Dreepdaily is a beautiful little town, embosomed in an amphitheatre of
hills which have such a winning way with the clouds that the summits are
seldom visible. Dreepdaily, if situated in Arabia, would be deemed a
Paradise. All round it the vegetation is long, and lithe, and luxuriant;
the trees keep their verdure late; and the rush of the nettles is amazing.
How the inhabitants contrive to live, is to me a matter of mystery. There
is no particular trade or calling exercised in the place--no busy hum of
artisans, or clanking of hammer or machinery. Round the suburbs, indeed,
there are rows of mean-looking cottages, each with its strapping lass in
the national short gown at the door, from the interior of which resounds
the boom of the weaver's shuttle. There is also one factory at a little
distance; but when you reach the town itself, all is supereminently
silent. In fine weather, crowds of urchins of both sexes are seen sunning
themselves on the quaint-looking flights of steps by which the doors,
usually on the second story, are approached; and as you survey the swarms
of bare-legged and flaxen-haired infantry, you cannot help wondering in
your heart what has become of the adult population. It is only towards
evening that the seniors appear. Then you may find them either congregated
on the bridge discussing politics and polemics, or lounging in the little
square in affectionate vicinity to the public-house, or leaning over the
windows in their shirt-sleeves, in the tranquil enjoyment of a pipe. In
short, the cares and the bustle of the world, even in this railroad age,
seem to have fallen lightly on the pacific burghers of Dreepdaily.
According to their own account, the town was once a peculiar favourite of
royalty. It boasts of a charter from King David the First, and there is an
old ruin in the neighbourhood which is said to have been a palace of that
redoubted monarch. It may be so, for there is no accounting for
constitutions; but had I been King David, I certainly should have
preferred, a place where the younger branches of the family would have
been less liable to the accident of catarrh.
Dreepdaily, in the olden time, was among the closest of all the burghs.
Its representation had a fixed price, which was always rigorously exacted
and punctually paid; and for half a year thereafter, the corporation made
merry thereon. The Reform Bill, therefore, was by no means popular in the
council. A number of discontented Radicals and of small householders, who
hitherto had been excluded from participation in the good things of the
state, now got upon the roll, and seemed determined for a time to carry
matters with a high hand, and to return a member of their own. And
doubtless they would have succeeded, had not the same spirit been abroad
in the sister burghs of Drouthielaw and Kittleweem, which, for some
especial reason or other, known doubtless to Lord John Russell, but
utterly unintelligible to the rest of mankind, were, though situated in
different counties, associated with Dreepdaily in the return of their
future member. Each of these places had a separate interest, and started a
separate man; so that, amidst this conflict of Liberalism, the old member
for Dreepdaily, a Conservative, again slipped into his place. The
consequence was, that the three burghs were involved in a desperate feud.
In these days there lived in Dreepdaily one Laurence Linklater, more
commonly known by the name of Tod Lowrie, who exercised the respectable
functions of a writer and a messenger-at-arms. Lowrie was a remarkably
acute individual, of the Gilbert Glossin school, by no means scrupulous in
his dealings, but of singular plausibility and courage. He had started in
life as a Radical, but finding that that line did not pay well, he had
prudently subsided into a Whig, and in that capacity had acquired a sort
of local notoriety. He had contrived, moreover, to gain a tolerable
footing in Drouthielaw, and in the course of time became intimately
acquainted with the circumstances of its inhabitants, and under the plea
of agency had contrived to worm the greater part of their title-deeds into
his keeping.
It then occurred to Lowrie, that, notwithstanding the discordant situation
of the burghs, something might be done to effect a union under his own
especial chieftainship. Not that he cared in his heart one farthing about
the representation--Tyrian and Trojan were in reality the same to him--but
he saw that the gain of these burghs would be of immense advantage to his
party, and he determined that the advantage should be balanced by a
corresponding profit to himself. Accordingly, he began quietly to look to
the state of the neglected register; lodged objections to all claims given
in by parties upon whom he could not depend; smuggled a sufficient number
of his own clients and adherents upon the roll, and in the course of three
years, was able to intimate to an eminent Whig partisan, that he, Laurence
Linklater, held in his own hands the representation of the Dreepdaily
Burghs, could turn the election either way he pleased, and was open to
reasonable terms.
The result was, that Mr Linklater was promoted to a very lucrative county
office, and moreover, that the whole patronage of the district was
thereafter observed to flow through the Laurentian channel. Of course all
those who could claim kith or kindred with Lowrie were provided for in the
first instance; but there were stray crumbs still going, and in no one
case could even a gaugership be obtained without the adhesion of an
additional vote. Either the applicant must be ready to sell his
independence, or, if that were done already, to pervert the politics of a
relative. A Whig member was returned at the next election by an immense
majority; and for some time Linklater reigned supreme in the government of
Dreepdaily and Drouthielaw.
