I never ascertained the exact amount of the sum which Tom handed over to
the Bailie. It must, however, have been considerable, for he took to
retrenching his expenditure, and never once dropped a hint about the ten
pounds which I was so singularly verdant as to lend him. The summer
session stole away as quickly as its predecessors, though not, in so far
as I was concerned, quite as unprofitably, for I got a couple of
Sheriff-court papers to draw in consequence of my M'Wilkin appearance.
Tom, however, was very low about himself, and affected solitude. He
would not join in any of the strawberry lunches or fish dinners so
attractive to the junior members of the bar; but frequented the
Botanical Gardens, where he might be seen any fine afternoon, stretched
upon the bank beside the pond, concocting sonnets, or inscribing the
name of Dorothea upon the monument dedicated to Linnaeus.
Time, however, stole on. The last man who was going to be married got
his valedictory dinner at the close of session. Gowns were thrown off,
wigs boxed up, and we all dispersed to the country wheresoever our
inclination might lead us. I resolved to devote the earlier part of the
vacation to the discovery of the town of Clackmannan--a place of which I
had often heard, but which no human being whom I ever encountered had
seen. Whaup was not oblivious of his promise, and Strachan clove unto
him like a limpet.
We did not meet again until September was well-nigh over. In common with
Strachan, I had adopted the resolution of changing my circuit, and
henceforth adhering to Glasgow, which, from its superior supply of
criminals, is the favourite resort of our young forensic aspirants. So I
packed my portmanteau, invoked the assistance of Saint Rollox, and
started for the balmy west.
The first man I met in George's Square was my own delightful Thomas. He
looked rather thin; was fearfully sun-burned; had on a pair of canvass
trowsers most wofully bespattered with tar, and evidently had not shaved
for a fortnight.
"Why, Tom, my dear fellow!" cried I, "can this possibly be you? What the
deuce have you been doing with yourself? You look as hairy as Robinson
Crusoe."
"You should see Whaup,--he's rather worse off than Friday. We have just
landed at the Broomielaw, but I was obliged to leave Anthony in a tavern
for fear we should be mobbed in the street. I'm off by the rail to
Edinburgh, to get some decent toggery for us both. Lend me a pound-note,
will you?"
"Certainly--that's eleven, you recollect. But what's the meaning of all
this? Where is the yacht?"
"Safe--under twenty fathoms of dark blue water, at a place they call the
Sneeshanish Islands. Catch me going out again, with Anthony as
steersman!"
"No doubt he is an odd sort of Palinurus. But when did this happen?"
"Ten days ago. We were three days and nights upon the rock, with nothing
to eat except two biscuits, raw mussels and tangle!"
"Mercy on us! and how did you get off?"
"In a kelp-boat from Harris. But I haven't time for explanation just
now. Go down, like a good fellow, to the Broomielaw, No. 431--you will
find Anthony enjoying himself with beef steaks and bottled stout, in the
back parlour of the Cat and Bagpipes. I must refer you to him for the
details."
"One word more--you'll be back to the circuit?"
"Decidedly. To-morrow morning: as soon as I can get my things together."
"And the lady--What news of her?"
The countenance of Strachan fell.
"Ah, my dear friend! I wish you had not touched upon that string--you
have set my whole frame a jarring. No trace of her--none--none! I fear I
shall never see her more!"
"Come! don't be down-hearted. One never can tell what may happen.
Perhaps you may meet her sooner than you think."
"You are a kind-hearted-fellow, Fred. But I've lost all hope. Nothing
but a dreary existence is now before me, and--but, by Jupiter, there
goes the starting bell!"
Tom vanished, like Aubrey's apparition, with a melodious twang, and a
perceptible odour of tar; and so, being determined to expiscate the
matter, I proceeded towards the Broomielaw, and in due time became
master of the locality of the Cat and Bagpipes.
"Is there a Mr Whaup here?" I inquired of Mrs M'Tavish, the landlady,
who was filling a gill-stoup at the bar.
"Here you are, old chap!" cried the hilarious voice of Anthony from an
inner apartment. "Turn to the right, steer clear of the scrubbing
brushes, and help yourself to a mouthful of Guinness."
I obeyed. Heavens, what a figure he was! His trowsers were rent both at
the knees and elsewhere, and were kept together solely by means of
whip-cord. His shirt had evidently not benefited by the removal of the
excise duties upon soap, and was screened from the scrutiny of the
beholder by an extempore paletot, fabricated out of sail-cloth, without
the remotest apology for sleeves.
Anthony, however, looked well in health, and appeared to be in
tremendous spirits.
"Tip us your fin, my old coxs'un!" said he, winking at me over the rim
of an enormous pewter vessel which effectually eclipsed the lower
segment of his visage. "Blessed if I ain't as glad to see you as one of
Mother Carey's chickens in a squall."
"Come, Anthony! leave off your nautical nonsense, and talk like a man of
the world. What on earth have you and Tom Strachan, been after?"
"Nothing on earth, but a good deal on sea, and a trifle on as
uncomfortable a section of basalt as ever served two unhappy buccaniers
for bed, table, and sofa. The chilliness is not off me yet."
"But how did it happen?"
"Very simply: but I'll tell you all about it. It's a long story, though,
so if you please I shall top off with something hot. I'm glad you've
come, however, for I had some doubts how far this sort of original
Petersham would inspire confidence as to my credit in the bosom of the
fair M'Tavish. It's all right now, however, so here goes for my yarn."
But I shall not follow my friend through all the windings of his
discourse, varied though it certainly was, like the adventures of the
venerated Sinbad. Suffice it to say, that they were hardly out of sight
of the Cumbraes before Tom confided the whole tale of his sorrows to
the callous Anthony, who, as he expressed it, had come out for a lark,
and had no idea of the of rummaging the whole of the west coast and the
adjacent islands for a petticoat. Moved, however, by the pathetic
entreaties of Strachan, and, perhaps, somewhat reconciled to the quest
by the dim vision of an elopement, Anthony magnanimously waived his
objections, and the two kept cruising together, in a little shell of a
yacht, all round the western Archipelago. Besides themselves, there were
only a man and a boy on board.
