"'Twenty-six shillings, my dear,' said I, for I was quite amused at her

calculation--the thing had never struck me before.

"'Weel,' added she, 'fifty-two shillings and twenty-six shillings, put

that together, and see how much it comes to.'

"'Oh,' says I, after half a minute's calculation, 'it will just be three

pounds, eighteen shillings, to a farthing.'

"'Noo,' cried she, 'only think o' that!--three pounds eighteen shillings

a-year; and ye would throw it away, just as if it were three puffs o'

breath! Now, William, just listen to me and tak tent--that is within twa

shillings o' four pounds. It would far mair than cleed you and me, out

and out, frae head to foot, from year's end to year's end. But at

present the wench's meat and wages come to three times that, and

therefore I am resolved, William, that while I am able to work, we shall

neither throw away the one nor the other. It is best that we should

understand each other in time: therefore, I just tell ye plainly, as I

said yesterday, that as I wish to end, I mean to begin. This very day,

this very morning and hour, I go out wi' the bondage lassies to single

the turnips; and, at the end o' the quarter, the lazy taupie

butt-a-house maun walk aboot her business.'

"'Weel, Kirsty, my darling,' says I, 'your way be it. Only I maun again

say, that I had no wish or inclination whatever to see you toiling and

thinning turnips beneath a burning sun, or maybe taking them up and

shawing them, when the cauld drift was cutting owre the face keener than

a razor.'

"'Weel, William,' quoth she, 'it is needless saying any more words about

it--it is my fixed and determined resolution.'

"'Then, hinny,' says I, 'if ye be absolutely resolved upon that, it is

o' no manner o' use to say ony mair upon the subject, of course--your

way be it.'

"So the servant lassie was discharged accordingly, and Kirsty did

everything hersel. Wet day and dry day, whatever kind o' wark was to be

done, there was she in the middle o' it, by her example spurring on the

bondagers. Even when we began to hae a family, I hae seen her working in

the fields wi' an infant on her back; and I am certain that for a dozen

o' harvests, while she was aye at the head o' the shearers, there was

aye our bairn that was youngest at the time, lying rowed up in a blanket

at the foot o' the rig, and playing wi' the stubble to amuse itsel.

"There were many that said that I was entirely under her thumb, and that

she had the maister-skep owre me. But that was a grand mistake, for she

by no means exercised onything like maistership owre me; though I am

free to confess, that I at all times paid a great degree o' deference to

her opinions, and that she had a very particular and powerfu' way o'

enforcing them. Yet, although I was in no way cowed by her, there wasna

a bairn that we had, from the auldest to the youngest, that durst play

_cheep_ before her. She certainly had her family under great subjection,

and their bringing up did her great credit. They were allowed time to

play like ither bairns--but from the time that they were able to make

use o' their hands, ye would hardly hae found it possible to come in

upon us, and seen ane o' them idle. All were busy wi' something; and no

ane o' them durst hae stepped owre a prin lying on the floor, without

stooping doun to tak it up, or passed onything that was out o' its place

without putting it right. For I will say for her again, that, if my

Kirsty wasna a bonny wife, she was not only a thrifty but a tidy ane,

and keepit every ane and every thing tidy around her.

"She was a strange woman for abhorring everything that was new-fangled.

She was a most devout believer in, and worshipper o' the wisdom o' oor

ancestors. She perfectly hated everything like change; and as to

onything that implied speculation, ye micht as weel hae spoken o'

profanation in her presence. She said she liked auld friends, auld

customs, auld fashions; and was the sworn enemy o' a' the innovations on

the practices and habits that had been handed doun frae generation to

generation. I dinna ken if ever she heard the names Whig or Tory in her

life; but if Tory mean an enemy o' change, then my Kirsty certainly was

a Tory o' the very purest water.

"I dinna suppose that she believed there was such a word as

_improvement_ in the whole Dictionary. She would hae allooed everything

to stand steadfast as Lot's wife, for ever and for ever. But, however,

just to gie ye a specimen or twa o' her remarkable disposition:--I think

it was about sixteen years after we were married, that I took a tack o'

an adjoining farm, which was much larger than the ane we occupied. I was

conscious it would require every penny we had scraped thegither, and

that we had saved, to stock it. My wife was by no means favourable to my

taking it. She said we kenned what we had done, but we didna ken what we

might do; and it was better to go on as we were doing, than to risk oor

a'. I acknowledge that there was a vast deal o' truth in what she said;

but, however, I saw that the farm was an excellent bargain, and I was

resolved to tak it, say what she might; and therefore, though she was

said to domineer owre me, yet, just to prove to every person round about

that I was not under a wife's government, I did tak it. I had not had it

twa years, when I began to find that thrashing wi' the flail would never

answer. Often, when the markets were on the rise, and when I could hae

turned owre many pounds into my ain pocket, I found it was a'thegither

impossible for me to get my corn thrashed in time to catch the markets

while they were high; and I am certain that, in the second year that I

had the new farm, I lost at least a hundred pounds frae that cause

alone--that is, I didna get a hundred pounds that I micht hae got, and

that was much the same as losing it oot o' my pocket. Thrashing machines

at that period were just beginning to come into vogue, but there was a

terrible outcry against them; and mony a ane said that they were an

invention o' the Prince o' Darkness; for my part I wish he would

never do mair ill upon the earth, than invent sic things as

thrashing-machines. Hooever, I saw plain and clearly the advantage that

the machine had owre the flail, and I was determined to hae ane. But

never did I see a woman in such a steer as the mention o' the thing put

Kirsty in! She went perfectly wild aboot it.

"'What, William!' she cried, 'what do ye talk aboot?' Losh me, man, have

ye nae mair sense?--have ye nae discretion whatever? Will ye really rush

upon ruin at a horse-race? Ye talk aboot getting a machine! How, I ask

ye, how do ye expect that ever ye could prosper for a single day after,

if ye were to throw oor twa decent barn-men oot o' employment, and their

families oot o' bread? I just ask ye that question, William. Does na the

proverb say--'Live and let live;' and hoo are men to live, if, by an

invention o' the Enemy o' mankind, ye tak work oot o' their hands, and

bread oot o' their mouths?"

"'Dear me, Kirsty!' said I, 'hoo is it possible that a woman o' your

excellent sense can talk such nonsense? Ye see very weel that, if I had

had a machine, I micht hae made a hundred pounds mair than I did by last

year's crops--that, certainly, would hae been a good turn to us--and,

tak my word for it, it is neither in the power nor in the nature o' the

Evil One to do a guid turn to onybody.'

"'Willie,' quoth she, 'ye talk like a silly man--like a very silly man,

indeed. If the Enemy o' mankind hadna it in his power to do for us what

we tak to be for oor guid, hoo in the warld do ye think he could tempt

us to our hurt? I say, that thrashing-machines are an invention o' his,

and that they are ane o' the instruments he is bringing up for the ruin

o' this country. It is him, and him alone, that is putting it into your

head to buy ane o' his infernal devices, in order that he may not only

ruin you, baith soul and body, by filling ye wi' a desire o' riches, an'

making ye the oppressor and the robber o' the poor, but that, through

your oppression and robbery, he may ruin them also, and bring them to

shame or the gallows!'

"'Forgie me, Kirsty,' said I, 'what in a' the world do ye mean? Hoo is

it possible that ye can talk aboot me as likely to be either an

oppressor or a robber o' the poor? I'll declare there never was a beggar

passed either me or my door, that ever I saw, but I gied him something.

I'm sure, guidwife, ye baith ken better o' me, and think better o' me

than to talk sae.'

"'Yes, William,' said she, 'I did think better o' ye; but I noo see

distinctly that the Enemy is leading ye blindfolded to your ruin. First,

through the pride o' your heart, he tempted ye to tak this big farm,

that, as ye thocht, ye might hasten to be rich; and now he is seducing

ye to buy ane o' his diabolical machines for the same end, and in order

that ye may not only deprive honest men and their families o' bread,

but, belike, rather than starve, tempt them to steal! And what ca' ye

that but oppressing and robbing the poor? Hooever, buy a machine!--buy

ane, and ye'll see what will be the upshot! If ye dinna repent it, say

I'm no your wife.'

"I confess her words were onything but agreeable to me, and they rather

set me a hesitating hoo to act. Hooever my mind was bent upon buying the

machine. I had said to several o' my neebors that I intended to hae ane

put up; and I was convinced that, if I drew back o' my word, it would be

said that my wife wouldna let me get it, and I would be made a general

laughing-stock--and that was a thing that I held in greater dread than

even my wife's lectures, severe as they sometimes were; therefore,

reason or nane, I got a machine put up. It caused a very general outcry

amongst a' the 'datal' men and their wives for miles round. At ae time I

even thocht that they would mob me and pull it to pieces. But all their

clamour was a mere snaw-flake fa'ing in the sea, compared wi' the

perpetual dirdum that Kirsty rang in my ears about it. She actually

threatened that judgments would follow, and I didna ken a' what. But, on

the morning o' the day that I yoked the horses into it, and began to

thrash wi' it for the first time I declare to you that she took the six

bairns wi' her, and absolutely went to her faither's, vowing to work for

them until the blood sprang from her finger-ends, rather then live wi' a

man that would be guilty o' such madness and iniquity.

"But having heard before dinner-time that I had had to employ a woman at

sixpence a-day to feed into the machine she came back as fast as her

feet could carry her, wi' a' the bairns behint her, and ordering the

stranger away, began to feed the machine hersel', and the bairns carried

her the sheaves.

"I saw that out o' a spirit o' pure wickedness, she was distressing

hersel' far beyond what there was the sma'est occasion for. It was as

clear as day, that indignation was working in her heart, like barm

fermenting in a bottle, and just about half an hour before we were to

leave off thrashing for the nicht, she was seized with a very alarming

pain in the breast. I saw and said it was a hysterical affection, and

was altogether the consequence o' the passion that she had given way to

on account o' the unlucky machine. She, however, denied that there were

such diseases in existence as either hysterical or nervous affections.

They were sham disorders, she said, that cam into the country wi' tea

and spirit-drinking; and she assuredly was free from indulging in either

the ane or the other. But she grew worse and worse, and was at last

obliged to sit down upon some straw on the barn-floor. I ventured

forward to her, and said--'Kirsty, woman, ye had better gang awa into

the house. Ye will do yersel' mair ill by sittin there, for there is a

current o' air through the loft, which, after you being warm with

working, may gie ye your death o' cauld. Rise up, dear, and gang awa

into the house, and try if a glass o' usquebae will do ye ony guid.'

