hasna been in't for a gey while, and winna be in't for a guid while
langer; and sae ye may tell them that sent ye."
Saying this, she passed into the house; and by doing so, would have
put an end to all further conference.
But Willie was not to be thus baffled in his object. Changing his
tactics from the imperative to the wheedling, in which last he
believed himself to be exceedingly dexterous--
"Mistress--I say, Mistress," he shouted, in a loud, but coaxing tone;
"speak a word, woman--just a word or two. Ye maybe winna fare the
waur o't."
Whether it was the hint conveyed in the last clause of Willie's
address, or that the old woman felt some curiosity to hear what so
urgent a visitor had to say, she returned to the door, where,
standing fast, and looking across the courtyard at Willie, whose sly
though simple-looking face was pressed against the iron bars of the
outer gate, she replied to him with a--
"Weel, man, what is't ye want?"
"Tuts, woman, come across--come across," said Willie, wagging her
towards him with his forefinger. "I canna be roarin' out what I hae
to say to ye a' that distance. I might as weel cry it oot at the
cross. See, there's something to bring ye a wee nearer."
And he held out several small silver coin through the bars of the
gate. The production of the cash had the desired effect. The old
woman, who was lame, and who walked by the aid of a short thick stick
with a crooked head, hobbled towards him, and, having accepted the
proffered coin, again asked, though with much more civility than
before, what it was he wanted?
"Tuts, woman, open the yett," said Willie in his cagiest manner, "and
I'll 'ell ye a' aboot it. It's hardly ceevil to be keeping a body
speakin' this way wi' his nose thrust through atwixt twa cauld bars
o' airn, like a rattin atween a pair o' tangs."
"Some folks are safest that way. though," replied the old woman,
with something like an attempt at a laugh. "Bars o' airn are amang
the best freens we hae sometimes. But as ye seem a civil sort o' a
chiel, after a', I'll let ye in, although I dinna see what ye'll be
the better o' that."
So saying, she took a large iron key from her girdle, inserted it in
the lock, and in the next moment the gate grated on its hinges;
yielding partly to the pressure of Willie from without, and partly to
the co-operative efforts of the old woman from within.
"Noo," said Willie, on gaining the interior of the courtyard--"Noo,"
he said, affecting his most coaxing manner, "you and me'll hae a bit
crack thegither, guidwife."
And, sitting down on a stone bench that ran along the front of the
house, he motioned to the old lady to take a seat beside him, which
she did.
"I understand, guidwife," began Willie, who meant to be very cunning
in his mode of procedure, "that she's just an uncommon bonny leddy
your mistress; just wonderfu'."
"Whaever tell't ye that, didna misinform ye," replied the old woman
drily.
"And has mints o' siller?" rejoined Mr Buchanan.
"No ill aff in that way either," said the old woman.
"But it's her beauty--it's her extraordinar beauty--that's the
wonder, and that I hear everybody speakin' aboot," said Willie. "I
wad gie the price o' sax fat hens to see her. Could ye no get me a
glisk o' her ony way, just for ae minute?"
"Didna I tell ye before that she's no at hame?" said the old dame,
threatening again to get restive on Willie's hands.
"Od, so ye did; I forgot," said Mr Buchanan, affecting obliviousness
of the fact. "Whaur may she be noo?" he added in his simplest and
_couthiest_ manner.
"Wad ye like token?" replied the old, lady with a satirical sneer.
"'Deed wad I; and there's mae than me wad like to ken," replied
Willie; "and them that wad pay handsomely for the information."
"Really," said the old dame, with a continuation of the same sneer,
and long ere this guessing what Willie was driving at. "And wha may
they be noo, if I may speer?"
"They're gey kenspeckled," replied Mr Buchanan; "but that doesna
matter. If ye canna, or winna tell me whaur Mistress Craig is, could
ye no gie's a bit inklin' o' whan ye expect her hame?"
"No; but I'll gie ye a bit inklin' o' whan ye'll walk out o' this,"
said the old woman, rising angrily from her seat; "and that's this
minute, or I'll set the dug on ye. Hisk, hisk--Teeger, Teeger!"
And a huge black dog came bouncing out of the house, and took up a
position right in front of Willie; wagging his tail, as if in
anticipation of a handsome treat in the way of worrying that worthy.
