We were blazing away at each other as hard as we could lather, and I had
jumped into the main-chains to do something I was ordered, when, crack!
a musket-ball strikes me on the arm, and I fell overboard as helpless as
a sucking-pig; and I'd have gone down like a pig of lead, if Leaftennan
Dalzell hadn't banged overboard after me, and supported me to the rudder
chains, where we hung till they gave us a rope. Long life to him! says
I--I lost my arm, but I got a pension, and we both on us got lots o'
prize money."
At this point of Tom's yarn, Mr Dalzell called to me through the
window--
"Here are some young visiters coming, Mr Thomson."
I looked out, and replied--
"Oh, they are my two boys. I forgot to tell you that I am a father as
well as a husband. The little fellows have been with their nurse,
spending the forenoon at my sister's--the house you see there, through
the trees. Let us go and meet them."
And out we all sallied, Tom bringing up the rear. As we approached
them, the nurse, who was talking and playing with the children, looked
up, and, seeing Dalzell, uttered a faint scream, and turned deadly pale.
"Holloa!" said I, hurrying towards her; "what is the matter with the
girl?"
My companion, however, was beforehand with me. He rushed past me, caught
her in his arms, and, calling her his "dear, dear Grace," kissed her
pale cheek till the blood mantled rosy red upon it again; while she
murmured, "Dear Edward, then you have not forgot your Grace?"
It was quite a romantic scene altogether, with a slight touch of the
ludicrous. There was the girl hanging on Dalzell's arm, half-fainting,
her head hanging back, her bonnet off, and her long, fair hair floating
in the breeze; while hysterical sobs of joy burst from her every now and
then; my little George roaring might and main, and sobbing out, "Naughty
man! bite Nelly;" Dalzell, pale and agitated, alternately kissing her
cheek and hugging her to his bosom; my wife crying; Tom Telford whirling
round and round, waving his hat over his head, and flourishing his empty
sleeve in the air; and I, the most sensible person in the group,
standing staring in delighted astonishment at this pleasing and
unexpected denouement. After the first excitement occasioned by this
unlooked-for meeting was over, we all returned to the house, eager to
hear Grace Douglas's account of her adventures.
Before she begins, however, I must beg the reader's patience till I
relate how she happened to be in my service. About a twelvemonth before,
my wife was obliged to part with her nurserymaid, in consequence of her
repeated acts of misconduct; and, not being able to replace her in the
neighbourhood, she begged me to advertise for one in the public prints.
In answer to this advertisement, a young and very lovely woman presented
herself, whose appearance immediately prepossessed us in her favour. Her
manners were mild and gentle, and such as were little to be expected in
one in her rank of life. When asked for a character, she replied that
she had never been in service; that she was an orphan, and had none to
recommend her; that, if we liked to try her, she hoped and trusted she
would give us satisfaction--at least no endeavour should be wanting on
her part. She declined giving any account of her family, merely saying
that adverse circumstances had obliged her to resort to this means of
seeking a subsistence. _She_ did not care about wages; all that she
wished for was protection and a comfortable home. My wife, much as she
was pleased with her appearance and manner, was unwilling to make what
she considered the dangerous experiment of engaging an unknown
character; but I overruled her objections, in which I was materially
assisted by mamma's darling, little George, who, attracted by the mild
countenance and sweet voice of the stranger, clung to her side, and
cried for her to remain. My wife could not resist the appeal; and Ellen
Stewart, as she wished to be called, became one of our family, and soon
proved herself worthy of our confidence. The substance of her previous
history, as she related it to Dalzell, was as follows:--
A succession of bad crops, and of unfortunate farming speculations, had
obliged her father to give up the farm in which they had so long lived
happily together. His health had been long declining; and, when he died,
she was left almost destitute. She had a maternal aunt, who was willing
and anxious to share with her her trifling pittance; but she was
determined not to be a burden on one who was hardly able to support
herself. At this time our advertisement met her eye, and she immediately
hastened to answer it--resolved, under an assumed name, to submit to the
duties of a menial station, which she was sure, if her poor but proud
aunt were let into the secret, she would indignantly oppose. She had
written to her aunt, to assure her of her welfare, but without
disclosing the name of her place of abode. She had had, before her
father died, two very eligible offers of marriage, which she rejected;
for she felt sure, she said, that her own Edward would return. Three
weeks afterwards, the long-tried constancy of the lovers was
rewarded--mutually rewarded; for they were worthy of each other. I had
the pleasure of giving away the bride; and honest Tom enjoyed an extra
glass of his favourite grog on the occasion, by way of "wetting his
commission," as he called it--Dalzell having installed him as a kind of
Jack-of-all-trades in his new establishment. The only drawback to his
perfect happiness was, that he never lived to see his master an admiral.
