"Earth to earth," and "dust to dust,"
The solemn priest hath said,
So we lay the turf above thee now,
And we seal thy narrow bed;
But thy spirit, brother, soars away
Among the faithful blest,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.
MILMAN.
Perhaps, since I was born, I do not remember such a string of casualties
as happened to me and mine, all within the period of one short fortnight.
To say nothing connected with the playacting business, which was
immediately before--first came Mungo Glen's misfortune with regard to the
blood-soiling of the new nankeen trowsers, the foremost of his
transactions, and a bad omen--next, the fire, and all its wonderfuls, the
saving of the old bedridden woman's precious life, and the destruction of
the poor cat--syne the robbery of the hen-house by the Eirish ne'er-do-
weels, who paid so sweetly for their pranks--and lastly, the hoax, the
thieving of the cheese-toaster without the handle, and the banishment of
the spaewife.
These were awful signs of the times, and seemed to say that the world was
fast coming to a finis; the ends of the earth appearing to have combined
in a great Popish plot of villany. Every man that had a heart to feel,
must have trembled amid these threatening, judgment-like, and calamitous
events. As for my own part, the depravity of the nations, which most of
these scenes showed me, I must say, fell heavily upon my spirit; and I
could not help thinking of the old cities of the plain, over the house-
tops of which, for their heinous sins and iniquitous abominations, the
wrath of the Almighty showered down fire and brimstone from heaven, till
the very earth melted and swallowed them up for ever and ever.
These added to the number, to be sure; but not that I had never before
seen signs and wonders in my time. I had seen the friends of the
people,--and the scarce years,--and the bloody gulleteening over-bye
among the French blackguards,--and the business of Watt and Downie nearer
home, at our own doors almost, in Edinburgh like,--and the calling out of
the volunteers,--and divers sea-fights at Camperdown and elsewhere,--and
land battles countless,--and the American war, part o't,--and awful
murders,--and mock fights in the Duke's Parks,--and highway
robberies,--and breakings of all the Ten Commandments, from the first to
the last; so that, allowing me to have had but a common spunk of
reflection, I must, like others, have cast a wistful eye on the ongoings
of men: and, if I had not strength to pour out my inward lamentations, I
could not help thinking, with fear and trembling, at the rebellion of
such a worm as man, against a Power whose smallest word could extinguish
his existence, and blot him out in a twinkling from the roll of living
things.
But, if I was much affected, the callant Mungo was a great deal more.
From the days in which he had lain in his cradle, he had been brought up
in a remote and quiet part of the country, far from the bustling of
towns, and from man encountering man in the stramash of daily life; so
that his heart seemed to pine within him like a flower, for want of the
blessed morning dew; and, like a bird that has been catched in a girn
among the winter snows, his appetite failed him, and he fell away from
his meat and clothes.
I was vexed exceedingly to see the callant in this dilemmy, for he was
growing very tall and thin, his chaft-blades being lank and white, and
his eyes of a hollow drumliness, as if he got no refreshment from the
slumbers of the night. Beholding all this work of destruction going on
in silence, I spoke to his friend Mrs Grassie about him, and she was so
motherly as to offer to have a glass of port-wine, stirred with best
jesuit's barks, ready for him every forenoon at twelve o'clock; for
really nobody could be but interested in the laddie, he was so gentle and
modest, making never a word of complaint, though melting like snow off a
dyke; and, though he must have suffered both in body and mind, enduring
all with a silent composure, worthy of a holy martyr.
Perceiving things going on from bad to worse, I thought it as best to
break the matter to him, as he was never like to speak himself; and I
asked him in a friendly way, as we were sitting together on the board
finishing a pair of fustian overalls for Maister Bob Bustle--a riding
clerk for one of the Edinburgh spirit shops, but who liked aye to have
his clothes of the Dalkeith cut, having been born, bred, and educated in
our town, like his forbears before him--if there was any thing the matter
with him, that he was aye so dowie and heartless? Never shall I forget
the look he gave me as he lifted up his eyes, in which I could see
visible distress painted as plain as the figures of the saints on old
kirk windows; but he told me, with a faint smile, that he had nothing
particular to complain of, only that he would have liked to have died
among his friends, as he could not live from home, and away from the life
he had been accustomed to all his days.
