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<h2>
<a href="#startoftext">The Life of Mansie Wauch, by David Macbeth Moir</a>
</h2>
<pre>
The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Life of Mansie Wauch, by David Macbeth
Moir


This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org





Title: The Life of Mansie Wauch
       Tailor in Dalkeith, written by himself


Author: David Macbeth Moir



Release Date: March 7, 2007  [eBook #20767]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)


***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF MANSIE WAUCH***
</pre>
<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p>
<p>Transcribed from the 1845 William Blackwood and Sons edition 
by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
<h1>THE LIFE<br />
<span class="smcap">of</span><br />
MANSIE WAUCH<br />
<span class="smcap">tailor in dalkeith</span><br />
<span class="smcap">written by himself</span></h1>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">a new 
edition</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">william 
blackwood and sons</span><br />
<span class="smcap">edinburgh and london</span><br />
<span class="smcap">m.dccc.xlv</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">to</span><br />
JOHN GALT, <span class="smcap">Esq.</span><br />
<span class="smcap">author of</span> &ldquo;<span 
class="smcap">the annals of the parish</span>,&rdquo; 
&ldquo;<span class="smcap">the provost</span>,&rdquo; 
&ldquo;<span class="smcap">the ayrshire legatees</span>,&rdquo; 
&amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.<br />
THE FOLLOWING SKETCHES,<br />
<span class="smcap">principally of humble scottish 
character</span>,<br />
<span class="smcap">are dedicated</span>,<br />
<span class="smcap">by his sincere friend and admirer</span>,<br 
/>
THE EDITOR.</p>
<h2>ADVERTISEMENT.</h2>
<p>Between the first and last genuine Editions of the following 
biography, it has been repeatedly reprinted both in America and 
France; and portions of it, pirated in the shape of cheap 
pamphlets, have, for two or three years bypast, formed a staple 
article of commerce with the Peripatetic Bibliopoles in this 
country.&nbsp; Popularity to an author must be always gratifying;
but it were well that it came through the proper channels.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>The present Edition has been carefully revised, and it 
embodies all the additions made to the book since its first 
appearance.&nbsp; Sixteen years have now passed over since Mr 
Wauch joined his name to those of Rousseau and Franklin as an 
autobiographer; and it must be pleasing to him in his venerable 
old age to learn, that he is still a favourite with the 
Public.&nbsp; Nay, more, it is to be hoped that the accommodating
moderation in the rates of charges anent his present fashions and
furnishings, may be the means of yet further enlarging the circle
of his literary acquaintances.</p>
<h2><!-- page i--><a name="pagei"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
i</span>PRELIMINARIES.</h2>
<p>Having, within myself, made observation of late years, that 
all notable characters, whatsoever line of life they may have 
pursued, and to whatever business they might belong, have made a 
trade of committing to paper all the surprising occurrences and 
remarkable events that chanced to happen to them in the course of
Providence, during their journey through life&mdash;that such as 
come after them might take warning and be benefited&mdash;I have 
found it incumbent on me, following a right example, to do the 
same thing; and have set down, in black and white, a good few 
uncos, that I should reckon will not soon be forgotten, provided 
they make as deep an impression on the world as they have done on
me.&nbsp; To this decision I have been urged by the elbowing on 
of not a few judicious friends; among whom I would particularly 
remark James Batter, who has been most earnest in his request, 
and than whom a truer judge on any thing connected with 
book-lear, or a better neighbour, does not breathe the breath of 
life: both of which positions will, I doubt not, appear as clear 
as daylight to the reader, in the course of the work: to say 
nothing <!-- page ii--><a name="pageii"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. ii</span>of the approval the scheme met with 
from the pious Maister Wiggie, who has now gone to his account, 
and divers other advisers, that wished either the general good of
the world, or studied their own particular profit.</p>
<p>Had the course of my pilgrimage lain just on the beaten track,
I would not&mdash;at least I think so&mdash;have been 
o&rsquo;ercome by ony perswasions to do what I have done; but as 
will be seen, in the twinkling of half-an-eye, by the judicious 
reader, I am a man that has witnessed much, and come through a 
great deal, both in regard to the times wherein I have lived, and
the out-o&rsquo;-the-way adventures in which it has been my 
fortune to be engaged.&nbsp; Indeed, though I say it myself, who 
might as well be silent, I that have never stirred, in a manner 
so to speak, from home, have witnessed more of the world we live 
in, and the doings of men, than many who have sailed the salt 
seas from the East Indies to the West; or, in the course of 
nature, visited Greenland, Jamaica, or Van Diemen&rsquo;s 
Land.&nbsp; The cream of the matter, and to which we would 
solicit the attention of old and young, rich and poor, is just 
this, that, unless unco doure indeed to learn, the inexperienced 
may gleam from my pages sundry grand lessons, concerning what 
they have a chance to expect in the course of an active life; and
the unsteady may take a hint concerning what it is possible for 
one of a clear head and a stout heart to go through with.</p>
<p>Notwithstanding, however, these plain and evident conclusions,
even after writing the whole out, I thought I felt a kind of a 
qualm of conscience about submitting an account of my actions and
transactions to the world during <!-- page iii--><a 
name="pageiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. iii</span>my 
lifetime; and I had almost determined, for decency&rsquo;s sake, 
not to let the papers be printed till after I had been gathered 
to my fathers; but I took into consideration the duty that one 
man owes to another; and that my keeping back, and withholding 
these curious documents, would be in a great measure hindering 
the improvement of society, so far as I was myself personally 
concerned.&nbsp; Now this is a business, which James Batter 