THE GOOD MAN OF DRYFIELD.
"To Let, the Mansion-house of Dryfield. This is a small, genteel,
self-contained house, beautifully situated on the banks of the Clyde,
with large garden and seven acres of fine arable land attached. Rent
moderate. Premises will be shown, and other particulars given, by Mr
Pentland, farmer, Minnigrain, near Dryfield, who is also empowered to
transact all matters relative to the letting of the house and grounds."
Such, good reader, was an advertisement that appeared in the "Caledonian
Mercury" some six-and-twenty years ago. Well, but what on earth has an
advertisement of this sort to do with the Border Tales? Patience, kind
friend--patience; and, as a certain humorous song--whose title we have
forgotten--says, "you shall hear." This advertisement, commonplace as it
may seem, possessed some interest for me at the time it appeared; for at
that very moment I was commissioned, by a friend then resident in
Jamaica, but who was contemplating an immediate return to his native
country, to look out for exactly such a place as that described in the
announcement above quoted.
Having some recollection of the place myself, which I had casually seen
several years before, as I passed on the top of the mail, I felt
convinced that it was precisely such a residence as my friend desired.
Under this impression, I determined on paying Dryfield a visit, and
making a personal survey of the premises. Conform thereto, the following
morning found me on the top of the mail. In six hours afterwards, I was
at Minnigrain, and in the presence of its worthy occupant, Mr Pentland.
He was a decent, substantial-looking farmer--plain and unsophisticated
in his manners, intelligent, and shrewd, with a spice of humour about
him which he seemed to have some difficulty in controlling.
Having mentioned to Mr Pentland the purpose of my visit, and my wish to
take a look of Dryfield and its premises, he instantly accompanied me
thither--having previously provided himself with a couple of keys: one
to procure us access to the garden, through which it was necessary to
pass to reach the house; the other to admit us to the house itself.
Our way lay through a romantic wood, that grew on a steep bank
overhanging the Clyde, and which was traversed by various winding paths.
Having taken one of these, we soon threaded the little forest, and,
emerging at its western side, found ourselves on a green lawn, at the
further end of which stood the mansion-house of Driffel, as it was more
shortly pronounced by the natives. It was a compact and
comfortable-looking house, but had evidently been long untenanted.
Everything around it was running to waste. The honeysuckle, with which
its walls had been clothed, had fallen from its fastenings, and was idly
sweeping the footpath below; the flower-plats in front were over-run
with weeds; the garden was uncropped; and shrubs, bushes, and trees were
revelling in an unprofitable luxuriance. Everything, in short, bespoke
neglect, and the absence of a presiding care and taste.
"The house does not seem to have been tenanted for a long time, Mr
Pentland?" said I, as we walked towards the house.
"'Deed, it's a gey while since there was what ye may ca' a reglar tenant
in't," replied my companion. "We hae had families, from time to time,
for a month or twa in the summer season, but nae reglar tenant since Mr
Darsy himsel left, and that's gaun noo in ten years since."
"Is Mr Darsy dead?"
"Ou no! He gaed abroad for the benefit o' his health--him and his man
Ramsay. He was to hae been back in six months, but he has never returned
yet. But I'm sure the blessin o' the poor and the needcessitous'll
follow the worthy man wherever he goes."
"He was a benevolent man, was he?"
"That he was, sir. Just ane o' the best men breathin. Some folk thocht
him a wee whimsical now and then; but his heart was in the richt place.
He had just five hunner a-year; and I'm sure he gied awa three o't in
charity, if he gied a saxpence."
"Any family?"
"No; he never was married. It's said that he was ance crossed in love in
his younger days; but whether this be sae or no, I dinna ken. There was
naebody lived here wi' him but an auld maiden sister, his man Ramsay,
and twa servant lasses. His sister's dead; and it's thocht it was partly
her death that sent him awa frae Dryfield; for they war just
extraordinar attached to ane anither. Just to show you, sir, how worthy
a man he is," continued Mr Pentland, "the rent o' this property is, by
his orders, to be handed owre to the minister, for the use o' the poor
o' the parish."