'Od, I was touched to the quick; and when I heard him speaking of death
in such a calm, quiet way, I found something, as if his words were words
of prophecy, and as if I had seen a sign that told me he was not to be
long for this world. Howsoever, I hope I had more sense than to let this
be seen, so I said to him, "Ou, if that be a', Mungo, ye'll soon come to
like us a' well enough. Ye should take a stout heart, man; and when your
prenticeship's done, ye'll gang hame and set up for a great man, making
coats for all the lords and lairds in broad Lammermoor."
"Na, na," answered the callant with a trembling voice, which mostly made
my heart swell to my mouth, and brought the tear to my eye, "I'll never
see the end of my prenticeship, nor Lammermoor again."
"Hout touts, man," quo' I, "never speak in that sort o' way; it's
distrustfu' and hurtful. Live in hope, though we should die in despair.
When ye go home again, ye'll be as happy as ever."
"Eh, na--never, never, even though I was to gang hame the morn. I'll
never be as I was before. I lived and lived on, never thinking that such
days were to come to an end--but now I find it can, and must be
otherwise. The thoughts of my heart have been broken in upon, and
nothing can make whole what has been shivered to pieces."
This was to the point, as Dannie Thummel said to his needle; so just for
speaking's sake, and to rouse him up a bit, I said, "Keh, man, what need
ye care sae muckle about the country?--It'll never be like our bonny
streets, with all the braw shop windows, and the auld kirk; and the
stands with the horn spoons and luggies; and all the carts on the market-
days; and the Duke's gate, and so on."
"Ay, but, maister," answered Mungo, "ye was never brought up in the
country--ye never kent what it was to wander about in the simmer glens,
wi' naething but the warm sun looking down on ye, the blue waters
streaming ower the braes, the birds singing, and the air like to grow
sick wi' the breath of blooming birks, and flowers of all colours, and
wild-thyme sticking full of bees, humming in joy and thankfulness--Ye
never kent, maister, what it was to wake in the still morning, when,
looking out, ye saw the snaws lying for miles round about ye on the
hills, breast deep, shutting ye out from the world, as it were; the foot
of man never coming during the storm to your door, nor the voice of a
stranger heard from ae month's end till the ither. See, it is coming on
o' hail the now, and my mother with my sister--I have but ane--and my
four brithers, will be looking out into the drift, and missing me away
for the first time frae their fireside. They'll hae a dreary winter o't,
breaking their hearts for me--their ballants and their stories will never
be sae funny again--and my heart is breaking for them."
With this, the tears prap-prapped down his cheeks, but his pride bade him
turn his head round to hide them from me. A heart of stone would have
felt for him.
I saw it was in vain to persist long, as the laddie was falling out of
his clothes as fast as leaves from the November tree; so I wrote home by
limping Jamie the carrier, telling his father the state of things, and
advising him, as a matter of humanity, to take his son out to the free
air of the hills again, as the town smoke did not seem to agree with his
stomach; and, as he might be making a sticked tailor of one who was
capable of being bred a good farmer; no mortal being likely to make a
great progress in any thing, unless the heart goes with the handiwork.
Some folks will think I acted right, and others wrong in this matter; if
I erred, it was on the side of mercy, and my conscience does not upbraid
me for the transaction. In due course of time, I had an answer from Mr
Glen; and we got every thing ready and packed up, against the hour that
Jamie was to set out again.
Mungo got himself all dressed; and Benjie had taken such a liking to him,
that I thought he would have grutten himself senseless when he heard he
was going away back to his own home. One would not have imagined, that
such a sincere friendship could have taken root in such a short time; but
the bit creature Benjie was as warm-hearted a callant as ye ever saw.
