Callender, on her little daughter's having delivered herself of all
the small provocatives with which she had been charged. "There's
impidence for ye!" she said, planting her hands in her sides, and
looking the very personification of injured innocence. "Was the like
o't ever heard? First to borrow, and then to break my jeely mug, and
noo to tell me, whan I'm seekin' my ain, that I'm makin' mair noise
aboot it than it's a' worth. My certy, but she _has_ a brazen face.
The auld, wizzened, upsettin' limmer that she is! Set _them_ up,
indeed, wi' red nichtcaps!" Now, this was the last member of Mrs
Callender's philippic, but it was by no means the least. In fact, it
was the whole gist of the matter--the sum and substance, and we need
not add, the real and true cause of her present amiable feeling
towards her worthy neighbours, John Anderson and his wife. Adjusting
her _mutch_ now on her head, and spreading her apron decorously
before her, Mrs Callender intimated her intention of proceeding
instantly to Mrs Anderson's, to demand her jelly pot in person, and
to seek, at the same time, satisfaction for the insulting message
that had been sent her. Acting on this resolution, she forthwith
commenced her march towards the domicile of John Anderson, nursing
the while her wrath to keep it warm. On reaching the door, she
announced her presence by a series of sharp, open-the-door-instantly
knocks, which were promptly attended to, and the visitor courteously
admitted.
"Mrs Anderson," said Mrs Callender, on entering, and assuming a
calmness and composure of demeanour that was sadly belied by the
suppressed agitation, or rather fury, which she could not conceal,
"I'm just come to ask ye if ye'll be sae guid, _Mem_, as gie me my
jeely mug."
"Yer jeely mug, Mrs Callender!" exclaimed Mrs Anderson, raising
herself to her utmost height, and already beginning to exhibit
symptoms of incipient indignation. "Yer jeely mug, Mrs Callender!"
she repeated, with a provokingly ironical emphasis. "Dear help me,
woman, but ye _do_ mak' an awfu' wark aboot that jeely mug o' yours.
I'm sure it wasna sae muckle worth; and ye hae been often tell't that
it was broken, but that we wad willingly pay ye for't."
"It's no payment I want, Mrs Anderson," replied Mrs Callender, with a
high-spirited toss of the head. "I want my mug, and my mug I'll hae.
Do ye hear that?" And here Mrs Callender struck her clenched fist on
the open side of her left hand, in the impressive way peculiar to
some ladies when under the influence of passion. "And, since ye come
to that o't, let me tell ye ye're a very insultin' ill-bred woman, to
tell me that it wasna muckle worth, after ye hae broken't."
"My word, lass," replied Mrs Anderson, bridling up, with flushed
countenance, and head erect, to the calumniator, "but ye're no blate
to ca' me thae names i' my ain house."
"Ay, I'll ca' ye thae names, and waur too, in yer ain house, or
onywhar else," replied the other belligerent, clenching her teeth
fiercely together, and thrusting her face with most intense ferocity
into the countenance of her antagonist. "Ay, here or onywhar else,"
she replied, "I'll ca' ye a mean-spirited, impident woman--an
upsettin' impident woman! Set your man up, indeed, wi' a red
nichtkep!"
"An' what for no?" replied Mrs Anderson with a look of triumphant
inquiry. "He's as weel able to pay for't as you, and maybe, if a'
was kent, a hantle better. A red nichtkep, indeed, ye impertinent
hizzy!"
"'Od, an' ye hizzy me, I'll te-e-eer the liver out o' ye!" exclaimed
the now infuriated Mrs Callender, at the same instant seizing her
antagonist by the hair of the head and mutch together, and, in a
twinkling, tearing the latter into a thousand shreds. Active
hostilities being now fairly commenced, a series of brilliant
operations, both offensive and defensive, immediately ensued. The
first act of aggression on the part of Mrs Callender--namely,
demolishing her opponent's head-gear--was returned by the latter by a
precisely similar proceeding; that is, by tearing her mutch into
fragments.
This preliminary operation performed, the combatants resorted to
certain various other demonstrative acts of love and friendship; but
now with such accompaniments of screams and exclamations as quickly
filled the apartment which was the scene of strife with neighbours,
who instantly began to attempt to effect a separation of the
combatants. While they were thus employed, in came John Anderson,
who had been out of the way when the tug of war began, and close upon
his heels came Mr Callender, whose ears an alarming report of the
contest in which his gallant spouse was engaged, had reached. Both
gentlemen were, at the moment, in their red nightcaps, and might thus
be considered as the standard bearers of the combatants.
