I couldna help joinin him in the lang run, whan we took twa or three
guid roun's o't, an' then proceeded to business. Mr. Drysdale said he
wad bail me to ony amount, if that were necessary to my immediate
liberation; but proposed that he should, in the first place, call on
Hodgson, Brothers, whom he knew intimately, an' state the case to them.
This he accordingly did; an', in aboot a quarter o' an hour, returned to
me in the jail, wi' ane o' thae gentlemen alang wi' him. Mr. Hodgson
expressed the utmost concern for what had happened, an' offered me ony
reasonable recompense I might name for the injury an' detention to which
I had been subjected. This, however, I declined, but expressed a wish
that the messengers wha had apprehended me micht be keel-hauled a bit
for the rashness o' their proceedins.
"As to that, Mr. Smith," said Mr. Hodgson, smilin, "I think you had as
well 'let a-be for let a-be' there. They have been sadly mauled by you,
I understand, and it strikes me to be a drawn battle between you."
"Weel, weel," said I, laughin, "e'en let it be sae, then; but the
scoonrils ocht to be mair carefu' wha they lay their hands on."
"They ought, no doubt," said Mr. Hodgson; "but, in this case there was
really some excuse for them. Our debtor, whom I dare say you know very
well, is a young man of the name of William Smith--a grocer in your own
town, who began business there some months ago. Now, he has failed, as I
dare say you know, also--has shut shop--swindled his creditors--and fled
the country. This was the fellow we wanted to catch; and, you being from
the same place, of the same name, and of, as I take it, about the same
age, it is really no great wonder that the men were deceived."
I allowed that it was not; but said it was rather hard that the sins o'
a' the Willie Smiths in the country should be visited on my shouthers.
"There's no a piece o' villany done by, nor a misfortune happens to a
Willie Smith," said I, "but it's fastened on me. It's really hard."
My twa visitors laughingly admitted the hardship o' the case, but
advised me to be as patient under't as I could--a wishy-washy aneuch
sort o' advice; but it was a', I dare say, they had to offer.
I need hardly say that the jail doors were noo instantly thrown open to
me, nor that I lost nae time in availin mysel' o' the liberty to which
they invited. The first thing I did on gettin oot was to provide mysel
wi' a new coat and hat; for, until this was done, I wasna in a fit state
to be seen, an' couldna think o' walkin the streets in the torn-down and
blackguard lookin condition in which my captors had left me. Havin,
however, improved my outward man a little, and brushed up my face a
bit--but on which, notwithstandin a' I could do, there continued to
remain some ugly traces o' my late adventure--I thocht I couldna do
better, as I had noo a lang idle evenin before me, than ca' on twa or
three auld and intimate acquaintances o' our family that resided in
Glasgow. In pursuance o' this resolution, I began wi' some decent folks
o' the name o' Robertson, distant relations o' our ain, and from whom I
had, on the occasion o' former visits, o' which I had made twa or three,
met wi' the most kind an' cordial welcome; and o' this I naturally
expected a repetition in the present instance. What was my surprise and
mortification, then, whan I fand it quite the reverse--most markedly
sae!
"Oh, William, is that you!" said Mrs. Robertson, drily, and wi' a degree
o' stiffness and cauldness in her manner which I couldna understan'.
"_Will_ ye stap in a bit?" she added, hesitatingly and evidently wi'
reluctance. Weel, she used to fling her arms aboot me, and pu' me in.
But it was noo, "_Will_ ye step in?" I did, but sune saw there was
something wrang; but what it was I couldna conjecture. I overheard her
husband and dochters _refusin_ Mrs. Robertson's request to them to come
ben and see me. They used to a' rush aboot me, like a torrent. In short,
I perceived that I was a very unwelcome visitor, and that a speedy
retreat on my part wad be highly approved of. Amongst other hints o'
this, was Mrs. Robertson's scarcely speakin three words to me a' the
time I sat wi' her, and no makin ony offer o' the sma'est refreshment.
Her behaviour to me was a'thegither exceedinly strange and mysterious;
but what struck me as maist singular, was her aye speakin o' my faither
wi' a compassionatin air. "Puir, puir man!" she wad say; "Gude help us!
it's a weary warl' this! Ane canna tell what their weans are to come to.
Muckle grief and sorrow, I'm sure, do they bring to parents' hearts."
