Stewart asked when we got home. I did not know what to say, but
Stewart did. He said, "It would be efter twelve, wouldn't it?" as if
we were not sure. I said in the most doubtful tone I could raise, "I
daresay it would."
I think there must be some truth in the proverb that there is a
special providence for children and a certain class of men, for
Stewart was quite fresh in spite of his exposure the previous night;
and if not to this cause, to the mildness of the season must be
ascribed his immunity from influenza.
JOHNNIE GIBB'S FUNERAL
"Are ye in, Mrs. Broon?"
"Ay, come awa' in, Mrs. Mitchell."
"Eh no, I mannie come in," says Mrs. Mitchell, coming in all the
time, "for I've jist left my tatties on the fire, an' whaur there's
bairns, ye ken, yin's aye feared."
"Ay, that's true. I'm jist washin' some peenies, for I declare when
ye hev a family ye need never sit doon."
[Illustration: "I'M JUST WASHIN' SOME PEENIES" _By R. M'Gregor,
R.S.A._]
"Ay, that's true. I dinna ken hoo some women aye manage to be at
their doors or in their neebors' hooses, for I can tell ye I never
devauld fae workin' fae mornin' to nicht; but I was jist thro win'
oot some dirty water the noo, an' I see they're getherin' for Johnnie
Gibb's funeral, puir man."
"Ay! it's an awfu' thing that sudden death."
"Eh, haud yer tongue, it is that; it's enough to kill a horse."
"Ay, bit there's nae use tryin' to gang against Providence."
"Eh no, especially wi' some o' they new-fashioned troubles."
"Ay! but it'll mak' an awfu' difference in that hoose, for Mrs.
Gibb's a wumman o' this kind,--an' mind I'm no sayin' onything
against the wumman aither, for she's a guid enough wumman maybe, but
yin canna keep their een shut a'thegither an' no see that Johnnie
wusna attended to as he micht a' been."
"Ay, that's true; as I often say to my man, 'Hoo wud ye like to hae
yer ain tea to mak' efter comin' in fae a hard day's wark?' I'm
share my man wudna dae't, an' I wudna ask um; but it disna look weel
to see a man plouterin' aboot an' dain' women's wark; an' we've heard
o' sic things,--atween you an' me, an' it's no gaun ony
farrer,--we've heard o' sic things as gettin' a gill fae the grocer,
an' tellin' um to mark it doon, 'Bread, sixpence.'"
"Ay, Johnnie was a simple man, an' we shouldna say onything against
the corp ahint his back that we couldna say to his face; an' if he
could dae ye a guid turn, ye had jist to ask it. I'm share it's no a
fortnicht sin' my man was plantin' tatties in the back gairden, an'
Johnnie lookit ower the hedge, an' he never said onything but jist
'Try they,' an' he put six Dalmahoy earlies in my man's hand. Ay!
it's a lesson to us a'; as I aye say, If ye havena a guid word to say
o' onybody, 'od sake haud yer tongue,--there they're comin'! Wha's
that young man in the front?--that's no their auldest son Jamie,
is't? It's jist him; ay, my Alec telt me he met um comin' ower fae
the station this mornin' tryin' to talk English, an' him naething but
in a draper's shop. Says he, 'I could hardly get away this morning,
we're so thrang in our estaiblishment.' Ay, there's nae fear o' him
talkin' shop; an' see what a graund hat he's got, an nae weepers
on't, an' him the corp's son; an' black kid gloves tae, instead o'
white cotton yins; an' see what a grand coffin they've got tae,--they
mun get it oot o' Edinburgh, as if Wull Binnie couldna mak' them a
guid enough yin. I can tell ye, the yin he made to me when my
grandfaither deid was as guid a coffin as a man need pit on his back,
a' covered ower wi' big brass-heided nails like a jail door; an'
she's gaun to gie them a graund denner tae when they come back, mair
like a mairrage than a funeral. She was ower to me for the len' o'
hauf-a-dizzen knives an' forks an' as mony spoons, an' a' among the
neebors tae for a cruet-stand; dash't, d'ye ken, when she cam' to me
I didna ken what she meant, so I says, 'Eh I'm rale sorry, but I doot
mines is ower sair torn.'
"'A cruet-stand,' says she, 'for haudin' mustard an' catshup, ye ken."
