My gold is gone, my money is spent,
My land now take it unto thee.
Give me thy gold, good John o' the 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 Linne 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 ladylike 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 on 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 grey 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. Mac-Morlan'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 entrust 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.'
'O, he does!' said Mac-Morlan.' Yes, yes, I can understand that better.
And pray, Mr. Sampson, are these three hours entirely spent
inconstruing 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.'
'O ho!' thought 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 protegee, and
even for himself; for the senior Mr. Hazlewood was powerful, wealthy,
ambitious, and vindictive, and looked for both fortune and title in any
connexion 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 got such a provision,
she hinted to him that his present mode of superintending Charles
Hazlewood's studies 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 crest-fallen, 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.