My gold is gone, my money is spent, My land now take it
unto thee. Give me thy gold, good John o' Scales, And
thine for aye my land shall be. Then John he did him to
record draw, And John he caste him a gods-pennie; But for
every pounde that John agreed, The land, I wis, was well
worth three.
Heir of Linne.
The Galwegian John o' the Scales was a more clever fellow than his
prototype. He contrived to make himself heir of Lione without the
disagreeable ceremony of "telling down the good red gold." Miss
Bertram no sooner heard this painful, and of late unexpected
intelligence, than she proceeded in the preparations she had
already made for leaving the mansion-house immediately. Mr.
Mac-Morlan assisted her in these arrangements, and pressed upon her
so kindly the hospitality and protection of his roof, until she
should receive an answer from her cousin' or be enabled to adopt
some settled plan of life, that she felt there would be unkindness
in refusing an invitation urged with such earnestness. Mrs.
Mac-Morlan was a lady-like person, and well qualified by birth and
manners to receive the visit, and to make her house agreeable to
Miss Bertram. A home, therefore, and an hospitable reception, were
secured to her, and she went on, with better heart, to pay the
wages and receive the adieus of the few domestics of her father's
family.
Where there are estimable qualities or, either side, this task is
always affecting--the present circumstances rendered it doubly so.
All received their due, and even a trifle more, and with thanks and
good wishes, to which some added tears, took farewell of their
young mistress. There remained in the parlour only Mr. Mac-Morlan,
who came to attend his guest to his house, Dominie Sampson, and
Miss Bertram. "And now," said the poor girl, "I must bid farewell
to one of my oldest and kindest friends.--God bless you, Mr.
Sampson, and requite to you all the kindness of your instructions
to your poor pupil, and your friendship to him that is gone--I hope
I shall often hear from you." She slid into his hand a paper
containing some pieces of gold, and rose, as if to leave the room.
Dominie Sampson also rose; but it was to stand aghast with utter
astonishment. The idea of parting from Miss Lucy, go where she
might, had never once occurred to the simplicity of his
understanding.--He laid the money on the table. "It is certainly
inadequate," said Mac-Morlan, mistaking his meaning, "but the
circumstances--"
Mr. Sampson waved his hand impatiently.--"It is not the lucre--it
is not the lucre--but that I, that have ate of her father's loaf,
and drank of his cup, for twenty years and more--to think that I am
going to leave her--and to leave her in distress and dolour--No,
Miss Lucy, you need never think it! You would not consent to put
forth your father's poor dog, and would you use me waur than a
messan? No, Miss Lucy Bertram, while I live I will not separate
from you. I'll be no burden--I have thought how to prevent that.
But, as Ruth said unto Naomi, 'Entreat me not to leave thee, nor to
depart from thee; for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou
dwellest I will dwell; thy people shall be my people, and thy God
shall be my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be
buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death do
part thee and me.' "
During this speech, the longest ever Dominie Sampson was known to
utter, the affectionate creature's eyes streamed with tears, and
neither Lucy nor Mac-Morlan could refrain from sympathising with
this unexpected burst of feeling and attachment. "Mr. Sampson,"
said Mac-Morlan, after having had recourse to his snuff-box and
handkerchief alternately, "my house is large enough, and if you
will accept of a bed there, while Miss Bertram honours us with her
residence, I shall think myself very happy, and my roof much
favoured by receiving a man of your worth and fidelity." And then,
with a delicacy which was meant to remove any objection on Miss
Bertram's part to bringing with her this unexpected satellite, he
added, "My business requires my frequently having occasion for a
better accountant than any of my present clerks, and I should be
glad to have recourse to your assistance in that way now and then."
"Of a surety, of a surety," said Sampson eagerly; "I understand
book-keeping by double entry and the Italian method."
Our postilion had thrust himself into the room to announce his
chaise and horses; he tarried, unobserved, during this
extraordinary scene, and assured Mrs. Mac-Candlish it was the most
moving thing he ever saw; "the death of the gray mare, puir hizzie,
was naething till't." This trifling circumstance afterwards had
consequences of greater moment to the Dominie.
The visitors were hospitably welcomed by Mrs. Mac-Morlan, to whom,
as well as to others, her Husband intimated that he had engaged .
Dominie Sampson's assistance to disentangle some perplexed
accounts; during which occupation he would, for convenience' sake,
reside with the family. Mr. MacMorlan's knowledge of the world
induced him to put this colour upon the matter, aware, that however
honourable the fidelity of the Dominie's attachment might be, both
to his own heart and to the family of Ellangowan, his exterior ill
qualified him to be a "squire of dames," and rendered him, upon the
whole, rather a ridiculous appendage to a beautiful young woman of
seventeen.
Dominie Sampson achieved with great zeal such tasks as Mr.
Mac-Morlan chose to intrust him with; but it was speedily observed
that at a certain hour after breakfast he regularly disappeared,
and returned again about dinner-time. The evening he occupied in
the labour of the office. On Saturday, he appeared before
Mac-Morlan with a look of great triumph, and laid on the table two
pieces of gold. "What is this for, Dominie?" said Mac-Morlan.
"First to indemnify you of your charges in my behalf, worthy
sir--and the balance for the use of Miss Lucy Bertram."
"But, Mr. Sampson, your labour in the office much more than
recompenses me--I am your debtor, my good friend."
"Then be it all," said the Dominie, waving his hand, "for Miss Lucy
Bertram's behoof."