"Gude sake, woman," said Willie, rising in great alarm from his seat,
and edging towards the outer gate--"What's a' this for? Ye wadna set
that brute on a Christian cratur, wad ye?"
"Wadna I? Ye'd better no try me, frien', but troop aff wi' ye.
Teeger," she added, with a significant look. The dog understood it,
and, springing on Willie, seized him by one of the skirts of his
coat, which, with one powerful tug, he at once separated from the
body.
Pressed closely upon by both the dog and his mistress, Willie
keeping, however, his face to the foe, now retreated towards the
gate, when, just at the moment of his making his exit, the old lady,
raising her staff, hit him a parting blow, which, taking effect on
the bridge of his nose, immediately enlarged the dimensions of that
organ, besides drawing forth a copious stream of claret. In the next
instant the gate was shut and locked in the sufferer's face.
"Confound ye, ye auld limmer," shouted Willie furiously, and shaking
his fist through the bars of the gate as he spoke, "if I had ye here
on the outside o' the yett, as ye're in the in, if I wadna baste the
auld hide o' ye. But my name's no Willie Buchanan if I dinna gar ye
rue this job yet, some way or anither."
To these objurgations of the discomfited messenger the old lady
deigned no word of answer, but merely shaking her head, and indulging
in a pretty broad smile of satisfaction, hobbled into the house,
followed by Tiger, wagging his tail, as much as to say, "I think
we've given yon fellow a fright, mistress."
Distracted with indignation and resentment, Willie hastened back to
the castle, and, too much excited to think of his outward appearance,
hurried into the royal presence with his skirtless coat and
disfigured countenance. which he had by no means improved by sundry
wipes with the sleeve of his coat. On Willie making his appearance
in this guise, the merry monarch looked at him for an instant in
silent amazement, then burst into an incontrollable fit of laughter,
which the grave, serious look of Willie showed he by no means
relished. There was even a slight expression of resentment in the
manner in which the maltreated messenger bore the merry reception of
his light-hearted master.
"Willie, man," at length said James, when his mirth had somewhat
subsided, "what's this has happened thee? Where gottest thou that
enormous nose, man?"
"Feth, your Majesty, it may be a joke to you, but it's unco little o'
ane to me," replied Willie, whose confidential duties and familiar
intercourse with his royal master had led him to assume a freedom of
speech which was permitted to no other, and which no other would have
dared to attempt.
"I hae gotten sic a worryin' the day," he continued, "as I never got
in my life before. Between dugs and auld wives, I hae had a bonny
time o't. Worried by the tane and smashed by the tither, as my nose
and my coat-tails bear witness."
"Explain yourself, Willie. What does all this mean?" exclaimed
James, again laughing.
Willie told his story, finishing with the information that the bird
was flown--meaning Jessie Craig. "Aff and awa, naebody kens, or 'll
tell whaur."
"Off--away?" exclaimed the king, with an air of mingled
disappointment and surprise. "Very odd," he added, musingly; "and
most particularly unlucky. But we shall wait on a day or two, and
she will probably reappear in that time; or we may find out where she
has gone to."
On the day following that on which the incidents just related
occurred, the curiosity of the good people in the neighbourhood of
the late Mr Craig's house in Rottenrow was a good deal excited by
seeing a person in the dress of a gentleman hovering about the
residence just alluded to.
Anon he would walk to and fro in front of the house, looking
earnestly towards the windows. Now he would descend the Deanside
Brae, and do the same by those behind. Again he would return to the
front of the mansion, and taking up his station on the opposite side
of the street, would resume his scrutiny of the windows.
The stranger was thus employed, when he was startled by the
appearance of some one advancing towards him, whom, it was evident,
he would fain have avoided if he could. But it was too late. There
was no escape. So, assuming an air of as much composure and
indifference as he could, he awaited the approach of the unwelcome
intruder. This person was Sir Robert Lindsay.
Coming up to the stranger with a respectful air, and with an
expression of countenance as free from all consciousness as that
which had been assumed by the former--
"I hope your Grace is well?" he said, bowing profoundly as he spoke.
"Thank you, Provost--thank you," replied James; for we need hardly
say it was he.
"Your Grace has doubtless come hither," said the former gravely, "to
enjoy the delightful view which this eminence commands.