"Maister Burns, the poet, has said--

'She has an ee, she has but _ane_;'

but, certes, had he seen the look that she gied me as I then spoke to

her, he would hae been satisfied that she had _twa_! I saw it was o' nae

manner o' use for me either to offer advice or to express sympathy. The

wife o' an auld man that was called John Neilson, and who for several

years had been our barn-man, came into the machine-loft at the time, and

wi' a great deal o' concern she asked my wife what was like the matter

wi' her. Now this auld Peggy Neilson had the reputation, for miles

round, o' being an extraordinary _skilly_ woman. There wasna a bairn in

the parish took a sair throat, or got a burnt foot, or a cut finger, or

took a _dwam_ for a day or twa, but its mother said--'I maun hae Peggy

Neilson spoken to aboot that bairn, before it be owre late.' Kirsty,

therefore, told her hoo she was affected, when the other, wi' the

confidence o' a doctor o' medicine brought up at the first college in

the kingdom, said--'Then, ma'am, if that be the way ye feel, there is

naething in the warld sae guid for ye as a blast o' the pipe. I aye

carry a tinder-box and flint and steel wi' me, and ye are welcome to a

whuff o' my cutty.'

"Now, Kirsty was a bitter enemy to baith smoking and snuffing in

general; but she had great faith in the skill o' Peggy Neilson, and wad

far rather hae done whatever she advised than followed the prescription

o' the best doctor in a' the land. She took the auld woman's pipe,

therefore, and began to blaw through a spirit o' pain and perverseness

at the same moment. As I anticipated, it soon made her dizzy in the

head, and she had to be led to the house. Hooever, in a short time, the

pain she had been suffering was greatly abated, though whether the

smoking contributed towards removing it or not, I dinna pretend to say.

Just as she had been taen to the house, we were dune wi' thrashing for

the day, and I was very highly gratified wi' the day's wark.

"But I was very tired, and as soon as I had had my sowens I went to bed.

I several times thought, and remarked it, that there was a sort o' burnt

smell about.

"'Ay,' said Kirsty, who by this time was a great deal better; 'they who

will use the engines o' forbidden agents maun expect to smell them, as

in the end they will feel them.'

"Being conscious it was o' nae use to reason wi' her, for she in general

had the better o' me in an argument, I tried to compose mysel' to

sleep. But it was in vain to think o' closing my een, for the smell o'

burning grew stronger and stronger, and I was rising again,

saying--'There is something burning aboot somewhere, and I canna rest

until I hae seen what it is.'

"'Nor let other folk rest either,' said Kirsty.

"Just at that moment, oor eldest dochter, who was as perfect a picture

o' beauty as ever man looked upon wi' eyes o' admiration, and who being

alarmed by the smell, as well as me, had gane oot to examine from what

it proceeded came running oot o' breath, crying--'Faither! faither!-the

barn and everything is on fire!'

"'O goodness!' cried I, as I threw on part o' my claes in the twinkling

o' an ee; 'what wretch can hae been sae wicked as to do it!'

"'It's a judgment upon ye,' said Kirsty, 'for having such a thing about

the place, after a' the admonitions ye had against it. I said ye would

see what would be the upshot, and it hasna been lang o' coming.'

"'O ye tormenter o' my life!' cried I, as I ran oot o' the house; 'it's

your handy-work!'

"'Mine!' exclaimed she. 'O ye heartless man that ye are, how dare ye

presume either to say or think sic a thing!' and she followed me out.

"The whole stackyard was black wi' smoke--it was hardly possible to

breathe--and a great sheet o' fire, like the mouth o' a fiery dragon,

was rushing and roaring out at the barn-door. I didna ken what to do; I

was ready to rush head foremost into the middle o' the flames, as if

that I could hae crushed them out wi' the weight o' my body; and I am

persuaded that I would hae darted right into the machine loft, where the

flames were bursting through the very tiles, as frae the mouth o' a

volcano, had not my wife, and our eldest daughter Janet, flewn after me

and held me in their arms, the one crying--'Be calm, William--do

naething rashly--let us see to save what can be saved;' and the other

saying--'Faither! faither! dinna risk your life.'

"Now, there was a hard frost owre the entire face o' the ground, and

there wasna a drop o' water to be got within a quarter o' a mile; and

the whole o' my year's crop, with, the exception o' what had that day

been thrashed, was in the stackyard. I shouted at the pitch of my voice

for assistance, but the devouring flames soon roared louder than I did.

Kirsty, wi' her usual presence o' mind, began to clear away the straw

from around the barn, to prevent the fire from spreading, and she called

upon the bairns and me to follow her example. She also ordered a laddie

to set the horses out o' the stables, and the nowt oot o' the

'courtine,' and drive them into a field, where they would be oot o'

danger. A' our neighbours round aboot, in a short time arrived to our

assistance; but a' our combined efforts were unavailing. The wood wark

o' the machine was already on fire--the barn roof fell in, and up flew

such a volley o' smoke and firmament o' fire as man had never witnessed.

The sparks ascended in millions upon millions; and as they poured down

again like a shower o' fire, every stack that I had broke into a blaze,

and the whole produce o' my farm, corn, straw, and hay became as a

burning fiery furnace. It became impossible for ony living thing to

remain in the stackyard. From end to end, and round and round, it was

one fierce and awful flame. The heat was scorching, and the dense smoke

was baith blinding and suffocating. Every person was obliged to flee

from it. The very cattle in the field ran about in confusion, and moaned

wi' terror, and the horses neighed wi' fright, and pranced to and fro. I

stood at a distance, as motionless as a dead man, gazing wi' horror upon

the terrific scene o' desolation, beholding the destruction o' my

property--the burning up, as I may say, o' a' my prospects. The teeth in

my head chattered thegither, and every joint in my body seemed oot o'

its socket; and the raging o' destruction in the stackyard was naething

to the raging o' misery in my breast; and especially because I coudna

banish frae my brain the awfu' thought that the hand o' the wife o' my

bosom had lighted the conflagration. While I was standing in this state

o' speechless agony, and some around about me were pitying me, while

others in whispers said--'He had nae business to get a thrashing

machine, and the thing woudna hae happened,' Kirsty came forward to me,

and takin' me by the hand, said--'William, dinna be silly--appear like a

man before folk. Our loss is nae doubt great, but in time we may get

ower it; and be thankfu' that it is nae waur than it is like to be--for

your wife and bairns are spared to ye, and we have escaped unskaithed.'

"'Awa, ye descendant o' Judas Iscariot!' cried I; 'dinna speak to me!'

"'William,' said she, calmly, 'what infatuation possesses ye,

man?--dinna mak a fool o' yoursel'.'

"'Awa wi' ye!' cried I, perfectly shaking wi' rage.

"'Dear me!' I heard a neighbour remark to another; 'how gruffly he

speaks to Kirsty! I aye thought that she had the upperhand o' him, but

it doesna appear by his manner o' speaking to her.'

"Distracted, wretched, and angry as I was, I experienced a sort o'

secret pleasure at hearing the observation. I had shewn them that I

wasna a slave tied to my wife's apron-strings, as they supposed me to

be. Kirsty left me wi' a look that had baith scorn and pity in it. But

oor auldest lassie, my bonny fair-haired Janet--to look upon whose face

I always delighted beyond everything on earth--came running forward to

me; and throwing her arms about my neck, sobbed wi' her face upon my

breast, and softly whispered--'Dinna stand that way, faither, a' body is

looking at ye; and dinna speak harshly to my poor mother--she is

distressed enough without you being angry wi' her.' I bent my head upon

my bairn's shouther, and the tears ran doun my cheeks.

"By this time, everything was oot o' the house; and the fire was

prevented from reaching it, chiefly through the daring exertions o' a

hafflins laddie, whose name was James Patrick, who was the son o' a

neebor farmer, and who, though no aboon seventeen years o' age, I

observed was very fond o' oor bonny Janet; for I had often observed the

young creatures wandering in the loaning thegither; and when ye

mentioned the name o' the ane before the other, the blood rose to their

face.

"Next morning, the stackyard, barn, byres, and stables, presented a

fearful picture o' devastation. There was naething to be seen but the

still smoking heaps o' burnt straw and roofless buildings, wi' wreck and

ruin to the richt hand and to the left. Some thought that the calamity

would knock me aff my feet, and cause me to become a broken man--and I

thought myself that that would be its effect. But Kirsty was determined

that we should never sink while we had a finger to wag to keep us aboon

the water. Cheap as she had always maintained the house, she now keepit

it at almost no expense whatever. For more than two years, nothing was

allowed to come into it but what the farm produced, and what we had

within ourselves, neither in meat nor in claething.

"But though I witnessed all her exertions, nothing could satisfy my mind

that she was not the cause o' the destruction o' the machine, and

through it o' all that was in and about the stackyard. The idea haunted

me perpetually, and rendered me miserable, and I could not look upon my

wife without saving to mysel--'Is it possible that she could hae been

guilty o' such folly and great wickedness.' I was the more confirmed in

my suspicion, because she never again mentioned the subject o' the

machine in my hearing, neither would she allow it to be spoken aboot by

ony ane else.

"What gratified me maist, during the years that we had to undergo

privation, was the cheerfulness wi' which all the bairns submitted to

it; and I couldna deny that it was solely to her excellent manner o'

bringing them up. Our Janet, who was approaching what may be called

womanhood, was now talked o' through the hale country-side for her

beauty and sweet temper; and it pleased me to observe, that, during our

misfortune, the attentions o' James Patrick (through whose skilful

exertions oor house was saved frae the conflagration) increased. It was

admitted, on all hands, that a more winsome couple were never seen in

Nithsdale.

"Oor auldest son, David, who was only fifteen months younger than his

sister, had also grown to be o' great assistance to me. Before he was

seventeen he was capable o' man's work, which enabled me to do with a

hind less than I had formerly employed. My landlord, also, was very

considerate; and, the first year after the burning, he gave me back the

half o' the rent, which I, with great difficulty, had been able to

scrape thegether. But when I went hame, and, in the gladness o' my

heart, began to count down the money upon the table before Kirsty and

the bairns, and to tell them how good the laird had been--'Tak it up,

William!' cried she, 'tak it up, and gang back wi' it--he would consider

it an obligation a' the days o' our lives. I will be beholden to neither

laird nor lord! nor shall ony ane belonging to me--sae, tak back the

money, for it isna ours!'

"'Bless me!' thought I, 'but this is something very remarkable. This is

certainly another proof that she really is at the bottom o' the

fire-raising. It is the consciousness o' her guilt that makes her

shudder at and refuse the kind kindness o' the laird.'

"'It is braw talking, Kirsty,' said I, 'but I see nae necessity for

persons that hae been visited wi' a misfortune such as we met wi', and

wha hae suffered sae much on account o' it, to let their pride do them

an injury or exceed their discretion. Consider that we hae a rising

family to provide for.'

"'Consider what ye like,' quoth she, 'but, if ye accept the siller,

consider what will be the upshot. Ye would hae to be hat in hand to him

at all times and on all occasions. Yer very bairns would be, as it were,

his bought slaves. No, William, tak back the money--I order ye!'

"'Ye _order_ me!' cried I, 'there's a guid ane!--and where got ye

authority to order me. If ye will hae the siller taen back, tak it back

yersel.'