"It was slow work," said Anthony,--"deucedly slow. I would not have
minded the thing so much if Strachan had been reasonably sociable; but
it was rather irksome, you will allow, when, after the boy had brought
in the kettle, and we had made every thing snug for the night, Master
Strachan began to maunder about the lady's eyes, and to tear his hair,
and to call himself the most miserable dog in existence. I had serious
thoughts, at one time, of leaving him ashore on Mull or Skye, and making
off direct to the Orkneys; but good-nature was always my foible, so I
went on, beating from one place to another, as though we had been
looking for the wreck of the Florida.
"I'll never take another cruise with a lover so long as I live. Tom led
me all manner of dances, and we were twice fired at from farm-houses
where he was caterwauling beneath the windows with a guitar. It seems he
had heard that flame of his sing a Spanish air at Jedburgh. Tom must
needs pick it up, and you have no idea how he pestered me. Go where we
would, he kept harping on that abominable ditty, in the hopes that his
mistress might hear him; and, when I remonstrated on the absurdity of
the proceeding, he quoted the case of Blondel, and some trash out of
Uhland's ballads. Serenading on the west coast is by no means a pleasant
pastime. The nights are as raw as an anchovy, and the midges
particularly plentiful.
"Well, sir, we could find no trace of the lady after all. Strachan got
into low spirits, and I confess that I was sometimes sulky--so we had an
occasional blow up, which by no means added to the conviviality of the
voyage. One evening, just at sundown, we entered the Sound of
Sneeshanish--an ugly place, let me tell you, at the best, but especially
to be avoided in any thing like a gale of wind. The clouds in the
horizon looked particularly threatening, and I got a little anxious, for
I knew that there were rocks about, and not a light-house in the whole
of the district.
"In an hour or two it grew as dark as a wolf's throat. I could not for
the life of me make out where we were, for the Sound is very narrow in
some parts, and occasionally I thought that I could hear breakers ahead.
"'Tom,' said I, 'Tom, you lubber!'--for our esteemed friend was, as
usual, lying on the deck, with a cigar in his mouth, twangling at that
eternal guitar--'take hold of the helm, will you, for a minute, while I
go down and look at the chart.'
"I was as cold as a cucumber; so, after having ascertained, as I best
could, the bearings about the Sound, I rather think I _did_ stop below
for one moment--but not longer--just to mix a glass of swizzle by way of
fortification, for I didn't expect to get to bed that night. All of a
sudden I heard a shout from the bows, bolted upon deck, and there, sure
enough, was a black object right ahead, with the surf shooting over it.
"'Luff, Tom! or we are all dead men;--Luff, I say!' shouted I. I might
as well have called to a millstone. Tom was in a kind of trance.
"'O Dorothea!' said our friend.
"'To the devil with Dorothea!' roared I, snatching the tiller from his
hand.
"It was too late. We went smash upon the rock, with a force that sent us
headlong upon the deck, and Strachan staggered to his feet, bleeding
profusely at the proboscis.
"Down came the sail rattling about our ears, and over lurched the yacht.
I saw there was no time to lose, so I leaped at once upon the rock, and
called upon the rest to follow me. They did so, and were lucky to escape
with no more disaster than a ruffling of the cuticle on the basalt; for
in two minutes more all was over. Some of the timbers had been staved in
at the first concussion. She rapidly filled,--and down went, before my
eyes, the Caption the tidiest little craft that ever pitched her
broadside into the hull of a Frenchman!"
"Very well told indeed," said I, "only, Anthony, it does strike me that
the last paragraph is not quite original. I've heard something like it
in my younger days, at the Adelphi. But what became of you afterwards?"
"Faith, we were in a fix, as you may easily conceive. All we could do
was to scramble up the rocks,--which, fortunately, were not too
precipitous,--until we reached a dry place, where we lay, huddled
together, until morning. When light came, we found that we were not on
the main land, but on a kind of little stack in the very centre of the
channel, without a blade of grass upon it, or the prospect of a sail in
sight. This was a nice situation for two members of the Scottish bar!
The first thing we did was to inquire into the state of provisions,
which found to consist of a couple of biscuits, that little Jim, the
boy, happened to have about him. Of course we followed the example of
the earlier navigators, and confiscated these _pro bono publico_. We had
not a drop of alcohol among us, but, very luckily, picked up a small keg
of fresh water, which, I believe, was our salvation. Strachan did not
behave well. He wanted to keep half-a-dozen cigars to himself; but such
monstrous selfishness could not be permitted, and the rest of us took
them from him by force. I shall always blame myself for having weakly
restored to him a cheroot."
"And what followed?"
"Why, we remained three days upon the rock. Fortunately the weather was
moderate, so that we were not absolutely washed away, but for all that
it was consumedly cold of nights. The worst thing, however, was the
deplorable state of our larder. We finished the biscuits the first day,
trusting to be speedily relieved; but the sun set without a vestige of a
sail, and we supped sparingly upon tangle. Next morning we were so
ravenous that we could have eaten raw squirrels. That day we subsisted
entirely upon shell-fish, and smoked all our cigars. On the third we
bolted two old gloves, buttons and all; and, do you know, Fred, I began
to be seriously alarmed about the boy Jim, for Strachan kept eying him
like an ogre, began to mutter some horrid suggestions as to the
propriety of casting lots, and execrated his own stupidity in being
unprovided with a jar of pickles."
"O Anthony--for shame!"