agrees with me in thinking is carried on, furthered, and brought 
about, by every one furnishing his share of experience to the 
general stock.&nbsp; Let-a-be this plain truth, another point of 
argument for my bringing out my bit book at the present time is, 
that I am here to the fore bodily, with the use of my seven 
senses, to give day and date to all such as venture to put on the
misbelieving front of Sadducees, with regard to any of the 
accidents, mischances, marvellous escapes, and extraordinary 
businesses therein related; and to show them, as plain as the 
bool of a pint stoup, that each and every thing set down by me 
within its boards is just as true, as that a blind man needs not 
spectacles, or that my name is Mansie Wauch.</p>
<p>Perhaps, as a person willing and anxious to give every man his
due, it is necessary for me explicitly to mention, that, in the 
course of this book, I am indebted to my friend James Batter, for
his able help in assisting me to spell the kittle words, and in 
rummaging out scraps of poem-books for headpieces to my different
chapters.</p>
<h2><!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
5</span>CHAPTER I.&mdash;OUR OLD GRANFATHER.</h2>
<blockquote><p>The sun rises bright in France,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And fair sets he;<br />
But he has tint the blithe blink he had<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; In my ain countree.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Allan 
Cunningham</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Some of the rich houses and great folk pretend to have 
histories of the auncientness of their families, which they can 
count back on their fingers almost to the days of Noah&rsquo;s 
ark, and King Fergus the First; but whatever may spunk out after 
on this point, I am free to confess, with a safe conscience, in 
the mean time, that it is not in my power to come up within sight
of them; having never seen or heard tell of any body in our 
connexion, further back than auld granfaither, that I mind of 
when a laddie; and who it behoves to have belonged by birthright 
to some parish or other; but where-away, gude kens.&nbsp; James 
Batter mostly blinded both his eyes, looking all last winter for 
one of our name in the Book of Martyrs, to make us proud of; but 
his search, I am free to confess, worse than failed&mdash;as the 
only man of the name he could find out was a Sergeant Jacob <!-- 
page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
6</span>Wauch, that lost his lug and his left arm, fighting like 
a Russian Turk against the godly, at the bloody battle of the 
Pentland Hills.</p>
<p>Auld granfaither died when I was a growing callant, some seven
or eight years old; yet I mind him full well; it being a curious 
thing how early such matters take hold of one&rsquo;s 
memory.&nbsp; He was a straught, tall, old man, with a shining 
bellpow, and reverend white locks hanging down about his haffets;
a Roman nose, and two cheeks blooming through the winter of his 
long age like roses, when, poor body, he was sand-blind with 
infirmity.&nbsp; In his latter days he was hardly able to crawl 
about alone; but used to sit resting himself on the truff seat 
before our door, leaning forward his head on his staff, and 
finding a kind of pleasure in feeling the beams of God&rsquo;s 
own sun beaking on him.&nbsp; A blackbird, that he had tamed, 
hung above his head in a whand-cage of my father&rsquo;s making; 
and he had taken a pride in learning it to whistle two three 
turns of his own favourite sang, &ldquo;Oure the water to 
Charlie.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I recollect, as well as yesterday, that, on the Sundays, he 
wore a braid bannet with a red worsted cherry on the top of it; 
and had a single-breasted coat, square in the tails, of light 
Gilmerton blue, with plaited white buttons, bigger than 
crown-pieces.&nbsp; His waistcoat was low in the neck, and had 
flap pouches, wherein he kept his mull for rappee, and his 
tobacco-box.&nbsp; To look at him, with his rig-and-fur Shetland 
hose pulled up over his knees, and his big glancing buckles in 
his shoon, sitting at our door-cheek, clean and tidy as he was 
kept, was just as if one of the ancient patriarchs had been left 
on earth, to let succeeding survivors witness a picture of hoary 
and venerable eld.&nbsp; Poor body, many a bit Gibraltar-rock and
gingerbread did he give to me, as he would pat me on the head, 
and prophesy I would be a great man yet; and sing me bits of old 
songs about the bloody times of the Rebellion, and Prince 
Charlie.&nbsp; There was nothing that I liked so well as to hear 
him set a going with his auld-warld stories and lilts; though my 
mother used sometimes to say, &ldquo;Wheest, granfaither, ye ken 
it&rsquo;s no canny to let out a word of thae things; let byganes
be byganes, and forgotten.&rdquo;&nbsp; He never liked to give 
trouble, so <!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 7</span>a rebuke of this kind would put a 
tether to his tongue for a wee; but, when we were left by 
ourselves, I used aye to egg him on to tell me what he had come 
through in his far-away travels beyond the broad seas; and of the
famous battles he had seen and shed his precious blood in; for 
his pinkie was hacked off by a dragoon of Cornel 
Gardener&rsquo;s, down by at Prestonpans, and he had catched a 
bullet with his ankle over in the north at Culloden.&nbsp; So it 
was no wonder that he liked to crack about these times, though 
they had brought him muckle and no little mischief, having 
obliged him to skulk like another Cain among the Highland hills 
and heather, for many a long month and day, homeless and 
hungry.&nbsp; Not dauring to be seen in his own country, where 
his head would have been chacked off like a sybo, he took 
leg-bail in a ship over the sea, among the Dutch folk; where he 
followed out his lawful trade of a cooper, making girrs for the 
herring barrels and so on; and sending, when he could find time 
and opportunity, such savings from his wages as he could afford, 
for the maintenance of his wife and small family of three 
helpless weans, that he had been obligated to leave, dowie and 
destitute, at their native home of pleasant Dalkeith.</p>
<p>At long and last, when the breeze had blown over, and the 
feverish pulse of the country began to grow calm and cool, auld 
granfaither took a longing to see his native land; and though not
free of jeopardy from king&rsquo;s cutters on the sea, and from 
spies on shore, he risked his neck over in a sloop from Rotterdam
to Aberlady, that came across with a valuable cargo of smuggled 