These truths bein obvious and general, I couldna deny them, although I
was greatly at a loss to see ony particular occasion for advertin to
them at the time. Wearied oot at length wi' Mrs. Robertson's truisms,
and disgusted wi' her incivility and uncourteous manner to me, I took up
my hat, and decamped, wi' as little ceremony as I had been received. I
was, in truth, baith provoked and perplexed by her extraordinary
treatment o' me, and couldna at a' conjecture to what it could be owin.
But let the reader fancy, if he can, what was my surprise when I fand
mysel' treated in almost precisely the same way in every ither hoose at
which I ca'ed subsequently to this. There was, in every instance, the
same astonishment expressed at seein me, the same cauldness exhibited,
and the same mysterious silence maintained durin my visit. I was
perfectly confounded at it; but couldna, of course, ask ony explanation,
as there was naething sae palpably oot o' joint as to admit o't. Havin
made my roun' o' ca's wi' the success and comfort I hae mentioned, I
returned to my quarters, and, orderin a tumbler o' toddy, sat down
amongst a heap o' newspapers, to amuse mysel' the best way I could till
bedtime. The first paper I took up was a Glasgow one, published that
day. I skimmed it ower till I cam to a paragraph wi' the followin takin
title--"Desperate Ruffian." This catched my e'e at ance; for I was aye
fond o' readin aboot desperate ruffians, and horrible accidents, and
atrocious murders, &c. &c. "So," says I to mysel', "here's a feast." And
I threw up my legs on the firm on which I was seated, drew the candle
nearer me, took a mouthfu' oot o' my tumbler, and made every
preparation, in short, for a quiet, deliberate, comfortable read; and
this I got, to my heart's content. The paragraph, which began wi'
"Desperate Ruffian," went on thus:--
"This morning, a scene, at once one of the most disgraceful and
ludicrous which we have witnessed for some time, took place in one of
the coach-offices of this city. A fellow of the name of William Smith, a
young man of about twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, from ----,
who is charged with various acts of swindling, and is well known as a
person of infamous character, was apprehended on a fugae warrant, by our
two active criminal officers, Messrs. Rob and Ramage, in the ----
coach-office, just as he was about to take out a ticket for Greenock,
whither he intended to proceed for the purpose of embarking for America
with his ill-got gains. The ruffian, on being first apprehended, denied
his name; but, finding this not avail him, he violently assaulted the
officers in the execution of their duty, and, being a powerful man, it
was not until those very deserving men had suffered severely in their
persons, and obtained the aid of the bystanders, that he was finally
secured. This, however, was ultimately accomplished, when the fellow
being securely handcuffed, was conducted to jail, and lodged in one of
the strongest cells, where he will, of course, remain until brought to
trial. There is a rumour that Smith has been concerned in some late
coach robbery; but we have heard no particulars, and cannot vouch for
its truth, although, from his appearance, we should suppose him to be
perfectly capable of anything."
Weel, guid reader, what do ye think o' that? Wasna that a pretty morsel
for me to swallow? It is true that I needna hae felt very uneasy aboot
the description o' a character that didna belang to me; but it maun be
observed that there was here that mixture o' fact and fiction which, in
cases o' rumour, it is sae difficult to separate. Moreover, I was
certainly the person spoken o', however erroneously represented; there
was nae denyin that. I was mingled up wi' the business, and the very
process o' establishin my innocence was certain to gie me a most
unpleasant notoriety; and was likely, besides, no to be in every case
successful. In short, I fand, tak it ony way I liked, that it couldna be
reckoned otherwise than as a most unlucky affair. It was noo, too, that
I began to smell a rat regardin the treatment I had met wi' frae the
different acquaintances I had ca'ed upon. They had either seen the
paragraph which I hae just quoted, or had heard o't. The same belief
explained to me the cause o' Mrs. Robertson's reflections on the risin
generation o' mankind, and her extraordinary sympathy for my father.
There could be nae doot o't--and thus was the mystery solved. Of this I
was still further satisfied, when, on takin up anither Glasgow paper o'
the same day, I fand that it also contained an account o' the mornin's
affair. The twa paragraphs were, on the whole, pretty much alike in
substance; but, in the second ane, there were twa or three incidental
circumstances mentioned that added to the interest o' the story
considerably.