"Well--I'm sure he was thinking about it, if he did not say so. However,
we lunched upon a shoe, and for my own part, whenever I go upon another
voyage, I shall take the precaution of providing myself with pliable
French boots--your Kilmarnock leather is so very intolerably tough!
Towards evening, to our infinite joy, we descried a boat entering the
Sound. We shouted, as you may be sure, like demons. The Celtic
Samaritans came up, and, thanks to the kindness of Rory M'Gregor the
master, we each of us went to sleep that night with at least two gallons
of oatmeal porridge comfortably stowed beneath our belts. And that's the
whole history."
"And how do you feel after such unexampled privation?"
"Not a hair the worse. But this I know, that if ever I am caught again
on such idiotical errand as hunting for a young woman through the
Highlands, my nearest of kin are at perfect liberty to have me cognosced
without opposition."
"Ah--you are no lover, Anthony. Strachan, now, would go barefooted
through Stony Arabia, for the mere chance of a casual glimpse at his
mistress."
"All I can say, my dear fellow, is, that if connubial happiness cannot
be purchased without a month's twangling on a guitar and three
consecutive suppers upon sea-weed, I know at least one respectable young
barrister who is likely to die unmarried. But I say, Fred, let us have a
coach and drive up to your hotel. You can lend me a coat, I suppose, or
something of the sort, until Strachan arrives; and just be good enough,
will you, to settle with Mrs M'Tavish for the bill, for, by all my hopes
of a sheriffship, I have been thoroughly purged of my tin."
The matter may not be of any especial interest to the public; at the
same time I think it right to record the fact that Anthony Whaup owes me
seven shillings and eightpence unto this day.
"That is all I can tell you about it," said Mr Hedger, as he handed me
the last of three indictments, with the joyful accompaniment of the
fees. "That is all I can tell you about it. If the _alibi_ will hold
water, good and well--if not, M'Closkie will be transported."
Hedger is the very best criminal agent I ever met with. There is always
a point in his cases--his precognitions are perfect, and pleading, under
such auspices, becomes a kind of realised romance.
"By the way," said he, "is there a Mr Strachan of your bar at circuit? I
have a curious communication from a prisoner who is desirous to have him
as her counsel."
"Indeed? I am glad to hear it. Mr Strachan is a particular friend of
mine, and will be here immediately. I shall be glad to introduce you. Is
it a heavy case?"
"No, but rather an odd one--a theft of money committed at the Blenheim
hotel. The woman seems a person of education, but, as she obstinately
refuses to tell me her story, I know very little more about it than is
contained in the face of the indictment."
"What is her name?"
"Why you know that is a matter not very easily ascertained. She called
herself Euphemia Saville when brought up for examination, and of course
she will be tried as such. She is well dressed, and rather pretty, but
she won't have any other counsel than Mr Strachan; and singularly
enough, she has positively forbidden me to send him a fee on the ground
that he would take it as an insult."
"I should feel particularly obliged if the whole public would take to
insulting me perpetually in that manner! But really this is an odd
history. Do you think she is acquainted with my friend?"
Hedger winked.
"I can't say," said he "for, to tell you the truth, I know nothing
earthly about it. Only she was so extremely desirous to have him
engaged, that I thought it not a little remarkable. I hope your friend
won't take offence if I mention what the woman said?"
"Not in the least, you may be sure of that. And, _apropos_, here he
comes."
And in effect Whaup and Strachan now walked into the counsel's
apartment, demure, shaven, and well dressed--altogether two very
different looking individuals from the tatterdemalions of yesterday.
"Good morning, Fred," cried Whaup; "Servant, Mr Hedger--lots of work
going, eh? Are the pleas nearly over yet?"
"Very nearly, I believe, Mr Whaup. Would you have the kindness to----"
"Oh, certainly," said I. "Strachan, allow me to introduce my friend Mr
Hedger, who is desirous of your professional advice."
"I say, Freddy," said Whaup, looking sulkily at the twain as they
retired to a window to consult, "what's in the wind now? Has old Hedger
got a spite at any of his clients?"
"How should I know? What do you mean?"
"Because I should rather think," said Anthony, "that in our friend
Strachan's hands the lad runs a remarkably good chance of a sea voyage
to the colonies, that's all."
"Fie for shame, Anthony! You should not bear malice."
"No more I do--but I can't forget the loss of the little Caption all
through his stupid blundering; and this morning he must needs sleep so
long that he lost the early train, and has very likely cut me out of
business for the sheer want of a pair of reputable trousers."
"Never mind--there is a good time coming."
"Which means, I suppose, that you have got the pick of the cases? Very
well: it can't be helped, so I shall even show myself in court by way of
public advertisement."
So saying, my long friend wrestled himself into his gown, adjusted his
wig knowingly upon his cranium, and rushed toward the court-room as
vehemently as though the weal of the whole criminal population of the
west depended upon his individual exertions.
"Freddy, come here, if you please," said Strachan, "this is a very
extraordinary circumstance! Do you know that this woman, Euphemia
Saville, though she wishes me to act as her counsel, has positively
refused to see me!"
"Very odd, certainly! Do you know her?"
"I never heard of the name in my life. Are you sure, Mr Hedger, that
there is no mistake?"
"Quite sure, sir. She gave me, in fact, a minute description of your
person, which perhaps I may be excused from repeating."
"Oh, I understand," said Tom, fishingly; "complimentary, I suppose--eh?"
"Why yes, rather so," replied Hedger hesitatingly; and he cast at the
same time a glance at the limbs of my beloved friend, which convinced me
that Miss Saville's communication had, somehow or other, borne reference
to the shape of a parenthesis. "But, at all events, you may be sure she
has seen you. I really can imagine no reason for an interview. We often
have people who take the same kind of whims, and you have no idea of
their obstinacy. The best way will be to let the Crown lead its
evidence, and trust entirely to cross-examination. I shall take care, at
all events, that her appearance shall not damage her. She is well
dressed, and I don't doubt will make use of her cambric handkerchief."