"The precise purpose, Sir Robert," replied James, recovering a little
from the embarrassment which, after all his efforts, he could not
entirely conceal. "The view is truly a fine one, Provost," continued
the king. "I had no idea that your good city could boast of anything
so fair in the way of landscape. Our city of Edinburgh hath more
romantic points about it; but for calm and tranquil beauty, methinks
it hath nothing superior to the scene commanded by this eminence."
"There are some particular localities on the ridge of the hill here,
however," said Sir Robert, "that exhibit the landscape to much better
advantage than others, and to which, taking it for granted that your
Grace is not over familiar with the ground, it will afford me much
pleasure to conduct you."
"Ah! thank you, good Sir Robert--thank you," replied James. "But
some other day, if you please. The little spare time I had on my
hands is about exhausted, so that I must return to the castle. I
have, as you know, Sir Robert, to give audience to some of your
worthy councillors, who intend honouring me with a visit.
"Amongst the number I will expect to see yourself, Sir Robert." And
James, after politely returning the loyal obeisance of the Provost,
hurried away towards the castle.
On his departure, the latter stood for a moment, and looked after him
with a smile of peculiar intelligence; then muttered, as he also left
the spot--
"Well do I know what it was brought your Grace to this quarter of the
town; and knowing this, I know it was for anything but the sake of
its view. Fair maidens have more attractions in your eyes than all
the views between this and John o' Groat's. But I have taken care
that your pursuit in the present instance will avail thee little."
And the good Provost went on his way.
For eight entire days after this did James wait in Glasgow for the
return of Jessie Craig; but he waited in vain. Neither in that time
could he learn anything whatever of the place of her sojournment.
His patience at length exhausted, he determined on giving up the
pursuit for the time at any rate, and on quitting the city.
The king, as elsewhere casually mentioned, had come last from
Bothwell Castle. It was now his intention to proceed to Stirling,
where he proposed stopping for two or three weeks; thence to
Linlithgow, and thereafter returning to Edinburgh.
The purpose of James to make this round having reached the ears of a
certain Sir James Crawford of Netherton, whose house and estate lay
about half-way between Glasgow and Stirling, that gentleman sent a
respectful message to James, through Sir Robert Lindsay, to the
effect that he would feel much gratified if his Grace would deign to
honour his poor house of Netherton with a visit in passing, and
accept for himself and followers such refreshment as he could put
before them.
To this message James returned a gracious answer, saying that he
would have much pleasure in accepting the invitation so kindly sent
him, and naming the day and hour when he would put the inviter's
hospitality to the test.
Faithful to his promise, the king and his retinue, amongst whom was
now Sir Robert Lindsay, who had been included in the invitation,
presented themselves at Netherton gate about noon on the day that had
been named.
They were received with all honour by the proprietor, a young man of
prepossessing appearance, graceful manners, and frank address.
On the king and gentlemen of his train entering the house, they were
ushered into a large banqueting ball, where was an ample table spread
with the choicest edibles, and glittering with the silver goblets and
flagons that stood around it in thick array. Everything, in short,
betokened at once the loyalty and great wealth of the royal party's
entertainer.
The king and his followers having taken their places at table, the
fullest measure of justice was quickly done to the good things with
which it was spread. James was in high spirits, and talked and
rattled away with as much glee and as entire an absence of all kingly
reserve as the humblest good fellow in his train.
Encouraged by the affability of the king, and catching his humour,
the whole party gave way to the most unrestrained mirth. The joke
and the jest went merrily round with the wine flagon; and he was for
a time the best man who could start the most jocund theme.
It was while this spirit prevailed that Sir Robert Lindsay, after
making a private signal to Sir James Crawford, which had the effect
of causing him to quit the apartment on pretence of looking for
something he wanted, addressing the king, said--
"May I take the liberty of asking your Grace if you have seen any
particularly fair maidens in the course of your present
peregrinations? I know your Grace has a good taste in these matters."
James coloured a little at this question and the remark which
accompanied it but quickly regaining his self-possession and
good-humour--
"No, Sir Robert," he said laughingly, "I cannot say that I have been
so fortunate on the present occasion. As to the commendation which
you have been pleased to bestow on my taste, I thank you, and am glad
it meets with your approbation."