But death, which spares no governors, knocked at the door of Linklater. A
surfeit of partan-pie, after the triumphant termination of a law-suit,
threw the burghs into a state of anarchy. Lowrie was gathered unto his
fathers, and there was no one to reign in his stead.
At least there was no apparent ruler. Every one observed, that the stream
of patronage and of local jobbing still flowed on as copiously as before,
but nobody could discover by what hands it was now directed. Suspicion
fastened its eyes for some time upon Provost Binkie; but the vehement
denials of that gentleman, though not in themselves conclusive, at last
gained credence from the fact that a situation which he had solicited from
Government for his nephew was given to another person. Awful rumours began
to circulate of the existence of a secret junta. Each man regarded his
neighbour with intense suspicion and distrust, because, for any thing he
knew, that neighbour might be a member of the terrible tribunal, by means
of which all the affairs of the community were regulated, and a single
ill-timed word might absolutely prove his ruin. Such, indeed, in one
instance was the case. In an evil hour for himself, an independent
town-councillor thought fit to denounce the Clique, as an unconstitutional
and tyrannical body, and to table a motion for an inquiry as to its
nature, members, and proceedings. So strong was the general alarm that he
could not even find a seconder. But the matter did not stop there. The
rash meddler had drawn upon himself the vengeance of a remorseless foe.
His business began to fall off; rumours of the most malignant description
were circulated regarding his character; two of his relatives who held
situations were dismissed without warning and without apology; his credit
was assailed in every quarter; and in less than six months after he had
made that most unfortunate, harangue, the name of Thomas Gritt, baker in
Dreepdaily, was seen to figure in the Gazette. So fell Gritt a martyr, and
if any one mourned for him, it was in secret, and the profoundest awe.
Such was the political state of matters, at the time when I rode down the
principal street of Dreepdaily. I need hardly say that I did not know a
single soul in the burgh; in that respect, indeed, there was entire
reciprocity on both sides, for the requisition referred to in my address
was a felicitous fiction by M'Corkindale. I stopped before a substantial
bluff-looking house, the lower part of which was occupied as a shop, and a
scroll above informed me that the proprietor was Walter Binkie, grocer.
A short squat man, with an oleaginous face and remarkably bushy eyebrows,
was in the act of weighing out a pennyworth of "sweeties" to a little girl
as I entered.
"Is the Provost of Dreepdaily within?" asked I.
"I'se warrant he's that," was the reply; "Hae, my dear, there's a sugar
almond t'ye into the bargain. Gae your waus hame noo, and tell your mither
that I've some grand new tea. Weel, sir, what was you wanting?"
"I wish particularly to speak to the Provost."
"Weel then, speak awa'," and he straightway squatted himself before his
ledger.
"I beg your pardon, sir! Have I really the honour of addressing--;"
"Walter Binkie, the Provost of this burgh. But if ye come on Council
matters, ye're lang ahint the hour. I'm just steppin' up to denner, and I
never do business after that."
"But perhaps you will allow me--"
"I will allow nae man, sir, to interrupt my leisure. If ye're wanting ony
thing, gang to the Town Clerk."
"Permit me one moment--my name is Dunshunner."
"Eh, what!" cried the Provost, bounding from his stool, "speak lower or
the lad will hear ye. Are ye the gentleman that's stannin' for the
burrows?"
"The same."
"Lord-sake! what for did ye no say that afore? Jims! I say, Jims! Look
after the shop! Come this way, sir, up the stair, and take care ye dinna
stumble on that toom cask o' saut."
I followed the Provost up a kind of corkscrew stair, until we emerged upon
a landing-place in his own proper domicile. We entered the dining room. It
was showily furnished; with an enormous urn of paper roses in the grate,
two stuffed parroquets upon the mantel-piece, a flamingo coloured carpet,
enormous worsted bell-pulls, and a couple of portraits by some peripatetic
follower of Vandyke, one of them representing the Provost in his civic
costume, and the other bearing some likeness to a fat female in a turban,
with a Cairngorm brooch about the size of a platter on her breast, and no
want of carmine on the space dedicated to the cheeks.
The Provost locked the door, and then clapped his ear to the key-hole. He
next approached the window, drew down the blinds so as effectually to
prevent any opposite scrutiny, and motioned me to a seat.
"And so ye're Mr Dunshunner?" said he. "Oh man, but I've been wearyin' to
see you!"
"Indeed! you flatter me very much."
"Nae flattery, Mr Dunshunner--name! I'm a plain honest man, that's a',
and naebody can say that Wattie Binkie, has blawn in their lug. And sae
ye're comin forrard for the burrows? It's a bauld thing, sir--a bauld
thing, and a great honour ye seek. No that I think ye winna do honour to
it, but it's a great trust for sae young a man; a heavy responsibility, as
a body may say, to hang upon a callant's shouthers."