"Without saying another word, she absolutely whipped it off the table,

every plack and bawbee, into her apron; and, throwing on her rockelay

and hood, set aff to the laird's wi' it, where, as I was afterwards

given to understand, she threw it down upon his table wi' as little

ceremony as she had sweept it aft' mine.

"Ye may weel imagine that baith my astonishment and vexation were very

considerable. I had seen a good deal o' Kirsty, but the act o' taking

back the siller crowned a'!

"'Losh!' said I, in the pure bitterness o' my spirit, 'that caps

a'!--that is even worse than destroying the machine, wi' the stacks and

stabling into the bargain!'

"'What do ye mean about destroying the machine, faither?' inquired Janet

and David, almost at the same instant--'who do ye say destroyed it?'

"'Naebody,' said I, angrily, 'naebody!'--for I found I had said what I

ought not to hae said.

"'Really, faither,' said Janet, 'whatever it may be that ye think and

hint at, I am certain that ye do my mother a great injustice if ye

harbour a single thought to her prejudice. It may appear rather

proud-spirited her takin back the siller, though I hae na doubt, in the

lang run, but we'll a' approve o' it.'

"'That is exactly what I think, too,' said David.

"'Oh, nae dout!' said I, 'nae dout o' that!--for she has ye sae learned,

that everything she does, or that ony o' ye does, is always right; and

whatever I do must be wrang!' and I went oot o' the house in a pet,

driving the door behind me, and thinking about the machine and the loss

o' the siller.

"Hooever, I am happy to say, that although Kirsty did tak back the money

to the laird and leave it wi' him, yet, as I have already hinted to ye,

through her frugal management, within a few years we got the better o'

the burning. But there is a saying, that some folk are no sooner weel

than they're ill again--and I'm sure I may say that at that time. I no

sooner got the better o' the effects o' ae calamity, until another

overtook me. Ye hae heard what a terrible dirdum the erecting o'

toll-bars caused throughout the country, and upon the Borders in

particular. Kirsty was one o' those who cried oot most bitterly against

them. She threatened, that if it were attempted to place ane within ten

miles o' oor farm, she would tear it to pieces with her ain hands.

"'Here's a bonny time o' day, indeed!' said she, 'that a body canna gang

for a cart-load o' coals or peats, or tak their corn, or whatever it may

be, to the market, but they must pay whatever a set o' Justices o' the

Peace please to charge them for the liberty o' driving along the road.

Na, na! the roads did for our faithers before us, and they will do for

us. They went alang them free and without payment, and so will we; for I

defy any man to claim, what has been a public road for ages, as his

property. Only submit to such an imposition, and see what will be the

upshot. But, rather than they shall mak sic things in this

neighbourhood, I will raise the whole countryside.'

"Unfortunately in this, as in everything else, she verified her words. A

toll-bar was erected within half-a-mile o' oor door Kirsty was clean

mad about it. She threatened not only to break the yett to pieces, but

to hang the toll-keeper owre the yett-post if he offered resistance. I

thought o' my machine, and said little; and the more especially because

every ane, baith auld and young, and through the whole country, so far

as I could hear, were o' the same sentiments as Kirsty. There never was

onything proposed in this kingdom that was mair unpopular. And, I am

free to confess, that, with regard to the injustice o' toll-bars, I was

precisely o' the same way o' thinkin' as my wife--only I by no means

wished to carry things to the extremes that she wished to bring them to.

"I ought to tell ye, that our laird was more than suspected o' being the

principal cause o' us having a toll-bar placed so near us, so that we

could neither go to lime, coals, nor market, without gaun through it. I

was, therefore, almost glad that my wife had taken back the siller to

him, lest--as I was against raising a disturbance about the matter--folk

should say that my hands and tongue were tied wi' the siller which he

had given me back; for, if I didna wish to be considered the slave o' my

wife, as little did I desire to be thought the tool o' my landlord. But,

ae day, I had been in at Dumfries in the month o' July, selling my wool;

I had met wi' an excellent market, and a wool-buyer from Leeds and I got

very hearty thegether. He had bought from me before; and, on that day,

he bought all that I had. I knew him to be an excellent man, though a

keen Yorkshireman--and, ye ken, that the Yorkshire folk and we Scotchmen

are a gay tight match for ane anither--though I believe, after a', they

rather beat us at keeping the grip o' the siller; but as I intended to

say, I treated him, and he treated me, and a very agreeable day we had.

I recollect when he was pressing me to hae the other gill, I sang him a

bit hamely sang o' my ain composing. Ye shall hear it.

Nay, dinna press, I winna stay,

For drink shall ne'er abuse me;

It's time to rise and gang away--

Sae neibors ye'll excuse me.

It's true I like a social gill,

A friendly crack wi' cronies;

But I like my wifie better still,

Our Jennies an' our Johnnies.

There's something by my ain fireside--

A saft, a haly sweetness;

I see, wi' mair than kingly pride,

My hearth a heaven o' neatness

Though whisky may gie care the fling,

It's triumph's unco noisy;

A jiffy it may pleasure bring,

But comfort it destroys aye.

But I can view my ain fireside

Wi' a' a faither's rapture;--

Wee Jenny's hand in mine will slide,

While Davy reads his chapter.

I like your company and yer crack,

But there's ane I loo dearer,

Ane wha will sit till I come back,

Wi' ne'er a ane to cheer her.

A waff o' joy comes owre her face

The moment that she hears me;

The supper--a' thing's in its place,

An' wi' her smiles she cheers me.

However, I declare to you, it was very near ten o'clock before I left

the house we are sitting in at present, and put my foot in the stirrup.

But, as my friend Robin says--

'Weel mounted on my grey mare Meg,'

I feared for naething; and, though I had sixteen lang Scots miles to

ride, I thought naething aboot it; for, as he says again--

'Kings may be great, but I was glorious,

Owre a' the ills o' life victorious!'

But, just as I had reached within about half a mile o' the toll-bar

that had been erected near my farm, I saw a sort o' light rising frae

the ground, and reflected on the sky. My heart sank within me in an

instant. I remembered the last time I had seen such a light. I thought

o' my burning stackyard, o' my ruined machine, and o' Kirsty! My first

impulse was to gallop forward, but a thousand thoughts, a thousand fears

cam owre me in an instant; and I thought that evil tidings come quick

enough o' their ain accord, without galloping to meet them. As I

approached the toll-bar, the flame and the reflection grew brighter and

brighter; and I heard the sound o' human voices, in loud and discordant

clamour. My forebodings told me, to use Kirsty's words, what would be

the upshot. I hadna reached within a hundred yards o' the bar, when,

aboon a' the shouting and the uproar, I heard her voice, the voice o' my

ain wife, crying--'Mak him promise that it shall ne'er be put up

again--mak him swear to it--or let his yett gang the gaet o' the

toll-yett!'

"In a moment all that I had dreaded I found to be true. At the sound o'

her voice, hounding on the enraged multitude, (though I didna altogether

disapprove o' what they were doing,) I plunged my spurs into my horse,

and galloped into the middle o' the outrageous crowd, crying--'Kirsty! I

say, Kirsty! awa hame wi' ye! What right or what authority had ye to be

there?'

"'Hear him! hear him!' cried the crowd, 'Willie has turned a toll-bar

man, and a laird man, because the Laird once offered him the half o' his

rent back again! Never mind him, Kirsty!--we'll stand yer friends!'

"'I thank ye, neighbours,' said she, 'but I require nae body to stand as

friends between my guidman and me. I ken it is my duty to obey him, that

is, when he is himsel', and comes hame at a reasonable time o' nicht;

but not when he is in a way that he doesna ken what he's saying, as he

is the nicht.'

"'Weel done, Mistress Wastle!' cried a dozen o' them; 'we see ye hae the

whip-hand o' him yet!'

"'The mischief tak ye!' cried I, 'for a wheen ill-mannered scoundrels;

but I'll let every mother's son and dochter among ye ken whase hand the

whip is in!'

"And, wi' that, I began to lay about me on every side; but, before I had

brought the whip half-a-dozen o' times round my head, I found that the

horse was out from under me; and there was I wi' my back upon the

ground, while, on the one side, was a heavy foot upon my breast, and, on

the other, Kirsty threatening ony ane that would injure a hair o' her

husband's head; and my son David and James Patrick rushing forward,

seized the man by the throat that had his foot upon my breast, and, in

an instant, they had him lying where I had lain; for they were stout,

powerfu' lads.

"But when I got upon my feet, and began to recover from the surprise

that I had met wi', there did I see the laird himsel, standing trembling

like an ash leaf in the middle o' the unruly mob--and, as ringleader o'

the whole, my wife Kirsty shaking her hand in his face, and endeavouring

to extort from him a promise, that there never should be another

toll-bar erected upon his grounds, while he was laird!

"'Kirsty!' I exclaimed, 'what are ye after? Are ye mad?'

"'No, William!' cried she, 'I am not mad, but I am standing out for our

rights against injustice; and sorry am I to perceive that, at a time

when everybody is crying out and raising their hand against the

oppression that is attempted to be practised upon them, my guidman

should be the only coward in the countryside.'

"'William Wastle!' said the terrified laird, whom some o' them were

handling very roughly, (and principally, I must confess, at the

instigation o' Kirsty,) 'I am glad to see that I have one tenant upon my

estate who is a true man; and I ask your protection.'

"'Such protection as I can afford, sir,' said I, 'ye shall have; but,

after the rough handling winch I have experienced this very moment, I

dout it is not much that is in my power to afford ye.'

"'Get yer faither awa to his bed, bairns!' cried my wife, as I was

driving my way through the crowd to the assistance o' the laird; and

I'll declare, if my son David, and James Patrick, didna actually come

behind me, and, lifting me aff my feet, carried me shouther-high a' the

way to my bedroom; and, in spite o' my threats, expostulations, and

commands, locked me into it.

"Weel, thought I, as I threw myself down upon the bed, without taking

aff my claes, (partly because I found my head wanted ballast to tak them

aff,) I said unto mysel--'This comes o' having a wise and headstrong

wife, and bairns o' her way o' bringing up. But if ever I marry again

and hae a family, I shall ken better how to act.'

"Notwithstanding all that I had undergone and witnessed, in the space o'

ten minutes, I fell fast asleep; and the first thing that I awoke to

recollect--that is, to be conscious o'--was my daughter Janet rushing to

my bedside, and crying--'Faither! faither! my mother is a prisoner!--my

poor dear mother, and James Patrick also!--and I heard the laird saying

that they would baith be transported, as the very least that could

happen them for last night's work, which I understand will be punished

more severely than even highway robbery!'

"I awoke like a man born to a consciousness o' horror, and o' naething

but horror. All that I had seen and heard and encountered on the night

before, was just as a dream to me, but a dismal dream I trow.

"'Where is yer mother?' I gasped, 'or what is it that ye are saying,

hinny? and--where is James Patrick?'

