set very gravely about settling what was to them the serious business of
the evening. Willie had received thirty-one shillings, as payment in
full for their united labours; and, in consideration of the large and
unexpected portion of them which had fallen to the stranger's share, he
generously determined, notwithstanding that he was the principal party,
as having been the first engaged, to give him precisely the one-half of
the money, or fifteen shillings and sixpence.
"Very fair," said the stranger, on this being announced to him by his
brother in trade--"very fair; but what would ye think of our drinking
the odd sixpences?"
"Wi' a' my heart," replied Willie--"wi' a' my heart. A very guid
notion."
And a jug of toddy, to the value of one shilling, was accordingly
ordered and produced, over which the two got as thick as ben-leather.
"Ye're a guid fiddler--I'll say that o' ye," quoth Willie, after tossing
down the first glass of the warm, exhilarating beverage. "I wad never
wish to hear a better."
"I have had some practice," said the other, modestly, and at the same
time following his companion's example with his glass.
"Nae doot, nae doot, sae's seen on your playin," replied the latter.
"How do you fend wi' your fiddle? Do ye mak onything o' a guid leevin
o't?"
"No that ill ava," said the stranger. "I play for the auld leddy at the
castle--Castle Gowan, ye ken; indeed, I'm sometimes ca'd the leddy's
fiddler, and she's uncommon guid to me. I neither want bite nor sowp
when I gang there."
"That's sae far weel," replied Willie. "She's a guid judge o' music that
Leddy Gowan, as I hear them say; and I'm tauld her son, Sir John, plays
a capital bow."
"No amiss, I believe," said the stranger; "but the leddy, as ye say, is
an excellent judge o' music, although whiles, I think, rather owre fond
o't, for she maks me play for hours thegither, when I wad far rather be
wi' Tam Yule, her butler, a sonsy, guid-natured chiel, that's no sweer
o' the cap. But, speaking o' that, I'll tell ye what, frien," he
continued, "if ye'll come up to Castle Gowan ony day, I'll be blithe to
see you, for I'm there at least ance every day, and I'll warrant ye--for
ye see I can use every liberty there--in a guid het dinner, an' a jug o'
better toddy to wash it owre wi'."
"A bargain be't," quoth Willie; "will the morn do?"
"Perfectly," said the stranger; "the sooner the better."
This settled, Willie proceeded to a subject which had been for some time
near his heart, but which he felt some delicacy in broaching. This
feeling, however, having gradually given way before the influence of the
toddy, and of his friend's frank and jovial manner, he at length
ventured, though cautiously, to step on the ice.
"That's an uncommon guid instrument o' yours, frien," he said.
"Very good," replied his companion, briefly.
"But ye'll hae mair than that ane, nae doot?" rejoined the other.
"I hae ither twa."
"In that case," said Willie, "maybe ye wad hae nae objection to pairt
wi' that ane, an the price offered ye wur a' the mair temptin. I'll gie
ye the saxteen shillins I hae won the nicht, an' my fiddle, for't."
"Thank ye, frien, thank ye for your offer," replied the stranger; "but I
daurna accept o't, though I war willin. The fiddle was gien to me by
Leddy Gowan, and I daurna pairt wi't. She wad miss't, and then there wad
be the deevil to pay."
"Oh, an that's the case," said Willie, "I'll say nae mair aboot it; but
it's a first-rate fiddle--sae guid a ane, that it micht amaist play the
lane o't."
It being now very late, or rather early, and the toddy jug emptied, the
blind fiddler and his friend parted, on the understanding, however, that
the former would visit the latter at the castle (whither he was now
going, he said, to seek a night's quarters) on the following day.
True to his appointment, Willie appeared next day at Gowan House, or
Castle Gowan, as it was more generally called, and inquired for "the
fiddler." His inquiry was met with great civility and politeness by the
footman who opened the door. He was told "the fiddler" was there, and
desired to walk in. Obeying the invitation, Willie, conducted by the
footman, entered a spacious apartment, where he was soon afterwards
entertained with a sumptuous dinner, in which his friend the fiddler
joined him.
"My word neighbour," said Willie, after having made a hearty meal of the
good things that were set before him, and having drank in proportion,
"but ye're in noble quarters here. This is truly fiddlin to some
purpose, an' treatin the art as it ought to be treated in the persons o'
its professors. But what," he added, "if Sir John should come in upon
us? He wadna like maybe a'thegither to see a stranger wi' ye?"