gin.&nbsp; When granfaither had been obliged to take the wings of
flight for the preservation of his life and liberty, my father 
was a wean at grannie&rsquo;s breast: so, by her 
fending&mdash;for she was a canny industrious body, and kept a 
bit shop, in the which she sold oatmeal and red herrings, needles
and prins, potatoes and tape, and cabbage, and what not&mdash;he 
had grown a strapping laddie of eleven or twelve, helping his two
sisters, one of whom perished of the measles in the dear year, to
go errands, chap sand, carry water, and keep the housie 
clean.&nbsp; I have heard him say, when auld granfaither came to 
their door at the dead of night, tirling, like a thief of 
darkness, at the window-brod to get in, that he was so altered in
his voice and lingo <!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 8</span>that no living soul kenned him, not 
even the wife of his bosom; so he had to put grannie in mind of 
things that had happened between them, before she would allow my 
father to lift the sneck, or draw the bar.&nbsp; Many and many a 
year, for gude kens how long after, I have heard tell, that his 
speech was so Dutchified as to be scarcely kenspeckle to a Scotch
European; but Nature is powerful, and, in the course of time, he 
came in the upshot to gather his words together like a 
Christian.</p>
<p>Of my auntie Bell, that, as I have just said, died of the 
measles in the dear year, at the age of fourteen, I have no story
to tell but one, and that a short one, though not without a 
sprinkling of interest.</p>
<p>Among her other ways of doing, grannie kept a cow, and sold 
the milk round about to the neighbours in a pitcher, whiles 
carried by my father, and whiles by my aunties, at the ransom of 
a halfpenny the mutchkin.&nbsp; Well, ye observe, that the cow 
ran yeild, and it was as plain as pease that she was with 
calf:&mdash;Geordie Drouth, the horse-doctor, could have made 
solemn affidavy on that head.&nbsp; So they waited on, and better
waited on for the prowie&rsquo;s calfing, keeping it upon draff 
and oat-strae in the byre; till one morning every thing seemed in
a fair way, and my auntie Bell was set out to keep watch and 
ward.</p>
<p>Some of her companions, howsoever, chancing to come by, took 
her out to the back of the house to have a game at the pallall; 
and, in the interim, Donald Bogie, the tinkler from Yetholm, came
and left his little jackass in the byre, while he was selling 
about his crockery of cups and saucers, and brown plates, on the 
old one, through the town, in two creels.</p>
<p>In the middle of auntie Bell&rsquo;s game, she heard an unco 
noise in the byre; and, knowing that she had neglected her 
charge, she ran round the gable, and opened the door in a great 
hurry; when, seeing the beastie, she pulled it to again, and 
fleeing, half out of breath, into the kitchen, 
cried&mdash;&ldquo;Come away, come away, mother, as fast as ye 
can.&nbsp; Eh, lyst, the cow&rsquo;s cauffed,&mdash;and 
it&rsquo;s a cuddie!&rdquo;</p>
<h2><!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
9</span>CHAPTER II.&mdash;MY OWN FATHER.</h2>
<blockquote><p>The weaver he gied up the stair,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Dancing and singing;<br />
A bunch o&rsquo; bobbins at his back,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Rattling and ringing.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Song</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>My own father, that is to say, auld Mansie Wauch with regard 
to myself, but young Mansie with reference to my granfather, 
after having run the errands, and done his best to grannie during
his early years, was, at the age of thirteen, as I have heard him
tell, bound a prentice to the weaver trade, which from that day 
and date, for better for worse, he prosecuted to the hour of his 
death:&mdash;I should rather have said to within a fortnight of 
it, for he lay for that time in the mortal fever, that cut 
through the thread of his existence.&nbsp; Alas! as Job says, 
&ldquo;How time flies like a weaver&rsquo;s shuttle!&rdquo;</p>
<p>He was at all, thin, lowering man, blackaviced, and something 
in the physog like myself, though scarcely so weel-faured; with a
kind of blueness about his chin, as if his beard grew of that 
colour&mdash;which I scarcely think it would do&mdash;but might 
arise either from the dust of the blue cloth, constantly flying 
about the shop, taking a rest there, or from his having a custom 
of giving it a rub now and then with his finger and thumb, both 
of which were dyed of that colour, as well as his apron, from 
rubbing against, and handling the webs of checkit claith in the 
loom.</p>
<p>Ill would it become me, I trust a dutiful son, to say that my 
father was any thing but a decent, industrious, hard-working man,
doing every thing for the good of his family, and winning the 
respect of all that knew the value of his worth.&nbsp; As to his 
decency, few&mdash;very few indeed&mdash;laid beneath the mools 
of Dalkeith kirk-yard, made their beds there, leaving a better 
name behind them; and as to industry, it is but little to say 
that he toiled the very flesh off his bones, driving the shuttle 
from Monday morning till Saturday night, from the rising up of 
the sun, <!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 10</span>even to the going down thereof; and 
whiles, when opportunity led him, or occasion required, digging 
and delving away at the bit kail-yard, till moon and stars were 
in the lift, and the dews of heaven that fell on his head, were 
like the oil that flowed from Aaron&rsquo;s beard, even to the 
skirts of his garment.&nbsp; But what will ye say there?&nbsp; 
Some are born with a silver spoon in their mouths, and others 
with a parritch-stick.&nbsp; Of the latter was my father; for, 
with all his fechting, he never was able much more than to keep 
our heads above the ocean of debt.&nbsp; Whatever was denied him,
a kind Providence, howsoever, enabled him to do that; and so he 
departed this life contented, leaving to my mother and me, the 
two survivors, the prideful remembrance of being, respectively, 
she the widow, and me the son, of an honest man.&nbsp; Some left 
with twenty thousand cannot boast as much; so every one has their
comforts.</p>
<p>Having never entered much into public life, further than 
attending the kirk twice every Sabbath&mdash;and thrice when 
there was evening service&mdash;the days of my father glided over
like the waters of a deep river that make little noise in their 
course; so I do not know whether to lament or to rejoice at 