Just as the conversation had reached this point, we reached the door of
the house. Mr Pentland inserted the key, but found some difficulty in
turning the lock, from its having become stiff and rusted through
disuse. While he was engaged in alternately coaxing and forcing the
obstinate bolt, my attention was attracted by an inscription on the
stone over the doorway. This inscription was in part concealed by some
straggling branches of honeysuckle which had broken loose from their
fastenings, and were hanging over it. These I removed with the end of my
stick, and having done so, read--
"To balance fortune by a just expense,
Join with economy magnificence."
The quotation I remembered was from Pope, and thought it rather a
peculiar sort of taste that had placed it where I now saw it.
By this time, Mr Pentland had succeeded in opening the door; and we
entered. I found the house to be an excellent one--well finished,
commodious, and judiciously arranged.
Having gone through all the rooms, we finished our survey by a visit to
the kitchen. On entering this apartment, the first thing that caught my
eye was a small board over the fireplace, on which, in gilt letters on a
black ground, were the following lines:--
"To worth or want, well-weigh'd, be bounty given
And ease, or emulate the care of Heaven;
Whose measure full o'erflows on human race,
Mend Fortune's fault, and justify her grace."
"What!" said I, "Pope again?"
Mr Pentland smiled. "Ou ay, sir," he at length said, "Mr Darsy had an
awfu wark wi' Pope; and so had his man Ramsay. It was that brocht them
first thegither, and it's maistly that has keepit them thegither ever
since, nearly thirty year. Mr Darsy was aye gi'ein us screeds o' Pope;
and onybody that could quote Pope to him was sure to win his favour, and
to get a' the assistance he could gie them in whatever way they micht
want it. It was a queer conceit o' his; and mony a time the worthy man
was imposed on, by designin folk, through the medium o' this fancy. When
ony o' that kind wanted his assistance, they had naething ado but get
twa or three lines o' Pope by heart, come to him wi' a lang face, and
tak an opportunity o' slippin out the lines, and their business was
done. I've seen him actually shed tears when he was quotin his favourite
author. He was just clean crazed about him. He made me a present o' the
'Essay on Man,' and gied me nae rest, nicht or day, till I got every
line o't by heart."
"But he did you a good service in that, my friend," said I: "it is a
noble poem--full of fine thoughts, beautifully expressed."
"Nae doot o't," replied Mr Pentland: "I like the poem weel, and think as
much o' Pope as ony man. He is a great philosopher, as well as a great
poet; but my excellent friend, Mr Darsy, just carried the thing a wee
owre far. His admiration o' him, or rather his constant and open
expression of that admiration, bordered on the ridiculous: it amounted
to a weakness--although, in other respects, Mr Darsy was a man of great
good sense. I've heard him and his man Ramsay--for he's just as great an
admirer o' Pope as his master--firin quotations at ane anither for an
hour thegither. Indeed they never spoke for five minutes without
exchangin a couplet or twa, and seldom conversed on onything else but
the merits o' Pope."
In this sketch of the worthy proprietor of Dryfield, I thought I
recognised--what I always took much delight in contemplating--an
original character; and this was one of the best sort--a compound of
oddity and benevolence. What had just been told me of him was enough to
excite my curiosity, but far from being enough to gratify it. This,
however, I hoped circumstances would yet effect for me; for, feeling
amused by Mr Darsy's peculiarities, and interested by his worth, I
determined on learning all about him that I could; and ample opportunity
for doing so was subsequently afforded me.
Having expressed to Mr Pentland my satisfaction with the house, and my
wish to take it, he proposed that we should adjourn to his residence,
and there settle the transaction by missive. We did so; and when the
business was concluded, Mr Pentland kindly suggested that, as the day
was now far advanced, I had better remain with him all night, and return
home the following morning with the first coach. To this proposal,
seeing that it would afford me an opportunity of learning something more
of Mr Darsy, I at once agreed, and was soon after put in possession, by
my good host, Mr Pentland, of some particulars regarding that
gentleman, which I have thought might not be found unamusing.
"Of Mr Darsy's early history," said Mr Pentland, who, at my request,
began an account of his late worthy neighbour immediately after the
dinner-cloth had been drawn, "I do not know much. He was bred,
originally, I believe, for the church, but never took orders; for what
reason I am ignorant; but have heard it alleged, that it was owing to an
extreme diffidence of nature, which shrank at the idea of speaking in
public.
