves at all risks to convert a sheep’s horn into a spoon.]

The counsel on the other side arose, an old practitioner, who had noted

too closely the impression made by Alan’s pleading not to fear the

consequences of an immediate decision. He paid the highest compliments

to his very young brother--‘the Benjamin, as he would presume to call

him, of the learned Faculty--said the alleged hardships of Mr.

Peebles were compensated by his being placed in a situation where

the benevolence of their lordships had assigned him gratuitously such

assistance as he might not otherwise have obtained at a high price--and

allowed his young brother had put many things in such a new point of

view, that, although he was quite certain of his ability to refute them,

he was honestly desirous of having a few hours to arrange his answer,

in order to be able to follow Mr. Fairford from point to point. He

had further to observe, there was one point of the case to which

his brother, whose attention had been otherwise so wonderfully

comprehensive, had not given the consideration which he expected; it was

founded on the interpretation of certain correspondence which had passed

betwixt the parties soon after the dissolution of the copartnery.’

The court having heard Mr. Tough, readily allowed him two days for

preparing himself, hinting at the same time that he might find his task

difficult, and affording the young counsel, with high encomiums upon the

mode in which he had acquitted himself, the choice of speaking,

either now or at the next calling of the cause, upon the point which

Plainstanes’s lawyer had adverted to.

Alan modestly apologized for what in fact had been an omission very

pardonable in so complicated a case, and professed himself instantly

ready to go through that correspondence, and prove that it was in

form and substance exactly applicable to the view of the case he had

submitted to their lordships. He applied to his father, who sat behind

him, to hand him, from time to time, the letters, in the order in which

he meant to read and comment upon them.

Old Counsellor Tough had probably formed an ingenious enough scheme to

blunt the effect of the young lawyer’s reasoning, by thus obliging him

to follow up a process of reasoning, clear and complete in itself, by

a hasty and extemporary appendix. If so, he seemed likely to be

disappointed; for Alan was well prepared on this as on other parts of

the cause, and recommenced his pleading with a degree of animation which

added force even to what he had formerly stated, and might perhaps have

occasioned the old gentleman to regret his having again called him up,

when his father, as he handed him the letters, put one into his hand

which produced a singular effect on the pleader.

At the first glance, he saw that the paper had no reference to the

affairs of Peter Peebles; but the first glance also showed him, what,

even at that time, and in that presence, he could not help reading; and

which, being read, seemed totally to disconcert his ideas. He stopped

short in his harangue--gazed on the paper with a look of surprise and

horror-uttered an exclamation, and flinging down the brief which he had

in his hand, hurried out of court without returning a single word of

answer to the various questions, ‘What was the matter?’--‘Was he taken

unwell?’--‘Should not a chair be called?’ &c. &c. &c.

The elder Mr. Fairford, who remained seated, and looking as senseless as

if he had been made of stone, was at length recalled to himself by the

anxious inquiries of the judges and the counsel after his son’s health.

He then rose with an air, in which was mingled the deep habitual

reverence in which he held the court, with some internal cause of

agitation, and with difficulty mentioned something of a mistake--a piece

of bad news--Alan, he hoped would be well enough to-morrow. But unable

to proceed further, he clasped his hands together, exclaiming, ‘My son!

my son!’ and left the court hastily, as if in pursuit of him.

‘What’s the matter with the auld bitch next?’ [Tradition ascribes this

whimsical style of language to the ingenious and philosophical Lord

Kaimes.] said an acute metaphysical judge, though somewhat coarse in

his manners, aside to his brethren. ‘This is a daft cause,

Bladderskate--first, it drives the poor man mad that aught it--then your

nevoy goes daft with fright, and flies the pit--then this smart young

hopeful is aff the hooks with too hard study, I fancy--and now auld

Saunders Fairford is as lunatic as the best of them. What say ye till’t,

ye bitch?’

‘Nothing, my lord,’ answered Bladderskate, much too formal to admire the

levities in which his philosophical brother sometimes indulged--‘I say

nothing, but pray to Heaven to keep our own wits.’

‘Amen, amen,’ answered his learned brother; ‘for some of us have but few

to spare.’

The court then arose, and the audience departed, greatly wondering at

the talent displayed by Alan Fairford at his first appearance in a case

so difficult and so complicated, and assigning a hundred conjectural

causes, each different from the others, for the singular interruption

which had clouded his day of success. The worst of the whole was, that

six agents, who had each come to the separate resolution of thrusting a

retaining fee into Alan’s hand as he left the court, shook their heads

as they returned the money into their leathern pouches, and said, ‘that

the lad was clever, but they would like to see more of him before they

engaged him in the way of business--they did not like his lowping away

like a flea in a blanket.’