A VISIT TO THE SHIP OWNERS.
Early in the afternoon of the following day our family party set off to
pay their promised visit. The weather was delightful, and Flora was in
an ecstasy of high spirits, as they turned from the narrow streets of
Leith into a beautiful lane, bounded on each side by hawthorn hedges,
redolent with the perfume of the sweetbrier and honeysuckle. The breath
of new-mown hay floated on the air, and the lilac and laburnum, in full
blossom, waved their graceful boughs above the white palings which
surrounded many a pleasant country retreat, in which the tired citizen,
after the toils of the day in the busy marts of commerce, returned to
enjoy a comfortable dish of tea with his family.
A walk of half-a-mile brought them to the suburban retreat of the worthy
Mr. Gregg, and he was at the green garden-gate to receive his guests,
his honest, saucy face, radiant with an honest welcome.
"I was fearful ye wud not keep your promise," said he: "my youngsters
ha' been on the look-out for you for this hour."
Here he pushed the giggling youngsters forward, in the shape of two
bouncing, rosy-faced school-girls, who were playing at bo-peep behind
papa's broad blue back, and whose red cheeks grew crimson with blushes
as he presented them to his guests.
James Hawke seemed to think the merry girls, who were of his own age,
well worth looking at, if you might judge by the roguish sparkling of
his fine black eyes, as he bounded off with them to be introduced to the
strawberry-beds, and all the other attractions of the worthy citizen's
garden.
It was a large, old-fashioned house, which had seen better days, and
stood on a steep sloping hill, commanding a beautiful view of Edinburgh.
The grand old mountain loomed in the distance, and the bright Forth,
with all its wealth of white sails, glittered in the rays of the
declining sun.
"What a delightful situation!" exclaimed Flora, as her eye ranged over
the beautiful scene.
"Ay, 'tis a bonnie place," said Mr. Gregg, greatly exalted in his own
eyes, as master of the premises;--"an' very healthy for the bairns. I
often walked past this old house when I was but a 'prentice lad in the
High-street, o' Sunday afternoons, and used to peep through the pales,
and admire the old trees, an' fruits, an' flowers; an' I thought if I
had sic a braw place of my ain, I should think mysel richer than a
crow'ed king. I was a puir callant in those days. It was only a dream, a
fairy dream; yet here I am, master of the auld house, and the pretty
gardens. Industry and prudence, my dear madam--industry and prudence,
has done it all, and converted my air-built castle into substantial
brick and stane."
Flora admired the old man's honest pride. She had thought him coarse and
vulgar, while in reality he was only what the Canadians term _homely_;
for his heart was brimful of kindly affections and good feeling. There
was not a particle of pretence about him,--of forced growth or refined
cultivation; a genuine product of the soil, a respectable man in every
sense of the word. Proud of his country, and doubly proud of the wealth
he had acquired by honest industry. A little vain and pompous, perhaps,
but most self-made men are so: they are apt to overrate the talents
which have lifted them out of obscurity, and to fancy that the world
estimates their worth and importance by the same standard as they do
themselves.
In the house, they were introduced to Mrs. Gregg, who was just such a
person as her husband had described: a cheerful, middle-aged woman, very
short, very stout, and very hospitable. Early as it was, the tea-table
was loaded with good cheer. Large strawberries preserved whole, and that
pet sweetmeat of the Scotch, orange marmalade, looked tempting enough,
in handsome dishes of cut glass, flanked by delicious home-made bread
and butter, cream, cheese, and sweet curds.
A tall, fine-looking woman, very gaily dressed, was presented to the
Lyndsays as Mrs. M'Nish, a married daughter. Her husband was a
loud-voiced, large-whiskered consequential-looking young man, whose good
humour and admiration of himself, his wife, his father and
mother-in-law, and the big house, appeared inexhaustible. His young wife
seemed to look upon him as something super-human; and to every remark
she made, she appealed to Wullie, as she called him, for his verdict of
approval.
Little Josey, who made one of the party, was soon on the most intimate
terms with the family group. The young married woman, after bestowing
upon her many kisses, passed her over to her husband, telling him, with
a little laugh, "that she wondered if he would make a good nurse: it was
time for him to commence practising." Then she blushed and giggled, and
the old man chuckled and rubbed his knees, and the mother looked up with
a quiet smile as the jolly bridegroom burst into a loud laugh. "Ay, Jean
my woman, it's time enough to think o' troubles when they come." And
then he tossed Miss Josey up to the ceiling with such vigorous jerks,
that Flora watched his gymnastics in nervous fear lest the child should
fall out of his huge grasp and break her neck.
Not so Josey; she never was better pleased in her life; she crowed and
screamed with delight, and rewarded her Scotch nurse, by tangling her
tiny white fingers in his bushy red whiskers, and pulling his long nose.
"Haut! you're a speretted lass. Is that the way you mean to lead the
men?" he said, as he bounced her down into his wife's lap, and told her,
"that it was her turn to mak' a trial o' that kind o' wark, an' see how
it wud fit: he was verra' sure he sud sune be tired o't." And this
speech was received with another giggle, followed by a loud laugh.
