'but to gie ye an answer to Mr Darsy, tell him, wi' my compliments,
Sandy, that there's a truth among Pope's maxims that he doesna seem to
hae fan oot. Tell him, wi' my best respects, that, in
'Spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear, whatever is, is right.
Tell ye him _that_, Sandy, and I'm sure he'll be perfectly satisfied.'
"'Do ye no mean to refund the money, then?' inquired Sandy.
"'Deil a cowrie,' said Willie.
"'Nor to gie him ither horses in exchange?'
"'No a hoof.'
"'Weel, then, _ye_ are an infernal scoundrel--that's a' I hae to say,'
replied Sandy, remounting his pony, and starting off on his return home.
"On arriving at Dryfield, Sandy hastened to Mr Darsy's apartment, to
inform him of the result of his mission, but, on opening the door, drew
hastily back again, on finding a stranger in the room.
"'Come in--come in, Sandy,' said Mr Darsy, on observing the former
retreating. 'This gentleman will excuse your intrusion; for he is a
'Friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear.'
"It might be so--of this we shall be better able to judge by and by; but
the reader will think with us, we have little doubt, that this was
saying rather too much of an acquaintance of half-an-hour; for no longer
had the stranger been known to him by whom he was thus so highly
complimented. Mr Darsy's visitor was, or at least represented himself to
be, an itinerant preacher, who, aware, as he said, of that gentleman's
benevolence and hospitality, had taken the liberty of calling on him as
he passed on his pious vocation. This account of himself and calling,
he wound up with a very apt quotation from Pope; and, we need hardly
add, that it was to this circumstance he was mainly indebted for the
rapid progress he had made in Mr Darsy's affections.
"To return to our story:--On Mr Darsy's repeating the couplet above
quoted, the stranger, who was a decent, quiet, elderly man, dressed in
somewhat rusty blacks, smiled at the compliment, and looked graciously
on Sandy, as if at once to assure him that he need be under no restraint
on his account, and that he was, in truth, the worthy person which Mr
Darsy had represented him to be. Thus encouraged, Sandy entered the
apartment; and, at Mr Darsy's request, told the result of his mission.
On hearing it, the worthy man merely shook his head, and said--
"'Well, well, Sandy, there's no help for it. We must just take better
care next time.'
"He then explained to the stranger gentleman the nature of the
transaction. The good man was horrified, held up his hands in amazement,
and recited, with much feeling and solemnity--
'The good must merit God's peculiar care;
But who but God can tell us who they are!'
"'Ah, who indeed?' said Mr Darsy, smiling. 'There is the difficulty.'
"'Ay, there, indeed, it is,' said the stranger, smiling in his turn.
'Who but God can tell the pure from the impure of heart? Who but he
separate the tares from the wheat, the corn from the chaff? None else,
indeed, my respected friend'--looking benevolently on Mr Darsy.
"'My dear sir,' replied the latter, emphatically, and taking his
benevolent looking visiter by the hand, to mark his deep sense of the
truths which he delivered--'my dear sir,' he said, adding no more in
words, but _looking_ the remainder of the sentence, which, when
translated, said--'you speak well and wisely.' After a moment--'My good
sir!' exclaimed Mr Darsy, glancing at his visiter's shoes, which
appeared much travel-soiled, 'I suspect you have had a long walk to-day.
You seemed fatigued. Now, you will take a little of something or
other--a glass or two of wine, or a little brandy, or something of that
sort, till dinner is ready.'
"'You are too good--too good, my very excellent and much-respected
friend,' replied the stranger; 'but,' he added, with a subdued yet
significant look, 'there are other men of Ross than he whom Pope
celebrated. There are others--
'Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows,
Whose seats the weary traveller repose.'
"This couplet, which was given in a mild and gentle tone, was so
palpably directed to Mr Darsy, that he could not avoid seeing its
intended application to himself; and, seeing this, he shook his head and
smiled a disclaimer.
"'My good friend,' he said, 'I have but slender pretension to any
portion of that noble character, so masterly drawn by the immortal bard
of Twickenham; yet do I agree with what the poet elsewhere says, that
'All fame is foreign but of true desert--
Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart--
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers and of loud hurrahs;
And more true joy Marcellus, exiled, feels,
Than Caesar with a senate at his heels.'