Such, then, was the readin wi' which I beguiled the time on the evenin
o' which I am speakin; an' I leave it to the reader o' thae pages to
judge hoo far it was calculated to soothe my previously harassed
feelins, an' to afford me the relaxation an' amusement I sought, an' o'
which I had sae much need. At first, I resolved on takin every possible
public an' private measure that could be commanded to counteract the
evil reports, o' ae kind an' anither, under which baith mysel personally
an' my family were labourin. I thocht on gaun roun to a' the
acquaintances on whom I had just been ca'in, an' explainin to them the
real state o' the case; an' then followin up this proceedin wi' ca'in on
the editors o' the twa papers in which the injurious statements had
appeared, an' requestin, nay, insistin, on their puttin in a true
version o' the story, at the same time carefully markin my identity, an'
separatin me frae a' discreditable transactions, of every kind, degree,
an' character whatsoever. A' this I thocht o' doin, I say; but, on
reflection, I changed my mind, an' determined no to gie mysel ony such
trouble, but just to let things tak their course, an' trust to my ain
conduct, an' the weel-kent respectability o' my faither, for the guid
opinion o' the warld. Anent the rumour o' oor bankruptcy, however, I
thocht there could be nae harm in puttin in an advertisement or twa,
contradictory o't; an' this was accordingly done, in the following brief
terms:--
"William Smith, hosier, ----, begs to inform his friends and the
public, that he is not the same person whose name appears in the
bankrupt list published in the ---- newspaper of the 15th inst. All
claims on the advertiser will be paid, on demand, at his shop."
This advertisement I handed into the offices o' twa Glasgow papers that
same nicht, an' next mornin saw me safely perched on the tap o' the
coach for oor ain place, glad that a' my misadventures were owre, an'
that I was soon to be at hame again; for I was sick o' Glasgow--an' the
reader will allow no withoot some reason. The coach on which I was
mounted was just aboot to start, the driver had taen the reins in his
hand, an' the guard was strugglin to get up the last trunk, whan the
waiter o' the inn in which I had been stoppin, an' which was at the head
o' a prodigiously lang close, just at the startin-place, cam rinnin up,
an' cried, lookin at the same time at the passengers--
"Is there a Mr. Smith here?"
I expected that half-a-dozen at least wad hae owned the name; but, to my
surprise, there was no Mr. Smith amang them, but mysel.
"They ca' me Smith, my man--what is it?" said I, wi' a suspicious look;
for I noo stood greatly in awe o' my ain name--no bein sure what
mischief it micht lead me into.
"There's a gentleman up in the hoose wants to see you directly," said
the lad.
"But I canna go till him, man--ye see the coach is just gaun to start,"
said I.
"Ay, but he says that's o' nae consequence. Ye maun come till him. He
has something o' importance to say to ye."
Thinkin it wasna advisable to slight a message o' sae pressin a nature,
an' curious to ken wha it was that could be wantin me, an' what he could
be wantin me for, I leaped down, resolvin to mak my legs, which were gay
an' lang an' souple anes, save my distance, an' havin nae doubt they
wad, critical as the case was. I up the close like a shot, an' into the
hoose; but, though _I_ was in a hurry, the waiter wha had come for me
was in nane. He didna appear for five minutes after; an', as he was the
only person wha kent onything aboot a message bein sent after me, I had
to wait his return, before I could find oot the person wha wanted me.
This, however, he noo effected for me; but not before a good deal mair
time was lost. The gentleman who wished to see me was dressin; so I was
shewn into a room, while the waiter went to inform him o' my arrival. In
a minute or twa after--durin which I was dancin aboot in a fever of
impatience, for fear o' losin the coach--the door o' the apartment flew
open, an' a laughin, joyous-lookin fellow, with a loud "Aha, Bob!" an'
extended hand, rushed in; but he didna rush far. The instant he got his
ee fairly on me, he stopped short, an', lookin as grave's a rat, bowed
politely, an' said he was exceedingly sorry to perceive that he had
committed a gross mistake.
"The fact is, my dear sir," he said, becomin again affable, to
reconcile me, I suppose, to the unfortunate blunder, an' speakin wi'
great volubility, "my name is Smith, which, I suppose, is yours too,
sir. I'm from London. Now, you see, my dear sir, my brother Bob, who
lives in Ireland, and whom I haven't seen for some years, was to have
met me here last night, agreeably to arrangements made by letter, and we
were to have gone this morning, as it were, by the same coach in which
you were going, to visit some friends in that part of the country to
which it runs. Well, you see, I arrived here only this morning early;
but the first thing I did was to inquire if there was a Mr. Smith in the
house, and I was distinctly told by the rascal of a waiter that there
was no person of that name. Well, what does the fellow do, but come
running to my bedside, a little ago, and tells me that there _had been_
a Mr. Smith in the house over night, and that he was at that moment on
the top of the ---- coach. Well, my dear sir, did not I immediately and
very naturally conclude that this Mr. Smith must be my brother! And thus
has this unlucky mistake happened. 'Pon my honour, I am most sorry for
it--exceedingly sorry, indeed."