"And a very useful thing that same cambric is," observed I. "Come, Tom,
my boy, pluck up courage! You have opportunity now for a grand display;
and if you can poke in something about chivalry and undefended
loveliness, you may be sure it will have an effect on the jury. There is
a strong spice of romance in the composition of the men of the Middle
Ward."
"The whole thing, however, seems to me most mysterious."
"Very; but that is surely an additional charm. We seldom find a chapter
from the Mysteries of Udolfo transferred to the records of the
Justiciary Court of Scotland."
"Well, then, I suppose it must be so. Fred, will you sit beside me at
the trial? I'm not used to this sort of thing as yet, and I possibly may
feel nervous."
"Not a bit of you. At any rate I shall be there, and of course you may
command me."
In due time the cause was called. Miss Euphemia Saville ascended the
trap stair, and took her seat between a pair of policemen with
exceedingly luxuriant whiskers.
I must allow that I felt a strong curiosity about Euphemia. Her name was
peculiar; the circumstances under which she came forward were unusual;
and her predilection for Strachan was tantalising. Her appearance,
however, did little to solve the mystery. She was neatly, even elegantly
dressed in black, with a close-fitting bonnet and thick veil, which at
first effectually obscured her countenance. This, indeed, she partially
removed when called upon to plead to the indictment; but the law of no
civilised coountry that I know of is so savage as to prohibit the use of
a handkerchief, and the fair Saville availed herself of the privilege by
burying her countenance in cambric. I could only get a glimpse Of some
beautiful black braided hair and a forehead that resembled alabaster. To
all appearance she was extremely agitated, and sobbed as she answered to
the charge.
The tender-hearted Strachan was not the sort of man to behold the
sorrows of his client without emotion. In behalf of the junior members
of the Scottish bar I will say this, that they invariably fight tooth
and nail when a pretty girl is concerned, and I have frequently heard
bursts of impassioned eloquence poured forth in defence of a pair of
bright eyes or a piquant figure, in cases where an elderly or wizened
dame would have run a strong chance of finding no Cicero by her side.
Tom accordingly approached the bar for the purpose of putting some
questions to his client, but not a word could he extract in reply.
Euphemia drew down her veil, and waved her hand with a repulsive
gesture.
"I don't know what to make of her," said Strachan; "only she seems to be
a monstrous fine woman. It is clear, however, that she has mistaken me
for somebody else. I never saw her in my life before."
"Hedger deserves great credit for the way he has got her up. Observe,
Tom, there is no finery about her; no ribbons or gaudy scarfs, which are
as unsuitable at a trial as at a funeral. Black is your only wear to
find favour in the eyes of a jury."
"True. It is a pity that so little attention is paid to the aesthetics of
criminal clothing. But here comes the first witness--Grobey I think they
call him--the fellow who lost the money."
Mr Grobey mounted the witness-box like a cow ascending a staircase. He
was a huge, elephantine animal of some sixteen stone, with bushy
eyebrows and a bald pate, which he ever and anon affectionately caressed
with a red and yellow bandana. Strachan started at the sound of his
voice, surveyed him wistfully for a moment, and then said to me in a
hurried whisper--
"As I live, Fred, that is the identical bagman who boned my emerald
studs at Jedburgh!"
"You don't mean to say it?"
"Fact, upon my honour! There is no mistaking his globular freetrading
nose. Would it not be possible to object to his evidence on that
ground?"
"Mercy on us! no.--Reflect--there is no conviction."
"True. But he stole them nevertheless. I'll ask him about them when I
cross."
Mr Grobey's narrative, however, as embraced in animated dialogue with
the public prosecutor, threw some new and unexpected light upon the
matter. Grobey was a traveller in the employment of the noted house of
Barnacles, Deadeye, and Company, and perambulated the country for the
benevolent purpose of administering to deficiency of vision. In the
course of his wanderings, he had arrived at the Blenheim, where, after a
light supper of fresh herrings, toasted cheese, and Edinburgh ale,
assisted, _more Bagmannorum_, by several glasses of stiff brandy and
water, he had retired to his apartment to sleep off the labours of the
day. Somnus, however, did not descend that night with his usual
lightness upon Grobey. On the contrary, the deity seemed changed into a
ponderous weight, which lay heavily upon the chest of the moaning and
suffocated traveller; and notwithstanding a paralysis which appeared to
have seized upon his limbs, every external object in the apartment
became visible to him as by the light of a magic lantern. He heard his
watch ticking, like a living creature, upon the dressing-table where he
had left it. His black morocco pocketbook was distinctly visible, beside
the looking-glass, and two spectral boots stood up amidst the varied
shadows of the night. Grobey was very uncomfortable. He began to
entertain the horrid idea that a fiend was hovering, through his
chamber.
All at once he heard the door creaking upon its hinges. There was a
slight rustling of muslin, a low sigh, and then momentary silence.
"What, in the name of John Bright, can that be?" thought the terrified
traveller; but he had not to wait long for explanation. The door opened
slowly--a female figure, arrayed from head to foot in robes of virgin
whiteness, glided in, and fixed her eyes, with an expression of deep
solemnity and menace, upon the countenance of Grobey. He lay breathless
and motionless beneath the spell. This might have lasted for about a
minute, during which time, as Grobey expressed it, his very entrails
were convulsed with fear. The apparition then moved onwards, still
keeping her eyes upon the couch. She stood for a moment near the window,
raised her arm with a monitory gesture to the sky, and then all at once
seemed to disappear as it absorbed in the watery moonshine. Grobey was
as bold a bagman as ever flanked a mare with his gig-whip, but this
awful visitation was too much. Boots, looking-glass, and table swam with
a distracting whirl before his eyes; he uttered a feeble yell, and
immediately lapsed into a swoon.