"Yet, your Grace," continued Sir Robert, "excellent judge as I know
you to be of female beauty, I deem myself, old and staid as I am,
your Grace's equal, craving your Grace's pardon; and, to prove this,
will take a bet with your Grace of a good round sum, that you have
never seen, and do not know, a more beautiful woman than the lady of
our present host."
"Take care, Provost," replied James. "Make no rash bets. I know the
most beautiful maiden the sun ever shone upon. But it would be
ungallant and ungracious to make the lady of our good host the
subject of such a bet on the present occasion."
"But our host is absent, your Grace," replied the Provost
pertinaciously; "and neither he nor any one else, but your Grace's
friends present, need know anything at all of the matter. Will your
Grace take me up for a thousand merks?"
"But suppose I should," replied James, "how is the thing to be
managed? and who is to decide?"
"Both points are of easy adjustment, your Grace," said Sir Robert.
"Your Grace has only to intimate a wish to our host, when he returns,
that you would feel gratified by his introducing his lady to you; and
as to the matter of decision, I would, with your Grace's permission
and approval, put that into the hands of the gentlemen present. Of
course, nothing need be said of the purpose of this proceeding to
either host or hostess."
"Well, be it so," said James, urged on by the madcaps around him, who
were delighted with the idea of the thing. "Now, then, gentlemen,"
he continued, "the lady on whose beauty I stake my thousand merks is
Jessie Craig, the merchant's daughter of Glasgow, whom, I think, all
of you have seen."
"Ha! my townswoman," exclaimed Sir Robert, with every appearance of
surprise. "On my word, you have made mine a hard task of it; for a
fairer maiden than Jessie Craig may not so readily be found.
Nevertheless, I adhere to the terms of my bet."
The Provost had just done speaking, when Sir James Crawford entered
the apartment, and resumed his seat at table. Shortly after he had
done so, James addressing him said--
"Sir James, it would complete the satisfaction of these gentlemen and
myself with the hospitality you have this day shown us, were you to
afford us an opportunity of paying our respects to your good lady;
that is, if it be perfectly convenient for and agreeable to her."
"Lady Crawford will be but too proud of the honour, your Grace,"
replied Sir James, rising. "She shall attend your Grace presently."
Saying this, the latter again withdrew; and soon after returned,
leading a lady, over whose face hung a long and flowing veil, into
the royal presence.
It would require the painter's art to express adequately the looks of
intense and eager interest with which James and his party gazed on
the veiled beauty, as she entered the apartment and advanced towards
them. Their keen and impatient scrutiny seemed as if it would pierce
the tantalizing obstruction that prevented them seeing those features
on whose beauty so large a sum had been staked. In this state of
annoying suspense, however, they were not long detained. On
approaching within a few paces of the king, and at the moment Sir
James Crawford said, with a respectful obeisance, "My wife, Lady
Crawford, your Grace," she raised her veil, and exhibited to the
astonished monarch and his courtiers a surpassingly beautiful
countenance indeed; but it was that of Jessie Craig.
"A trick! a trick!" exclaimed James, with merry shout, and amidst a
peal of laughter from all present, and in which the fair cause of all
this stir most cordially joined. "A trick, a trick, Provost! a
trick!" repeated James.
"Nay, no trick at all, your Grace, craving your Grace's pardon,"
replied the Provost gravely. "Your Grace betted that Jessie Craig
was mere beautiful than Lady Crawford. Now is it so? I refer the
matter, as agreed upon, to the gentlemen around us."
"Lost! lost!" exclaimed half-a-dozen gallants at once.
"Well, well, gentlemen, since you so decide," said James, "I will
instantly give our good Provost here an order upon our treasurer for
the sum."
"Nay, your Grace, not so fast. The money is as safe in your hands as
mine. Let it there remain till I require it. When I do, I shall not
fail to demand it."
"Be it so, then," said James, when, placing his fair hostess beside
him, and after obtaining a brief explanation--which we will, in the
sequel, give at more length--of the odd circumstance of finding
Jessie Craig converted into Lady Crawford, the mirth and hilarity of
the party were resumed, and continued till pretty far in the
afternoon, when the king and his courtiers took horse,--the former at
parting having presented his hostess with a massive gold chain which
he wore about his neck, in token of his good wishes,--and rode off
for Stirling.