"'Oh! a cruet-stand,' says I, pretendin' I hadna heard her; 'eh no, I
never had onything that way bit a pepper-an'-saut dish.'--Hev ye seen
her new murnin' goon an' weedy's kep?"
"That wad be the bundle Jamie brocht oot ablow his oxter; I was
wonderin' what it was. Weel, I'm share she micht a' gien Maggie
Simpson the job to mak' it; though maybe Maggie's better athoot it,
an' couldna wait lang enough for her siller. I declare there she's
comin' ower to show aff her graund new frock.--Come awa' in, Mrs.
Gibb; we wus jist sayin' hoo sorry oo wus for ye, an' what a
consolation it wud be to ye to see sic a wiselike turn-oot at the
funeral."
"Ay! it's a sad day for me. Hoo d'ye like my frock? Jamie brocht it
oot; rale mindfu' o' um, wasn't it?"
"Eh ay, it jist looks as if it had been made for ye; it's easy seen
it's no Maggie Simpson's dain'. I'm share it's just spoilin' guid
cloth to gie her a goon to mak'."
"I've jist come in to see if ye wad len' me yer tureen for the soup."
"Oh ay; John keeps his nails an' things in't, but I'll gie't a bit
dicht oot for ye."
So away went Mrs. Gibb, saying to herself, "Haverin' bodies! nae doot
they've been speakin' aboot me."
And Mrs. Mitchell said, "I mun awa' tae for I've jist left my tatties
on the fire; that's the warst o' gaun to Mrs. Broon's hoose,--there's
nae gettin' oot o't."
And Mrs. Brown said to herself, "Thank guidness, that's Mrs. Mitchell
awa' at last; there that graith cauld. I thocht I'd never see her
back,--bletherin' besom."
SPRING CLEANING
"Now spring returns, but not to me return
The vernal joys."
I wonder if the poet's wife had an attack of cleaning fever when he
composed the above sentiment; if so, I can feel with him, as no doubt
most householders can at present. I thought our house was in
first-rate order, but my wife said I knew perfectly well it was in a
filthy state, and that most of the rooms required papering. It seems
she had called on a neighbour, and found the house handed over to the
painters. So, not to be outdone in this respect, she went straight
to the landlord and wrestled with him, as did Jacob of old, the
blessing going the length of papering the drawing-room and lobby. I
knew nothing of this till yesterday morning, when I heard whistling,
which I rightly judged to be too good to emanate from our domestic.
It was the painters; they make themselves at home wherever they go.
On emerging into the lobby, I found it heaped up with furniture, and
to get to the bathroom I had to traverse three sides of a square. I
enjoy my morning ablution, especially at this season, and was
consequently annoyed to find the bath heaped up with pictures, &c.;
in fact, every part of the house seemed crowded with furniture.
After dressing, I thought I would look into the drawing-room to see
what was being done, but on approaching the door I heard "three,"
"pass three," and looking through the keyhole I saw the painters
sitting astride a plank playing "nap." I turned the handle, but
found the door was barricaded by a pair of steps being placed against
it, another pair, connected with a plank, being at the far side of
the room. I shouted through the door that it was "all right," and
went away to get breakfast, but found the dining-room empty, with the
exception of the girl, who said, "If ye please, yer to take yer
breakfast in yer ain room." She had a strange get-up. Her head was
in the Arabian style, wound up in a red handkerchief, and her apron
was made out of a sack with an announcement on it about somebody's
dog biscuits. Breakfast was set on a little gipsy table, and I had
hardly got started when I noticed the _Scotsman_; and, wishing to see
what number had visited the Exhibition and how the voting had gone in
the Assembly, I half rose to reach for the paper, when my knee caught
the table and landed the contents on the floor. I tried to explain
how easily a three-legged table was upset, but my wife said she had
told me often not to read at breakfast. She could never get a word
out of me when I got a paper in my hand.
I had to get out of the house sideways, by a step known in military
tactics as "right close," wedging myself past piles of chairs dressed
in white pinafores trimmed with red braid. I did not think the house
could have held so much furniture; it looked like an auctioneer's
store-room.
On returning to dinner I was told there was not much, as there had
been little time to cook. The gipsy table was again in requisition;
but as it was too small to hold the various items, a couple of chairs
were used as sideboards. When we were at dessert the girl entered
and said, "Gif ye please, the wumman says she aye gets a little
speerits."