It was bright morning when he awoke. He started up, rubbed his eyes, and
endeavoured to persuade himself that it was all an illusion. To be sure
there were the boots untouched, the coat, the hat, and the portmanteau;
but where--oh where--were the watch and the plethoric pocketbook, with
its bunch of bank-notes and other minor memoranda? Gone--spirited away;
and with a shout of despair old Grobey summoned the household.
The police were straightway taken into his confidence. The tale of the
midnight apparition--of the Demon Lady--was told and listened to, at
first with somewhat of an incredulous smile; but when the landlord
stated that an unknown damosel had been sojourning for two days at the
hotel, that she had that morning vanished in a hackney-coach without
leaving any trace of her address, and that, moreover, certain spoons of
undeniable silver were amissing, Argus pricked up his ears, and after
some few preliminary inquiries, issued forth in quest of the fugitive.
Two days afterwards the fair Saville was discovered in a temperance
hotel; and although the pocketbook had disappeared, both the
recognisable notes and the watch were found in her possession. A number
of pawn-tickets, also, which were contained in her reticule, served to
collect from divers quarters a great mass of _bijouterie_, amongst which
were the Blenheim spoons.
Such was Mr Grobey's evidence as afterwards supplemented by the police.
Tom rose to cross-examine.
"Pray, Mr Grobey," said he, adjusting his gown upon his shoulders with a
very knowing and determined air as though he intended to expose his
victim--"Pray, Mr Grobey, are you any judge of studs?"
"I ain't a racing man," replied Grobey, "but I knows an oss when I sees
it."
"Don't equivocate, sir, if you please. Recollect you are upon your
oath," said Strachan, irritated by a slight titter which followed upon
Grobey's answer. "I mean studs, sir--emerald studs for example?"
"I ain't. But the lady is," replied Grobey.
"How do you mean, sir?"
"'Cos there vos five pair on them taken out of pawn with her tickets."
"How do you know that, sir?"
"'Cos I seed them."
"Were you at Jedburgh, sir, in the month of April last?"
"I was."
"Do you recollect seeing me there?"
"Perfectly."
"Do you remember what passed upon that occasion?"
"You was rather confluscated, I think."
There was a general laugh.
"Mr Strachan," said the judge mildly, "I am always sorry to interrupt a
young counsel, but I really cannot see the relevancy of these questions.
The Court can have nothing to do with your communications with the
witness. I presume I need not take a note of these latter answers."
"Very well, my lord," said Tom, rather discomfited at being cut out of
his revenge on the bagman, "I shall ask him something else;" and he
commenced his examination in right earnest. Grobey, however, stood
steadfast to the letter of his previous testimony.
Another witness was called; and to my surprise the Scottish Vidocq
appeared. He spoke to the apprehension and the search, and also to the
character of the prisoner. In his eyes she had long been chronicled as
habit and repute a thief.
"You know the prisoner then?" said Strachan rising.
"I do. Any time these three years."
"Under what name is she known to you?"
"Betsy Brown is her real name, but she has gone by twenty others."
"By twenty, do you say?"
"There or thereabouts. She always flies at high game; and, being a
remarkably clever woman, she passes herself off for a lady."
"Have you ever seen her elsewhere than in Glasgow?"
"I have."
"Where?"
"At Jedburgh."
I cannot tell what impulse it was that made me twitch Strachan's gown at
this moment. It was not altogether a suspicion, but rather a
presentiment of coming danger. Strachan took the hint and changed his
line.
"Can you specify any of her other names?"
"I can. There are half-a-dozen of them here on the pawn-tickets. Shall I
read them?"
"If you please."
"One diamond ring, pledged in name of Lady Emily Delaroche. A garnet
brooch and chain--Miss Maria Mortimer. Three gold seals--Mrs Markham
Vere. A watch and three emerald studs--the Honourable Dorothea
Percy----"
There was a loud shriek from the bar, and a bustle--the prisoner had
fainted.
I looked at Strachan. He was absolutely as white as a corpse.
"My dear Tom," said I, "hadn't you better go out into the open air?"
"No!" was the firm reply; "I am here to do my duty, and I'll do it."
And in effect, the Spartan boy with the fox gnawing into his side, did
not acquit himself more heroically than my friend. The case was a clear
one, no doubt, but Tom made a noble speech, and was highly complimented
by the Judge upon his ability. No sooner, however, had he finished it
than he left the Court.
I saw him two hours afterwards.
"Tom," said I, "About these emerald studs--I think I could get them back
from the Fiscal."
"Keep them to yourself. I'm off to India."
"Bah!--go down to the Highlands for a month."
Tom did so; purveyed himself a kilt; met an heiress at the Inverness
Meeting, and married her. He is now the happy father of half-a-dozen
children, and a good many of us would give a trifle for his practice.
But to this day he is as mad as a March hare if an allusion is made in
his presence to any kind of studs whatsoever.
CAESAR.
Wake, Rome! destruction's at thy door.
Rouse thee! for thou wilt sleep no more
Till thou shalt sleep in death:
The tramp of storm-shod Mars is near--
His chariot's thundering roll I hear,
His trumpet's startling breath.
Who comes?--not they, thy fear of old,
The blue-eyed Gauls, the Cimbrians bold,
Who like a hail-shower in the May
Came, and like hail they pass'd away;
But one with surer sword,
A child whom thou hast nursed, thy son,
Thy well-beloved, thy favoured one,
Thy Caesar comes--thy lord!
The ghost of Marius walks to-night
By Anio's banks in shaggy plight,
And laughs with savage glee;
And Sylla from his loathsome death,
Scenting red Murder's reeking breath,
Doth rise to look on thee.