"What's a this o't?" exclaimed Mr Anderson, pushing into the centre
of the crowd by which the two women were surrounded.
"Oh, the hizzy!" exclaimed his wife, who had, at the instant, about a
yard of her antagonist's hair rolled about her hand. "It's a' aboot
your nichtkep, John, and her curst jeely mug. A' aboot your
nichtkep, and the jeely mug."
Now, this allusion to the jelly pot John perfectly understood, but
that to the nightcap he did not, nor did he attend to it; but, as
became a dutiful and loving husband to do in such circumstances,
immediately took the part of his wife, and was in the act of
thrusting her antagonist aside, which operation he was performing
somewhat rudely, when he was collared from behind by his neighbour,
Thomas Callender, who, naturally enough, enrolled himself at once on
the side of his better half.
"Hauns aff, John!" exclaimed Mr Callender--their old grudge fanning
the flame of that hostility which was at this moment rapidly
increasing in the bosoms of both the gentlemen, as he gave Mr
Anderson sundry energetic tugs and twists, with a view of putting him
_hors de combat_. "Hauns aff, neebor!" he said. "Hauns aff, if ye
please, till we ken wha has the rich' o' this bisiness, and what it's
a' aboot."
"Pu' doon their pride, Tam!--pu' doon their pride!" exclaimed Mrs
Calender, who, although intently engaged at the moment in tearing out
a handful of her opponent's hair, was yet aware of the reinforcement
that had come to her aid. "Pu' doon their pride, Tam. Tak a claught
o' John's nichtkep. The limmer says they're better able to afford
ane than we are."
While Mrs Callender was thus expressing the particular sentiments
which occupied her mind at the moment, John Anderson had turned round
to resent the liberty which the former had taken of collaring him;
and this resentment expressed, by collaring his assailant in turn.
The consequence of this proceding was a violent struggle, which
finally ended in a close stand-up fight between the male combatants,
who both showed great spirit, although, not a great deal of science.
John Anderson, in particular, had a fitting antagonist in Tom
Callender, and the battle was so even between them that the other
combatants with one consent paused to watch the struggle. As
neither, however, seemed likely to be the conqueror, the fight again
became general--the wives having quitted their holds of each other,
and flown to the rescue of their respective husbands, now much in
need of some wifely comfort. They were thus all bundled together in
one indiscriminate and unintelligible melée. One leading object or
purpose, however, was discernible on the part of the female
combatants. This was to get hold of the red nightcaps--each that of
her husband's antagonist; and, after a good deal of scrambling, and
clutching, and pouncing, they both succeeded in tearing off the
obnoxious head-dress, with each a handful of the unfortunate wearer's
hair along with it. While this was going on, the conflicting, but
firmly united mass of combatants, who were all bundled, or rather
locked together in close and deadly strife, was rolling heavily,
sometimes one way, and sometimes another, sometimes ending with a
thud against a partition, that made the whole house shake, sometimes
with a ponderous lodgment against a door, which, unable to resist the
shock, flew open, and landed the belligerents at their full length on
the floor, where they rolled over one another in a very edifying and
picturesque manner.
But this could not continue very long, and neither did it. A
consummation or catastrophe occurred, which suddenly, and at once,
put an end to the affray. In one of those heavy lee-lurches which
the closely united combatants made, they came thundering against the
frail legs of a dresser, which was ingeniously contrived to support
two or three tiers of shelves, which, again, were laden with
stoneware, the pride of Mrs Anderson's heart, built up with nice and
dexterous contrivance, so as to show to the greatest advantage. Need
we say what was the consequence of this rude assault on the legs of
the aforementioned dresser, supporting, as it did, this huge
superstructure of shelves and crockery? Scarcely. But we will.
Down, then, came the dresser; and down, as a necessary corollary,
came also the shelves, depositing their contents with an astounding
crash upon the floor--not a jug out of some eight or ten, of various
shapes and sizes, not a plate out of some scores, not a bowl out of a
dozen, not a cup or saucer out of an entire set, escaping total
demolition. The destruction was frightful--unprecedented in the
annals of domestic mishaps.
On the combatants, the effect of the thundering crash of the
crockery, or smashables, as they have been sometimes
characteristically designated, was somewhat like that which has been
known to be produced in a sea-fight by the blowing up of a ship.