"The stranger smiled, bowed, and looked benevolently on his host.
"'Beautiful--beautiful!' he exclaimed, in a tone of rapture. 'How
terse--how forcible! Yet, Mr Darsy, there are those--ay, there are those
who say that Pope is no poet!'
"Mr Darsy smiled grimly.
"'I have heard,' he said, 'that there are such monsters in human shape;
but I have never been so unfortunate as to meet with one of them. If I
did, I do not know what I should do. I think I should murder the Goth
off-hand. I believe I should. No human patience could stand against such
heresy--such blasphemy, as I may call it.'
"Mr Darsy now rung the bell, and desired the servant to put some wine
and brandy on the table. The order was immediately complied with, and
the two Popites forthwith drew in.
"'Wine or brandy, my dear sir?' said Mr Darsy.
"'Why,' said the gentle stranger, who, by the way, had given in his name
as Claythorn--'why,' he said, with a quiet, pleasant smile, 'I will take
a little brandy, if you please. Wine doesn't agree with me. I find the
alcohol safer.'
"'Then help yourself, my dear friend,' replied Mr Darsy; and Mr Darsy's
friend did help himself, and that with a liberality which was rather
surprising in one of his cloth; although it would not have surprised any
one who had studied and drawn the proper conclusion from the appearance
of his nose, which was of a bright, luminous red. Having finished his
first jorum, Mr Darsy pressed his dear friend to another tifter; and his
dear friend, nothing loth, did as he was desired; presenting
satisfactory evidence, that a love of Pope and of brandy-and-water were
perfectly compatible, doubt it who might. Opened up by the benign
influence of the alcohol, the itinerant preacher now began to give Pope
by the yard. Before, he had dealt him out sparingly--in bits and
fragments: he now gave whole pages on end, to the inexpressible delight
of his entertainer, who, having been induced, by the rarity of the
occasion--the meeting with so enthusiastic an admirer of his beloved
bard--to take a glass or two of wine extra, gave as ample measure in
return.
"The conversation between the two Popites was thus reduced to
nothing--only a word or two now and then; the rest was entirely made up
of quotations. While Mr Darsy and his guest were thus employed, a
servant came to announce that dinner was on the table. Both immediately
rose to their feet. When they had done so, Mr Darsy took the preacher by
the hand, and said, in an under tone--
"'Now, my dear good friend, when you go down stairs you will see my
sister. She will dine with us. A good creature as ever lived--an
excellent creature. But--but--I am ashamed to say it. The fact is, and
you know it, my dear friend, that
'Good, as well as ill,
Woman's at best a contradiction still.'
"'My sister, in short, my dear friend, has no fancy for our adored bard.
I can't account for it; but so it is. Therefore, if you will just be so
good as say nothing about him while she is present, it will be as well.
No quotations, you understand. We'll have our revenge for this restraint
when she retires. We will resume the subject then, my dear sir,' added
Mr Darsy, slapping his guest, in a friendly and jocose way, on the
shoulder, as he spoke. 'We'll have a night of it; and I'll smuggle down
_his_ works from my library, and we will glance them over together when
we've got the room to ourselves. That will be a treat, eh?'
"Thus cautioned as to his conduct in the presence of Mr Darsy's sister,
Mr Claythorn descended to the dining-room with his host. Not a word--not
the most distant allusion to Pope--escaped either of the two gentlemen;
so that, whatever Miss Darsy's suspicions of the case might be--and she
certainly looked as if she had some suspicions of it--nothing transpired
to give her assurance of the fact. On her retiring, however, the pent-up
sluices of the Popites were thrown open, and out there rushed two
impetuous streams of poetry; sometimes blending, sometimes alternating,
and sometimes running counter to each other. Mr Darsy was
delighted--more than delighted with his friend; for he had never, in the
whole course of his life, met with one who could quote his favourite
author with such facility and at such length, as the guest whom he was
now entertaining; neither had he ever met with one who had so deep, so
thorough a reverence for the mighty moral poet.
