Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
A sad one tires in a mile-a.
Winter's Tale.
LET the reader conceive to himself a clear frosty November morning,
the scene an open heath,--having for the background that huge chain
of mountains in which Skiddaw and Saddleback are pre-eminent; let
him look along that blind road, by which I mean the track so
slightly marked by the passengers' footsteps that it can but be
traced by a slight shade of verdure from the darker heath around it
and, being only visible to the eye when at some distance, ceases to
be distinguished while the foot is actually treading it--along
this faintly-traced path advances the object of our present
narrative. His firm step, his erect and free carriage, have a
military air, which corresponds well with his well-proportioned
limbs, and stature of six feet high. His dress is so plain and
simple that it indicates nothing as to rank--it may be that of a
gentleman who travels in this manner for his pleasure, or of an
inferior person of whom it is the proper and usual garb. Nothing
can be on a more reduced scale than his travelling equipment. A
volume of Shakespeare in each pocket, a small bundle with a change
of linen slung across his shoulders, an oaken cudgel in his hand,
complete our pedestrian's accommodations, and in this equipage we
present him to our readers.
Brown had parted that morning from his friend Dudley, and began his
solitary walk towards Scotland.
The first two or three miles were rather melancholy, from want of
the society to which he had of late been accustomed. But this
unusual mood of mind soon gave way to the influence of his natural
good spirits, excited by the exercise and the bracing effects of
the frosty air. He whistled as he went along, not "from want of
thought," but to give vent to those buoyant feelings which he had
no other mode of expressing. For each peasant whom he chanced to
meet, he had a kind greeting or a good-humoured jest; the hardy
Cumbrians grinned as they passed, and said, "that's a kind heart,
God bless un!" and the market-girl looked more than once over her
shoulder at the athletic form, which corresponded so well with the
frank and blithe address of the stranger. A rough terrier dog, his
constant companion, who rivalled his master in glee, scampered at
large in a thousand wheels round the heath, and came back to jump
up on him, and assure him that he participated in the pleasure of
the journey. Dr. Johnson thought life had few things better than
the excitation produced by being whirled rapidly along in a
post-chaise; but he who has in youth experienced the confident and
independent feeling of a stout pedestrian in an interesting
country, and during fine weather, will hold the taste of the great
moralist cheap in comparison.
Part of Brown's view in choosing that unusual tract which leads
through the eastern wilds of Cumberland into Scotland, had been a
desire to view the remains of the celebrated Roman Wall, which are
more visible in that direction than in any other part of its
extent. His education had been imperfect and desultory; but
neither the busy scenes in which he had been engaged, nor the
pleasures of youth, nor the precarious state of his own
circumstances, had diverted him from the task of mental
improvement.--"And this then is the Roman Wall," he said,
scrambling up to a height which commanded the course of that
celebrated work of antiquity. "What a people! whose labours, even
at this extremity of their empire, comprehended such space, and
were executed upon a scale of such grandeur! In future ages, when
the science of war shall have changed, how few traces will exist of
the labours of Vauban and Coehorn, while this wonderful people's
remains will even then continue to interest and astonish
posterity! Their fortifications, their aqueducts, their theatres,
their fountains, all their public works, bear the grave, solid, and
majestic character of their language; while our modern labours,
like our modern tongues, seem but constructed out of their
fragments." Having thus moralised, he remembered that he was
hungry, and pursued his walk to a small public-house at which he
proposed to get some refreshment.
The alehouse, for it was no better, was situated in the bottom of a
little dell, through which trilled a small rivulet. It was shaded
by a large ash tree, against which the clay-built shed, that served
the purpose of a stable, was erected, and upon which it seemed
partly to recline. In this shed stood a saddled horse, employed in
eating his corn. The cottages in this part of Cumberland partake
of the rudeness which characterises those of Scotland. The outside
of the house promised little for the interior, notwithstanding the
vaunt of a sign, where a tankard of ale voluntarily decanted itself
into a tumbler, and a hieroglyphical scrawl below attempted to
express a promise of "good entertainment for man and horse." Brown
was no fastidious traveller--he stopped and entered the cabaret [*
See Note 1. Mumps's Ha'.]
The first object which caught. his eye in the kitchen was a tall,
stout, country-looking man, in a large jockey great-coat, the owner
of the horse which stood in the shed, who was busy discussing huge
slices of cold boiled beef, and casting from time to time an eye
through the window, to see how his steed sped with his provender. A
large tankard of ale flanked his plate of victuals, to which he
applied himself by intervals. The good woman of the house was
employed in baking. The fire, as is usual in that country, was on
a stone hearth, in the midst of an immensely large chimney, which
had two seats extended beneath the vent. On one of these sat a
remarkably tall woman, in a red cloak and slouched bonnet, having
the appearance of a tinker or beggar. She was busily engaged with
a short black tobacco-pipe.