"'Oh!' cried my darling daughter, 'before this time they are baith in

Dumfries jail, for pu'ing down and burning the toll-yetts, and

threatening the life o' the laird. But everybody says it will gang

particularly hard against my mother and poor James; for, though every

one was to blame, they were what they ca' ringleaders.'

"I soon recollected enough o' the previous night's proceedings to

comprehend what my daughter said. I hurried on my claes, and awa I flew

to Dumfries. But I ought to tell ye, that the laird's servants had

ridden in every direction for assistance; and having got three or four

constables, and about a dozen o' the regular military, all armed wi'

swords and pistols, they made poor Kirsty and James Patrick, wi' about a

dozen others, prisoners, and conveyed them to Dumfries jail.

"When I was shewn into the prison, Kirsty and James, and the whole o'

them, were together. 'O Kirsty, woman!' said I, in great distress,

'could ye no hae keepit at hame while my back was turned! Why hae ye

brought the like o' this upon us? I'm sure ye kenned better! _Was the

destruction o' the machine and the stackyard no a warning to ye!_'

"'William,' answered she, 'what is it that ye mean?--is this a time to

cast upon me yer low-minded suspicions? Had ye last nicht acted as a

man, we micht hae got the laird to comply wi' our request; but it is

through you, and such as you, that everything in this unlucky country is

gaun to destruction; and sorry am I to say that ill o' ye--for a kind, a

good, and a faithfu' husband hae ye been to me, William.'

"'O sir!' said James Patrick, coming forward and taking me by the hand,

'may I just beg that ye will tak my respects to yer dochter Janet; and,

I hope, that whatever may be the issue o' this awkward affair, that she

will in no way look down upon me, because I happen to be as a sort o'

prisoner in a jail.' My heart rose to my mouth, and I hadna a word to

say to either my wife or him.

"'Weel," said I, as I left them, 'I must do the best I can to bring

baith o' ye aff; and, to accomplish it, the best lawyers in a' Scotland

shall be employed.'

"But to go on--at a very great expense, I, and the faither o' James

Patrick, had employed the very principal advocates that went upon the

Dumfries circuit; and they tauld us that we had naething to fear, and

that we might keep ourselves quite at ease.

"I was glad that my son David hadna been seized and imprisoned, as weel

as his mother and James Patrick, for he also had been ane o' the

ringleaders in the breaking doun and burning o' the toll-bars, and in

the assault upon the laird. But he escaped apprehension at the time, and

I suppose they thought that they had enough in custody to answer the

ends o' justice and the law, and, therefore, he was permitted to remain

unmolested.

"Now, sir, comes the most melancholy part o' my story. I had a quantity

o' wool to deliver to the Yorkshire buyer, I hae already mentioned, upon

a certain day. My son David was to drive the carts wi' it to Annan. It

was sair wark, and he had but little sleep for a fortnight thegether. It

caused him to travel night and day, load after load. Now, I needna tell

ye, that at that period the roads were literally bottomless. The horse

just went plunge, plunging, and the cart jerking, now to ae side, and

now to another, or giein a shake sufficient to drive the life out o' ony

body that was in it. Now, the one wheel was on a hill, and the other in

a hollow; or, again, baith were up to the axle-tree in mud, or the horse

half-swimming in water! And yet people cried out against toll-bars! But,

as I hae been telling ye, my son David had driven wool to Annan for a

fortnight, and he was sair worn out. The roads were in a dreadful

state--worse than if, now-a-days, ye were to attempt to drive through a

bog.

"Ae night, when he was expected hame, his sister Janet, and mysel' sat

lang up waiting upon him, and wondering what could be keeping him, when

a stranger rode up to the door, and asked if 'one Mr William Wastle

lived there?' I replied 'Yes!' And, oh! what think ye were his tidings,

but that my name had been seen upon the carts, that the horses had stuck

fast in the roads, and that my son David, who had fallen from the

shafts, had either been killed, or drowned among the horses' feet!

"I thought his brothers and sisters, and especially Janet, would have

gane oot o' their judgment. As for me, a' the trials I had had were but

as a drap in a bucket when compared wi' this!

"But, after I had mourned for a night, the worst was to come. Hoo was I

to tell his poor imprisoned mother!--imprisoned as she wis for opposing

the very thing that would hae saved her son's life!

"Next day I went to Dumfries; but I declare that I never saw the light

o' the sun hae sic a dismal appearance. The fields appeared to me as if

I saw them through a mist. Even distance wasna as it used to be. I was

admitted into the prison, but I winna--oh no! I canna repeat to ye the

manner in which I communicated the tidings to his mother! It was too

much for her then--it would be the same for me now! for naething in the

whole coorse o' my life ever shook me so much as the death o' my poor

David. But I remember o' saying to her, and I declare to you upon the

word o' a man, unthinkingly--'O Kirsty, woman! had we had toll-bars,

David might still hae been living!'

"'William, William!' she cried, and fell upon my neck, 'will ye kill me

outright!' And, for the first time in my life, I saw the tears gushing

down her cheeks. Those tears washed away the very remembrance o' the

machine, and the burning o' the stacks. I pressed her to my heart, and

my tears mingled wi' hers.

"I believe it was partly through our laird that baith Kirsty and James

Patrick were liberated without being brought to a trial. Her

imprisonment, and the death o' our son, had wrought a great change upon

my wife; and I think it was hardly three months after her being set at

liberty, that we were baith sent for to auld John Neilson the barnman's,

whose wife Peggy lay upon her death-bed. When we approached her bedside,

she raised herself upon her elbow, and said--'The burning o' yer barn

and stackyard has always been a mystery--hear the real truth from the

words o' a dying and guilty woman. Yer machine had thrown my husband out

o' employment, and when yer wife there gied me back the pipe, a whuff o'

which I said would do her good, _I let the burning dottle drap among the

straw_--nane o' ye observed it--ye were a' leaving the barn. Now, ye ken

the cause--on my death-bed I make the confession.'

"I declare I thought my heart would hae louped out o' my body. I pressed

my wife, against whom I had harboured such vile suspicions, to my

breast. She saw my meaning--she read my feelings.

"'William,' said she, kindly, 'if ye hae onything on yer mind that ye

wish to forget, so hae I; let us baith forget and forgie!'

"I felt Kirsty's bosom heaving upon mine, and I was happy.

"Within six months after this, James Patrick and our dochter Janet were

married; and an enviable couple they then were, and such they are unto

this day. And, as for my Kirsty, auld though she is, and though the sang

says--

'I wadna gie a button for her,'

auld, I say, as she is, and wi' a' her faults, I would gie a' the

buttons upon my coat for her still, and a' the siller that ever was in

my pouch into the bargain."

[Footnote 4: Mr Allan Cunningham, in his Life of Burns, states the

following particulars respecting Willie's wife:--viz., that "He was a

farmer, who lived near Burns, at Ellisland. She was a very singular

woman--tea, she said, would be the ruin of the nation; sugar was a sore

evil; wheaten bread was only fit for babes; earthenware was a

pickpocket; wooden floors were but fit for thrashing upon; slated roofs,

cold; feathers good enough for fowls. In short, she abhorred change: and

whenever anything new appeared--such as harrows with iron teeth--'Ay!

ay!' she would exclaim, 'ye'll see the upshot!' Of all modern things she

disliked china most--she called it 'burnt clay,' and said 'it was only

fit for haudin' the broo o' stinkin' weeds,' as she called tea. On one

occasion, an English dealer in cups and saucers asked so much for his

wares, that he exasperated a peasant, who said, 'I canna purchase, but I

ken ane that will. Gang there,' said he, pointing to the house of

Willie's wife, 'dinna be blate or burd-moothed; ask a guid penny--she

has the siller!' Away went the poor dealer, spread out his wares before

her, and summed up all by asking a double price. A blow from her

crummock was his instant reward, which not only fell on his person, but

damaged his china. 'I'll learn ye,' quoth she, as she heard the saucers

jingle, 'to come wi' yer brazent English face, and yer bits o' burnt

clay to me!' She was an unlovely dame--her daughters, however, were

beautiful."--ED.]

THE STONE-BREAKER.

If any of our readers had had occasion to go out, for a couple of miles

or so, on the road leading from Edinburgh to the village of Carlops, any

time during the summer of the year 1836, they would have seen a little

old man--very old--employed in breaking metal for the roads. The exact

spot where _we_ saw him, was at the turn of the eastern shoulder of the

Pentland Hills; but the nature of his employment rendering him somewhat

migratory, he may have been seen by others in a different locality. In

the appearance of the old stone-breaker, there was nothing particularly

interesting--nothing to attract the attention of the passer-by--unless

it might be his great age. This, however, certainly was calculated to do

so; and when it did, it must have been accompanied by a painful feeling

at seeing one so old and feeble still toiling for the day that was

passing over him; and toiling, too, at one of the most dreary,

laborious, and miserable occupations which can well be conceived. Had

the old man no children who could provide for the little wants of their

aged parent, without the necessity of his still labouring for them--who

could secure him in that ease which exhausted nature demanded? It

appeared not. Perhaps it was a spirit of independence that nerved his

weak arm, and kept him toiling so far beyond the usual term of human

capability. Probably the proud-spirited old man would break no bread but

that which he had earned by the sweat of his brow and the labour of his

hands. Perhaps it was so. At any rate, this we know, that, at the early

hour of five in the morning, as regularly as the morning came, the old

stone-breaker had already commenced his monotonous labour. But this was

not all. He had also, by this early hour, walked upwards of four

miles--for so far distant was the scene of his occupation from the place

of his residence, Edinburgh. He must, therefore, have left home between

three and four o'clock, and this was his daily round, without

intermission, without variation, and without relaxation. A bottle of

butter-milk and a penny loaf formed each day's sustenance. His daily

earnings, labouring from five in the morning till six at night, averaged

about ninepence! Hear ye this, ye who ride in emblazoned carriages! Hear

ye this, ye loungers on the well-stuffed couch!--and hear it, ye

revellers at the festive board, who have never toiled for the luxuries

ye enjoy! Hear it, and think of it! But of this person we have other

things to tell; and to these we proceed.

One morning, just after he had commenced the labours of the day, a young

man, of about four or five and twenty years of age, accosted him, wished

him a good morning, and seated himself on the heap of broken metal on

which the old man was at work, and did so seemingly with the intention

of entering into conversation with him. This was a proceeding to which

the latter was much accustomed, it being a frequent practice with the

humbler class of wayfarers. The advances of the stranger, therefore, in

the present instance, did not for a moment interrupt his labours, or

slacken his assiduity. He hammered on without raising his head, even

while returning the greetings that were made him.

"A delightful view from this spot," said the young man, breaking in upon

a silence which had continued for some time after the first salutations

had passed between them.