having almost nothing to record of him.&nbsp; Had Buonaparte as 
little ill to account for, it would be well this day for 
him:&mdash;but, losh me! I had almost skipped over his 
wedding.</p>
<p>In the five-and-twentieth year of his age, he had fallen in 
love with my mother, Marion Laverock, at the christening of a 
neighbour&rsquo;s bairn, where they both happened to forgather; 
little, I daresay, jealousing, at the time their eyes first met, 
that fate had destined them for a pair, and to be the honoured 
parents of me, their only bairn.&nbsp; Seeing my father&rsquo;s 
heart was catched as in the net of the fowler, she took every 
lawful means, such as adding another knot to her cockernony, 
putting up her hair in screw curls, and so on, to follow up her 
advantage; the result of all which was, that, after three 
months&rsquo; courtship, she wrote a letter out to her friends at
Loanhead, telling them of what was more than likely to happen, 
and giving a kind invitation to such of them as might think it 
worth their whiles to come in and be spectators of the 
ceremony.&mdash;And a prime day I am told they had of it, having,
by advice of more than one, consented to make <!-- page 11--><a 
name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>it a penny 
wedding; and hiring Deacon Laurie&rsquo;s maltbarn at five 
shillings, for the express purpose.</p>
<p>Many yet living, among whom James Batter, who was the 
best-man, and Duncan Imrie, the heelcutter in the Flesh-Market 
Close, are still above board to bear solemn testimony to the 
grandness of the occasion, and the uncountable numerousness of 
the company, with such a display of mutton-broth, swimming thick 
with raisins,&mdash;and roasted jiggets of lamb,&mdash;to say 
nothing of mashed turnips and champed potatoes,&mdash;as had not 
been seen in the wide parish of Dalkeith in the memory of 
man.&nbsp; It was not only my father&rsquo;s bridal day, but it 
brought many a lad and lass together by way of partners at 
foursome reels and Hieland jigs, whose courtship did not end in 
smoke, couple above couple dating the day of their happiness from
that famous forgathering.&nbsp; There were no less than three 
fiddlers, two of them blind with the small-pox, and one 
naturally; and a piper with his drone and chanter, playing as 
many pibrochs as would have deaved a mill-happer,&mdash;all 
skirling, scraping, and bumming away throughither, the whole 
afternoon and night, and keeping half the countryside dancing, 
capering, and cutting, in strathspey step and quick time, as if 
they were without a weary, or had not a bone in their 
bodies.&nbsp; In the days of darkness, the whole concern would 
have been imputed to magic and glamour; and douce folk, finding 
how they were transgressing over their usual bounds, would have 
looked about them for the wooden pin that auld Michael Scott the 
warlock drave in behind the door, leaving the family to dance 
themselves to death at their leisure.</p>
<p>Had the business ended in dancing, so far well, for a sound 
sleep would have brought a blithe wakening, and all be tight and 
right again; but, alas and alackaday! the violent heat and fume 
of foment they were all thrown into, caused the emptying of so 
many ale-tankers, and the swallowing of so muckle toddy, by way 
of cooling and refreshing the company, that they all got as fou 
as the Baltic; and many ploys, that shall be nameless, were the 
result of a sober ceremony, whereby two douce and decent people, 
Mansie Wauch, my honoured father, and Marion Laverock, my 
respected mother, were linked thegither, for better for worse, in
the lawful bonds of honest wedlock.</p>
<p><!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
12</span>It seems as if Providence, reserving every thing famous 
and remarkable for me, allowed little or nothing of consequence 
to happen to my father, who had few cruiks in his lot; at least I
never learned, either from him or any other body, of any 
adventures likely seriously to interest the world at large.&nbsp;
I have heard tell, indeed, that he once got a terrible fright by 
taking the bounty, during the American war, from an Eirish 
corporal, of the name of Dochart O&rsquo;Flaucherty, at Dalkeith 
Fair, when he was at his prenticeship: he, not being accustomed 
to malt-liquor, having got fouish and frisky&mdash;which was not 
his natural disposition&mdash;over a half a bottle of 
porter.&nbsp; From this it will easily be seen, in the first 
place, that it would be with a fight that his master would get 
him off, by obliging the corporal to take back the trepan money; 
in the second place, how long a date back it is since the Eirish 
began to be the death of us; and, in conclusion, that my honoured
faither got such a fleg, as to spain him effectually, for the 
space of ten years, from every drinkable stronger than good 
spring-well water.&nbsp; Let the unwary take caution; and may 
this be a wholesome lesson to all whom it may concern.</p>
<p>In this family history it becomes me, as an honest man, to 
make passing mention of my father&rsquo;s sister, auntie Mysie, 
that married a carpenter and undertaker in the town of Jedburgh; 
and who, in the course of nature and industry, came to be in a 
prosperous and thriving way; indeed, so much so, as to be raised 
from the rank of a private head of a family; and at last elected,
by a majority of two votes over a famous cow-doctor, a member of 
the town-council itself.</p>
<p>There is a good story, howsoever, connected with this 
business, with which I shall make myself free to wind up this 
somewhat fusty and fushionless chapter.</p>
<p>Well, ye see, some great lord,&mdash;I forget his name, but no
matter,&mdash;that had made a most tremendous sum of money, 
either by foul or fair means, among the blacks in the East 
Indies, had returned, before he died, to lay his bones at home, 
as yellow as a Limerick glove, and as rich as Dives in the New 
Testament.&nbsp; He kept flunkies with plush small-clothes and 
sky-blue coats with scarlet-velvet cuffs and collars,&mdash;lived
like a <!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 13</span>princie, and settled, as I said 
before, in the neighbourhood of Jedburgh.</p>
<p>The body, though as brown as a toad&rsquo;s back, was as 
prideful and full of power as old King Nebuchadneisher; and how 
to exhibit all his purple and fine linen, he aye thought and 
better thought, till at last the happy determination came over 
his mind like a flash of lightning, to invite the bailies, 
deacons, and town-council, all in a body, to come and dine with 