Mungo told him, that if he would not cry he would send him in a present
of a wee ewe-milk cheese whenever he got home; which promise pacified
him, and he asked me if Benjie would come out for a month gin simmer,
when he would let him see all worthy observation along the country side.
When we had shaken hands with Mungo, and, after fastening his comforter
about his neck, wished him a good journey, we saw him mounted on the
front of limping Jamie's cart; and, as he drove away, I must confess my
heart was grit. I could not help running up the stair, and pulling up
the fore-window to get a long look after him. Away, and away they wore;
in a short time, the cart took a turn and disappeared; and, when I drew
down the window, and sauntered, with my arms crossed, back to the
workshop, something seemed amissing, and the snug wee place, with its
shapings, and runds, and paper-measurings, and its bit fire, seemed in my
eyes to look douff and gousty.
Whether in the jougging of the cart, or what else I cannot say, but it's
an unco story; for on the road, it turned out that poor Mungo was seized
with a terrible pain in his side; and, growing worse and worse, was
obliged to be left at Lauder, in the care of a decent widow woman that
had a blind eye, and a room to let furnished.
It was not for two-three days that we learnt these awful tidings, which
greatly distressed us all; and I gave the driver of the Lauder coach
threepence to himself, to bring us word every morning, as he passed the
door, how the laddie was going on.
I learned shortly, that his father and mother had arrived, which was one
comfort; but that matters with poor Mungo were striding on from bad to
worse, being pronounced, by a skeely doctor, to be in a galloping
consumption--and not able to be removed home, a thing that the laddie
freaked and pined for night and day. At length, hearing for certain that
he had not long to live, I thought myself bound to be at the expense of
taking a ride out on the top of the coach, though I was aware of the
danger of the machine's whiles couping, if it were for no more than to
bid him fare-ye-weel--and I did so.
It was a cold cloudy day in February, and everything on the road looked
dowie and cheerless; the very cows and sheep, that crowded cowering
beneath the trees in the parks, seemed to be grieving for some disaster,
and hanging down their heads like mourners at a burial. The rain whiles
obliged me to put up my umbrella, and there was nobody on the top beside
me, save a deaf woman, that aye said "ay" to every question I speered,
and with whom I found it out of the power of man to carry on any rational
conversation; so I was obliged to sit glowering from side to side at the
bleak bare fields--and the plashing grass--and the gloomy dull woods--and
the gentlemen's houses, of which I knew not the names--and the fearful
rough hills, that put me in mind of the wilderness, and of the
abomination of desolation mentioned in scripture, I believe in Ezekiel.
The errand I was going on, to be sure, helped to make me more sorrowful;
and I could not think on human life without agreeing with Solomon, that
"all was vanity and vexation of spirit."
At long and last, when we came to our journey's end, and I louped off the
top of the coach, Maister Glen came out to the door, and bad me haste me
if I wished to see Mungo breathing. Save us! to think that a poor young
thing was to be taken away from life and the cheerful sun, thus suddenly,
and be laid in the cold damp mools, among the moudiewarts and the green
banes, "where there is no work or device." But what will ye say there?
it was the will of Him, who knows best what is for his creatures, and to
whom we should--and must submit. I was just in time to see the last row
of his glazing een, that then stood still for ever, as he lay, with his
face as pale as clay, on the pillow, his mother holding his hand, and sob-
sobbing with her face leant on the bed, as if her hope was departed, and
her heart would break. I went round about, and took hold of the other
one for a moment; but it was clammy, and growing cold with the coldness
of grim death. I could hear my heart beating; but Mungo's heart stood
still, like a watch that has run itself down. Maister Glen sat in the
easy chair, with his hand before his eyes, saying nothing, and shedding
not a tear; for he was a strong, little, blackaviced man, with a feeling
heart, but with nerves of steel. The rain rattled on the window, and the
smoke gave a swurl as the wind rummelled in the lum. The hour spoke to
the soul, and the silence was worth twenty sermons.