"Yes," said the old man, drily; and, continuing his operations, he again

relapsed into his usual taciturnity; for, in truth, he was naturally of

a morose and uncommunicative disposition. Undeterred by his cold,

repulsive manner, the stranger again broke silence, and said, with a

deep-drawn sigh--

"How I envy these little birds that hop so joyously from spray to spray!

Their life is a happy one. Would to God I were one of them!"

The oddness of the expressions, and the earnestness with which they were

pronounced, had an effect on the labourer which few things had. They

induced him to pause in his work, to raise his head, and to look in the

face of the speaker, which he did with a smile of undefinable meaning.

It was the first full look he had taken of him, and it discovered to him

a countenance open and pleasing in its expression, but marked with deep

melancholy, and telling, in language not to be misunderstood, a tale of

heart-sickness of the most racking and depressing kind.

"Has your lot been ill cast, young man, that ye envy the bits o' burds

o' the air the freedom and the liberty that God has gien them?" said the

old man, eyeing the stranger scrutinizingly, with a keen, penetrating

grey eye, that had not even yet lost all its fire.

"It has," replied the latter. "I have been unfortunate in the world. I

have struggled hard with my fate, but it has at length overwhelmed me."

The old man muttered something unintelligibly, and, without vouchsafing

any other reply, resumed his labours. After another pause of some

duration, which, however, he had evidently employed in _thinking_ on the

declaration of unhappiness which had just been made him--

"Some folly o' your ain, young man, very likely," said he, carelessly,

and still knapping the stones, whose bulk it was his employment to

reduce.

"No," replied the young man, blushing; but it was a blush which he who

caused it did not see. "I cannot blame myself."

"Nae man does," interposed the stone-breaker; "he aye blames his

neighbours."

"Perhaps so," rejoined the stranger; "but you will allow that it is

perfectly possible for a man to be unfortunate without any fault on his

own part."

"I hae seldom seen't," replied the ungracious and unaccommodating old

man; and he hammered on.

"Well, perhaps so," said the youth; "but I hope you will not deny that

such things _may_ be."

"Canna say," was the brief, but sufficiently discouraging rejoinder.

"Then let us drop the subject," said the stranger, smilingly. "Each will

still judge of the world by his own experience. But, methinks, your own

case, my friend, is a hard enough one. To see a man of your years

labouring at this miserable employment, is a painful sight. Your debt to

fortune is also light, I should believe."

"I hae aye trusted mair to my ain industry than to fortune, young man. I

never pat it in her power to jilt me. I never trusted her, and

therefore, she has never deceived me; so her and me are quits." And the

old man plied away with his long, light hammer.

"Yet your earnings must be scanty?"

"I dinna compleen o' them."

"I daresay not; but will you not take it amiss my offering this small

addition to them?" And he tendered him a half-crown piece. "I have but

little to spare, and that must be my apology for offering you so

trifling a gift."

The man here again paused in his operations, and again looked full in

the face of the stranger, but without making any motion towards

accepting the proffered donation.

"I thocht ye said ye war in straits, young man," he said, and now

resting his elbow on the end of his hammer.

"And I said truly," replied the former, again colouring.

"Then hoo come ye to be sportin yer siller sae freely? I wad hae thocht

ye wad hae as muckle need o' a half-croon as I hae?"

"Perhaps I may," replied the stranger; "but that's not to hinder me from

feeling for others, nor from relieving their distresses so far as I

can."

"Foolish doctrine, young man, an' no' for this warl. It's nae wunner

that ye're in difficulties. I guessed the faut was yer ain, and noo I'm

sure o't. Put up yer half-croon, sir. I dinna tak charity."

"I hope, however, I have not offended you by the offer? It was well

meant."

"Ou, I daresay--I'm no the least offended; but tak an auld man's advice,

an' dinna let yer feelins hae the command o' yer purse-strings,

otherwise ye'll never hae muckle in't."

And the churlish old stone-breaker resumed his labours, and again

relapsed into taciturnity. Silent as he was, however, it was evident

that he was busily thinking, although none but himself could possibly

tell what was the subject of his thoughts; but this soon discovered

itself. After a short time, he again spoke--

"What may the nature an' cause o' yer defeeculties be, young man, an' I

may speer?" he said--"and I fancy I may, since ye hae been sae far free

on the subject o yer ain accord."

"That's soon told," replied the stranger. "Three years ago, an aunt,

with whom I was an especial favourite, left me two hundred and fifty

pounds. With this sum I set up in business in Edinburgh in the

ironmongery line, to which I was bred. My little trade prospered, and

gradually attained such an extent that I found I could not do without an

efficient assistant, who should look after the shop while I was out on

the necessary calls of business. In this predicament I bethought me of

my brother, who was a year older than myself, and accordingly sent for

him to Selkirkshire, where he resided with our father, assisting him in

his small farming operations; this being the business of the latter. My

brother came; and, for some time, was everything I could have

wished--sober, regular, and attentive; and we thus got on swimmingly.

This, however, was a state of matters which was not long to continue.

When my brother had about completed a year with me, I began to perceive

a gradual falling off in his anxiety about the interests of our little

business. I remonstrated with him on one or two occasions of palpable

neglect; but this, instead of inducing him to greater vigilance, had the

effect only of rendering him more and more careless. But I did not then

know the worst. I did not then know that, in place of aiding, he was

robbing me. This was the truth, however. He had formed an infamous

connection with a woman of disreputable character, and the consequence

was the adoption of a regular system of plunder on my little property,

to answer the calls which she was constantly making on my unfortunate

relative.

"About this time I took ill, and, not suspecting the integrity of my

brother, although aware of his carelessness, I did not hesitate to trust

him with the entire conduct of my affairs. Indeed, I could not help

myself in this particular; he best knowing my business, and being,

besides, the natural substitute for myself in such a case. For three

months was I confined, unable to leave my own room; and, when I did come

out, I found myself a ruined man. In this time, my brother had

appropriated almost every farthing that had been drawn to his own

purposes; and had, moreover, done the same by some of my largest and

best outstanding accounts; and, to sum up all, he had fled, I knew not

whither, on the day previous to that on which I made my first appearance

in my shop after my recovery. That is about ten days since."

"Did the rascal harry ye oot an' oot?" here interposed the old

stone-breaker, knapping away with great earnestness.

"No; there was a little on which he could not lay his hands--some

considerable accounts which are payable only yearly; there was also some

stock in the shop; but these, of course, are now the property of my

creditors."

"But could ye no get a settlement wi' them, an' go on?" inquired the

other, still knapping away assiduously. "I'm sure if you stated your

case, your creditors wadna be owre hard on ye."

"Perhaps they might not; but there is one circumstance that puts it out

of my power to make any attempt at arrangement. There is one bill of

fifty pounds, due to a Sheffield house, on which diligence has been

raised, and on which I am threatened with instant incarceration. In

truth, it is this proceeding that has brought me here so early this

morning. I expected to have been taken in my bed, as the charge was out

yesterday, and I am here to keep out of the way of the messengers. I am

thus deprived of the power of helping myself--of taking any steps

towards the adjustment of my affairs."

"An' could ye do any guid, think ye, if that debt wur paid, or in some

way arranged?" inquired the other.

"I think I could;" said the party questioned. "My good outstanding debts

are yet considerable, and so is the stock in the shop; so that, had a

little time been allowed me, I could have got round. But all that is

knocked on the head, by the impending diligence against me. That settles

the matter at once, by depriving me of the necessary liberty to go about

my affairs."

"It's a pity," said the man, drily. "Wha's the man o' business in

Edinburgh that thae Sheffield folk hae employed to prosecute ye? What

ca' ye him?"

"Mr Langridge."

"Ou ay, I hae heard o' him. An will he no gie ye ony indulgence?"

"He cannot. His instructions are imperative, otherwise he would, I am

convinced; for he is an excellent sort of man, and knows all about me

and my affairs. Indeed, so willing was he to have assisted me, that,

when the bill was first put into his hands, he wrote to his clients,

strongly recommending lenient measures and bearing testimony, on his own

knowledge, to the hardship of my case; but their reply was brief and

peremptory. It was to proceed against me instantly, and threatening him

with the loss of their business if he did not. For this uncompromising

severity they assigned as a reason, their having been lately 'taken in,'

as they expressed it, to a large extent, by a number of their Scotch

customers. So Mr. Langridge had no alternative but to do his duty, and

let matters take their course."

"True," replied the monosyllabic stone-breaker. It was all he said, or,

if he had intended to say more, which, however, is not probable, no

opportunity was afforded him; for at this moment three labouring men of

his acquaintance, who were on their way to their work, came up and began

conversing. On this interruption taking place, the young man rose,

wished him a good morning, which was merely replied to by a slight nod,

and went his way.

At this point in our story, we change the scene to the writing chambers

of Mr. Langridge, and the time we advance to the evening of the day on

which our tale opens.

It will surprise the reader to find our old stone-breaker, still wearing

the patched and threadbare clothes, the battered and torn hat, and the

coarse, strong shoes, which had never rejoiced in the contact of

blacking brush, in which he prosecuted his daily labours, ringing the

door-bell of Mr Langridge's house, about eight o'clock in the evening.

It will still more surprise him, perhaps, to find this man received,

notwithstanding the homeliness, we might have said wretchedness, of his

appearance, by Mr Langridge himself with great courtesy, and even with a

slight air of deference.

On his entering the apartment in which that gentleman was, the latter

immediately rose from his seat, and advanced, with extended hand,

towards him.

"Ah, Mr Lumsden," he exclaimed, "how do you do? I hope I see you well.

Come, my dear sir, take a chair." And he ran with eager civility for the

convenience he named, and placed it for the accommodation of his

visiter.

When the old man was seated--

"Well, my dear sir," said Mr Langridge, "I am sorry to say that _your

rents_ have not come so well in this last half-year as usual. We are

considerably short." And the man of business hurried to a large green

painted tin box, that stood amongst some others on a shelf, and bore on

its front the name of Lumsden, and from this drew forth what appeared to

be a list or rent roll, which he spread out on the table. "We are

considerably short," he said. "There's six or eight of your folks who

have paid nothing yet, and as many more who have made only partial

payments."

"Ay," said the man, crustily, "what's the meanin' o' that? Ye maun just

screw them up, Mr Langridge; for I canna want my siller, and I winna

want it. Hae thae folk Thamsons, paid yet?"

"Not a shilling more than you know of," replied Mr Langridge.

"Weel, then, Mr Langridge, ye maun just tak the necessary steps to

recover; for I'm determined to hae my rent. I'm no gaun to aloo mysel'

to be ruined this way. They wadna leave me a sark to my back, if I wad

let them. Ye maun just sequestrate, Mr Langridge--ye maun just

sequestrate, an' we'll help oorsels to payment, since they winna help

us."

"Oh, surely, surely, my dear sir. All fair and right. But I would just

mention to you, that though, latterly, they have been dilatory payers--I

would say, shamefully so--they are yet decent, honest, well-meaning

people, these Thomsons; and that, moreover, there is some reason for

their having been so remiss of late, although it is, certainly, none

whatever why you should want your rent."