Hostilities were instantly suspended; all looking with silent horror
on the dreadful scene of ruin around them. Nor did any disposition
to renew the contest return. On the contrary, there was an evident
inclination, on the part of two of the combatants--namely, Mr
Callender and his wife--to evacuate the premises. Appalled at the
extent of the mischief done, and visited with an awkward feeling of
probable responsibility, they gradually edged towards the door, and
finally sneaked out of the house without saying a word.
"If there's law or justice in the land," exclaimed Mrs Anderson, in
high excitation, as she swept together the fragments of her
demolished crockery, "I'll hae't on Tam Callender and his wife. May
I never see the morn, if I haena them afore the Shirra before a week
gangs owre my head! I hae a set aff, noo, against her jeely mug, I
think."
"It's been a bonny business," replied her husband; "but what on earth
was't a' aboot?"
"What was't a' aboot!" repeated his wife, with some asperity of
manner, but now possessed of presence of mind enough to shift the
ground of quarrel, which, she felt, would compromise her with her
husband. "Didna I tell ye that already? What should it be a' aboot
but her confounded jeely mug! But I'll mak her pay for this day's
wark, or I'm sair cheated. It'll be as bad a job this for them as
the duck dub, I'm thinkin."
"We hadna muckle to brag o' there, oursels, guidwife," interposed her
husband, calmly.
"See, there," said Mrs Anderson, either not heeding, or not hearing
John's remark. "See, there," she said, holding up a fragment of one
of the broken vessels, "there's the end o' my bonny cheeny jug, that
I was sae vogie o', and that hadna its neebor in braid Scotland."
And a tear glistened in the eye of the susceptible mourner, as she
contemplated the melancholy remains, and recalled to memory the
departed splendours of the ill-fated tankard. Quietly dashing,
however, the tear of sorrow aside, both her person and spirit assumed
the lofty attitude of determined vengeance; and, "_she'll_ rue this,"
she now went on, "if there be ony law or justice in the kingdom.
It'll be a dear jug to _her_, or my name's no what it is."
Equally indignant with his wife at the assault and battery committed
by the Callenders, but less talkative, John sat quietly ruminating on
the events of the evening, and, anon, still continuing to raise his
hand, at intervals, to his mangled countenance. With the same
taciturnity, he subsequently assisted Mrs Anderson to throw the
collected fragments of the broken dishes into a hamper, and to carry
and deposit said hamper in an adjoining closet, where, it was
determined, they should be carefully kept, as evidence of the extent
of the damage which had been sustained.
In the meantime, neither Mrs Thomas Callender nor Mr Thomas Callender
felt by any means at ease respecting the crockery catastrophe.
Although feeling that it was a mere casualty of war, and an
unforeseen and unpremeditated result of a fair and equal contest,
they yet could not help entertaining some vague apprehension for the
consequences. They felt, in short, that it might be made a question
whether they were not liable for the damage done, seeing that they
had intruded themselves into their neighbour's house, where they had
no right to go. It was under some such awkward fear as this that Mr
Callender, who had also obtained an evasive account of the cause of
quarrel, said, with an unusually long and grave face to his wife, on
their gaining their own house, and holding at the same time a
handkerchief to his still bleeding and now greatly swollen proboscis--
"Yon was a deevil o' a stramash, Mirran. I never heard the like o't.
It was awfu. I think I hear the noise o' the crashin' plates and
bowls in my lugs yet."
"Deil may care! Let them tak it!" replied Mrs Callender,
endeavouring to assume a disregard of consequences which she was
evidently very far from feeling. "She was aye owre vain o' her
crockery; so that better couldna happen her."
"Ay," replied her husband; "but yon smashing o't was rather a serious
business."
"It was just music to my lugs, then," said Mrs Callender, boldly.
"Maybe," rejoined her husband, "but I doot we'll hae to pay the
piper. They'll try't ony way, I'm jalousin."
"Let them. There'll be nae law or justice in the country if they mak
that oot," responded Mrs Callender, and exhibiting, in this
sentiment, the very striking difference of opinion between the two
ladies, of the law and justice of the land.
The fears, however, which Mr Callender openly expressed, as above
recorded, and which his wife felt but concealed, were not groundless.