At the request of Brown for some food, the landlady wiped with her
mealy apron one corner of the deal table, placed a wooden trencher
and knife and fork before the traveller, pointed to the round of
beef, recommended Mr. Dinmont's good example, and, finally, filled
a brown pitcher with her home-brewed. Brown lost no time in doing
ample credit to both. For a while, his opposite neighbour and he
were too busy to take much notice of each other, except by a
good-humoured nod as each in turn raised the tankard to his head.
At length, when our pedestrian began to supply the wants of little
Wasp, the Scotch storefarmer, for such was Mr. Dinmont, found
himself at leisure to enter into conversation.
"A bonny terrier that, sir--and a fell [*Fiery] chield at the
vermin, I warrant him--that is, if he's been weel entered, for it
a' lies in that."
"Really, sir," said Brown, "his education has been somewhat
neglected, and his chief property is being pleasant companion."
"Ay, sir? that's a pity, begging your pardon--it's great pity
that--beast or body, education should aye be minded. I have six
terriers at hame, forbye twa couple of slow-hunds, five grews,
[*Greyhounds] and a wheen [*Few] other dogs. There's auld Pepper
and auld Mustard, and young Pepper and young Mustard, and little
Pepper and little Mustard--I had them a' regularly entered, first
wi' rottens [*Rats]--then wi' stots or weasels--and then wi' the
tods and brocks [*Badgers]--and now they fear naething that ever
cam wi' a hairy skin on't."
"I have no doubt, sir, they are thoroughbred--but, to have so many
dogs, you seem to have a very limited variety of names for them?"
"Oh, that's a fancy o' my ain to mark the breed sir; the Deuke
himself has sent as far as Charlies hope to get ane o' Dandie
Dinmont's Pepper and Mustard terriers--Lord, man, he sent Tam
Hudson [* The real name of this veteran sportsman is now
restored] the keeper, and sicken a day as we had wi' the foumarts
[*Polecats] and the tods, and sicken a blythe gaedown as we had
again e'en! Faith, that was a night!
"I suppose game is very plenty with you?"
"Plenty, man!--I believe there's mair hares than sheep on my farm;
and for the moor-fawl, or the gray-fowl, they lie as thick as doos
in a dooket--Did ye ever shoot a black-cock, man?"
"Really I had never even the pleasure to see one, except in the
museum at Keswick."
"There now--I could guess that by your Southland tongue--It's
very odd of these English folk that come here, how few of them has
seen a black-cock! I'll tell you what--ye seem to be an honest lad,
and if you'll call on me--on Dandie Dinmont--at Charlies-hope--ye
shall see a black-cock, and shoot a black-cock, and eat a
black-cock too, man."
"Why, the proof of the matter is the eating, to be sure, sir; and I
shall be happy if I can find time to accept your invitation."
"Time, man? what ails ye to gae hame wi' me the now? How d'ye
travel?"
"On foot, sir; and if that handsome pony be yours, I should find it
impossible to keep up with you."
"No unless ye can walk up to fourteen mile an hour. But ye can
come ower the night as far as Riccarton, where there is a
public--or if ye like to stop at jockey Grieve's at the Heuch, they
would be blythe to see ye, and I am just gaun to stop and drink a
dram at the door wi' him, and I would tell him you're coming up--or
stay--gudewife, could ye lend this gentleman the gudeman's
galloway, and I'll send it ower the Waste in the morning wi' the
callant?" [*Lad]
The galloway was turned out upon the fell, and was swear to
catch--"Aweel, aweel, there's nae help for't, but come up the morn
at ony rate.--And now, gudewife, I maun ride, to get to the Liddel
or it be dark, for your Waste has but a kittle [*Ticklish]
character, ye ken yourself."
"Hout fie, Mr. Dinmont, that's no like you, to gie the country an
ill name--I wot, there has been nane stirred in the Waste since
Sawney Culloch, the travelling-merchant, that Rowley Overdees and
Jock Penny suffered for at Carlisle twa years since. There's no
ane in Bewcastle would do the like o' that now--we be a' true folk
now."
"Ay, Tib, that will be when the deil's blind,--and his een's no
sair yet. But hear ye, gudewife, I have been through maist feck
[*Part] o' Galloway and Dumfriesshire, and I have been round by
Carlisle, and I was at the Staneshiebank fair the day, and I would
like ill to be rubbit sae near hame, so I'll take the gate."