Signs blot the sky; the deep-vex'd earth
Breeds portents of a monstrous birth;
And augurs pale with fear have noted
The dark-vein'd liver strangely bloated,
Hinting some dire disaster.
To right the wrongs of human kind
Behold! the lordly Rome to bind,
A Roman comes--a master.
He comes whom, nor the Belgic band,
The bravest Nervii might withstand
With pleasure-spurning souls
Nor they might give his star eclipse,
The sea-swept Celts with high-tower'd ships,
Where westmost ocean rolls.
Him broad-waved Rhine reluctant own'd
As 'neath the firm-set planks it groan'd,
Then, when the march of spoiling Rome
Stirr'd the far German's forest-home;
And when he show'd his rods
Back to their marshy dens withdrew
The Titan-hearted Suevians blue,
That dared the immortal gods.
Him Britain from her extreme shores,
Where fierce the huge-heaved ocean roars,
Beholding, bent the knee.
Now, Pompey, now! from rushing Fate
Thy Rome redeem: but 'tis too late,
Nor lives that strength in thee.
In vain for thee State praises flow
From lofty-sounding Cicero;
Vainly Marcellus prates thy cause,
And Cato, true to parchment laws,
Protests with rigid hands:
The echo of a by-gone fame,
The shadow of a mighty name,
The far-praised Pompey stands.
Lift up thine eyes, and see! Sheer down,
From where the Alps tremendous frown,
Strides War, which Julius leads:
Eager to follow, to pursue--
Sleepless, to one high purpose true,
The prosperous soldier speeds.
He comes, all eye to scan, all hand
To do, the instinct of command;
With firm-set tread, and pointed will,
And harden'd courage, practised skill,
And anger-whetted sword:
A man to seize, and firmly hold--
To his own use a world to mould--
Rome's not unworthy lord!
The little Rubicon doth brim
Its purple tide--a check for him,
Hinted, how vainly![15] He
All bounds and marks, the world's dull wonder,
Calmly o'erleaps, and snaps asunder
All reverend ties that be!
The soldier carries in his sword
The primal right by bridge or ford
To pass. Shall kingly Caesar fall
And kiss the ground--the Senate's thrall
And boastful Pompey's drudge?
Forthwith, with one bold plunge, is pass'd
The fateful flood--"the DIE is CAST;
Let Fortune be the judge!"[16]
The day rose on Ariminum
With War's shrill cry--They come! they come!
Nor they unwelcomed came;
Pisauram, Fanum's shrine, and thou,
Ancon, with thy sea-fronting brow,
Own'd the great soldier's name.
And all Picenum's orchard-fields,
And the strong-forted Asculum yields:
And where, beyond high Apennine,
Clitumnus feeds the white, white kine;
And 'mid Pelignian hills--
Short time, with his Corfinian bands,
Stout Aenobarbus stiffly stands
Where urgent Caesar wills![17]
Flee, Pompey, flee! the ancient awe
Of magisterial rule and law,
Authority and state,
The Consul's name, the Lictor's rods,
The pomp of Capitolian gods,
Stem not the flooding fate.
Beneath the Volscian hills, and near
Where exiled Marius lurk'd in fear,
'Mid stagnant Liris' marshes, there
Breathe first in that luxurious lair
Where famous Hannibal lay;[18]
Nor tarry; while the chance is thine.
Hie o'er the Samnian Apennine
To the far Calabrian bay!
Wing thy sure speed! Who hounds thy path?
Fierce as the Furies in their wrath
The blood-stain'd wretch pursue,
He comes, Rome's tempest-footed son,
Victor, but deeming nothing done
While aught remains to do.
Above Brundusium's bosom'd bay
He stands, lashing the Adrian spray.
With piers of enterprise the sea
Her fleet-wing'd chariot trims for thee,
To the Greek coast to bear thee;
There, where Enipeus rolls his flood
Through storied fields made fat with blood,[19]
For fate's last blow prepare thee.
There will thy dwindled hosts, increased
By kings and tetrarchs of the East,
And sons of swarthy Nile;
From Pontus and from Colchis far,
The gather'd ranks of motley war,
Let fortune seem to smile
A moment, that with sterner frown,
She, when she strikes, may strike thee down.
A flattering fool shall be thy guide,[20]
And hope shall whisper to thy pride
Things that may not befall.
Thy forward-springing wit shall boast
The numbers of thy counted host--
That pride may have a fall.
Hoar Pindus, from his rocky barriers,
Looks on thy ranks of gay-plumed warriors,
And sees an ominous sight:
The leafy tent for victory graced,
Foresnatching fate with impious haste
From gods that rule the fight.
Thus fools have perish'd; and thus thou,
Spurr'd to sheer death, art blinded now.
Feeble thy clouds of clattering horse
To dash his steady ordered force;
From twanging bow and sling
Dintless the missile hail is pour'd,
Where the Tenth Legion wields the sword,
And Caesar leads the wing.[21]
'Tis done. And sire to son shall tell
What on Emathian plains befell,
A God-ordain'd disaster;
How justice dealt the even blow,
And Rome that laid the nations low
Herself hath found a master.
Oh, had thou known thyself to rule,
That train'd the world in thy stern school,
Fate might have gentlier dealt; but now
Thyself thy proper Fury, thou
Hast struck the avenging blow.
On sandy Afric's treacherous shore,
Fresh from red Pharsaly's streaming gore,
Lies Rome with Pompey low.
J. S. B.
INVERURY, 1847.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] The Rubicon, which is a small torrent, a little north of _Rimini_
(_Ariminum_), flowing into the Hadriatic, was, at the time of Caesar's
famous passage, swollen to a considerable stream by three days'
rain.--LUCAN, i. 213-19.
[16] "'Hic,' ait--'hic pacem temerataque jura relinquo.
Te, Fortuna, sequor, procul hinc jam foedera sunto;
Credidunus Fatis, uterdum est judice bello.'"--LUCAN, i. 227.