"Fortunately, his circumstances, although far from being affluent, were
such as to enable him to yield to this timidity; and I am not sure that
he ever adopted any regular profession in lieu of the one he abandoned.
He bought Dryfield about twenty years since, when he also came to reside
there; and it was then my acquaintance with him began. From that period
till his departure for France, we lived in the closest intimacy and
friendship; and during all that period I never heard or saw anything of
him but what redounded to his honour. To quote his own favourite
author--for he set us a' a-quoting Pope--
'Him portion'd maids, apprenticed orphans, bless'd--
The young who labour, and the old who rest.'
He was truly the Man of Ross in all that is kind and benevolent."
"Oh, say," said I, smiling--
'Oh, say, what sums that generous hand supply--
What mines to swell that boundless charity?'"
My kind host laughed heartily, and readily replied--
"'Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear,
This man possess'd five hundred pounds a-year.
"Such a sum, or one thereabouts, was, in truth, all his dependance; yet
the good he did with it was amazing.
"When Mr Darsy came first to our neighbourhood, his family consisted of
his sister only, and one servant-maid; and it is probable it would never
have received any addition, but for the circumstance which added Sandy
Ramsay to the establishment--as original a character as his master.
Sandy was a sort of general jobber of country work--a good hand at
cutting drains, clipping hedges, and felling and thinning timber, making
and erecting wooden railings, &c. &c.
"But, besides, and better than all this, Sandy was a learned man. He
read a great deal, and was not a little vain of his acquisitions in this
way. He was, however, a lively, good-natured little fellow, and very
generally liked, notwithstanding that he gave himself out for a
philosopher, and looked very grave and wise when he was asserting his
pretensions to that character, or when he thought those pretensions were
either overlooked or denied.
"Such was Sandy Ramsay, and such was the person whom Mr Darsy found one
morning, shortly after his arrival at Dryfield, working at a wooden
railing at a little distance from the house.
"'Good morning, honest man,' said Mr Darsy, approaching him with that
kindly familiarity of manner which distinguished all his intercourse
with his inferiors.
"'Guid mornin, sir,' replied Sandy, resting on the wooden mallet with
which he was driving the rails. 'Grand wather for the country, sir.'
"'Excellent,' rejoined Mr Darsy. 'The crops in this neighbourhood look
uncommonly well, and I think we shall have both an early and a plentiful
harvest. Thanks be to God!'
"'Yes, sir, as ye say, thank God for't,' replied Sandy. 'There's a
reasonable prospect o' baith peace and plenty in the country; and, as
Pope says,
'This day be bread and peace my lot;
All else beneath the sun,
Thou knowest if best bestow'd or not;
And let thy will be done!'
"'Ah, Pope, my friend!' said Mr Darsy, his eye sparkling with delight.
'So you are conversant with Pope, are you?'
"'A wee bit, sir; his works form the staple o' my readin. I admire baith
his poetry and his philosophy.'
"'Ah, indeed! Well, do you know, I like that,' replied Mr Darsy. 'I'm
one of Pope's worshippers, too; he is my guide, philosopher, and
friend--
'Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease,
Intent to reason, or polite to please.'
"'Yes, sir; and, better still,' replied Sandy, 'he
'Turn'd the tuneful art
From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart.'
"'And,' shouted Mr Darsy, in ecstasy--
'For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light--
Show'd erring Pride _whatever is, is right_.'
"'And,' exclaimed Sandy, energetically, and waving his hand aloft, in
the excitation of his feelings, as he spoke--
'That reason, passion, answer one great aim;
That true self-love and social are the same.'
"Mr Darsy, striking his stick emphatically on the ground--
'That virtue only makes our bliss below,
And all our knowledge is ourselves to know.'
"Having thus finished the concluding part of the 'Essay on Man' between
them, Mr Darsy, with a gracious and benevolent smile, held out his hand
to Sandy, seized that of the latter, and shook it with cordial warmth.
From that moment, notwithstanding the disparity of their social
position, they were sworn friends.
"In a short time after this, Mr Darsy proposed to Sandy to enter his
service, at a fixed rate of wages, to look after his garden, and be
otherwise generally useful. To this proposal the latter readily
assented; and they have been together ever since, quoting Pope to one
another daily, and daily descanting on the merits of their favourite
author.