"Well, but, Dominie, this money--"
"It is honestly come by, Mr. Mac-Morlan; it is the bountiful reward
of a young gentleman, to whom I am teaching the tongues; reading
with him three hours daily--"
A few more questions extracted from the Dominie that this liberal
pupil was young Hazlewood, and that he met his preceptor daily at
the house of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, whose proclamation of Sampson's
disinterested attachment to the young lady had procured him this
indefatigable and bounteous scholar.
Mac-Morlan was much struck with what he heard.
Dominie Sampson was doubtless a very good scholar, and an excellent
man, and the classics were unquestionably very well worth reading;
yet that a young man of twenty should ride seven miles and back
again each day in the week, to hold this sort of tete-a-tete of
three hours, was a zeal for literature to which he was not prepared
to give entire credit. Little art was necessary to sift the
Dominie, for the honest man's head never admitted any but the most
direct and simple ideas. "Does Miss Bertram know how your time is
engaged, my good friend?"
"Surely not as yet--Mr. Charles recommended it should be concealed
from her, lest she should scruple to accept of the small assistance
arising from it; but," he added, "it would not be possible to
conceal it long, since Mr. Charles proposed taking his lessons
occasionally in this house."
"Oh, he does!" said Mac-Morlan Yes, yes, I can understand that
better.--And pray, Mr. Sampson, are these three hours entirely
spent in construing and translating?"
"Doubtless, no--we have also colloquial intercourse to sweeten
study--neque semper arcum tendit Apollo."
The querist proceeded to elicit from this Galloway Phoebus what
their discourse chiefly turned upon.
"Upon our past meetings at Ellangowan--and, truly, I think very
often we discourse concerning Miss Lucy--for Mr. Charles
Hazlewood, in that particular, resembleth me, Mr. Mac-Morlan. When
I begin to speak of her I never know when to stop--and, as I say
(jocularly), she cheats us out of half our lessons."
"Oh ho!" thought Mr. Mac-Morlan, "sits the wind in that quarter?
I've heard something like this before."
He then began to consider what conduct was safest for his protege,
and even for himself; for the senior Mr. Hazlewood was powerful,
wealthy, ambitious, and vindictive, and looked for both fortune and
title in any connection which his son might form. At length,
having the highest opinion of his guest's good sense and
penetration, he determined to take an opportunity, when they should
happen to be alone, to communicate the matter to her as a simple
piece of intelligence. He did so in as natural a manner as he
could;--"I wish you joy of your friend Mr. Sampson's good
fortune, Miss Bertram; he has got a pupil who pays him two guineas
for twelve lessons of Greek and Latin."
"Indeed!--I am equally happy and surprised--who can be so
liberal?--is Colonel Mannering returned?"
"No, no, not Colonel Mannering; but what do you think of your
acquaintance, Mr. Charles Hazlewood?--He talks of taking his
lessons here--I wish we may have accommodation for him."
Lucy blushed deeply. "For Heaven's sake, no, Mr. Mac-Morlan--do
not let that be--Charles Hazlewood has had enough of mischief about
that already."
"About the classics, my dear young lady?" wilfully seeming to
misunderstand her;--"most young gentlemen have so at one period or
another, sure enough, but his present studies are voluntary."
Miss Bertram let the conversation drop, and her host made no effort
to renew it, as she seemed to pause upon the intelligence in order
to form some internal resolution.
The next day Miss Bertram took an opportunity of conversing with
Mr. Sampson. Expressing in the kindest manner her grateful thanks
for his disinterested attachment, and her joy that he had get such
a provision, she hinted to him that his present mode of
superintending Charles Hazlewood's studios must be so inconvenient
to his pupil, that, while that engagement lasted, he had better
consent to a temporary separation, and reside either with his
scholar, or as near him as might be. Sampson refused, as indeed
she had expected, to listen a moment to this proposition--he would
not quit her to be made preceptor to the Prince of Wales. "But I
see," he added, "you are too proud to share my pittance; and,
peradventure, I grow wearisome unto you."
"No, indeed--you were my father's ancient, almost his only
friend--I am not proud--God knows, I have no reason to be so--you
shall do what you judge best in other matters; but oblige me by
telling Mr. Charles Hazlewood, that you had some conversation with
me concerning his studies, and that I was of opinion that his
carrying them on in this house was altogether impracticable, and
not to be thought of."
Dominie Sampson left her presence altogether crestfallen, and, as
he shut the door, could not help muttering the "varium et mutabile"
of Virgil. Next day he appeared with a very rueful visage, and
tendered Miss Bertram a letter.--"Mr. Hazlewood," he said, "was
to discontinue his lessons, though he had generously made up the
pecuniary loss.--But how will he make up the loss to himself of the
knowledge he might have acquired under my instruction? Even in
that one article of writing, he was an hour before he could write
that brief note, and destroyed many scrolls, four quills, and some
good white paper--I would have taught him in three weeks a firm,
current, clear, and legible hand--he should have been a
calligrapher--but God's will be done."--
The letter contained but a few lines, deeply regretting and
murmuring against Miss Bertram's cruelty, who not only refused to
see him, but to permit him in the most indirect manner to hear of
her health and contribute to her service. But it concluded with
assurances that her severity was vain, and that nothing could shake
the attachment of Charles Hazlewood.
Under the active patronage of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, Sampson picked up
some other scholars--very different indeed from Charles Hazlewood
in rank--and whose lessons were proportionally unproductive. Still,
however, he gained something, and it was the glory of his heart to
carry it to Mr. Mac-Morlan weekly, a slight peculium only
subtracted, to supply his snuff-box and tobacco-pouch.
And here we must leave Kippletringan to look after our hero, lest
our readers should fear they are to lose sight of him for another
quarter of a century.