"No, I fancy no," here interposed the other, with a triumphant chuckle.

"No, certainly not," went on Mr Langridge, who seemed to know well how

to manage his eccentric client; "but only, I would just mention to you,

that the _reason_ of the dilatoriness of the Thomsons, is the husband's

having been unable, from illness, to work for the last three months, and

that, in that time, they have also lost no less than two children. It is

rather a piteous case."

"An' what hae I to do wi' a' that?" exclaimed the other, impatiently.

"What hae I to do wi' a' that, I wad like to ken? Am I to be ca'ed on to

relieve a' the distress in the world? That wad be a bonny set o't. Am I

to be robbed o' my richts that others may be at ease? That I winna, I

warrant you. See that ye recover me thae folk's arrears, Mr Langridge,

by hook or by crook, and that immediately, though ye shouldna leave them

a stool to sit upon. That's _my_ instructions to _you_."

"And they shall be obeyed, Mr Lumsden," replied the man of

business--"obeyed to the letter. I merely mentioned the circumstance to

you, in order that you might be fully apprized of everything relating to

your tenants, which it is proper you should know."

"Weel, weel, but there's nae use in troublin' me wi' thae stories. I

dinna want to be plagued wi' folk makin' puir mouths. There's aye a

design on ane's pouch below't. By the bye, Mr Langridge," continued he,

after a momentary pause, "hae ye a young chield o' an airnmonger in your

hauns enow about some bill or anither that he canna pay."

"The name?" inquired Mr Langridge, musingly.

"Troth that I cannot tell you; for I never heard it, and forgot to

speer."

"Let me see--oh, ay--you will mean, I dare say, a young man of the name

of John Reid, poor fellow?"

"Very likely," said the client; "Is he a young man, an airnmonger to

business, and hae ye diligence against him enow on a fifty pound bill,

due to a Sheffield hoose?"

"The same," replied Mr Longridge. "These are exactly the circumstances.

How came you, Mr Lumsden," he added, smilingly, "to be so well informed

of them?"

"I'll maybe explain that afterwards; but, in the meantime, will ye tell

me what sort o' a lad this Mr Reid is? Is he a decent, weel-doin' young

man?"

"Remarkably so," replied Mr Langridge, "remarkably so, Mr Lumsden. I can

answer for that; for I have known him now for a good while, and have had

many opportunities of estimating his character."

"Then hoo cam he into his present difficulties?"

"Through the misconduct of a brother--entirely through the misconduct of

a brother." And Mr Langridge proceeded to give precisely the same

account of the young man's misfortunes, and of the present state of his

affairs, that he himself had given to the old stone-breaker, as already

detailed to the reader. When he had concluded--

"It seems to me rather a hard sort o' case," said the client. "But could

you no help him a wee on the score o' lenity?"

"I would willingly do it if I could; but it's not in my power. My

instructions are peremptory. I dare not do it but with a certainty of

losing the business of the pursuers, the best clients I have."

"Naething, then, 'll do but payin' the siller, I suppose?" said the

other.

"Nothing, nothing, I fear. My clients seem quite determined. They are

enraged at some smart losses which they have lately sustained in

Scotland, and will give no quarter."

"Then I suppose if they _war_ paid, they would be satisfied," said the

stone-breaker.

"Ha, ha, ha! Mr Lumsden, no doubt of _that_," exclaimed Mr Langridge,

laughing. "That would settle the business at once."

"I fancy sae," said the other, musingly. Then, after a pause--"An' think

ye the lad wad get on if this stane were taen frae aboot his neck?"

"I have no doubt of it--not the least," replied Mr Langridge, "for I

have every confidence in the young man's industry and uprightness of

principle. But he has no friend to back him, poor fellow: no one to help

him out of the scrape."

"Ye canna be quite sure o' that, Mr Langridge," said the old man. "What

if I hae taen a fancy to help him mysel?"

"You, Mr Lumsden!--you!" exclaimed Mr Langridge in great surprise. "What

motive on earth can you have for assisting him?"

"I didna say that I meant to assist him--I only asked ye, what if I took

a fancy to do't?"

"Why, to that I can only say that, if you have, he is all right, and

will get his head above water yet. But you surprise me, Mr Lumsden, by

this interest in Reid. May I ask how it comes about?"

"I'll tell you a' that presently, but I'll first tell you that I _do_

mean to assist the young man in his straits. I'll advance the money to

pay that bill for him. Will ye see to that, then, Mr Langridge? Put me

doon for the amount oot o' the funds in your hauns, and stay further

proceedins."

Mr Langridge could not express the surprise he felt on this

extraordinary intimation from a man who, although there were some good

points in his character, notwithstanding of the outward crust of

churlishness in which it was encased, he never believed capable of any

very striking act of generosity. Mr Langridge, we say, could not

express the surprise which this unlooked-for instance of that quality

in Mr Lumsden inspired, nor did he attempt it; for he justly considered

that such expression would be offensive to the old man, as implying a

belief that he had been deemed incapable of doing a benevolent thing. Mr

Langridge, therefore, kept his feelings, on the occasion, to himself,

and contented himself with promising compliance, and venturing a

muttered compliment or two, which, however, were ungraciously enough

received, on the old man's generosity.

"But whar's the young man to be fand?" inquired the latter.

"Why, that I cannot well tell you," replied Mr Langridge; "for I was

informed, in the course of the day, by the messengers whom I employed to

apprehend him, that he had left his lodging early in the morning, no

doubt in order to avoid them, and they could not ascertain where he had

gone to."

"Humph, that's awkward," replied the client. "I wad like to find him."

"I fear that will be difficult," replied Mr Langridge; "but I will call

off the bloodhounds in the meantime, and terminate proceedings."

"Ay, do sae, do sae. But can we no get haud o' the lad ony way?"

At this moment, a rap at the door of the apartment in which was Mr

Langridge and his client, interrupted further conversation on the

subject.

"Come in," exclaimed the former.

The door opened, and in walked two messengers, with Reid a prisoner

between them. We leave it to the reader to conceive the latter's

surprise, on beholding his acquaintance of the morning, the old

stone-breaker, seated in an arm-chair in Mr Langridge's writing-chamber.

But while he looked this surprise, he also seemed to feel acutely the

humiliation of his position. After a nod of recognition, he said, with

an attempt at a smile, and addressing himself to the old man--

"You see they have got me after all, my friend. But it was my own doing.

On reflection, I saw no use in endeavouring to avoid them, and gave

myself up, at least, threw myself in their way, in order to encounter

the worst at once, and be done with it."

"I daresay ye was richt, after a'," replied the stone-breaker; "it was

the best way. Mr Langridge," he added, and now rising from his seat,

"wad ye speak wi' me for a minnit, in another room?"

"Certainly, Mr Lumsden," replied Mr Langridge.

"Will we proceed with the prisoner?" inquired one of the messengers.

"No, remain where you are a moment, till I return;" and Mr Langridge led

the way out of the apartment, followed by the old stone-breaker. When

they had reached another room, and the door had been secured--

"Noo, Mr Langridge, anent what I was speaking to ye about regarding this

young man wha has come in sae curiously upon us, juist whan we were

wanting him--I dinna care to be seen in the matter, sae ye maun juist

manag't for me yersel."

"Had ye no better enjoy the satisfaction of your own good deed in

person, Mr Lumsden, by telling Mr Reid of the important service you

intend doing him?"

"I'll do naething o' the kind," replied the old stone-breaker, testily.

"I dinna want to be bothered wi't. Sae juist pay ye his bill and

charges, Mr Langridge, an' keep an e'e on his proceedins afterwards, an'

let me ken frae time to time hoo he's gettin on."

With these instructions Mr Langridge promised compliance; and, on his

having done so, the stone-breaker proposed to depart; but, just as he

was about doing so, he turned suddenly round to his man of business,

and said--

"About the Tamsons, Mr Langridge, ye needna, for a wee while, tak thae

staps again them that I was speakin aboot. Let them alane a wee till

they get roun a bit."

"I'll do so, Mr Lumsden," replied the worthy writer, who, the reader

will observe, had accomplished his generous purpose dexterously. He knew

his man, and acted accordingly.

"What's their arrears, again?" inquired the other.

"Half-a-year's rent--L3, 17s.," replied Mr Langridge.

"Ay, it's a heap o' siller--no to be fan at every dyke side. An' then,

there's this half-year rinning on, an' very near due. That'll mak--hoo

much?"

"Just L7, 14s. exactly, Mr Lumsden."

"Ay, exactly," replied the latter, who had been making a mental

calculation of the amount, and had arrived, although more slowly than

his experienced lawyer, at the same result. "A serious soom," added the

client.

"No trifle, indeed, Mr Lumsden," said Mr Langridge; "but it's safe

enough. They're honest people."

"Ye'r aye harpin on that string," replied the stone-breaker, surlily;

"but what signifies their honesty to me, if they'll no pay me my rent?"

"True, very true," said the law agent. "That's the only practical

honesty."

"See you an' get thae arrears, at ony rate, oot o' them, _if_ ye can, Mr

Langridge; an', if ye canna, I suppose we maun juist want them. Ye

needna push owre hard for them either, since they're in the state ye

say. But ye'll surely mak the present half-year oot o' them. That maun

be paid. Mind _that_, at ony rate, maun be paid, Mr Langridge." And

saying this, he placed his old tattered hat, which he had hitherto held

in his hand, on his head, and left the house.

On his departure, Mr Langridge hastily entered the apartment in which,

he had left the messengers with their prisoner.

"We're just waiting marching orders, Mr Langridge," said the latter, on

his entering, and making an attempt at playfulness, with which his

spirit but ill accorded. "My friends here are getting tired of their

charge, and anxious to be relieved of him."

"Are they so, Mr Reid?" replied Mr Langridge, smiling.

"Why, then, we had best relieve them at once." Then turning to the

principal officer--"Quit your prisoner, Maxwell--the debt is settled. Mr

Reid, you are at liberty."

The blood rushed to poor Reid's face, and then withdrew, leaving it as

pale as death, and yet he could express no part of the feelings which

caused these violent alternations. At length--

"Mr Langridge," he said, "what is the meaning of this? How do I come to

be liberated?"

"By the simplest and most effectual of all processes, Mr Reid," replied

the worthy writer, smiling; "by the payment of the debt."

"But _I_ have not paid the debt, Mr Langridge. I _could_ not pay the

debt."

"No; but somebody else might. The short and the long of it is, Mr Reid,

that a _friend_ has come forward, and settled the claim on which

diligence was raised against you. The bill, with interest and all

expenses, _is_ paid, and you are again a free man."

Again overwhelmed by his feelings, which were a thousand times more

eloquently expressed by a flood of silent tears than they could have

been by the most carefully rounded periods, it was some time before the

young man could pursue the conversation, or ask for the further

information which he yet intensely longed to possess. On recovering from

the burst of emotion which had, for the moment, deprived him of the

power of utterance--

"And _who_, pray, Mr Langridge, is this friend--this friend indeed?"