him.</p>
<p>Save us! what a brushing of coats, such a switching of stoury 
trowsers, and bleaching of white cotton stockings, as took place 
before the catastrophe of the feast, never before happened since 
Jeddert was a burgh.&nbsp; Some of them that were forward and 
geyan bold in the spirit, crowed aloud for joy, at being able to 
boast that they had received an invitation letter to dine with a 
great lord; while others as proud as peacocks of the honour, yet 
not very sure as to their being up to the trade of behaving 
themselves at the tables of the great, were mostly dung stupid 
with not knowing what to think.&nbsp; A council meeting or two 
was held in the gloamings, to take such a serious business into 
consideration; some expressing their fears and inward 
down-sinking, while others cheered them up with a fillip of 
pleasant consolation.&nbsp; Scarcely a word of the matter, for 
which they were summoned together by the town-officer&mdash;and 
which was about the mending of the old bell-rope&mdash;was 
discussed by any of them.&nbsp; So after a sowd of toddy was 
swallowed, with the hopes of making them brave men, and good 
soldiers of the magistracy, they all plucked up a proud spirit, 
and do or die, determined to march in a body up to the gate, and 
forward to the table of his lordship.</p>
<p>My uncle, who had been one of the ringleaders of the 
chicken-hearted, crap away up among the rest, with his new blue 
coat on, shining fresh from the ironing of the goose, but keeping
well among the thick, to be as little kenspeckle as possible; for
all the folk of the town were at their doors and windows to 
witness the great occasion of the town-council going away up like
gentlemen of rank to take their dinner with his lordship.&nbsp; 
That it was a terrible trial to all cannot be for a moment 
denied; yet some of them behaved themselves decently; and, if we 
confess that <!-- page 14--><a name="page14"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 14</span>others trembled in the knees, as if 
they were marching to a field of battle, it was all in the course
of human nature.</p>
<p>Yet ye would wonder how they came on by degrees; and, to cut a
long tale short, at length found themselves in a great big room, 
like a palace in a fairy tale, full of grand pictures with gold 
frames, and looking-glasses like the side of a house, where they 
could see down to their very shoes.&nbsp; For a while they were 
like men in a dream, perfectly dazzled and dumfoundered; and it 
was five minutes before they could either see a seat, or think of
sitting down.&nbsp; With the reflection of the looking-glasses, 
one of the bailies was so possessed within himself, that he tried
to chair himself where chair was none, and landed, not very 
softly, on the carpet; while another of the deacons, a fat and 
dumpy man, as he was trying to make a bow, and throw out his leg 
behind him, stramped on a favourite Newfoundland dog&rsquo;s 
tail, that, wakening out of its slumbers with a yell that made 
the roof ring, played drive against my uncle, who was standing 
abaft, and wheeled him like a butterfly, side foremost, against a
table with a heap of flowers on it, where, in trying to kep 
himself, he drove his head, like a battering-ram, through a 
looking-glass, and bleached back on his hands and feet on the 
carpet.</p>
<p>Seeing what had happened, they were all frightened; but his 
lordship, after laughing heartily, was politer, and knew better 
about manners than all that; so, bidding the flunkies hurry away 
with the fragments of the china jugs and jars, they found 
themselves, sweating with terror and vexation, ranged along silk 
settees, cracking about the weather and other wonderfuls.</p>
<p>Such a dinner! the fume of it went round about their hearts 
like myrrh and frankincense.&nbsp; The landlord took the head of 
the table, the bailies the right and left of him; the deacons and
councillors were ranged along the sides, like files of soldiers; 
and the chaplain at the foot said grace.&nbsp; It is entirely out
of the power of man to set down on paper all that they got to eat
and drink; and such was the effect of French cookery, that they 
did not know fish from flesh.&nbsp; Howsoever, for all that, they
laid their lugs in every thing that lay before them, and what 
they could not eat with forks they supped with spoons; so it was 
all to one purpose.</p>
<p>When the dishes were removing, each had a large blue glass 
<!-- page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
15</span>bowl full of water, and a clean calendered damask towel,
put down by a smart flunkie before him; and many of them that had
not helped themselves well to the wine, while they were eating 
their steaks and French frigassees, were now vexed to death on 
that score, imagining that nothing remained for them, but to 
dight their nebs and flee up.</p>
<p>Ignorant folk should not judge rashly, and the worthy 
town-council were here in error; for their surmises, however 
feasible, did the landlord wrong.&nbsp; In a minute they had 
fresh wine decanters ranged down before them, filled with liquors
of all variety of colours, red, green, and blue; and the table 
was covered with dishes full of jargonelles and pippins, raisins 
and almonds, shell-walnuts and plumdamases, with nut-crackers, 
and every thing else they could think of eating; so that, after 
drinking &ldquo;The King, and long life to him,&rdquo; and 
&ldquo;The constitution of the country at home and abroad,&rdquo;
and &ldquo;Success to trade,&rdquo; and &ldquo;A good 
harvest,&rdquo; and &ldquo;May ne&rsquo;er waur be among 
us,&rdquo; and &ldquo;Botheration to the French,&rdquo; and 
&ldquo;Corny toes and short shoes to the foes of old 
Scotland,&rdquo; and so on, their tongues began at length not to 
be so tacked; and the weight of their own dignity, that had taken
flight before his lordship, came back and rested on their 
shoulders.</p>
<p>In the course of the evening, his lordship whispered to one of
the flunkies to bring in some things&mdash;they could not hear 
what&mdash;as the company might like them.&nbsp; The wise ones 
thought within themselves that the best aye comes hindmost; so in
brushed a powdered valet, with three dishes on his arm of twisted
black things, just like sticks of Gibraltar-rock, but different 
in the colour.</p>
<p>Bailie Bowie helped himself to a jargonelle, and Deacon Purves
to a wheen raisins; and my uncle, to show that he was not 
frighted, and knew what he was about, helped himself to one of 
the long black things, which, without much ceremony, he shoved 