"Having now got an able and active assistant in Sandy Ramsay, and one
who had a very competent knowledge of agricultural affairs, Mr Darsy
determined on cultivating the few acres of ground which he had bought
along with the house of Dryfield. His resolution before had been to let
them; but he now bethought him of keeping them in his own hands. These
lands had been allowed to run to waste by the former proprietor, who was
a great speculator in everything, and in every way, where there was no
chance of remuneration. One of these speculations was, to build, at
various intervals, over the grounds alluded to, a number of fantastic
tower-like structures, for a purpose which none could guess, and which
was wholly unknown to all but the contriver himself.
"Whatever the purpose was, however, for which these towers were erected,
they were never applied to it. Some other whim struck the noddle of the
speculator, and they were allowed (most of them only half-built) to fall
into ruins--an eyesore to look at, and an encumbrance to the ground.
"These stone-and-lime vagaries Mr Darsy now determined on removing, and
of applying the surrounding lands to their proper use. Full of this
design, which had suddenly struck him one day as he was out walking, he
hastened, on his return, to the garden where Ramsay was at work, and
told him of his intentions.
"'I shall have all these lands laid down in corn, Sandy,' said Mr
Darsy.
"'Richt, sir, richt,' replied the former, thrusting his spade into the
ground, and resting his elbow on the apex of the upright handle. 'Quite
richt, too.'
"'Another year,' said Mr Darsy--
'Another _year_ shall see the golden ear
Embrown the slope, and nod on the parterre;
Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd,
And laughing Ceres reassume the land.'
"'Yes, sir,' replied Sandy--
''Tis use alone that sanctifies expense,
And splendour borrows all her rays from sense.'
"'No doubt of it, Sandy,' said Mr Darsy. 'Beautiful sentiment, and
admirably expressed.'
"The project of cultivating the land having been thus settled by the
assistance of Pope, Sandy was instructed to look out for the necessary
means, proper implements, and, first and most important of all, a pair
of good stout draught horses. This last want of Mr Darsy's was one that
soon became known throughout the country; and, as Mr Darsy was always
reckoned a liberal and punctual man to deal with, he had soon abundance
of offers; and they were not a whit the less numerous, perhaps, that he
was thought to be no great judge of the article he wanted.
"Amongst those whose ears Mr Darsy's want of a pair of horses reached,
was a certain dealer in horse-flesh, of the name of William Craig, as
great a rascal as Scotland perhaps ever had the honour of producing; but
he was withal a pleasant knave, and always cheated with the greatest
good-humour imaginable. The smile was never off his countenance,
excepting when he saw it for his interest to look grave, and then he
could put on a face of sympathy and sentiment that it would break your
heart to look at. He was, in short, a most plausible and most
accomplished scoundrel--clever, and well-informed.
"On hearing that Mr Darsy wanted a couple of horses, and that he had
already rejected several that had been offered him--
"'I'll try my hand on him,' said Willie; 'and if I dinna fix him, blame
me.'
"'Do you mean by gi'ein him a fair bargain, Willie?' inquired the friend
to whom he had made the boast above quoted.
"'Never did that in my life to onybody, and I'm no gaun to begin now,'
replied Willie.
"'Then, how do you propose to fix him, Willie, as ye ca't?'
"'Leave that to me,' said the honest horse-jockey. 'I'll do him owre as
clean's a leek. I'll _trot_ him out as cleverly as I ever did ony beast
wi' four legs. I hae the secret o' him.'
"'What do you ca' the secret o' him, Willie? What do you mean by that?'
"'Aha, lad! How's your mother?' replied Willie, laughing, and touching
the side of his nose emphatically with the point of his forefinger.
'I'll keep my thumb on that till I hae tried it.'
"On that very afternoon, Willie posted off to Dryfield with a couple of
horses on which he had practised every secret of his art to give them a
passable appearance. On one of the horses Willie himself was mounted;
the other he led by a halter; and, thus disposed, arrived at a swinging
trot at Mr Darsy's. That gentleman had seen his approach from a window,
and, guessing the purpose of his visit, was now at the door to receive
him.
"Willie touched his hat:--
"'Heard, sir, that ye war in want o' a pair o' guid workin beasts,' said
Willie, 'and hae broucht ye twa prime anes here to look at. No a bonnier
or better pair between this and Johnny Groat's, and just a real bargain
as to price.'