"Deil a bodle I care for Sir John, Willie! He's but a wild harum-scarum
throughither chap at the best, an' no muckle to be heeded."
"Ay, he's fond o' a frolic, they tell me," quoth Willie; "an' there's a
heap o' gay queer anes laid to his charge, whether they be true or no;
but his heart's in the richt place, I'm thinkin, for a' that. I've heard
o' mony guid turns he has dune."
"Ou, he's no a bad chiel, on the whole, I daresay," replied Willie's
companion. "His bark's waur than his bite--an' that's mair than can be
said o' a rat-trap at ony rate."
It was about this period, and then for the first time, that certain
strange and vague suspicions suddenly entered Willie's mind regarding
his entertainer. He had remarked that the latter gave his orders with an
air of authority which he thought scarcely becoming in one who occupied
the humble situation of "the lady's fiddler;" but, singular as this
appeared to him, the alacrity and silence with which these orders were
obeyed, was to poor Willie still more unaccountable. He said nothing,
however; but much did he marvel at the singular good fortune of his
brother-in-trade. He had never known a fiddler so quartered before; and,
lost in admiration of his friend's felicity, he was about again to
express his ideas on the subject, when a servant in splendid livery
entered the room, and, bowing respectfully, said, "The carriage waits
you, Sir John."
"I will be with you presently, Thomas," replied who? inquires the
reader.
Why, Willie's companion!
What! is he then Sir John Gowan--he, the fiddler at the penny-wedding,
Sir John Gowan, of Castle Gowan, the most extensive proprietor and the
wealthiest man in the county?
The same, and no other, good reader, we assure thee.
A great lover of frolic, as he himself said, was Sir John; and this was
one of the pranks in which he delighted. He was an enthusiastic fiddler;
and as has been already shown, performed with singular skill on that
most difficult, but most delightful, of all musical instruments.
We will not attempt to describe poor Willie's amazement and confusion,
when this singular fact became known to him; for they are indescribable,
and therefore better left to the reader's imagination. On recovering a
little from his surprise, however, he endeavoured to express his
astonishment in such broken sentences as these--"Wha in earth wad hae
ever dreamed o't? Rosit an' fiddle-strings!--this beats a'. Faith, an'
I've been fairly taen in--clean done for. A knight o' the shire to play
at a penny-waddin wi' blin Willie Hodge, the fiddler! The like was
ne'er heard tell o'."
As it is unnecessary, and would certainly be tedious, to protract the
scene at this particular point in our story, we cut it short by saying,
that Sir John presented Willie with the fiddle he had so much coveted,
and which he had vainly endeavoured to purchase; that he then told down
to him the half of the proceeds of the previous night's labours which he
had pocketed, added a handsome _douceur_ from his own purse, and finally
dismissed him with a pressing and cordial invitation to visit the castle
as often as it suited his inclination and conveniency.
Having arrived at this landing-place in our tale, we pause to explain
one or two things, which is necessary for the full elucidation of the
sequel. With regard to Sir John Gowan himself, there is little to add to
what has been already said of him; for, brief though these notices of
him are, they contain nearly all that the reader need care to know about
him. He was addicted to such pranks as that just recorded; but this, if
it was a defect in his character, was the only one. For the rest, he was
an excellent young man--kind, generous, and affable, of the strictest
honour, and the most upright principles. He was, moreover, an
exceedingly handsome man, and highly accomplished. At this period, he
was unmarried, and lived with his mother, Lady Gowan, to whom he was
most affectionately attached. Sir John had, at one time, mingled a good
deal with the fashionable society of the metropolis; but soon became
disgusted with the heartlessness of those who composed it, and with the
frivolity of their pursuits; and in this frame of mind he came to the
resolution of retiring to his estate, and of giving himself up entirely
to the quiet enjoyments of a country life, and the pleasing duties which
his position as a large landed proprietor entailed upon him.
Simple in all his tastes and habits, Sir John had been unable to
discover, in any of the manufactured beauties to whom he had been, from
time to time, introduced while he resided in London, one to whom he
could think of intrusting his happiness. The wife he desired was one
fresh from the hand of nature, not one remodelled by the square and rule
of art; and such a one he thought he had found during his adventure of
the previous night.