"I hope, Mr Binkie, that my future conduct may show that I can at least
act up to my professions."
"Nae doubt, sir--I'm no misdoubtin' ye, and to say the truth ye profess
weel. I've read yer address, sir, and I like yer principles--they're the
stench auld Whig anes--keep a' we can to ourselves, and haud a gude grup.
But wha's bringing ye forrard? Wha signed yer requisition? No the
Kittleweem folk, I hope?--That wad be a sair thing against ye."
"Why, no--certainly not. The fact is, Mr Binkie, that I have not seen the
requisition. Its contents were communicated by a third party, on whom I
have the most perfect reliance; and, as I understood there was some
delicacy in the matter, I did not think it proper to insist upon a sight
of the signatures."
The Provost gave a long whistle.
"I see it noo!" he said, "I see it! I ken't there was something gaun on
forbye the common. Ye're a lucky man, Mr Dunshunner, and ye're election is
as sure as won. Ye've been spoken to by them ye ken o'!"
"Upon my word--I do not understand--"
"Ay--ay! Ye're richt to be cautious. Weel I wat they are kittle cattle to
ride the water on. But wha was't, sir,--wha was't? Ye needna be feared of
me. I ken how to keep a secret."
"Really, Mr Binkie, except through a third party, as I have told you
already I have had no communication with any one."
"Weel--they _are_ close--there's nae denyin' that. But ye surely maun hae
some inkling o' the men--Them that's ahint the screen, ye ken?"
"Indeed, I have not. But stay--if you allude to the Clique----"
"Wheest, sir, wheest!" cried the Provost in an agitated tone of voice.
"Gudesake, tak care what ye say--ye dinna ken wha may hear ye. Ye hae
spoken a word that I havena heard this mony a day without shaking in my
shoon. Ay speak ceevily o' the dell--ye dinna ken how weel ye may be
acquaunt!"
"Surely, sir, there can be no harm in mentioning the----"
"No under that name, Mr Dunshunner--no under that name, and no here. I
wadna ca' them that on the tap of Ben-Nevis without a grue. Ay--and sae
THEY are wi' ye, are they? Weel, they are a queer set!"
"You know the parties then, Mr Binkie?"
"I ken nae mair aboot them than I ken whaur to find the caverns o' the
east wind. Whether they are three or thretty or a hunder surpasses my
knowledge, but they hae got the secret o' the fern seed and walk about
invisible. It is a'thegether a great mystery, but doubtless ye will obtain
a glimpse. In the mean time, since ye come from that quarter, I am bound
to obey."
"You are very kind, I am sure, Mr Binkie. May I ask then your opinion of
matters as they stand at present?"
"Our present member, Mr Whistlerigg, will no stand again. He's got some
place or ither up in London; and, my certie, he's worked weel for it!
There's naebody else stannin' forbye that man Pozzlethaite, and he disna
verra weel ken what he is himsel'. If it's a' richt yonder," continued the
Provost, jerking his thumb over his left shoulder, "ye're as gude as
elected."
As it would have been extremely impolitic for me under present
circumstances to have disclaimed all connection with a body which
exercised an influence so marked and decided, I allowed Provost Binkie to
remain under the illusion that I was the chosen candidate of the Clique.
In fact I had made up my mind that I should become so at any cost, so soon
as it vouchsafed to disclose itself and appear before my longing eyes. I
therefore launched at once into practical details, in the discussion of
which the Provost exhibited both shrewdness and good-will. He professed
his readiness at once to become chairman of my committee, drew out a list
of the most influential persons in the burgh to whom I ought immediately
to apply, and gave me much information regarding the politics of the other
places. From what he said, I gathered that, with the aid of the Clique, I
was sure of Dreepdaily and Drouthielaw--as to the electors of Kittleweem,
they were, in his opinion, "a wheen dirt," whom it would be useless to
consult, and hopeless to conciliate. I certainly had no previous idea that
the bulk of the electors had so little to say in the choice of their own
representative. When I ventured to hint at the remote possibility of a
revolt, the Provost indignantly exclaimed--
"They daurna, sir--they daurna for the lives of them do it! Set them up
indeed! Let me see ony man that wad venture to vote against the Town
Council and the--and _them_, and I'll make a clean sweep of him out of
Dreepdaily!"
Nothing in short could have been more satisfactory than this statement.
Whilst we were conversing together, I heard of a sudden a jingling in the
next apartment, as it some very aged and decrepid harpsichord were being
exorcised into the unusual effort of a tune. I glanced inquiringly to the
door, but the Provost took no notice of my look. In a little time,
however, there was a short preliminary cough, and a female voice of
considerable compass took up the following strain. I remember the words
not more from their singularity, than from the introduction to which they
were the prelude:--
"I heard a wee bird singing clear,
In the tight, tight month o' June--
'What garr'd ye buy when stocks were high,
And sell when shares were doun?