On the evening of the very next day after the battle of the
nightcaps, as Thomas Callender was sitting in his elbow chair, by the
fire, luxuriously enjoying its grateful warmth, and the ease and
comfort of his slippers and red nightcap, which he had drawn well
down over his ears, he was suddenly startled by a sharp, loud rap at
the door. Mrs Callender hastened to open it, when two papers were
thrust into her hands by an equivocal-looking personage, who, without
saying a word, wheeled round on his heel the instant he had placed
the mysterious documents in her possession, and hastened away.
With some misgivings as to the contents of these papers, Mrs
Callender placed them before her husband.
"What's this?" said the latter, with a look of great alarm, and
placing his spectacles on his nose, preparatory to a deliberate
perusal of the suspicious documents. His glasses wiped and adjusted,
Thomas unfolded the papers, held them up close to the candle, and
found them to be a couple of summonses, one for himself and one for
his wife. These summonses, we need hardly say, were at the instance
of their neighbour, John Anderson, and exhibited a charge of assault
and battery, and claim for damages to the extent of two pounds
fourteen shillings sterling, for demolition of certain articles of
stoneware, &c., &c.
"Ay," said Thomas, laying down the fatal papers. "Faith, here it is,
then! We're gaun to get it ruch and roun', noo, Jenny. I was dootin
this. But we'll defen', we'll defen'," added Thomas, who was, or we
rather suspect imagined himself to be, a bit of a lawyer, ever since
the affair of the duck-dub, during which he had picked up some law
terms, but without any accompanying knowledge whatever of their
import or applicability. "We'll defen', we'll defen'," he said, with
great confidence of manner, "and gie them a revised condescendence
for't that they'll fin gayan teuch to chow. But we maun obey the
ceetation, in the first place, to prevent decreet in absence, whilk
wad gie the pursuer, in this case, everything his ain way."
"Defen'!" exclaimed Mrs Callender, with high indignation; "my faith,
that we wull, I warrant them, and maybe a hantle mair. We'll maybe
no be content wi' defendin', but strike oot, and gar _them_ staun
aboot."
"Noo, there ye show yer ignorance o' the law, Jenny," said her
husband, with judicial gravity; "for ye see"--
"Tuts, law or no law," replied Mrs Callender, impatiently--"I ken
what's justice and common-sense; an' that's eneuch for me. An'
justice I'll hae, Tam," she continued, with such an increase of
excitement as brought on the usual climax in such cases, of striking
one of her clenched hands on her open palm--"An' justice I will hae,
Tam, on thae Andersons, if it's to be had for love or money."
"We'll try't ony way," said her husband, folding up the summonses,
and putting them carefully into his breeches-pocket. "Since it has
come to this, we'll gie them law for't."
In the spirit and temper of bold defiance expressed in the preceding
colloquy, Mr Callender and his wife awaited the day and hour
appointed for their appearance in the Sheriff-Court at Glasgow. This
day and hour in due time came, and, when it did, it found both
parties, pursuers and defenders, in the awful presence of the judge.
Both the ladies were decked out in their best and grandest attire,
while each of their husbands rejoiced in his Sunday's suit. It was a
great occasion for both parties. On first recognising each other,
the ladies exchanged looks which were truly edifying to behold. Mrs
Anderson's was that of calm, dignified triumph; and which, if
translated into her own vernacular, would have said, "My word, lass,
but ye'll fin' whar ye are noo." Mrs Calender's, again, was that of
bold defiance, and told of a spirit that was unconquerable--game to
the last being the most strongly marked and leading expression, at
this interesting moment, of her majestic countenance. Close beside
where Mrs Anderson sat, and evidently under her charge, there stood
an object which, from the oddness of its appearing in its present
situation, attracted a good deal of notice, and excited some
speculation amongst those present in the Court, and which
particularly interested Mrs Callender and her worthy spouse. This
was a hamper--a very large one. People wondered what could be in it,
and for what purpose it was there. They could solve neither of these
problems; but the reader can, we dare say. He will at once
conjecture--and, if he does so, he will conjecture rightly--that the
hamper in question contained the remains of the smashables spoken of
formerly at some length, and that it was to be produced in Court, by
the pursuers, as evidence of the nature and extent of the damage done.
The original idea of bringing forward this article, for the purpose
mentioned, was Mrs Anderson's; and, having been approved of by her
husband, it had been that morning carted to the Courthouse, and
thereafter carried to and deposited in its present situation by the
united exertions of the pursuers, who relied greatly on the effect it
would produce when its lid should be thrown open, and the melancholy
spectacle of demolished crockery it concealed exhibited.