They who would wish to know the real value of what we are all over-apt to
prize in this world, should have been there too, and learnt a lesson not
soon to be forgotten. I put my hand in my coat-pocket for my napkin to
give my eyes a wipe, but found it was away, and feared much I had dropped
it on the road; though in this I was happily mistaken, having, before I
went to my bed, found that on my journey I had tied it over my neckcloth,
to keep away sore throats.
It was a sad heart to us all, to see the lifeless creature in his white
nightcap and eyes closed, lying with his yellow hair spread on the
pillow; and we went out, that the women-folk might cover up the looking-
glass and the face of the clock, ere they proceeded to dress the body in
its last clothes--clothes that would never need changing; but, when we
were half down the stair, and I felt glad with the thoughts of getting to
the fresh air, we were obliged to turn up again for a little, to let the
man past that was bringing in the dead deal.
But why weave a long story out of the materials of sorrow? or endeavour
to paint feelings that have no outward sign, lying shut up within the
sanctuary of the heart? The grief of a father and a mother can only be
conceived by them who, as fathers and mothers, have suffered the loss of
their bairns,--a treasure more precious to nature than silver or gold,
home to the land-sick sailor, or daylight to the blind man sitting
beaking in the heat of the morning sun.
The coffin having been ordered to be got ready with all haste, two men
brought it on their shoulders betimes on the following morning; and it
was a sight that made my blood run cold to see the dead corpse of poor
Mungo, my own prentice, hoisted up from the bed, and laid in his black-
handled, narrow housie. All had taken their last looks, the lid was
screwed down by means of screw-drivers, and I read the plate, which said,
"Mungo Glen, aged 15." Alas! early was he cut off from among the
living--a flower snapped in its spring blossom--and an awful warning to
us all, sinful and heedless mortals, of the uncertainty of this state of
being.
In the course of the forenoon, Maister Glen's cart was brought to the
door, drawn by two black horses with long tails and hairy feet, a tram
one and a leader. Though the job shook my nerves, I could not refuse to
give them a hand down the stair with the coffin, which had a fief-like
smell of death and sawdust; and we got it fairly landed in the cart,
among clean straw. I saw the clodhapper of a ploughman aye dighting his
een with the sleeve of his big-coat.
The mother, Mistress Glen, a little fattish woman, and as fine a homely
body as ye ever met with, but sorely distracted at this time by sorrow,
sat at the head, with her bonnet drawn over her face, and her shawl
thrown across her shoulders, being a blue and red spot on a white ground.
It was a dismal-like-looking thing to see her sitting there, with the
dead body of her son at her feet; and, at the side of it, his kist with
his claes, on the top of which was tied--not being room for it in the
inside like, (for he had twelve shirts, and three pair of trowsers, and a
Sunday and everyday's coat, with stockings and other things)--his old
white beaver hat, turned up behind, which he used to wear when he was
with me. His Sunday's hat I did not see; but most likely it was in among
his claes, to keep it from the rain, and preserved, no doubt, for the use
of some of his little brothers, please God, when they grew up a wee
bigger.
Seeing Maister Glen, who had cut his chin in shaving, in a worn-out
disjasket state, mounted on his sheltie, I shook hands with them both;
and, in my thoughtlessness, wished them "a good journey,"--knowing well
what a sorrowful home-going it would be to them, and what their bairns
would think when they saw what was lying in the cart beside their mother.
On this the big ploughman, that wore a broad blue bonnet and corduroy
cutikins, with a grey big-coat slit up behind in the manner I commonly
made for laddies, gave his long whip a crack, and drove off to the
eastward.
It would be needless in me to waste precious time in relating how I
returned to my own country, especially as I may be thankful that nothing
particular happened, excepting the coach-wheels riding over an old dog
that was lying sleeping on the middle of the road, and, poor brute,
nearly got one of his fore-paws chacked off. The day was sharp and
frosty, and all the passengers took a loup off at a yill-house, with a
Highland-man on the sign of it, to get a dram, to gar them bear up
against the cold; yet knowing what had but so lately happened, and having
the fears of Maister Wiggie before my eyes, I had made a solemn vow
within myself, not to taste liquor for six months at least; nor would I
here break my word, tho' much made a fool of by an Englisher, and a fou
Eirisher, who sang all the road; contenting myself, in the best way I
could, with a tumbler of strong beer and two butter-bakes.