"This was altogether, in short, one of the happiest nights he had ever
spent in his life. At its close, Mr Darsy accompanied his guest--who he
insisted should remain with him all night--to his bedroom, and parted
from him there with a very apt quotation, to which his friend replied
with another no less felicitous, which he delivered in a very feeling
and impressive manner. On the following morning--
"'What keeps your reverend friend, brother?' said Miss Darsy, somewhat
sneeringly--for she had strong suspicions of the stranger's being a
Popite--as she sat at the breakfast-table, waiting the appearance of
that person, before proceeding to discharge the duties of the morning
meal.
"'Really, my dear, I don't know,' replied Mr Darsy. 'The poor man is
fatigued, I daresay; and we sat up rather late last night.'
"'Ay, brother, I fancy you found him a very pleasant intelligent
companion,' said Miss Darsy, with a look and tone of peculiar meaning.
"What this meaning was, Mr Darsy perfectly understood. He knew that his
sister was at once insinuating her suspicions of the stranger's Popism,
and driving at a discovery of the fact. Aware of this, and by no means
desirous of coming to an explanation on the subject, Mr Darsy, without
noticing his sister's remark, said he would 'just step up-stairs to see
what was keeping Mr Claythorn,' and deliver himself (but of this he said
nothing) of a happy quotation which had occurred to him, and which he
thought would form an exceedingly appropriate greeting.
"He entered his friend's bedroom; there was no movement. He drew aside
the curtains; the bed was unoccupied. The Pope-quoter had decamped. He
was off; and off, too, were a dozen silver spoons and a small gold
watch; all of which property had been unguardedly left in the room in
which he slept."
Here ended my good host's (Mr Pentland) anecdotes and sketch of the
worthy proprietor of Dryfield; but, he added, he could give as much more
of the same kind, if I chose, as would fill half-a-dozen volumes. I
thanked him, and said that I would rest content with what he had been
kind enough to give me, in the meantime; but that, if the readers of the
"Border Tales"--for which, I told him, I intended these
memorabilia--desired any more, I should, perhaps, take the liberty of
applying to him again.
THE SURGEON'S TALES.
THE CHERRY-STONE.
I have always been anxious to avoid giving publicity to details of my
profession which might harrow the feelings of mankind--than which, I
believe, nothing is more easy of accomplishment by those who are, as I
am, in the daily exercise of painful operations on the human body. Pain
has been gifted to man as an inheritance, so ample, in so many forms and
complexions, in so many directions, that we have only to think, and we
feel it--we have only to look, and we see it--we have only to speak or
act, and we rouse it. Yet so wonderfully are we constituted, that we do
not hate it more than we _love_ it; while we are all engaged in the
general endeavours to banish it and conceal it, we have such a craving
appetite for it, in the second-hand form of narrative, that we gloat
over pictures of suffering with the feelings of an epicure, and seek and
call for the stimulus of sighs, and groans, and tears, with an avidity
only equalled by our desire of personal happiness. A final cause might
be traced in this extraordinary feature of the human mind, if we were
curious to know the ways of the Almighty, the modes he has had recourse
to, to fit us for life, and prepare us for death; but this is not my
object, nor, while I continue to draw pictures from life--charged with a
moral that may instruct, truth that may edify, or results that may show
there is good in evil, and wonderful deliverances from apparently
irremediable wo--is it my desire to minister to the mysterious appetite
for sorrow, according to its wants, or the abilities which a long
experience might enable me to exercise with greater effect than many
sensitive minds might approve.