"Hae ye been in Dumfries and Galloway?" said the old dame, who sat
smoking by the fireside, and who had not yet spoken a word.
"Troth have I, gudewife, and a weary round I've had o't."
"Then ye'll maybe ken a place they ca' Ellangowan?
"Ellangowan, that was Mr. Bertram's--I ken the place weel eneugh.
The Laird died about a fortnight since, as I heard."
"Died!"--said the old woman, dropping her pipe, and rising and
coming forward upon the floor--died?--are you sure of that?"
"Troth, am I," said Dinmont, "for it made nae sma' noise in the
countryside. He died just at the roup of the stocking and
furniture; it stoppit the roup, and mony folk were disappointed.
They said he was the last of an auld family too, and mony were
sorry--for gude blude's scarcer in Scotland than it has been."
"Dead!" replied the old woman, whom our readers have already
recognised as their acquaintance Meg Merrilies--"dead! that quits
a' scores. And did ye say he died without an heir?"
"Ay did he, gudewife, and the estate's sell'd by the same token;
for they said, they couldna have sell'd it, if there had been an
heir-male."
"Sell'd!" echoed the gipsy, with something like a scream; "and wha
durst buy Ellangowan that was not of Bertram's blude?--and wha
could tell whether the bonny knave-bairn may not come back to claim
his ain!--wha durst buy the estate and the castle of Ellangowan?"
"Troth, gudewife, just ane o' thae writer chields that buys a'
thing--they ca' him Glossin, I think."
"Glossin!--Gibbie Glossin!--that I have carried in my creels a
hundred times, for his mother wasna muckle better than mysell--he
to presume to buy the barony of Ellangowan!--Gude be wi' us--it is
an awfu' warld!--I wished him ill--but no sic a downfa' as a' that
neither--wae's me! wae's me to think o't!"--She remained a moment
silent, but still opposing with her hand the farmer's retreat, who,
betwixt every question, was about to turn his back, but
good-humouredly stopped on observing the deep interest his answers
appeared to excite.
"It will be seen and heard of--earth and sea will not hold their
peace langer!--Can ye say if the same man be now the Sheriff of the
county that has been sae for some years past?"
"Na, he's got some other berth in Edinburgh, they say--but gude
day, gudewife, I maun ride." She followed him to his horse, and,
while he drew the births of his saddle, adjusted the walise, and
put on the bridle, still plied him with questions concerning Mr.
Bertram's death, and the fate of his daughter; on which, however,
she could obtain little information from the honest farmer.
"Did ye ever see a place they ca' Derncleugh, about a mile frae the
Place of Ellangowan?"
"I wot weel have I, gudewife,--a wild-looking den it is, wi' a
wheen auld wa's o' shealins sonder--I saw it when I gaed ower the
ground wi' ane that wanted to take the farm."
It was a blythe bit ance said Meg, speaking to herself,--"Did ye
notice if there was an auld saugh [*Willow] tree that's maist
blawn down, but yet its roots are in the earth, and it hangs ower
the bit burn--mony a day hae I wrought my stocking, and sat on my
sunkie [*a Stool.] under that saugh."
"Hout, deills i' the wife, wi' her saughs, and her sunkies, and
Ellangowans--Godsake, woman, let me away--there's saxpence t'ye to
buy half a mutchkin, instead o' clavering about thae auld-warld
stories."
"Thanks to ye, gudeman--and now ye hae answered a' my questions,
and never speired wherefore I asked thein, I'll gie you a bit
canny [*Prudent] advice, and ye maunna speir what for neither.
Tib Mumps will be out wi' the stirrup-dram in a gliffing
[*Twinkling]--he'll ask ye whether ye gang ower Willie's brae, or
through Conscowthart moss--tell her ony ane ye like, but be sure
(speaking low and emphatically) to tak the ane ye dinna tell her."
The farmer laughed and promised, and the Gipsy retreated.
"Will you take her advice?" said Brown, who had been an attentive
listener to this conversation.
"That will I no--the randy quean!--Na, I had far rather Tib Mumps
kenn'd which way I was gaun than her--though Tib's no muckle to
lippen [*Trust] to neither, and I would advise ye on no account
to stay in the house a' night."
In a moment after, Tib, the landlady, appeared with her
stirrup-cup, which was taken off. She then, as Meg had predicted,
inquired whether he went the hill or the moss road. He answered,
the latter; and, having bid Brown good-bye, and again told him, "he
depended on seeing him at Charlies-hope, the morn at latest," he
rode off at a round pace.