'Gin ye hae play'd me fause, my luve,
In simmer 'mang the rain;
When siller's scant and scarce at Yule
I'll pay ye back again!
'O bonny were the Midland Halves,
When credit was sae free!--
But wae betide the Southron loon
That sold thae Halves to me!'"
I declare, upon the word of a Railway Director, that I was never more
taken aback in my life. Attached as I have been from youth to the Scottish
ballad poetry, I never yet had heard a ditty of this peculiar stamp, which
struck me as a happy combination of tender fancy with the sterner
realities of the Exchange. Provost Binkie smiled as he remarked my
amazement.
"It's only my daughter Maggie, Mr Dunshunner," he said. "Puir thing! It's
little she has here to amuse her, and sae she whiles writes thae kind o'
sangs hersel'. She's weel up to the railroads, for ye ken I was an auld
Glenmutchkin holder."
"Indeed! Was that song Miss Binkie's own composition?" asked I, with
considerable interest.
"Atweel it is that, and mair too. Maggie, haud your skirling!--ye're
interrupting me and the gentleman."
"I beg, on no account, Mr Binkie, that I may be allowed to interfere with
your daughter's amusement. Indeed it is full time that I were betaking
myself to the hotel, unless you will honour me so far as to introduce me
to Miss Binkie."
"Deil a bit o' you gangs to the hotel to-night!" replied the hospitable
Provost. "You bide where you are to denner and bed, and we'll hae a
comfortable crack over matters in the evening. Maggie! come ben, lass, and
speak to Mr Dunshunner."
Miss Binkie, who I am strongly of opinion was all the while conscious of
the presence of a stranger, now entered from the adjoining room. She was
really a pretty girl; tall, with lively sparkling eyes and a profusion of
dark hair, which she wore in the somewhat exploded shape of ringlets. I
was not prepared for such an apparition, and I daresay blushed as I paid
my compliments.
Margaret Binkie, however, had no sort of _mauvaise honte_ about her. She
had received her final polish in a Glasgow boarding-school, and did
decided credit to the seminary in which the operation had been performed.
At all events she was the reverse of shy, for in less than a quarter of an
hour we were rattling away as though we had been acquainted from
childhood; and, to say the truth, I found myself getting into something
like a strong flirtation. Old Binkie grinned a delighted smile, and went
out to superintend the decanting of a bottle of port.
I need not, I think, expatiate upon the dinner which followed. The
hotch-potch was unexceptionable, the salmon curdy, and the lamb roasted
without a fault; and if the red-armed Hebe who attended was somewhat
awkward in her motions, she was at least zealous to a degree. The Provost
got into high feather, and kept plying me perpetually with wine. When the
cloth was removed, he drank with all formality to my success; and, as
Margaret Binkie, with a laugh, did due honour to the toast, I could not do
less than indulge in a little flight of fancy as I proposed the ladies,
and, in connexion with them, the Flower of Dreepdaily--a sentiment which
was acknowledged with a blush.
After Miss Binkie retired, the Provost grew more and more convivial. He
would not enter into business, but regaled me with numerous anecdotes of
his past exploits, and of the lives and conversation of his compatriots in
the Town Council--some of whom appeared, from his description, to be very
facetious individuals indeed. More particularly, he dwelt upon the good
qualities and importance of a certain Mr Thomas Gills, better known to his
friends and kinsfolk by the _sobriquet_ of Toddy Tam, and recommended me
by all means to cultivate the acquaintance of that personage. But, however
otherwise loquacious, nothing would persuade the Provost to launch out
upon the subject of the Clique. He really seemed to entertain as profound
a terror of that body as ever Huguenot did of the Inquisition, and he cut
me short at last by ejaculating--
"Sae nae mair on't, Mr Dunshunner--sae nae mair on't! It's ill talking on
thae things. Ye dinna ken what the Clique is, nor whaur it is. But this I
ken, that they are every where and a' aboot us; they hear every thing that
passes in this house, and I whiles suspect that Mysie, the servant lass,
is naething else than ane o' them in petticoats!"
More than this I could not elicit. After we had finished a considerable
quantum of port, we adjourned to the drawing-room, and, tea over, Miss
Binkie sang to me several of her own songs, whilst the Provost snored upon
the sofa. Both the songs and the singer were clever, the situation was
interesting, and, somehow or other, I found my fingers more than once in
contact with Maggie's, as I turned over the leaves of the music.
At last the Provost rose, with a stertoracious grunt. I thought this might
be the signal for retiring to rest; but such were not the habits of
Dreepdaily. Salt herrings and finnan haddocks were produced along with the
hot water and accompaniments; and I presume it was rather late before my
host conducted me to my chamber. If I dreamed at all that night, it must
have been of Margaret Binkie.