The case of Mr and Mrs Anderson _versus_ Mr and Mrs Callender being
pretty far down in the roll, it was nearly two hours before it was
called. This event, however, at length took place. The names of the
pursuers and defenders resounded through the courtroom, in the slow,
drawling, nasal-toned voice of the crier. Mrs Anderson, escorted by
her loving spouse, sailed up the middle of the apartment, and placed
herself before the judge. With no less dignity of manner, and with,
at least, an equal stateliness of step, Mrs Callender, accompanied by
her lord and master, sailed up after her, and took her place a little
to one side. The parties bong thus arranged, proceedings commenced.
Mrs Anderson was asked to state her case. Mrs Anderson was not slow
to accept the invitation. She at once began:--
"Ye see, my Lord, sir, the matter was just this--and I daur _her_
there" (a look of intense defiance at Mrs Callender) "to deny a word,
my Lord, sir, o' what I'm gaun to say; although. I daur say she wad
do't if she could."
"My good woman," here, interposed the judge, who had a nervous
apprehension of the forensic eloquence of such female pleaders as the
one now before him, "will you have the goodness to confine yourself
strictly to a simple statement of your case?"
"Weel, my Lord, sir, I will. Ye see, then, the matter is just this."
And Mrs Anderson forthwith proceeded to detail the particulars of the
quarrel and subsequent encounter, with a minuteness and
circumstantiality which, we fear, the reader would think rather
tedious were we here to repeat. In this statement of her case, Mrs
Anderson, having the fear of her husband's presence before her eyes,
made no allusion whatever to the nightcaps, but rested the whole
quarrel on the jelly pot. Now, this was a circumstance which Mrs
Callender noted, and of which she, on the instant, determined to take
a desperate advantage. Regardless of all consequences, and, amongst
the rest, of discovering to her husband the underhand part she had
been playing in regard to the affair of the nightcap, she resolved on
publicly exposing, as she imagined, the falsehood and pride of her
hated rival, by stating the facts of the case as to the celebrated
nightcaps. To this revenge she determined on sacrificing every other
consideration. To return, however, in the meantime, to the
proceedings in Court.
The statements of the pursuers being now exhausted, the defenders
were called upon to give their version of the story. On this
summons, both Mrs Callender and her husband pressed themselves into a
central position, with the apparent intention of both entering on the
defence at the same time. And this proved to be the fact. On being
specially and directly invited by the judge to open the case--
"Ye see, my Lord," began _Mr_ Thomas Callender; "and--"
"My Lord, sir, ye see," began, at the same instant _Mrs_ Thomas
Callender.
"Now, now," here interposed the judge, waving his hand impatiently,
"one at a time, if you please. One at a time."
"Surely," replied Mr Callender. "Staun aside, guidwife, staun
aside," he said; at the same time gently pushing his wife back with
his left hand as he spoke. "_I'll_ lay doon the case to his
Lordship."
"Ye'll do nae sic a thing, Tammas, _I'll_ do't," exclaimed Mrs
Callender, not only resisting her husband's attempt to thrust her
into the rear, but forcibly placing _him_ in that relative position;
while she herself advanced a pace or two nearer to the bench. On
gaining this vantage ground, Mrs Callender at once began, and with
great emphasis and circumstantiality detailed the whole story of the
nightcaps; carefully modelling it so, however, as to show that her
own part in the transaction was a _bonâ fide_ proceeding; on the part
of her rival, the reverse; and that the whole quarrel, with its
consequent demolition of crockery, was entirely the result of Mrs
Anderson's "upsettin pride, and vanity, and jealousy." During the
delivery of these details, the Court was convulsed with laughter, in
which the Sheriff himself had much difficulty to refrain from joining.
On the husbands of the two women, however, they had a very different
effect. Amazed, confounded, and grievously affronted at this
unexpected disclosure of the ridiculous part they had been made to
perform by their respective wives, they both sneaked out of Court,
amidst renewed peals of laughter, leaving the latter to finish the
case the best way they could. How this was effected we know not, as
at this point ends our story of the Rival Nightcaps.
THE STORY OF CLARA DOUGLAS.
BY WALTER LOGAN.
"The maid that loves,
Goes out to sea upon a shattered plank,
And puts her trust in miracles for safety."--_Old Play._