into his mouth and began to.&nbsp; Two or three more, seeing that
my uncle was up to trap, followed his example, and chewed away 
like nine-year-olds.</p>
<p>Instead of the curious-looking black thing being sweet as 
honey&mdash;for so they expected&mdash;they soon found they had 
catched a Tartar; for it had a confounded bitter 
tobacco-taste.&nbsp; Manners, <!-- page 16--><a 
name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>however, 
forbade them laying it down again, more especially as his 
lordship, like a man dumfoundered, was aye keeping his eye on 
them.&nbsp; So away they chewed, and better chewed, and 
whammelled them round in their mouths, first in one cheek, and 
then in the other, taking now and then a mouthful of drink to 
wash the trash down, then chewing away again, and syne another 
whammel from one cheek to the other, and syne another mouthful, 
while the whole time their eyes were staring in their heads like 
mad, and the faces they made may be imagined, but cannot be 
described.&nbsp; His lordship gave his eyes a rub, and thought he
was dreaming; but no&mdash;there they were bodily, chewing, and 
whammelling, and making faces; so no wonder that, in keeping in 
his laugh, he sprung a button from his waistcoat, and was like to
drop down from his chair, through the floor, in an ecstacy of 
astonishment, seeing they were all growing seasick, and pale as 
stucco images.</p>
<p>Frightened out of his wits at last that he would be the death 
of the whole council, and that more of them would poison 
themselves, he took up one of the segars&mdash;every one knows 
segars now, for they are fashionable among the very 
sweeps&mdash;which he lighted at the candle, and commenced 
puffing like a tobacco-pipe.</p>
<p>My uncle and the rest, if they were ill before, were worse 
now; so when they got to the open air, instead of growing better,
they grew sicker and sicker, till they were waggling from side to
side like ships in a storm; and, not knowing whether their heels 
or heads were uppermost, went spinning round about like 
pieries.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A little spark may make muckle wark.&rdquo;&nbsp; It is
perfectly wonderful what great events spring out of trifles, or 
what seem to common eyes but trifles.&nbsp; I do not allude to 
the nine days&rsquo; deadly sickness, that was the legacy of 
every one that ate his segar, but to the awful truth, that, at 
the next election of councillors, my poor uncle Jamie was 
completely blackballed&mdash;a general spite having been taken to
him in the town-hall, on account of having led the magistracy 
wrong, by doing what he ought to have let alone, thereby making 
himself and the rest a topic of amusement to the world at large, 
for many and many a month.</p>
<p>Others, to be sure, it becomes me to make mention, have <!-- 
page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
17</span>another version of the story, and impute the cause of 
his having been turned out to the implacable wrath of old Bailie 
Bogie, whose best black coat, square in the tails, that he had 
worn only on the Sundays for nine years, was totally spoiled, on 
their way home in the dark from his lordship&rsquo;s, by a 
tremendous blash, that my unfortunate uncle happened, in the 
course of nature, to let flee in the frenzy of a deadly 
upthrowing.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER III.&mdash;COMING INTO THE WORLD.</h2>
<blockquote><p>&mdash;At first the babe<br />
Was sickly; and a smile was seen to pass<br />
Across the midwife&rsquo;s cheek, when, holding up<br />
The feeble wretch, she to the father said,<br />
&ldquo;A fine man-child!&rdquo;&nbsp; What else could they 
expect?<br />
The father being, as I said before,<br />
A weaver.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Hogg&rsquo;s</span> <i>Poetic Mirror</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I have no distinct recollection of the thing myself, yet there
is every reason to believe that I was born on the 15th of October
1765, in that little house standing by itself, not many yards 
from the eastmost side of the Flesh-Market Gate, Dalkeith.&nbsp; 
My eyes opened on the light about two o&rsquo;clock in a dark and
rainy morning.&nbsp; Long was it spoken about that something 
great and mysterious would happen on that dreary night; as the 
cat, after washing her face, went mewing about, with her tail 
sweeing behind her like a ramrod; and a corbie, from the 
Duke&rsquo;s woods, tumbled down Jamie Elder&rsquo;s lum, when he
had set the little still a-going&mdash;giving them a terrible 
fright, as they all took it first for the devil, and then for an 
exciseman&mdash;and fell with a great cloud of soot, and a loud 
skraigh, into the empty kail-pot.</p>
<p>The first thing that I have any clear memory of, was my being 
carried out on my auntie&rsquo;s shoulder, with a leather cap 
tied <!-- page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
18</span>under my chin, to see the Fair Race.&nbsp; Oh! but it 
was a grand sight!&nbsp; I have read since then the story of 
Aladdin&rsquo;s Wonderful Lamp, but this beat it all to 
sticks.&nbsp; There was a long row of tables covered with carpets
of bonny patterns, heaped from one end to the other with shoes of
every kind and size, some with polished soles, and some 
glittering with sparribles and cuddy-heels; and little red 
worsted boots for bairns, with blue and white edgings, hanging 
like strings of flowers up the posts at each end;&mdash;and then 
what a collection of luggies! the whole meal in the market-sacks 
on a Thursday did not seem able to fill them;&mdash;and 
horn-spoons, green and black freckled, with shanks clear as 
amber,&mdash;and timber caups,&mdash;and ivory egg-cups of every 
pattern.&nbsp; Have a care of us! all the eggs in Smeaton dairy 
might have found resting-places for their doups in a row.&nbsp; 
As for the gingerbread, I shall not attempt a description.&nbsp; 
Sixpenny and shilling cakes, in paper, tied with skinie; and 
roundabouts, and snaps, brown and white quality, and parliaments,
on stands covered with calendered linen, clean from the 
fold.&nbsp; To pass it was just impossible; it set my teeth 
a-watering, and I skirled like mad, until I had a gilded lady 
thrust into my little nieve; the which, after admiring for a 
minute, I applied my teeth to, and of the head I made no bones; 
so that in less than no time she had vanished, petticoats and 
all, no trace of her being to the fore, save and except long 
treacly daubs, extending east and west from ear to ear, and north
and south from cape neb of the nose to the extremity of 