It is an old proverb, and a true one, that there is no rest to the
wicked; so when I got home, I found business crying out for me loudly,
having been twice wanted to take the measure for suits of clothes. Of
course, knowing that my two customers would be wearying, I immediately
cut my stick to their houses, and promised without fail to have my work
done against the next Sabbath. Whether from my hurry, or my grief for
poor Mungo, or maybe from both, I found on the Saturday night, when the
clothes were sent home on the arm of Tammie Bodkin, whom I was obliged to
hire by way of foresman, that some awful mistake had occurred--the dress
of the one having been made for the back of the other, the one being long
and tall, the other thick and short; so that Maister Peter Pole's cuffs
did not reach above half-way down his arms, and the tails ended at the
small of the back, rendering him a perfect fright; while Maister Watty
Firkin's new coat hung on him like a dreadnought, the sleeves coming over
the nebs of his fingers, and the hainch buttons hanging down between his
heels, making him resemble a mouse below a firlot. With some persuasion,
however, there being but small difference in the value of the cloths, the
one being a west of England bottle-green, and the other a Manchester
blue, I caused them to niffer, and hushed up the business, which, had
they been obstreperous, would have made half the parish of Dalkeith stand
on end.
After poor Mungo had been beneath the mools, I daresay a good month,
Benjie, as he was one forenoon diverting himself dozing his top in the
room where they sleeped, happened to drive it in below the bed, where,
scrambling in on his hands and feet, he found a half sheet of paper
written over in Mungo's hand-writing, the which he brought to me; and, on
looking over it, I found it jingled in metre like the Psalms of David.
Having no skeel in these matters, I sent up the close for James Batter,
who, being a member of the fifteenpence a-quarter subscription book-club,
had read a power of all sorts of things, sacred and profane. James, as
he was humming it over with his specs on his beak, gave now and then a
thump on his thigh, "Prime, prime, man; fine, prime, good, capital!" and
so on, which astonished me much, kenning who had written it--a callant
that had sleeped with our Benjie, and could not have shaped a pair of
leggins though we had offered him the crown of the three kingdoms.
Seeing what it was thought of by one who knew what was what, and could
distinguish the difference between a B and a bull's foot, I judged it
necessary for me to take a copy of it; which, for the benefit of them
that like poems, I do not scruple to tag to the tail of this chapter.
Oh, wad that my time were ower but,
Wi' this wintry sleet and snaw,
That I might see our house again
I' the bonny birken shaw!--
For this is no my ain life,
And I peak and pine away
Wi' the thochts o' hame, and the young flow'rs
I' the glad green month o' May.
I used to wauk in the morning
Wi' the loud sang o' the lark,
And the whistling o' the ploughmen lads
As they gaed to their wark;
I used to weir in the young lambs
Frae the tod and the roaring stream;
But the warld is changed, and a' thing now
To me seems like a dream.
There are busy crowds around me
On ilka lang dull street;
Yet, though sae mony surround me,
I kenna ane I meet.
And I think on kind, kent faces,
And o' blythe and cheery days,
When I wander'd out, wi' our ain folk,
Out-owre the simmer braes.
Wae's me, for my heart is breaking!
I think on my brithers sma',
And on my sister greeting,
When I came frae hame awa;
And oh! how my mither sobbit,
As she shook me by the hand;
When I left the door o' our auld house,
To come to this stranger land;
There's nae place like our ain hame;
Oh, I wish that I was there!--
There's nae hame like our ain hame
To be met wi' ony where!--
And oh! that I were back again
To our farm and fields so green;
And heard the tongues o' my ain folk,
And was what I hae been!
That's poor Mungo's poem; which I and James Batter, and the rest, think
excellent, and not far short of Robert Burns himself, had he been spared.
Some may judge otherwise, out of bad taste or ill nature; but I would
just thank them to write a better at their leisure.