"What woman says that?" I asked.
"It's the widow, dear, who is washing the floors," my wife explained.
It seems strange that it is always widows who do that sort of work,
and strange that they and ministers always call a glass of whisky "a
little spirits." I suppose it does not sound so bad, though it
sounds ungrammatical. One would think it should be "a little
spirit," though perhaps that is ambiguous; but those who call soup or
porridge "them" might as well say "a few spirits," though perhaps
that expression is misleading too, and might turn the thoughts to
those who entered the herd of swine.
After dinner I was shown a book of patterns for wall-paper. "This is
what I was thinking of for the drawing-room," said my wife, showing
me one with an elaborate design; "or this," a much quieter pattern.
I said I preferred the quiet one, but was told the other was more
expensive, and the landlord was to pay for it, which seemed
unanswerable logic from a woman's point of view. As we could not
come to an agreement about it, we voted; but as the votes were
equal--one on each side--my wife threw in her casting vote in favour
of the expensive pattern.
I can't help feeling that I am worse than useless in the house at
present. I am positively in the way,--something to be tolerated,
which is rather humiliating for one who should be the head of the
house; and, what makes matters worse, my wife and the girl are extra
friendly, and talk over their plans, completely ignoring me, unless
it is to ask me to balance myself on the chimney-piece and hand down
a large picture. What a fine time of it landlords would have if men
were masters of their own houses! I used to do all that was required
for the house at my own expense when I was a bachelor, though I don't
remember doing anything.
There is a fearful smell in the house just now, and my wife is
astonished that I do not like it. It smells to me like the stuff I
use for rheumatism; it is furniture polish, and women seem to revel
in it. Sometimes the aroma is changed to ammonia or spirit of salt;
but the blends are all sickening to me, and it permeates the house to
such an extent as to make everything one eats seem flavoured with it.
I am quite lame with bruising my legs on fenders, &c., which stick
out in all unexpected places; and as I couldn't get a comfortable
seat in the house I sauntered along to the club, where I met Watson,
and was narrating my troubles to him, when he said, "Oh, man, they're
all the same just now,"--meaning women. "I'll tell you what," he
continued confidentially; "what do you say to a few days fishing?" I
thought it a first-rate idea, but did not know what my wife would
say, as the last time I went with Watson I stupidly left the hotel
bill in my pocket; but my wife didn't, and told me I should be
ashamed, as there was more for beer and whisky than for our food, and
she could have got a bonnet or something with half of what I had,
what she termed, "thrown away on drink." I told Watson I would
see--with the mental reservation, my wife--and let him know in the
morning. Watson seemed to be reading my thoughts, for he said,
"They'll be glad to get rid of you at home."
[Illustration: TWO HAPPY HUSBANDS _By R. B. Nisbet, R.S.A._]
I did not think my wife would have cared to let me go again with
Watson, for she thinks he makes me drink more than I otherwise would,
and I know Watson's wife thinks I lead her husband astray in the same
manner; but to my surprise there was no objection offered. On the
contrary, I was told that I would be the better of a rest. I may be
wrong, but I felt that it was said in a tone which implied, "Thank
goodness, we'll get rid of him, and then we won't have to bother
about dinner." At any rate we're both pleased, and there will be two
happy husbands enjoying fresh air, and two insanely happy wives
revelling in turpentine and bathbrick to-morrow.
Watson gave me a tip which I must not forget: he said, "Mind, when
you go home, to take notice of the great improvements, though you
won't see any difference." And another thing I must mind, is to burn
the hotel bill.
A MARRIAGE
It is strange, that with all the facilities for marriage of recent
years the young man of the period is getting more difficult to tempt.
He can get married for half-a-crown, but he can hardly be induced to
get married for anything. Up till last generation a marriage in a
family meant a dancing and rejoicing till long past the small
hours,--it is now compressed into a sort of five-o'clock tea; and one
can have sympathy for the old man who said, "I dinna care for yer
new-fangled mairrages. Gie me an auld Scotch funeral." One of this
sort told me on his return that I had made a great mistake in not
going. "It's the best funeral I've been at this lang time,--as much
as ye could pit yer haun' tae." The village grocer had died, and I,
as a summer visitor, had been invited.