beardy-land.</p>
<p>But what, of all things, attracted my attention on that 
memorable day, was the show of cows, sheep, and horses, mooing, 
baaing, and neighering; and the race&mdash;that was best!&nbsp; 
Od, what a sight!&mdash;we were jammed in the crowd of old wives,
with their toys and shining ribands; and carter lads, with their 
blue bonnets; and young wenches, carrying home their fairings in 
napkins, as muckle as would hold their teeth going for a 
month;&mdash;there scarcely could be much for love, when there 
was so much for the stomach;&mdash;and men, with wooden legs, and
brass virls at the end of them, playing on the fiddle,&mdash;and 
a bear that roared, and danced on its hind feet, with a muzzled 
<!-- page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
19</span>mouth,&mdash;and Punch and Polly,&mdash;and 
puppie-shows, and more than I can tell,&mdash;when up came the 
horses to the starting-post.&nbsp; I shall never forget the bonny
dresses of the riders.&nbsp; One had a napkin tied round his 
head, with the flaps fleeing at his neck; and his coat-tails were
curled up into a big hump behind; it was so tight buttoned ye 
would not think he could have breathed.&nbsp; His corduroy 
trowsers (such like as I have often since made to growing 
callants) were tied round his ankles with a string; and he had a 
rusty spur on one shoe, which I saw a man take off to lend 
him.&nbsp; Save us! how he pulled the beast&rsquo;s head by the 
bridle, and flapped up and down on the saddle when he tried a 
canter!&nbsp; The second one had on a black velvet hunting-cap, 
and his coat stripped.&nbsp; I wonder he was not feared of cold, 
his shirt being like a riddle, and his nether nankeens but thin 
for such weather; but he was a brave lad; and sorry were the 
folks for him, when he fell off in taking over sharp a turn, by 
which old Pullen, the bell-ringer, who was holding the post, was 
made to coup the creels, and got a bloody nose.&mdash;And but the
last was a wearyful one!&nbsp; He was all life, and as gleg as an
eel.&nbsp; Up and down he went; and up and down philandered the 
beast on its hind-legs and its fore-legs, funking like mad; yet 
though he was not above thirteen, or fourteen at most, he did not
cry out for help more than five or six times, but grippit at the 
mane with one hand, and at the back of the saddle with the other,
till daft Robie, the hostler at the stables, claught hold of the 
beast by the head, and off they set.&nbsp; The young birkie had 
neither hat nor shoon, but he did not spare the stick; round and 
round they flew like mad.&nbsp; Ye would have thought their eyes 
would have loupen out; and loudly all the crowd were hurraing, 
when young hatless came up foremost, standing in the stirrups, 
the long stick between his teeth, and his white hair fleeing 
behind him in the wind like streamers on a frosty night.</p>
<h2><!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
20</span>CHAPTER IV.&mdash;CALF-LOVE.</h2>
<blockquote><p>Bonny lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye 
go,<br />
Bonny lassie, will ye go to the Birks of Aberfeldy?</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Burns</span>.</p>
<p>For a tailor is a man, a man, a man,<br />
And a tailor is a man.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Popular Heroic Song</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The long and the short is, that I was sent to school, where I 
learned to read and spell, making great progress in the Single 
and Mother&rsquo;s Carritch.&nbsp; No, what is more, few could 
fickle me in the Bible, being mostly able to spell it all over, 
save the second of Ezra and the seventh of Nehemiah, which the 
Dominie himself could never read through twice in the same way, 
or without variations.</p>
<p>My father, to whom I was born, like Isaac to Abraham, in his 
old age, was an elder in the Relief Kirk, respected by all for 
his canny and douce behaviour, and, as I have observed before, a 
weaver to his trade.&nbsp; The cot and the kail-yard were his 
own, and had been auld granfaither&rsquo;s; but still he had to 
ply the shuttle from Monday to Saturday, to keep all right and 
tight.&nbsp; The thrums were a perquisite of my own, which I 
niffered with the gundy-wife for Gibraltar-rock, cut-throat, gib,
or bull&rsquo;s-eyes.</p>
<p>Having come into the world before my time, and being of a pale
face and delicate make, Nature never could have intended me for 
the naval or military line, or for any robustious trade or 
profession whatsoever.&nbsp; No, no, I never liked fighting in my
life; peace was aye in my thoughts.&nbsp; When there was any riot
in the streets, I fled, and scougged myself at the chimley-lug as
quickly as I dowed; and, rather than double a nieve to a 
schoolfellow, I pocketed many shabby epithets, got my paiks, and 
took the coucher&rsquo;s blow from laddies that could hardly 
reach up to my waistband.</p>
<p>Just after I was put to my prenticeship, having made free <!--
page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
21</span>choice of the tailoring trade, I had a terrible stound 
of calf-love.&nbsp; Never shall I forget it.&nbsp; I was growing 
up, long and lank as a willow-wand.&nbsp; Brawns to my legs there
were none, as my trowsers of other years too visibly effected to 
show.&nbsp; The long yellow hair hung down, like a flax-wig, the 
length of my lantern jaws, which looked, notwithstanding my 
yapness and stiff appetite, as if eating and they had broken up 
acquaintanceship.&nbsp; My blue jacket seemed in the sleeves to 
have picked a quarrel with the wrists, and had retreated to a 
tait below the elbows.&nbsp; The haunch-buttons, on the contrary,
appeared to have taken a strong liking to the shoulders, a little
below which they showed their tarnished brightness.&nbsp; At the 
middle of the back the tails terminated, leaving the well-worn 
rear of my corduroys, like a full moon seen through a dark 
haze.&nbsp; Oh! but I must have been a bonny lad.</p>
<p>My first flame was the minister&rsquo;s lassie, Jess, a buxom 
and forward quean, two or three years older than myself.&nbsp; I 
used to sit looking at her in the kirk, and felt a droll 
confusion when our eyes met.&nbsp; It dirled through my heart 
like a dart, and I looked down at my psalm-book sheepish and 
blushing.&nbsp; Fain would I have spoken to her, but it would not
do; my courage aye failed me at the pinch, though she whiles gave
me a smile when she passed me.&nbsp; She used to go to the well 
every night with her two stoups, to draw water after the manner 