The old gentleman was impatient to discuss the important business of
tea-drinking; after which he proposed to have the pleasure of showing
his visitors the garden, and some other grand sight of which he would
not speak now, but which he was certain must be appreciated by every
person, who possessed a half-pennyworth of taste.
Flora sat down to the table, wondering what they could be.
Big Wullie stepped to the hall-door, and summoned the children to the
evening meal with a loud hallo! which was answered from among the trees
by a jovial shout, and in a few minutes the young folks poured into the
room, some of them looking rather dull, from their protracted visit to
the strawberry-beds.
The fresh air and exercise had given Mrs. Lyndsay an unusual appetite.
She enjoyed her meal, but this did not satisfy the overflowing
hospitality of her entertainers, who pressed her in every possible
manner to take more, till she felt very much inclined to answer with the
poor country girl, "Dear knows, I can't eat another bit."
There was no way of satisfying the entreaties of the Greggs, but by
making a retreat from the table, and even then they persisted in
declaring their guests had been starved, and would not do the least
justice to their good cheer.
This mistaken kindness brought to Flora's mind a story she had heard
Lyndsay tell of a merchant of Edinburgh who went to the north of
Scotland to visit some country folk who were his near relations. The
good people were outrageously glad to see him, and literally killed the
fatted calf, and concocted all sorts of country dainties in order to
celebrate the advent of their distinguished guest, who it seems, in this
case, was in less danger of starving than of being stuffed to death.
Having partaken at dinner of all, and perhaps of rather more than he
required, he did his best to resist their further importunities for him
to eat _more_, but finding his refusal to do so increased their anxiety
to force upon him the good things they had to bestow, he spread a large
silk pocket-handkerchief upon his knees, under cover of the table-cloth,
into which he contrived dexterously to empty the contents of his plate,
whenever the eye of his watchful hostess was off him. At last, even her
importunities for him to continue the feast grew fainter, and she wound
up by exclaiming, "You ha' made a verra puir dinner, Sir; ye ha' just
eaten nothing ava'."
At this speech, hardly able to keep his gravity, he placed his
handkerchief upon the table, and displayed its contents of fish, flesh,
fowl, and confectionaries, to his astonished entertainers, exclaiming,
as he did so, "My dear Madam, think what would have become of me, had I
eaten all this!"
It was no feast of reason, at the honest Greggs; the entertainment was
of the most animal kind, and Flora felt relieved when it was over, and
the whole party issued once more into the pure air.
She was just hastening to a parterre, gay with roses, to rifle some of
its sweets, when the old gentleman came panting hard upon her track. "Ye
must come an' see my raree-show, before the sun gangs doun," he cried;
and Flora turned and followed him back into the house. In the hall the
whole family party were collected.
"I'll gang first, father, and open the door," cried a merry boy of
fourteen, and beckoning to Jim, they both clattered after each other up
the old-fashioned stairs.
Old houses in Edinburgh and its vicinity are so high, one would think
the people in those days wished to build among the stars; at least to
emulate the far-famed wonders of that language-confounding tower, which
caused the first emigration, by scattering the people over the face of
the earth.
They went up, and up, and up, until there seemed no end to the broad,
short steps. On the last flight, which led to the roof, the staircase
had so greatly contracted its proportions, that fat Mr. Gregg could
scarcely force himself up it, and he so completely obscured the light
which peered down upon them from a small trap-door, opening upon the
leads, that Flora, who followed him, found herself in a dim twilight,
and expected every moment the panting mountain, which had come between
her and the sky, would lose the centre of gravity, and suffocate her in
its fall.
No such tragic misfortune, however, occurred. The old gentleman forced
himself, after much squeezing and puffing off steam, through the narrow
aperture, and very gallantly lent a hand to assist Flora on to the
leads.
"This is a strait gate, on a narrow way," he cried. "But tell me, if it
does na' gie ye a glimpse o' heaven?"
The old man was right. Flora stood entranced, as it were, with the
glorious spectacle which burst upon her sight, the moment she stepped
upon the roof of that old house. Edinburgh, and the world of beauty that
lies around it, lay at her feet, bathed in the golden light of a
gorgeous June sunset. To those who have beheld that astonishing
panorama, all description must prove abortive. It is a sight to be
daguerreotyped upon the heart.
"Weel, was it not worth toiling up yon weary stair, to get sic a glimpse
as that, of the brave auld town?" said honest P. Gregg. "I'm jest
thinkin' I must enlarge the stair, or diminish mysel, before I can
venture through that narrow pass again. An', my dear leddy, I can do
neither the one nor the other. So this mayhap may be my last glint o'
the bonnie auld place."
Then he went on, after his quaint fashion, to point out to Mistress
Lyndsay all the celebrated spots in the neighbourhood, which every Scot
knows by heart, and Flora was so much amused and interested by his
narration, that she was sorry when the deepening shades of approaching
night warned the old man that it required daylight to enable him to
descend the narrow stair, and they reluctantly left the scene.