Bein naturally o' a very placable disposition, I didna say much in reply
to this harangue; but, mutterin something aboot there bein nae help
for't, rushed oot o' the hoose, an' down the confounded lang close, as
fast as my legs could carry me, and that was pretty fast; but no fast
aneuch to catch the coach. It was aff an' awa, mony a lang minute afore.
"Aweel," said I, on discoverin this, "but this does beat cock-fechtin!
What, in heaven's name, am I to do wi' this unfortunate patronymic o'
mine? It's crossin me wi' mischief o' ae kind or anither at every step.
I suppose I'll be hanged in a mistake next. That'll be the end o't. I'll
change't, if I leeve to get hame--I'll change't, let what like be the
consequence, or I'll hae an _alias_ added till't, before waur comes o't;
for this'll never do."
In such reflections as thae did I expend the impatient feelin that the
loss o' the coach, an' the recollection o' certain ither sma' incidents,
with which the reader is acquainted, had gien rise to. But little guid
they did me; an' this I at length fand oot. Sae I just gied a bit smile
to mysel, an' made up my mind to wait patiently for the next coach,
which started the same nicht, though at a pretty late hour. Late as that
hour was, however, it cam roun, an', whan it did, it fand me, withoot
havin met wi' ony ither misfortune in the interim, mounted again on the
tap o' a coach. This time I was allowed to keep my seat in peace. The
coach drove awa, an' me alang wi't; an', in twal hours thereafter, I
fand mysel in my faither's hoose, safe and soun', after a' that had
happened me.
Shortly after the occurrences which I have just related, my puir faither
departed this life, and I, as his only son and heir, succeeded to a' his
possessions--stock, lock, and barrel; and I now only wanted a wife to
complete my establishment, and fix my position in society. This,
however, didna remain lang a desideratum wi' me. A wife I got, and as
guid a ane as ever man was blessed wi'; but it was rather a curious sort
o' way that I got her. Ae nicht, pretty late, in the summer o' the year
1796, a rather smart rap comes to our door. We were a' in bed--mother,
servant lass, and a'; but, on hearin't, I bangs up, on wi' my claes,
lichts a cannle, and opens the door. On doing this, then, I sees a
porter loaded wi' trunks and bandboxes, and behint him a very pretty,
genteel-lookin young woman.
"Here's a frien o' yours come to see you, frae Edinburgh," says the
porter, whom I kent weel aneuch; and wi' this the young leddy comes
forward, wi' a licht step, and ane o' the prettiest smiles I ever saw;
and, says she, haudin oot her haun to me--
"Ye'll no ken me, Mr. Smith, I dare say?"
"No, indeed, mem," says I--"I do not."
"I'm a cousin o' yours," said she--"Margaret Smith, and a dochter o'
your uncle William's."
"Frae Edinburgh," said I, takin her cordially by the haun, and leadin
her into the parlour.
"The same," said she smilin again; "and I'm just come doun to spend a
day or twa wi' ye, if ye hae room for me, and winna think me owre
troublesome."
"Room!" said I--"plenty o' room; and, as for trouble, dinna mention
that." And I assisted my fair cousin to remove her shawl and other haps.
This cousin, I may mention by the way, I had never seen before; and
neither had she ever seen ony o' us, although we knew perfectly weel o'
each other's existence. But this within parentheses.