[17] Caesar met with no opposition in his march to Rome except from
Domitius Aenobarbus, who was stationed at Corfinium, amid the Apennines,
east of the Eucine lake. The line of march which Caesarr took, through
Picenum, was, as Gibbon has remarked, calculated at once to clear his
rear of the Pompeian party, and to frighten Pompey himself, not only out
of Rome, but, as actually happened, out of Italy.
[18] Pompey fled to _Capua_, passing the marshes of _Minturnae_ at the
mouth of the _Liris_ (now the Garigliano), and from thence over the
Apennines, by the Via Appia, to Brundusium in the ancient _Calabria_.
[19] An allusion to the battle of _Cynoscephalae_, which subjected
Macedonia to the Romans (B. C. 197.) The scene of this battle was on the
same plain of Thessaly through which the Enipeus flows into the Peneus,
passing by Pharsalus in its course. This alludes to the battle of
Dyrrachium, where Pompey was successful for a moment, only to revive in
his party that vain confidence and shallow conceit which was their
original ruin.
[20] _Labienus_, Caesar's lieutenant in the Gallic war; but who
afterwards joined Pompey. He gave his new master bad advice.--_Bellum
Civile_, iii.
[21] See the order of battle of both parties.--_Bellum Civile_, iii. 68,
69.
REID AND THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMMON SENSE.[22]
Although Dr Reid does not stand in the very highest rank of
philosophers, this incomparable edition of his works goes far to redress
his deficiencies, and to render his writings, taken in connexion with
the editorial commentaries, a most engaging and profitable study. It is
probable that the book derives much of its excellence from the very
imperfections of the textual author. Had Reid been a more learned man,
he might have failed to elicit the unparalleled erudition of his
editor,--had he been a clearer and closer thinker, Sir William
Hamilton's vigorous logic and speculative acuteness, would probably have
found a narrower field for their display. On the whole, we cannot wish
that Reid had been either more erudite or more perspicacious, so pointed
and felicitous is the style in which his errors are corrected, his
thoughts reduced to greater precision, his ambiguities pointed out and
cleared up, and his whole system set in its most advantageous light, by
his admiring, though by no means idolatrous editor.
Besides being a model of editorship, this single volume is, in so far as
philosophy and the history of philosophical opinion are concerned, of
itself a literature. We must add, however, that Sir William Hamilton's
dissertations, though abundant, are not yet completed. Yet, in spite of
this drawback, the work is one which ought to wipe away effectually from
our country the reproach of imperfect learning and shallow speculation;
for in depth of thought, and extent and accuracy of knowledge, the
editor's own contributions are of themselves sufficient to bring up our
national philosophy (which had fallen somewhat into arrear) to a level
with that of the most scientific countries in Europe.
In the remarks that are to follow, we shall confine ourselves to a
critique of the philosophy of Dr Reid, and of its collateral topics. Sir
William Hamilton's dissertations are too elaborate and important to be
discussed, unless in an article, or series of articles, devoted
exclusively to themselves. Should we appear in aught to press the
philosophy of common sense too hard, we conceive that our strictures
are, to a considerable extent, borne out by the admissions of Sir
William Hamilton himself, in regard to the tenets of the founder of the
school. And should some of our shafts glance off against the editor's
own opinions, he has only himself to blame for it. If we see a fatal
flaw in the constitution of all, and consequently of his, psychology, it
was his writings that first opened our eyes to it. So lucidly has he
explained certain philosophical doctrines, that they cannot stop at the
point to which he has carried them. They must be rolled forward into a
new development which perhaps may be at variance with the old one, where
he tarries. But his powerful arm first set the stone in motion, and he
must be content to let it travel whithersoever it may. He has taught
those who study him _to think_--and he must stand the consequences,
whether they think in unison with himself or not. We, conceive, however,
that even those who differ from him most, would readily own, that to his
instructive disquisitions they were indebted for at least one half of
all that they know of philosophy.
In entering on an examination of the system of Dr Reid, we must ask
first of all, what is the great problem about which philosophers in all
ages have busied themselves most, and which consequently must have
engaged, and did engage, a large share of the attention of the champion
of Common Sense? We must also state the _fact_ which gives rise to the
problem of philosophy.
The perception of a material universe, as it is the most prominent fact
of cognition, so has it given rise to the problem which has been most
agitated by philosophers. This question does not relate to the existence
of the fact. The existence of the perception of matter is admitted on
all hands. It refers to the nature, or origin, or constitution of the
fact. Is the perception of matter simple and indivisible, or is it
composite and divisible? Is it the ultimate, or is it only the
penultimate, _datum_ of cognition? Is it a relation constituted by the
concurrence of a mental or subjective, and a material or objective
element,--or do we impose upon ourselves in regarding it as such? Is it
a state, or modification of the human mind? Is it an effect that can be
distinguished from its cause? Is it an event consequent on the presence
of real antecedent objects? These interrogations are somewhat varied in
their form, but each of them embodies the whole point at issue, each of
them contains the cardinal question of philosophy. The perception of
matter is the admitted fact. The _character_ of this fact--that is the
point which speculation undertakes to canvass, and endeavours to
decipher.
Another form in which the question may be put is this: We all believe in
the existence of matter--but what _kind_ of matter do we believe in the
existence of? matter _per se_, or matter _cum perceptione_? If the
former--this implies that the given fact (the perception of matter) is
compound and submits to analysis; if the latter--this implies that it is
simple and defies partition.
Opposite answers to this question are returned by psychology and
metaphysics. In the estimation of metaphysic, the perception of matter
is the absolutely elementary in cognition, the _ne plus ultra_ of
thought. Reason cannot get beyond, or behind it. It has no pedigree. It
admits of no analysis. It is not a relation constituted by the
coalescence of an objective and a subjective element. It is not a state
or modification of the human mind. It is not an effect which can be
distinguished from its cause. It is not brought about by the presence of
antecedent realities. It is positively the FIRST, with no forerunner.