Bringing this digression, which we may liken to an interlude, to a
close, we again draw up the curtain, and open the second act of our
little drama with an exhibition of the residence of Mr Harrison at
Todshaw.
The house or farm-steading of this worthy person was of the very best
description of such establishments. The building itself was substantial,
nay, even handsome, while the excellent garden which was attached to it,
and all the other accessories and appurtenances with which it was
surrounded, indicated wealth and comfort. Its situation was on the
summit of a gentle eminence that sloped down in front to a noisy little
rivulet, that careered along through a narrow rugged glen overhanging
with hazel, till it came nearly opposite the house, where it wound
through an open plat of green sward, and shortly after again plunged
into another little romantic ravine similar to the one it had left.
The approach to Mr Harrison's house lay along this little rivulet, and
was commanded, for a considerable distance, by the view from the
former--a circumstance which enabled Jeanie Harrison to descry, one fine
summer afternoon, two or three days after the occurrence of the events
just related, the approach of the fiddler with whom she had danced at
the wedding. On making this discovery, Jeanie ran to announce the joyful
intelligence to all the other members of the family, and the prospect of
a merry dancing afternoon opened on the delighted eyes of its younger
branches.
When the fiddler--with whose identity the reader is now as well
acquainted as we are--had reached the bottom of the ascent that led to
the house, Jeanie, with excessive joy beaming in her bright and
expressive eye, and her cheek glowing with the roseate hues of health,
rushed down to meet him, and to welcome him to Todshaw.
"Thank ye, my bonny lassie--thank ye," replied the disguised baronet,
expressing himself in character, and speaking the language of his
assumed station. "Are ye ready for anither dance?"
"Oh, a score o' them--a thousand o' them," said the lively girl.
"But will your faither, think ye, hae nae objections to my comin?"
inquired the fiddler.
"Nane in the warld. My faither is nane o' your sour carles that wad deny
ither folk the pleasures they canna enjoy themsels. He likes to see
a'body happy around him--every ane his ain way."
"An' your mother?"
"Jist the same. Ye'll find her waur to fiddle doun than ony o' us.
She'll dance as lang's a string hauds o't."
"Then, I may be quite at my ease," rejoined Sir John.
"Quite so," replied Jeanie--and she slipped half-a-crown into his
hand--"and there's your arles; but ye'll be minded better ere ye leave
us."
"My word, no an ill beginnin," quoth the musician, looking with
well-affected delight at the coin, and afterwards putting it carefully
into his pocket. "But ye could hae gien me a far mair acceptable arles
than half-a-crown," he added, "and no been a penny the poorer either."
"What's that?" said Jeanie, laughing and blushing at the same time, and
more than half guessing, from the looks of the _pawky_ fiddler, what was
meant.
"Why, my bonny leddie," he replied, "jist a kiss o' that pretty little
mou o' yours."
"Oh, ye gowk!" exclaimed Jeanie, with a roguish glance at her humble
gallant; for, disguised as he was, he was not able to conceal a very
handsome person, nor the very agreeable expression of a set of
remarkably fine features--qualities which did not escape the vigilance
of the female eye that was now scanning their possessor. Nor would we
say that these qualities were viewed with total indifference, or without
producing their effect, even although they did belong to a fiddler.
"Oh, ye gowk!" said Jeanie; "wha ever heard o' a fiddler preferring a
kiss to half-a-crown?"
"But _I_ do, though," replied the disguised knight; "and I'll gie ye
yours back again for't."
"The mair fule you," exclaimed Jeanie, rushing away towards the house,
and leaving the fiddler to make out the remainder of the way by himself.
On reaching the house, the musician was ushered into the kitchen, where
a plentiful repast was instantly set before him, by the kind and
considerate hospitality of Jeanie, who, not contented with her guest's
making a hearty meal at table, insisted on his pocketing certain pieces
of cheese, cold meat, &c., which were left. These the fiddler steadily
refused; but Jeanie would take no denial, and with her own hands crammed
them into his capacious pockets, which, after the operation, stuck out
like a well-filled pair of saddle-bags. But there was no need for any
one who might be curious to know what they contained, to look into them
for that purpose. Certain projecting bones of mutton and beef, which it
was found impossible to get altogether out of sight, sufficiently
indicated their contents. Of this particular circumstance, however--we
mean the projection of the bones from the pockets--we must observe, the
owner of the said pockets was not aware, otherwise, we daresay, he would
have been a little more positive in rejecting the provender which
Jeanie's warmheartedness and benevolence had forced upon him.