Havin seen my pretty cousin--for she was really a bonny-lookin and
modest creature--made so far comfortable, I ran joyfully to my mother,
to inform her o' oor acquisition. My mother, who had never seen her
either, was delighted wi' the intelligence, and instantly rose to
welcome her. The servant was roused oot o' her bed, a little supper
prepared, and some delightful hours we spent together. I was charmed wi'
my fair cousin; so intelligent, so lively, so sensible, so
accomplished--so much o' everything, in short, that was captivatin in a
young and beautifu' woman. Nor was my mother less delighted wi' her than
I was. There were, indeed, some things spoken o' in the course o'
conversation between my mother, and oor guest, and I, relatin to family
affairs, in which we couldna somehow or other come to a distinct
understandin. There was something like cross-purposes between us; and I
observed that my fair cousin was extraordinary ignorant o' a' matters
concerning us, and o' the circumstances o' a number o' oor mutual
relations. But this neither my mother nor I thought much o', either. It
was just sae like a bit lively thochtless lassie, wha couldna be
expected to hae either the genealogy of a' her friends, or their
particular callins or residences, at her finger ends. However, as I said
before, we spent a pleasant evening thegither; and this followed by
eight as pleasant days, durin which time our fair guest continued to
make rapid progress in the affections o' baith my mother and me;
although, of course, the regard she excited was somewhat different in
its nature in the twa cases. In mine it was love--in my mother's esteem.
But a' this was to hae a sudden and curious termination. At the end o'
the eight days above alluded to, happenin to tak up a newspaper, I was
attracted by an advertisement bearing the following highly interesting
title--"Young Lady Missing." I read on, and found, to my amazement, that
the young lady was no other than my fair cousin. The notice stated, that
she had gone down to ----, to visit some relations; had left Edinburgh,
by the ---- coach, on the mornin of the 10th, and had been safely set
down at ----; but that her relations there had seen nothing of her, and
that no trace of her could since be found. The advertisement concluded
by offering a handsome reward to any one who could give any such
information as might lead to a discovery of the young lady, either to
Mr. William Smith, haberdasher, ----, or to Mr. William Smith, No. 19,
Lavender Street, Edinburgh.
Here, then, was a queer business. But, bein now somewhat accustomed to
thae things, I was at nae loss to discover the meanin o't. The young
lady wasna my cousin at a'--she had come to the wrang shop. She was a
niece o' Willie Smith the haberdasher's--and there was the mystery
solved at ance. It turned oot precisely sae. There was an awfu kick-up,
and an awfu rejoicin, and shakin o' hands, and writin o' letters, and
sae forth, after I had announced to the different parties how the matter
stood, and brocht them thegither. But I wasna gaun to lose my fair
cousin this way. I followed her to Willie Smith's, whar I was a welcome
aneuch guest, and availed mysel to the full o' the advantages which a
curious chance had thrown in my way, by eventually makin her my wife;
and, as I said before, a most admirable one she made, and still maks, as
she is sittin by my elbow at this present writin.
Noo, guid reader, sae far hae I brocht the story o' my life, or
perhaps, rather o' my unfortunate name, (no a'thegither so unfortunate
either, since it helped me to sic a wife,) and I maun stop; but it's for
want o' room, and, I assure you, no for want o' matter. What I hae
tell't ye is no a tithe o' the sufferings I hae endured through this
unhappy patronymic o' mine. In truth, it was but the beginnin o' them.
The rest I may relate to ye on some future day. In the meantime, guid
reader, I bid ye fareweel, wi' a sincere houp that yer name's no Willie
Smith.
THE PROFESSOR'S TALES.
PHEBE FORTUNE.
I have now been upwards of forty years minister of the parish of C----.
Soon after I became minister, I stumbled one morning upon a small parcel
lying in a turnip field adjoining the manse. It appeared to me at first
to be a large hedgehog; but, upon further investigation, I found that it
was a seemingly new-born infant, wrapt carefully up in warm flannel, and
dressed in clothes which indicated anything but extreme poverty. There
was a kirk-road through the turnip field--my wonted passage to my glebe
land every morning; and the infant had manifestly been deposited with a
reference to my habits. I could not possibly miss seeing it--it lay
completely across my path--a road almost untrod by anybody save myself.
As I happened to have a young, and a pretty large--or, in other phrase,
small--family of my own, I hesitated at first how to proceed; but a
moment's reflection taught me the necessity of acting rather than of
thinking; and I gathered up the little innocent in my arms, and hastened
back, with all possible speed, to the manse. The little hands of the
helpless existence were moving backwards and forwards, up and down; and
its lips plainly indicated a desire for its natural beverage.
"Bless me!" said my dear wife, as I entered; "bless me, my dear, what's
that you are bringing us?"
"It's a child," said I; "an infant--beautiful as day--only look at it."
"None of your nonsense," said spousie, looking somewhat archly in my
face. "I'm sure, ye ken, we hae mae weans than we hae meat for already.
But where in all the world did you pick up this sweet little
darling?"--for, by this time, my wife had opened the flannel coverings,
and examined the features of the young stranger carefully.