I do not, as a rule, care for being present at either ceremony, but
had accepted an invitation to a marriage the other day; and as I am
not famous for punctuality, various friends wrote reminding me that
the hour was 2.30 sharp, so I determined to surprise them by being in
time, allowing myself half an hour to go from Haymarket Station to
Newington. Happening to notice a train at the platform, I rushed
downstairs without taking time to get a ticket in case I should miss
it, and thinking it would be quicker and cheaper than a cab. I sat
fully ten minutes beside two gentlemen, who seemed as impatient as
myself, judging by the number of times they looked at their watches.
"We'll never catch it," said one. I knew I would catch it if I
stayed any longer, and asked a passing guard when the train was to
start. "As soon as the signal's down," he said.
I had still about a quarter of an hour to spare, so I got out and
took a car along Princes Street. The car was full, but that was no
concern of the driver's. He stopped for every lady who hailed him;
and after the conductor had explained to each one that the car was
full, and that he was not going her way at any rate, and when she
would get a car, and that she would know it was for Portobello by the
name on the notice-board, we proceeded. By the time we got to
Frederick Street my patience and time were about exhausted, and I now
saw the folly of not walking, as I had originally intended.
I was despairing of being in time, but got a hansom, trusting to the
ceremony being a little late, paying the driver on the way in order
to save time, and the moment he drew up I hurried into the house.
I am rather absent-minded; and when the girl showed me to the room, I
felt the driver had put me down at the wrong number. I had been too
hurried to notice it, and had evidently come to a house where a
funeral company had met. The girl had that "don't-make-a-noise" sort
of air about her. She pointed, Quaker-like, to where I was to
deposit my hat, and then opened the room door quietly. I entered on
tip-toe, and was confirmed in my surmise. The company were standing
round the room looking at the carpet. I noticed a vacant place, and
took it, placing my hands at my back like the others, and helping to
do the carpet-staring, all the time wondering what I should do. I
should explain my mistake and retire, but I did not like to break the
silence. My thoughts were broken by a friend coming over and shaking
hands, and I was glad to recognise him, as I knew he was to be at the
marriage too. "What are we to do?" I asked, hoping he would see a
way out of the difficulty and the house. "You should shake hands
with the hostess," he said, pointing at my back. I turned and saw a
group of ladies, and was glad to find I was in the right house.
The bride was just expected in, hence the silence. She came in
leaning on her father's arm, looking very pale, and trembling as if
she was being led to execution; but her father did not seem to care
much, and I noticed as he passed that his tie was creeping up the
back of his head, but had been brought to a halt by his ears. I
sympathised with him, as I often wear mine there. I envy men who are
always tidy about the neck, and have bought every patent I have seen,
but can't keep my ties in subjection. The bow of a dress-tie will
not remain in the centre, but if I allow it to nestle under my ear it
will remain there all right. The ladies tell me I should get a wife,
but I shall try some more patents first. I have been asked by ladies
several times since the marriage what the bride had on, and they seem
annoyed that all I can remember is that she wore a large white
bouquet. That tie occupied too much of my attention, with the
maker's name on a label just over the bump of philo-progenitiveness.
The bridesmaids followed in the procession, and then the minister,
with papers in his hand, like the warrant for execution. After the
principal parties had got into position, the minister began in deep
tones, "We are met on this solemn occasion" (all the company seemed
to feel it, for they still looked at the carpet as if they had
dropped a pin and could not be happy till they found it), and
concluded by asking if any of the company objected to the marriage.
There being no objections, he then asked the bride and bridegroom if
they were willing to take each other as they stood, as if he didn't
know that was why he was there. During the ceremony the bride was
sobbing, and perhap she thought she wanted to back out of it. I
don't understand what she was crying about, as I happen to know she
had been looking forward to the marriage for two years. The couple,
having assented to the marriage, were told to join hands; and here a
slight hitch occurred which I have noticed before at marriages. The
bride and bridegroom had on gloves, and both seemed too nervous to be
able to take them off themselves, and had to get it done for them.
I thought it stupid of them wearing gloves indoors, and said so to
the person next me; but he said, "They must wear gloves, because the
groomsman and bridesmaid have to take them off." "But why?" I asked.
"Just because it's always done," he replied in a tone which seemed
conclusive.