"Why, I do not know exactly whether I am at liberty to tell you, Mr

Reid," replied Mr Langridge. "The friend you allude to declined

transacting this matter personally with you, which seems to imply that

he did not care that you should know who he was; yet, as he certainly

did not expressly forbid me to disclose him, and as I think it but right

that you should know to whom you are indebted, I will venture to tell

you. Had you some conversation, at an early hour this morning, with an

old stone-breaker, on the highway side, about three or four miles from

town?"

"I had. The old man that was sitting here when I came in."

"The same. Well, what would you think if _he_ should have been the

friend in question? Would you expect from his manner, that he _would_ do

such a thing? or, from his appearance and occupation, that he could?"

"Certainly not--certainly not. The old man--the poor old man, to whom I

offered half-a-crown--who works for ninepence a-day--who never saw me in

his life before this morning--who knows nothing of me! Impossible, Mr

Langridge--impossible; he cannot be the man. You do not say that he is?"

"But I do though, Mr Reid, and that most distinctly. It is he, and no

other, I assure you, who has done you this friendly service."

"Then, if it be so, I know not what to say to it, Mr Langridge. I can

say nothing. I trust, however, I shall not be found wanting on the score

of gratitude. I can say no more. But will you be so good as inform me,

if you can, how the good man has come to do me so friendly a service?

Who on earth, or what is he?"

"Sit down, sit down, Mr Reid, and I'll answer all your questions--I'll

tell you all about him," replied Mr Langridge.

Mr Reid having complied with this invitation, the latter began:--

"The history of the old stone-breaker, my good sir, is a very short and

a very simple one. It contains no vicissitude, and to few, besides

ourselves, would be found possessing any particular interest. Your

friend was, in his youth, a soldier, and served, I believe, in the

American war. At his return home on the conclusion of that war, he was

discharged, still a young man, and shortly after married a woman with a

fortune" (smilingly) "of some five-and-twenty or thirty pounds. With

this sum the thrifty pair purchased two or three cows, and commenced the

business of cowfeeders. They prospered; for they were both saving and

industrious, and, in time, realized a considerable sum of money, which

they went on increasing. This they invested in house property from time

to time, till their possessions of this kind became very valuable.

"For upwards of forty years they continued in this way, when Mrs Lumsden

died, leaving her husband a lonely widower; for they had no children. On

the death of the former, the latter, who was now an old man, and unequal

to conducting, alone, the business in which his wife's activity and

industry had hitherto aided him, sold off his cows, and proposed to live

in retirement on the rents of his property; and this he did for some

time. Accustomed, however, to a life of constant labour and exertion,

the old man soon found the idleness on which he had thrown himself,

intolerably irksome. He became miserable from a mere want of having

something to do. While in this state of ennui, chancing one day to

stroll into the country, (this is what he told me himself,) he saw some

labouring men knapping stones by the way-side; and strange as the fancy

may seem, he was instantly struck with a desire of taking to this

occupation. He did so, and has, from that day to the present, now

upwards of ten years, pursued it with as much assiduity as if it was

his only resource for a subsistence. He has, as I already told you, no

family of his own; neither has he, I believe, any relation living; or,

if there be, they must be very remote; and, as he strictly confines his

expenditure to his daily earnings as a stone-breaker--some ninepence

a-day, I believe--his wealth is rapidly increasing, and is, at this

moment, no trifle, I assure you. Now, my good sir, when I tell you that

I am the law agent of this strange, eccentric person, and that I manage

all his business for him, I have told you everything about him that is

worth mentioning."

"There is just one thing, Mr Langridge," said Mr Reid, who had been an

attentive listener to the tale just told him, "that wants explanation:

can you give me the smallest shadow of a reason for the part he has

acted towards me?"

"Nay, there you puzzle me; I cannot. It appears as unaccountable to me

as to you, although I have known Mr Lumsden now for upwards of fifteen

years."

"Did you ever know him do a thing of this kind before?"

"Never! and I must say candidly, that, although he is by no means

deficient in kindness of heart, notwithstanding his rough exterior, I

did not believe him capable of such an act of generosity."

"It is an extraordinary matter," said Mr Reid; "and although I can have

but little right to inquire into the _motives_ for an act by which I am

so largely benefited--it seems ungracious to do so--yet would I give a

good round sum, if I had it to spare, to know the real cause of this

good man's friendship towards me."

"Why, that I suspect neither you nor I shall ever know. I question much,

indeed, if the principal actor in this affair himself could give a

reason for what he has done. It seems to me just one of those odd and

unaccountable things which eccentric men, like Mr Lumsden, will

sometimes do; and with this solution of the mystery, and the benefit it

has produced to you, I rather think, Mr Reid, you must be content. I

would, however, add, in order to redeem Mr Lumsden's act of generosity

from the character of a mere whim, that your case was one eminently

calculated to excite any latent feeling of benevolence which he might

possess; and that your manner and appearance--no flattery--are equally

well calculated to second a claim so established. Yourself, and your

peculiar circumstances, in short, had chanced to touch the right chord

in a right man's breast, and hence the response on which we are

speculating."

Having thus discussed the knotty point of the old stonebreaker's sudden

act of generosity, Mr Langridge invited Mr Reid to put his affairs into

his hands, promising that they should have the advantage, on his part,

of something more than mere professional zeal. This friendly invitation

the latter gladly accepted, and shortly after consigned all his business

matters to the care of the worthy writer, who exerted himself in behalf

of his client with an efficiency that soon placed the latter once more

in the way of well-doing. And well he did; having subsequently realised

a very handsome independency. In the success of the young man, no one

rejoiced more than the old stone-breaker, who frequently visited him in

his shop; sometimes merely for the purpose of seeing him; at others, to

purchase some of those little articles of ironmongery which the due

preservation of his dwelling-house property demanded. Let us state, too,

that, amongst his purchases, were, at different times, the hammer-heads

which he used in his occupation of stone-breaking.

In their first transaction in this way, there was something curiously

characteristic of the old man's peculiarities of temper. Mr Reid, not

yet perfectly aware of these peculiarities, declined, for some time,

putting any price on a couple of hammer-heads which his friend had

picked out. He would have made him a present of them; and, to the

latter's inquiry as to their price, replied, evasively, and laughing

while he spoke, that he would tell him that afterwards.

"I tak nae credit, young man," said the stone-breaker, crustily, "tell

me enow their cost." And he pulled out a small greasy leathern purse,

and was undoing its strings, when Mr Reid laid his hand on his arm to

prevent him, at the same time telling him that he would do him a favour

by accepting the hammer-heads in a present. "What is such a trifle

between you and me, Mr Lumsden--you to whom I owe everything?"

"You owe me a great deal mair than ye're ever likely to pay me, at ony

rate, young man, if this be the way ye transact business," replied the

other, with evident signs of displeasure. "Tell me the price o' thae

hammer-heads at ance, an' be dune wi't. I hae nae broo o' folk that

fling awa their guids as ye seem inclined to do."

Mr Reid blushed at the reproof, but, seeing at once how the land lay,

with regard to his customer's temper, he now plumply named the price of

the hammers, sevenpence each.

"Sevenpence!" exclaimed the old man. "I'll gie ye nae such price.

Doonricht robbery! I can get them as guid in ony shop in the toon for

saxpence ha'penny. If ye like to tak that price for them, ye may hae't.

If no, ye can keep them."

Mr Reid, now knowing his man somewhat better than he did at first,

demurred, but at length agreed to the abatement, and the transaction was

thus brought to a close.

We need hardly add, that the L50 advanced by the old man to Mr Reid were

subsequently repaid; but the call is more imperative on us to state,

that, on the former's death, which took place about two years after, the

latter found himself named in his will for a very considerable sum. One,

somewhat larger, was bequeathed by the same document to Mr Langridge.

The remainder was appropriated to various charities. And here, good

reader, ends the story of the Stone-Breaker.

LAIRD RORIESON'S WILL.

In the little town of Maybole there lived, some fifty years ago or more,

an old man of the name of George Rorieson, more commonly called Laird

Rorieson. He had been a kind of general merchant, or trafficker in any

kind of commodities which he thought would yield him a profit; and, by

dint of great sagacity, had made some very fortunate hits, and realised

a large sum of money. Having begun the world with a penny, he was

emphatically the maker of his own fortunes--a circumstance he was very

proud of, and loved to sound in the ears of certain individuals who

envied him his riches. Having amassed his money by an accumulation of

small sums, for a long course of years, he had gradually become narrower

and narrower, as his wealth increased; and, by the time he arrived at

the age of sixty, his penurious feelings had become so strong and

deeprooted that he could scarcely afford himself the means of a

comfortable subsistence.

It is almost needless to say that Laird Rorieson never had courage or

liberality of sentiment sufficient to give him an impulse towards

matrimony; and truly it was alleged that he never oven looked on

womankind with any feelings different from those with which he

contemplated his fellow-creatures generally; and these had always some

connection, one way or another, with making profit of them. But, though

he had no wife, he had a good store of nephews and nieces--somewhere

about twenty--all poor enough, God knows! but all as hopeful as brides

and bridegrooms of a great store of wealth and bliss being awaiting them

on the death of Uncle Geordie.

The affection which these twenty nephews and nieces shewed to Uncle

George was remarkable; but, somehow or another, the good uncle hated

them mortally, and, the bitterer he became, the more loving they

waxed--so that it was very wonderful to see so much human love and

sympathy thrown away upon an old churl who could have seen all the

devoted creatures at the devil.

It was indeed alleged that this crabbed miser had no love for any one,

all his affection being expended upon his money-bags: but we are bound

to say that this is not quite the truth; for there was a neighbour of

the name of Saunders Gibbieson, a bachelor, for whom the Laird really

felt some small twinges of human kindness. Saunders Gibbieson was as

true a Scotchman as ever threw the pawkie glamour of a twinkling grey

eye over the open face of an English victim. He was, as already said, a

bachelor; but unlike his friend Geordie, he loved the fair sex, and

vowed he would marry the bonniest lass o' Maybole the moment he was able

to sustain her "in bed, board, and washing." He had scraped together a

few pounds, maybe to the extent of a hundred or two, and looked forward

to making himself happy at no very distant period. He was a famous hand

at a political argument; and there was not a man in Maybole who could

touch him at driving a bargain.