The perception-of-matter is one mental word, of which the verbal words
are mere syllables. We impose upon ourselves, and we also falsify the
fact, if we take any other view of it than this. Thus speaks metaphysic,
though perhaps not always with an unfaltering voice.
Psychology, or the science of the human mind, teaches a very different
doctrine. According to this science, the perception of matter is a
secondary and composite truth. It admits of being analysed into a
subjective and an objective element--a mental modification called
perception on the one hand, and matter _per se_ on the other. It is an
effect induced by real objects. It is not the first _datum_ of
intelligence. It has matter itself for its antecedent. Such, in very
general terms, is the explanation of the perception of matter which
psychology proposes.
Psychology and metaphysics are thus radically opposed to each other in
their solutions of the highest problem of speculation. Stated concisely,
the difference between them is this:--psychology regards the perception
of matter as susceptible of analytic treatment, and travels, or
endeavours to travel, beyond the given fact: metaphysic stops short in
the given fact, and there makes a stand, declaring it to be all
indissoluble unity. Psychology holds her analysis to be an analysis of
things. Metaphysic holds the psychological analysis to be an analysis
of sounds--and nothing more.
These observations exhibit, in their loftiest generalisation, the two
counter doctrines on the subject of perception. We now propose to follow
them into their details, for the purpose both of eliciting the truth and
of arriving at a correct judgment in regard to the reformation which Dr
Reid is supposed to have effected in this department of philosophy.
The psychological or analytic doctrine is the first which we shall
discuss, on account of its connexion with the investigations of Dr
Reid,--in regard to whom we may state, beforehand, our conclusion and
its grounds, which are these:--that Reid broke down in his philosophy,
both polemical and positive, because he assumed the psychological and
not the metaphysical doctrine of perception as the basis of his
arguments. He did not regard the perception of matter as absolutely
primary and simple; but in common with all psychologists, he conceived
that it admitted of being resolved into a mental condition, and a
material reality; and the consequence was, that he fell into the very
errors which it was the professed business of his life to denounce and
exterminate. How this catastrophe came about we shall endeavour shortly
to explain.
Reid's leading design was to overthrow scepticism and idealism. In
furtherance of this intention, he proposed to himself the accomplishment
of two subsidiary ends,--the refutation of what is called the ideal or
representative theory of perception, and the substitution of a doctrine
of intuitive perception in its room. He takes, and he usually gets,
credit for having accomplished both of these objects. But if it be true
that the representative theory is but the inevitable development of the
doctrine which treats the perception of matter analytically, and if it
be true that Reid adopts this latter doctrine, it is obvious that his
claims cannot be admitted without a very considerable deduction. That
both of these things are true may be established, we think, beyond the
possibility of a doubt.
In the first place, then, we have to show that the theory of a
representative perception (which Reid is supposed to have overthrown) is
identical with the doctrine which treats the perception of matter
analytically;--and, in the second, we have to show that Reid himself
followed the analytic or psychological procedure in his treatment of
this fact, and founded upon the analysis his own doctrine of perception.
_First_, The representative theory is that doctrine of perception which
teaches that, in our intercourse with the external universe, we are not
immediately cognisant of real objects themselves, but only of certain
mental transcripts or images of them, which, in the language of the
different philosophical schools, were termed ideas, representations,
phantasms, or species. According to this doctrine we are cognisant of
real things, not in and through themselves, but in and through these
species or representations. The representations are the immediate or
proximate, the real things are the mediate or remote, objects of the
mind. The existence of the former is a matter of knowledge, the
existence of the latter is merely a matter of belief.
To understand this theory, we must construe its nomenclature into, the
language of the present day. What, then, is the modern synonym for the
"ideas," "representations," "phantasms," and "species," which the theory
in question declares to be vicarious of real objects? There cannot be a
doubt that the word _perception_ is that synonym. So that the
representative theory, when fairly interpreted, amounts simply to
this;--that the mind is immediately cognisant, not of real objects
themselves, but _only of its own perceptions of real objects_. To accuse
the representationist of maintaining a doctrine more repugnant to common
sense than this, or in any way different from it, would be both
erroneous and unjust. The golden rule of philosophical criticism is, to
give every system the benefit of the most favourable interpretation
which it admits of.
This, then, is the true version of representationism,--namely, that our
perceptions of material things, and not material things _per se_, are
the proximate objects of our consciousness when we hold intercourse with
the external universe.
Now, this is a doctrine which inevitably emerges the instant that the
analysis of the perception of matter is set on foot and admitted. When a
philosopher divides, or imagines that he divides, the perception of
matter into two things, perception _and_ matter, holding the former to
be a state of his own mind, and the latter to be no such state; he does,
in that analysis, and without saying one other word, avow himself to be
a thoroughgoing representationist. For his analysis declares that, in
perception, the mind has an immediate or proximate, and a mediate or
remote object. Its perception of matter is the proximate object--the
object of its consciousness; matter itself, the material existence, is
the remote object--the object of its belief. But such a doctrine is
representationism, in the strictest sense of the word. It is the very
essence and definition of the representative theory to recognise, in
perception, a remote as well as a proximate object of the mind. Every
system which does this, is necessarily a representative system. The
doctrine which treats the perception of matter analytically does this;
therefore the analytic or psychological doctrine is identical with the
representative theory. Both hold that the perceptive process involves
two objects--an immediate and a mediate; and nothing more is required to
establish their perfect identity. The analysis of the fact which we call
the perception of matter, is unquestionably the groundwork and pervading
principle of the theory of a representative perception, whatever form of
expression this scheme may at any time have assumed.