I now remembered that the gentleman who shook hands with me on
entering had on gloves, and I had asked him if he had a sore hand;
and I now observed that all the guests wore gloves, and seemed
uncomfortable in them, as if they did not fit about the joints, and
that they appeared to be greatly relieved when the cake and wine were
passed round and they could take them off. Everyone seemed to think
they could now change their funereal face for a more natural one, and
the bride was passed round to be kissed. She was quite bright now,
though there were still two little diamond tears trembling on her
eyelids.
The minister was asked to take a refreshment, but said "No; the bread
I will take, but the wine I will not touch." I thought he might have
had sense enough to know the difference between bride's cake and
bread, and wondered if he refused the wine thinking it might be of
the kind supplied at sacraments. As soon as the minister left, the
company indulged in a general clatter. It must be nice to be a
minister, and know you are awing the company with your presence. And
yet I don't know: I believe I would as soon remain as I am, and
receive the friendly slap on the shoulder, and hear the informal
words, "Hullo! old man, what a' ye gonny have?"
The bridegroom replied briefly to his toast, as the brougham was
waiting to take his bride and him to the station, and of course he
managed to say "My wife and myself," as if it were an old affair; and
the conclusion of the speech seemed to be the signal for the
production of rice, which was poured liberally about them,--a
barbarous joke, not possessing even the quality of originality.
One can imagine the couple in a railway carriage trying to look as if
nothing had happened, and their discomfort on observing side looks,
smiles, and whisperings from those on the opposite seat, who have
noticed some rice which has trickled down his trousers to the floor.
With guards and porters, I believe, subterfuge is useless: the new
trunks, &c., tell too plainly, and they have to be liberally tipped.
The floor of the dining-room was covered with rice, and an idea
occurred to me which might be taken up profitably. We see forms,
&c., advertised for balls: why should not poulterers announce, "Hens
supplied for marriages!" They would clean the carpet in a few
minutes.
Human nature is a strange thing. A hearse, or a brougham with a
slipper tied behind, will collect all the women in the neighbourhood,
except the better-bred ones, who are peeping out from behind the
curtains. A man takes no interest in either, but there will be a
crowd from morning till night when a gas pipe or telegraph wire is
being laid.
Well, each to his taste: Dress for the ladies, a drain for the men,
the bride for the bridegroom, and may they be happy!
AFTER-DINNER SPEECHES WITH HINTS
No one of a philanthropic nature can think but with pity and sympathy
of the mental sufferings of those who have toasts to propose or reply
to. True, there are some who could not go home happy from a meeting
unless they had aired their eloquence; but they are a small minority.
Ministers are usually swift in getting on their feet, and slow to sit
down; and though they have "the gift o' the gab," to some, if not
all, it is an infliction--not less probably than to their brethren in
the laity--to have to speak, as they know that something better will
be expected of them. Talking with a country minister recently, he
said:
"I was once at a Burns Dinner in Edinburgh, and when we were at the
soup I got a note handed from the chair, saying I had been put down
for a toast in place of some one who was absent. Well, sir, I laid
down my spoon and never touched my dinner." (This was said in a tone
of sad reflection.) "But," he added, brightening up, "I picked on
two lines of quotation the chairman had left out, and I gave them
twenty minutes of it,"--the cheery expression of his face showing
that the lengthened speech was not given as revenge for the loss of a
dinner, but with pride in his "gift."
There are "Practical Letter Writers" and books on Etiquette, but no
one seems to be bold enough to publish a book of Speeches suitable
for the many exigencies of those who "go out." The "Practical" or
"Complete" Letter Writer usually was filled with such subjects as "To
a Duchess on refusing an Invitation," or "From the Same to the Same,"
and has of course long since retired to a well-merited oblivion; but
a "Practical" Speech Maker would be sure to go into many editions,
and relieve many a sufferer from one of the chief miseries of
civilisation. In the meantime, however, as we are now into "the
season," a few hints may be found useful.
Be careful, then, not to pause after saying "Mr. Chairman," as, when
it is followed by "and gentlemen," it might seem an invidious and
undesirable distinction.
Begin by saying, "The toast which has been entrusted to me" or "put
into my hands"--both expressions being classic--"is perhaps the most
important on the list." This will command attention, especially from
those who have to speak after you, as they naturally look on theirs
as the most important; and though they may afterwards claim the
distinction, you will have gained your object.