Be this as it may, however, so soon as the musician had finished his
repast, he took fiddle in hand, and opened the evening with a slow
pathetic Scottish air, which he played so exquisitely that Jeanie's eye
filled with a tear, as she listened in raptures to the sweet but
melancholy turns of the affecting tune.
Twice the musician played over the touching strain, delighted to
perceive the effects of the music on the lovely girl who stood before
him, and rightly conceiving it to be an unequivocal proof of a
susceptible heart and of a generous nature.
A third time he began the beautiful air; but he now accompanied it with
a song, and in this accomplishment he was no less perfect than in the
others which have been already attributed to him. His voice was at once
manly and melodious, and he conducted it with a skill that did it every
justice. Having played two or three bars of the tune, his rich and
well-regulated voice chimed in with the following words:--
"Oh, I hae lived wi' high-bred dames,
Each state of life to prove,
But never till this hour hae met
The girl that I could love.
It's no in fashion's gilded ha's
That she is to be seen;
Beneath her father's humble roof
Abides my bonny Jean.
Oh, wad she deign ae thought to wair,
Ae kindly thought on me,
Wi' pearls I wad deck her hair,
Though low be my degree.
Wi' pearls I wad deck her hair,
Wi' gowd her wrists sae sma';
An' had I lands and houses, she'd
Be leddy owre them a'.
The sun abune's no what he seems,
Nor is the night's fair queen;
Then wha kens wha the minstrel is
That's wooin bonny Jean?"
Jeanie could not help feeling a little strange as the minstrel proceeded
with a song which seemed to have so close a reference to herself.
She, of course, did not consider this circumstance otherwise than as
merely accidental; but she could not help, nevertheless, being somewhat
embarrassed by it; and this was made sufficiently evident by the blush
that mantled on her cheek, and by the confusion of her manner under the
fixed gaze of the singer, while repeating the verses just quoted.
When he had concluded, "Well, good folks all," he said, "what think ye
of my song?" And without waiting for an answer, about which he seemed
very indifferent, he added, "and how do you like it, Jeanie?" directing
the question exclusively to the party he named.
"Very weel," replied Jeanie, again blushing, but still more deeply than
before; "the song is pretty, an' the air delightfu'; but some o' the
verses are riddles to me. I dinna thoroughly understan them."
"Don't you?" replied Sir John, laughing; "then I'll explain them to you
by and by; but, in the meantime, I must screw my pegs anew, and work for
my dinner, for I see the good folk about me here are all impatience to
begin." A fact this which was instantly acknowledged by a dozen voices;
and straightway the whole party proceeded, in compliance with a
suggestion of Mr Harrison, to the green in front of the house, where Sir
John took up his position on the top of an inverted wheelbarrow, and
immediately commenced his labours.
For several hours, the dance went on with uninterrupted glee; old Mr
Harrison and his wife appearing to enjoy the sport as much as the
youngest of the party, and both being delighted with the masterly
playing of the musician. But, although, as on a former occasion, Sir
John did not suffer anything to interfere with or interrupt the charge
of the duties expected of him, there was but a very small portion of his
mind or thoughts engrossed by the employment in which he was engaged.
All, or nearly all, were directed to the contemplation of the object on
which his affections had now become irrevocably fixed.
Neither was his visit to Todshaws, on this occasion, by any means
dictated solely by the frivolous object of affording its inmates
entertainment by his musical talents. His purpose was a much more
serious one. It was to ascertain, as far as such an opportunity would
afford him the means, the dispositions and temper of his fair enslaver.
Of these, his natural shrewdness had enabled him to make a pretty
correct estimate on the night of the wedding; but he was desirous of
seeing her in other circumstances, and he thought none more suitable for
his purpose than those of a domestic nature.
It was, then, to see her in this position that he had now come; and the
result of his observations was highly gratifying to him.