To our tale we have now only to add the two or three explanatory
circumstances above alluded to.
In Sir James Crawford the reader is requested to recognise the young
man who discovered Jessie Craig, then the unknown fair one, by the
side of the fountain in the little elm grove at Woodlands.
Encouraged by and acting on the adage already quoted,--namely, that
"faint heart never won fair lady,"--he followed up his first
accidental interview with the fair fugitive from royal importunity
with an assiduity that in one short week accomplished the wooing and
winning of her.
While the first was in progress, Sir James was informed by the young
lady of the reasons for her concealment. On this and the part Sir
Robert Lindsay had acted towards her being made known to him, he lost
no time in opening a communication with that gentleman, riding
repeatedly into Glasgow himself to see him on the subject of his fair
charge; at the same time informing him of the attachment he had
formed for her, and finally obtaining his consent, or at least
approbation, to their marriage. The bet, we need hardly add, was a
concerted joke between the Provost, Sir James, and his lady.
When we have added that the circumstance of Sir Robert Lindsay's
delay in returning for Jessie Craig, which excited so much surprise
at Woodlands, was owing to the unlooked-for prolongation of the
king's stay in Glasgow, we think we have left nothing unexplained
that stood in need of such aid.
MAY DARLING, THE VILLAGE PRIDE.
BY J. F. SMITH.
It is a lovely spot, Grassyvale--"beautiful exceedingly." But its
beauty is of a quiet, unimposing description; the characteristic
feature of the landscape which would strike the eye of a spectator
who surveyed it from the highest neighbouring eminence, is
simply--repose. There are no mountains, properly so called, within a
circuit of many miles--none of those natural pyramids which, in
various parts of our beloved land of mountain and of flood, of battle
and of song, rise in majestic grandeur, like columns of adamant to
support the vault of heaven. The nearest are situated at such a
distance that they appear like clouds, and might readily be mistaken
for such, but for their deathlike stillness, and the everlasting
monotony of their outline. No waterfalls hurl their bolts of liquid
crystal into dark, frowning, wave-worn chasms, which had echoed to
the thunder of their fall since the birth of time. There is no
far-spreading forest--no yawning ravine, with "ebon shades and
low-browed rocks"--no beetling cliff or precipice, "shagged" with
brushwood, as Milton hath it. There is nothing of the grand, the
sublime, the terrible, or the magnificent--there is only quiet; or,
if the terms do not sound dissonant to "ears polite," modest,
unassuming beauty, such as a rainbow, were it perpetually present in
the zenith, might form a characteristic and appropriate symbol of.
Nature has not here wrought her miracles of beauty on a Titanic
scale. What, then, is so attractive about Grassyvale? it will be
asked. We are not sure but we may be as much stultified with this
question, as was the child in Wordsworth's sweet little poem, "We are
seven" (which the reader may turn up at leisure, when the propriety
of the comparison will be seen), and may be forced, after an
unsuccessful attempt to justify ourselves for holding such an
opinion, to maintain, with the same dogmatic obstinacy--it is
beautiful. But the length of our story compels us to exclude a
description of the landscape, which we had prepared.
* * * *
The village of Grassyvale, which is situated on the margin of a small
stream, consists of about one hundred scattered cottages, all neatly
whitewashed, and most of them adorned in front with some flowering
shrub--wild brier, honeysuckle, or the like--whilst a "kail-yard" in
the rear constitutes no inappropriate appendage. There is one of
those dwellings conspicuous from the rest by its standing apart from
them, and by an additional air of comfort and neatness which it
wears, and which seems to hallow it like a radiant atmosphere. It is
literally covered with a network of ivy, honeysuckle, and jasmine,
the deep green of whose unvarnished leaf renders more conspicuous
"the bright profusion of its scattered stars." The windows are
literally darkened by a multitude of roses, which seem clustering and
crowding together to gain an entrance, and scatter their "perfumed
sweets" around the apartment. Near the cottage, there is also a
holly planted--that evergreen tree which seems providentially
designed by nature to cheer the dreariness of winter, and, when all
is withered and desolate around, to remain a perpetual promise of
spring. But we have more to do with this beautiful little dwelling
than merely to describe its exterior.