Some time ago, I had been on a visit to a neighbouring town, where I had
been called to give my professional advice to a patient who had more
faith to place in me than in his neighbouring practitioners. I was
returning in the stage-coach, along with a number of other passengers,
when my attention was directed to a poor woman sitting by me, with a
young girl in her lap, apparently in great distress. The face of the
invalid, who appeared to be about twelve years of age, was covered by a
white napkin, which her mother, with a careful hand, lifted from time to
time, to see how her daughter (for such she turned out to be) was
affected by the motion of the vehicle. Two or three people around, from
the same town, and who seemed to know the history of the pair, evinced a
greater degree of anxiety and curiosity about the state of the poor girl
than might have been expected from an ordinary case of illness. They
spoke to each other in a low tone; and I could hear my own name
mentioned in such a manner as indicated plainly that they did not know
me. Though I had not been a professional man, and had not had my
curiosity roused by the mention of my name, I could not have refrained
from inquiring into the state of the little victim of so much disease,
and the object of so much solicitude. Turning round, I asked the mother
if she would allow me to remove the napkin, and look at her whose face
it covered. She assented with a ready, anticipative willingness; and I
lifted softly the white covering. The sight was extraordinary, even to
me, who was in the habit of daily seeing strange faces, strangely marked
by the powers of the fell fiends that feed on the lacerated feelings of
pain-stricken mortals. The girl, though twelve years of age, was reduced
to the size and weight of a child of half her little period of life. Her
face was as white as the snow-coloured covering which shaded it; her
eyelids were closed, as if she were in a deep slumber; her lips, wide
apart, were as white as her cheek; and, notwithstanding of the change in
all the natural lineaments of her countenance, there was such a
regularity, or rather beauty of outline, lying in the calmness and
composure of what one of fancy might conceive of a sleeping sylph, that
I felt my sympathies more strongly roused by what may be termed the
poetical accidents of the patient, than could have been effected by the
mere aspect of a cruel disease.
As I sat looking at the face of the half-lifeless being, and musing a
little on the supposed nature of her complaint, previously to an inquiry
at her mother for the particulars of her case, I saw rise, on a sudden,
and as if by the power of some heart-born impulse, a feeling throughout
all the fine, attenuated muscles, that changed the angelic quietness of
her countenance into the shrinking and contorted motions of a pain that
seemed to bring despair on its wings, as a colleague to strike as soon
as its own pang was inflicted. I could see, also, that there was mixed
with the expression of pain an indication of terror, as if the poor
victim apprehended some onset of the enemy that had already laid her so
low, similar to what she had been already in the habit of experiencing.
In an instant it came: the whole chest, throat, and face were grasped by
a convulsive spasm, and a cough, shrill and piercing, as if the breath
passed with difficulty through the windpipe, accompanied by the long
drawback of apparent croop, that sounded like the yell of a strangling
dog, struck our ears, and produced a feeling of consternation among
those who were as yet better acquainted with her extraordinary case than
I was. I had never experienced anything of the same kind; for the
symptoms that separated her complaint, whatever it was, from the most
painful diseases of the windpipe known to us, were at first sight
apparent. The sound prevented me from getting intelligence from her
mother, who was, besides, under such alarm and anxiety, that she paid
little attention to those around her. The rattling of the coach was a
great aggravation of the attack; and the noise of a grating wheel, not
unlike that wrung from the poor victim, mixed with it, and rendered the
scene frightful. After lasting about ten minutes, the harrowing
symptoms stopped suddenly; in a few minutes, I saw again before me the
same placid countenance, with the closed eyelids, and the same lifeless
appearance I had witnessed before the attack came on.