As already said, Geordie had a kind of feeling towards Saunders, and

there can be no doubt that Saunders had as strong an affection for the

"auld rich grub," as he called him in his throat, as ever had any of the

twenty nephews and nieces already alluded to. In the evenings he often

went in and sat with him; and, by dint of curious jokes, "humorous

lees," and political anecdotes, he contrived to wile, for a few minutes,

the creature's heart from his money-bags, and unbend his puckered cheeks

and lips into a species of compromise between a laugh and a grin. It was

no wonder, then, that Geordie had a kind of liking for Saunders--seeing

he got value in amusement from him, without so much cost as even a

piece of old dry cheese, of a waught of thin ale. On the other hand, it

was difficult to see how Saunders could love the laird; and, indeed, it

was a matter of gossip what could induce a man so much in request as

Saunders Gibbieson to take so much pains in pouring into the "leather

lugs" of an old miser the precious jokes that would have set the biggest

table in Maybole in a roar.

Now the time came when Laird Rorieson began to feel the first touches of

that big black angel who loves to hug so fondly the sons of men. He was

ill--he was indeed very ill--and it would have done any man's heart good

to see the kindness and sympathy which his twenty nephews and nieces

paid him. Every hour one or other of them was calling at his house; and

his ears were regaled by the sympathetic tones which their love for

their dear uncle wrung from their tender hearts. Oh, it was beautiful to

behold! Such things do credit to our fallen nature. But the old grub

loved it not; and it was even said he cursed and swore in the very faces

of the kind creatures, just as if they had had an eye on the heavy

coffers of gold that lay in his house. This kindness on the part of his

nephews and nieces was thus converted into a kind of poison; for every

time they called, their uncle got into such a passion that his remaining

strength was well-nigh worn out. But he had still enough left to sign

his name; and the ungrateful creature resolved upon leaving all his gold

to found an hospital. He sent for a man of the law, and had a

consultation with locked doors, and all things seemed in a fair way for

the poor nephews and nieces being sacrificed for ever.

This circumstance came to the ears of Saunders Gibbieson, who had not

been an unattentive spectator of the extraordinary proceedings going on

in the house of his neighbour. As soon as he heard the news, he retired

and meditated, and communed with himself three hours on matters of deep

concernment to him and the generations that might descend from him. The

result of all this study was a resolution alike remarkable for its

eccentricity and sagacity; but Saunders' spirit dipped generally so deep

in the wells of wisdom that there was no wonder it should come forth

drunk, as it were, with the golden policy of cunning.

Now, all of a sudden, Saunders grew (as he said) very ill--as ill

indeed, or nearly as ill, as Laird Rorieson himself, but, so full was he

of brotherly love towards his neighbour, that his sudden illness did not

prevent him calling upon the latter one night, when there seemed to be

no great chance of their being disturbed by any of the sympathetic

nephews and nieces. He found Geordie very weakly, and sat down by the

bedside, to pour the balm of his friendship and consolation into the

sick man's ear. The Laird received him kindly, and as was his custom,

Saunders got him into a pleasant humour, by telling him something of a

curious nature that had occurred, or had been supposed by Saunders to

have occurred, during the day. He then began the more important part of

his work.

"You are ill, Laird," said he; "but I question muckle if ye're sae ill

as I am myself. For a long time I've been in a dwinin way, and, though I

hae kept up a fair appearance and good spirits, I've been gradually

getting thinner and weaker. I fear I'm in a fair way for anither warld."

"I'm sorry to hear't," replied the Laird. "It's a sad thing to dee." And

he shook as he uttered the word.

"Ay, an' it's a sad thing," said Saunders, "to be tormented in your

illness, wi' thae cursed corbies o' puir relations. The moment I began

to complain I've been tormented wi' a host o' nephews and nieces, wha

come and stare into my hollow een, as if they would count the draps o'

blude that are yet left in my heart."

"Ay, ay, are you in that plight too, Saunders?" groaned the Laird. "The

ravens have been croaking owre me for twa lang years. They come and

perch on the very bedposts, they croak, they whet their nebs, they look

into my face, and peer into my very heart. It's dreadful--and there's

nae remedy. I've tried to terrify them awa; but they come aye back

again. They've worn me fairly out."

"I've had many a meditation on the subject, Laird," said Saunders; "and,

between you and me, if there's a goose quill in a' Scotland, I'll hae a

shot at them. I haena muckle i' the warld--a thousand or twa maybe, hard

won, Geordie, as a' gowd is in thae hard times; but the deil a plack o't

they'll ever touch."

"Ye'll be to found an hospital?" said the Laird.

"Na, na," answered Saunders. "I'll found nae beggar's palace. I've

studied political economy owre lang to be ignorant o' the bad effects o'

public charities. They relax the sinews o' industry, and mak learned

mendicants. Besides, wha thanks the founder o' an hospital for his

charity? Nane!--nane! A puff or twa in the newspapers about Gibbieson's

mortification would be the hail upshot o' my reward; and sensible folk

would set me doun as an auld curmudgeon, wha hadna heart to love and

benefit a friend."

"There's some truth in that," muttered the Laird. "It's a pity a body

canna tak his gear wi' him. Sair hae I toiled for it, and, oh! it's

miserable! cruel! cruel! that I should be obliged to leav't to a

thankless warld! But what are ye to do wi'fc, Saivjders?"

"Indeed, I'm just to leave it a' to you, Laird," said Saunders. "I have

lang liked ye wi' a' the luve o' honest, leal friendship; and, after

muckle meditation, I canna fix on a mortal creature wha is mair deservin

o't than you, my guid auld freend. You have a fair chance o' recovering;

I have nane. Ye may enjoy my gear lang after the turf has grown

thegither owre my grave; and God bless the gift!"

"Kind, guid man!" cried the Laird, in a voice evincing strong emotion,

either of love or greed. "That _is_ kindness--ay, very different frae

the friendship o' my sisters' and brothers' bairns. After a', I believe

yer richt, Saunders--an hospital has nae gratitude; and what have we to

do wi' a cauld and heartless warld?"

"There's just ae difficulty I hae," said Saunders. "The will's written

and signed; but I dinna weel ken whar to lay it; for, when I'm dead,

thae deevils o' corbies may smell the bit paper and put it in the fire.

Maybe you would tak the charge o't for me, Laird."

"Ou ay," answered the Laird. "I'll keep it. The deil o' are o' them will

get it oot o' my clutches."

"Weel, weel, my dear friend," said Saunders. "I'll put it into a tin

box; the key ye'll find, after my breath's out, in the little cupboard

that's at the foot o' my bed--ye ken the place. They can mak naething o'

the key without the box; and, if you canna find the key, you can force

the box open. Oh, I would like to see you reading the will in the midst

o' the harpies."

"That's weel arranged, Saunders; ye can set about it as soon as you

like."

"I intend to do it instantly, Laird," replied the man. "I'll about it

this moment." And he rose and went out of the house.

In a short time, Saunders returned, holding in his hand a small tin box.

He laid it down upon the table, and, taking out a small key, opened it,

and took out a paper, entitled--"Last Will and Testament."

"There it is, my good friend," he said; and, replacing the paper in the

box, he locked it and placed it in an escritoire pointed out by the

Laird. He then went away.

Next day, the lawyer came to carry into effect the charitable resolution

of Laird Rorieson; but he found that a great change had taken place upon

the old man's sentiments. He was now adverse to a mortification, and

said he was resolved upon leaving his fortune to one whom he considered

to be a _real friend_, and, indeed, the only real friend he had upon

earth. The lawyer was surprised when he ascertained that this friend was

Saunders Gibbieson; but it was not his province to object--so he

departed straightway to carry into effect the new resolution of the

testator.

Two days afterwards, the Laird sent a message to Saunders to come and

speak with him. Saunders obeyed; walking in to him slowly, and

apparently with great effort, as if he had been labouring under a strong

disease.

"I have been thinking again and again, Saunders," said the Laird, "o'

yer great kindness. You are the first man that ever left me a farthing.

The warld has rugged aff me since ever I had a feather to pick. Nane has

ever offered me either a bite or a sup. You are the only friend I've

ever met upon earth."

"I hae only obeyed the dictates o' my heart," replied Saunders; "and I

am glad I have dune it, for I feel mysel very weakly, and fear the clock

o' this world's time will be wound up wi' me in a very short period."

"Maybe no so sune as ye think, Saunders," replied the Laird. "But my

purpose is executed. Saunders, you are my heir. Hand me that box there."

Saunders took up a small mahogany box that lay on the table, and handed

it to him.

"Here," continued the Laird, taking out a paper; "here is my will. It's

a' in your favour, Saunders--lands, houses, guids, and chattels,

heritable and moveable. Say naething; you are my heir. Ha! ha! let the

corbies croak. You've dune me a guid service; I winna be ahint ye. Tak

the box into yer ain keeping. I'll keep the key. Awa wi't this instant.

Ha! ha! let the corbies croak."

Saunders obeyed. He carried the box into his own house, placed it in his

cupboard, locked the door, and put the key into his pocket.

In about a month afterwards, old Laird Rorieson departed this life. On

the day of his death, his nephews and nieces were in great commotion,

and there was a terrible running to and fro, and much whispering, and

wondering, and gossiping--all on the great subject of the death of Uncle

Geordie. On the day of his funeral, they were all collected, to see

whether there was any will. They, of course, wished that there should be

none, because they, being his heirs, would succeed to all, if there was

no disposition of the old man's effects. By some means, Saunders

Gibbieson contrived to be present along with the expectants. Perhaps he

was allowed to be among them in the character of a witness; but indeed,

so certain were the nephews and nieces of having succeeded in their

efforts to please the dear old man, that they could afford to allow the

presence of any number of witnesses who could vouch for the sacred

gravity of their countenances, and the deep sorrows of their bereaved

hearts. Nor was Saunders less under the affection of lugubriousness

himself; so that it was altogether one of those beautiful sights so

often witnessed on such melancholy occasions, where every indication of

selfishness is banished, and nothing can be observed save that Christian

solemnity which proveth that "the devil hath been cast out of the heart

of man, even when he did appear to be strong." The nephews and the

nieces looked at Saunders, and Saunders looked at them, and so solemn

were these looks, that though the writer was searching about for a will,

no one seemed to care whether he found one or not. It has been said that

"the heart of man is deceitful above all things;" but of a surety the

adage could not have been spoken there, except with the determination to

get it disproved for once in the world, and the blessed object of

shewing to us sons of the seed of Abraham that we are not so wicked as

we are called.

At length the ominous little box was laid hold of and broken open,

amidst a pretty nonchalance, and lo! there was indeed a paper, bearing

the fearful word "Will," and the faces of the heirs turned as pale as

the paper itself. It was opened; but it was a fair, clean sheet of

paper, and not a drop of ink had stained its purity. "All safe, all

safe," muttered the heirs.

"Here is another box," said Saunders Gibbieson, holding up the mahogany

one; "let us try it." And he opened it, and took out Geordie's will. The

writer read it aloud. Saunders was sole heir to all the old miser's

possessions, amounting to L10,000. No one could tell the reason why

there were two papers marked "Will," and one of them a blank sheet; and

Saunders, simple man, did not trouble himself to give any explanation.

END OF VOL. XVIII.

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Transcriber's Notes: Hyphen variations left as printed