He found in Miss Harrison all that he, at any rate, desired in woman. He
found her guileless, cheerful, gentle, kind-hearted, and good-tempered,
beloved by all around her, and returning the affection bestowed on her
with a sincere and ardent love.
Such were the discoveries which the disguised baronet made on this
occasion; and never did hidden treasure half so much gladden the heart
of the fortunate finder as these did that of him who made them. It is
true that Sir John could not be sure, nor was he, that his addresses
would be received by Miss Harrison, even after he should have made
himself known; but he could not help entertaining a pretty strong
confidence in his own powers of persuasion, nor being, consequently,
tolerably sanguine of success. All this, however, was to be the work of
another day. In the meantime, the dancers having had their hearts'
content of capering on the green sward, the fiddle was put up, and the
fiddler once more invited into the house, where he was entertained with
the same hospitality as before, and another half-crown slipped into his
hand. This he also put carefully into his pocket; and having partaken
lightly of what was set before him, rose up to depart, alleging that he
had a good way to go, and was desirous of availing himself of the little
daylight that still remained. He was pressed to remain all night, but
this he declined; promising, however, in reply to the urgent entreaties
with which he was assailed on all sides to stay, that he would very soon
repeat his visit. Miss Harrison he took by the hand, and said, "I
promised to explain to you the poetical riddle which I read, or rather
attempted to sing, this evening. It is now too late to do this, for the
explanation is a long one; but I will be here again, without fail, in a
day or two, when I shall solve all, and, I trust, to your satisfaction.
Till then, do not forget your poor fiddler."
"No, I winna forget ye," said Jeanie. "It wadna be easy to forget ane
that has contributed so much to our happiness. Neither would it be more
than gratefu' to do so, I think."
"And you are too kind a creature to be ungrateful to any one, however
humble may be their attempts to win your favour--of that I feel
assured." Having said this, and perceiving that he was unobserved, he
quickly raised the fair hand he held to his lips, kissed it, and hurried
out of the door.
What Jane Harrison thought of this piece of gallantry from a fiddler, we
really do not know, and therefore will say nothing about it. Whatever
her thoughts were, she kept them to herself. Neither did she mention to
any one the circumstance which gave rise to them. Nor did she say, but
for what reason we are ignorant, how much she had been pleased with the
general manners of the humble musician--with the melodious tones of his
voice, and the fine expression of his dark hazel eye. Oh, love, love!
thou art a leveller, indeed, else how should it happen that the pretty
daughter of a wealthy and respectable yeoman should think for a moment,
with certain indescribable feelings, of a poor itinerant fiddler? Mark,
good reader, however, we do not say that Miss Harrison was absolutely in
love with the musician. By no means. That would certainly be saying too
much. But it is as certainly true, that she had perceived something
about him that left no disagreeable impression--nay, something which she
wished she might meet with in her future husband, whoever he might be.
Leaving Jeanie Harrison to such reflections as these, we will follow the
footsteps of the disguised baronet. On leaving the house, he walked at a
rapid pace for an hour or so, till he came to a turn in the road, at the
distance of about four miles from Todshaws, where his gig and
man-servant, with a change of clothes, were waiting him by appointment.
Having hastily divested himself of his disguise, and resumed his own
dress, he stepped into the vehicle, and about midnight arrived at Castle
Gowan.
In this romantic attachment of Sir John Gowan's--or rather in the
romantic project which it suggested to him of offering his heart and
hand to the daughter of a humble farmer--there was but one doubtful
point on his side of the question, at any rate. This was, whether he
could obtain the consent of his mother to such a proceeding. She loved
him with the utmost tenderness; and, naturally of a mild, gentle, and
affectionate disposition, her sole delight lay in promoting the
happiness of her beloved son. To secure this great object of her life,
there was scarcely any sacrifice which she would not make, nor any
proposal with which she would not willingly comply. This Sir John well
knew, and fully appreciated; but he felt that the call which he was now
about to make on her maternal love was more than he ought to expect she
would answer. He, in short, felt that she might, with good reason, and
without the slightest infringement of her regard for him, object to his
marrying so far beneath his station. It was not, therefore, without some
misgivings that he entered his mother's private apartment on the day
following his adventure at Todshaws, for the purpose of divulging the
secret of his attachment, and hinting at the resolution he had formed
regarding it.