I now got an account from the mother of the cause of her daughter's
distress. About two months previously, the girl had been eating
cherries; and one of the stones having been involuntarily thrown back
into her throat, she had endeavoured to prevent the operation of
swallowing it, from a fear that it would injure her, and thus produced
an irregular action among the muscles of deglutition, which precipitated
the hard substance into the windpipe. The first effects of this accident
were grievous in the extreme; for the sensibility of that exquisitely
tender part of the body roused the muscles to efforts of expectoration,
and brought on fits of the most intense coughing, which lasted until the
strength of the body having failed, the irritability of the passage
died, through the pure inanition of the exhausted system. Every energy
prostrated, she would be for a time quiet, until the _pabulum_ of the
irritability was again supplied by the mysterious operation of nature,
when the same painful spasms of the muscles were renewed, with another
long fit of coughing--every re-drawn breath forcing its way with a
shrill sound, and suggesting the fear that she was every moment on the
eve of being choked. This was again succeeded by a calm, to be followed
by a similar exacerbation; and thus was her life reduced to an
alternation of agony and rest without peace; and all the time the
reductive process of famine (for she could scarcely swallow a morsel
without the greatest pain) went on, till she was reduced to a perfect
skeleton. Having been the pride of her parents, as well from her beauty
as her amiable mind and manners, she was watched night and day with a
solicitude scarcely less painful than her own dreadful condition; and,
as both the doctors of the small town seemed irresolute as to the
course to be pursued, the victim was left lying on her back, and
suffering those violent and incessant attacks, for the period of six
weeks, without any effectual effort being made for her relief. At last,
however, the urgent nature of the case, which interested almost all the
inhabitants of the place, forced the medical men to try, at last, the
only evident operation that could be of any service; and an incision was
made into the windpipe, with a view to get hold of the stone. Whether it
was that they had calculated on wrong data, in regard to the locality of
the peccant and cruel intruder, or whether the operation was otherwise
unskilfully performed, I know not; but the result was, that, after
putting her to so intolerable pain, they were obliged to sew up the
opening they had made, and again resign her to her miserable fate. Many
of the neighbours got angry at this issue, and blamed the surgeons; but
no one would lend a helping hand to pay the expense of bringing a more
successful operator to the spot; so that all was vain reproof, with
still the same fate to the interesting sufferer. At last, the mother,
who could stand no longer the appalling sight of her daughter suffering
worse than a thousand deaths, while a remedy on earth could be found,
had come to the resolution of travelling by the coach to the residence
of one who might, by an extensive experience, be supposed to be able
to yield relief; and, having got a letter of introduction to
Dr ---- (myself), she was thus far on her way to my residence.
I heard the poor woman's story; and, when I took the letter from her,
and told her that I was the individual she was travelling to, I could
discover that her face was on the instant lighted up with hope; even the
poor sufferer on her knee lifted up her eyelids, and fixed her clear
blue eyes on my face with a piteous supplication that I shall never
forget. I told the mother that she should have come to me long before;
but that she was not yet too late--for that I had strong hopes of being
able to extricate the stone, and restore her child to health. My words
fell on the ear of the patient; and I could see by the tear in her
eye--the only indication she could give of her gratitude--for she was
under a continual terror of moving a single muscle of her face--that she
understood perfectly what I said. The passengers seemed to be as much
moved as those more nearly interested, and turned their eyes on me as if
I had been one gifted beyond ordinary mortals with the means of
benefiting mankind. We got forward, luckily, without another attack of
the ruthless foe that haunted the innocent victim with such unremitting
hatred; and, on our arrival at our place of destination, I made
arrangements for the mother and daughter being lodged in a friend's
house not far from my own, that my patient might be as much as possible
under my eye, until I deemed it a proper time (for she required
strength) to perform the operation which I meditated.
I considered well what I had to do, and had no doubt of my success; but
I was met by some untoward disadvantages. I found that there was no
possibility of imparting to her strength--the incessant reductive
workings of her spasms counteracting all my energies in this direction,
and compelling me to a speedy application of my means of salvation. The
prior wound had not been sufficiently cured, and the pain she had
suffered under the mangling hands of her first tormentors left such a
vivid impression on the tortured mind of the sufferer, that, anxious as
she was to get the stone extracted, and to breathe again freely the air
of heaven, she shuddered at the thought of being subjected to the knife
of the operator. I used every seductive artifice to soothe her fears; I
showed her the small instrument with which I would give her peace and
health, and painted to her fancy the happiness she would again enjoy in
romping among the green fields as in former days, freed from the terror
of the slightest motion that now enslaved her. She lay and heard me,
opened her eyes, sighed, and shut them again with a slight shake of her
head, and a shudder, as if all arguments had failed; then, as I rose,
threw after me a look of supplication, as if she wished me to try again
to bring her to the point of resolution to free herself from the dreaded
enemy that held her so firmly and securely in his grasp. She little knew
that she was utterly powerless to resist--a child might have held her
hands, while the operation was performed, against her will; but I wished
to avoid compulsion; though I feared that, if she would not consent, I
would be necessitated, from the gradual decay of the little remaining
strength she had, to save her quickly, against her own fears of the
means of her salvation.