of the Israelites at gloaming; so I thought of watching to give 
her the two apples which I had carried in my pocket for more than
a week for that purpose.&nbsp; How she started when I stappit 
them into her hand, and brushed by without speaking!&nbsp; I 
stood at the bottom of the close listening, and heard her 
laughing till she was like to split.&nbsp; My heart flap-flappit 
in my breast like a pair of fanners.&nbsp; It was a moment of 
heavenly hope; but I saw Jamie Coom, the blacksmith, who I aye 
jealoused was my rival, coming down to the well.&nbsp; I saw her 
give him one of the apples; and hearing him say, with a loud 
gaffaw, &ldquo;Where is the tailor?&rdquo;&nbsp; I took to my 
heels, and never stopped till I found myself on the little stool 
by the fireside, and the hamely sound of my mother&rsquo;s wheel 
bum-bumming in my lug, like a gentle lullaby.</p>
<p>Every noise I heard flustered me, but I calmed in time, though
<!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
22</span>I went to my bed without my supper.&nbsp; When I was 
driving out the gaislings to the grass on the next morn, who was 
it my ill fate to meet but the blacksmith.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ou, 
Mansie,&rdquo; said Jamie Coom, &ldquo;are ye gaun to take me for
your best-man?&nbsp; I hear you are to be cried in the kirk on 
Sunday?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Me!&rdquo; answered I, shaking and staring.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;Jess the minister&rsquo;s 
maid told me last night, that you had been giving up your name at
the manse.&nbsp; Ay, it&rsquo;s ower true&mdash;for she showed me
the apples ye gied her in a present.&nbsp; This is a bonny story,
Mansie, my man, and you only at your prenticeship yet.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Terror and despair had struck me dumb.&nbsp; I stood as still 
and as stiff as a web of buckram.&nbsp; My tongue was tied, and I
could not contradict him.&nbsp; Jamie folded his arms, and went 
away whistling, turning every now and then his sooty face over 
his shoulder, and mostly sticking his tune, as he could not keep 
his mouth screwed for laughing.&nbsp; What would I not have given
to have laughed too!</p>
<p>There was no time to be lost: this was the Saturday.&nbsp; The
next rising sun would shine on the Sabbath.&nbsp; Ah, what a case
I was in!&nbsp; I could mostly have drowned myself, had I not 
been frighted.&nbsp; What could I do?&nbsp; My love had vanished 
like lightning; but oh, I was in a terrible gliff!&nbsp; Instead 
of gundy, I sold my thrums to Mrs Walnut for a penny, with which 
I bought at the counter a sheet of paper and a pen; so that in 
the afternoon I wrote out a letter to the minister, telling him 
what I had been given to hear, and begging him, for the sake of 
mercy, not to believe Jess&rsquo;s word, as I was not able to 
keep a wife, and as she was a leeing gipsy.</p>
<h2><!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
23</span>CHAPTER V.&mdash;CURSECOWL.</h2>
<blockquote><p>From his red poll a redder cowl hung down;<br />
His jacket, if through grease we guess, was brown;<br />
A vigorous scamp, some forty summers old;<br />
Rough Shetland stockings up his thighs were roll&rsquo;d;<br />
While at his side horn-handled steels and knives<br />
Gleam&rsquo;d from his pouch, and thirsted for sheeps&rsquo; 
lives.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Odoherty&rsquo;s</span> <i>Miscellanea 
Classica</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But, losh me!&nbsp; I have come on too far already, before 
mentioning a wonderful thing that happened to me when I was only 
seven years old.&nbsp; Few things in my eventful life have made a
deeper impression on me than what I am going to relate.</p>
<p>It was the custom, in those times, for the different schools 
to have cock-fighting on Fastern&rsquo;s E&rsquo;en; and the 
victor, as he was called, treated the other scholars to a 
football.&nbsp; Many a dust have I seen rise out of that 
business&mdash;broken shins and broken heads, sore bones and 
sound duckings&mdash;but this was none of these.</p>
<p>Our next neighbour was a flesher; and right before the window 
was a large stone, on which old wives with their weans would 
sometimes take a rest; so what does I, when I saw the whole 
hobble-shaw coming fleeing down the street, with the 
kick-ba&rsquo; at their noses, but up I speels upon the stone, (I
was a wee chap with a daidley, a ruffled shirt, and leather cap 
edged with rabbit fur,) that I might see all the fun.&nbsp; This 
one fell, and that one fell, and a third was knocked over, and a 
fourth got a bloody nose: and so on; and there was such a noise 
and din, as would have deaved the workmen of Babel&mdash;when, 
lo! and behold! the ball played bounce mostly at my feet, and the
whole mob after it.&nbsp; I thought I should have been dung to 
pieces; so I pressed myself back with all my might, and through 
went my elbow into Cursecowl&rsquo;s kitchen.&nbsp; It did not 
stick long there.&nbsp; Before you could say Jack Robison, out 
flew the flesher in his killing-clothes; his face was as red as 
fire, and he had his pouch <!-- page 24--><a 
name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>full of 
bloody knives buckled to his side.&nbsp; I skreighed out in his 
face when I looked at him, but he did not stop a moment for 
that.&nbsp; With a girn that was like to rive his mouth, he 
twisted his nieve in the back of my hair, and off with me hanging
by the cuff of the neck, like a kittling.&nbsp; My eyes were like
to loup out of my head, but I had no breath to cry.&nbsp; I heard
him thraw the key, for I could not look down, the skin of my face
was pulled so tight; and in he flang me like a pair of old boots 
into his booth, where I landed on my knees upon a raw bloody 
calf&rsquo;s skin.&nbsp; I thought I would have gone out of my 
wits, when I heard the door locked upon me, and looked round me 
in such an unearthly place.&nbsp; It had only one sparred window,
and there was a garden behind; but how was I to get out?&nbsp; I 
danced round and round about, stamping my heels on the floor, and
rubbing my begritten face with my coat sleeve.&nbsp; To make 
matters worse, it was wearing to the darkening.&nbsp; The floor 
was all covered with lappered blood, and sheep and calf 
skins.&nbsp; The calves and the sheep themselves, with their 
cuttit throats, and glazed een, and ghastly girning faces, were 
hanging about on pins, heels uppermost.&nbsp; Losh me!&nbsp; I 
thought on Bluebeard and his wives in the bloody chamber!</p>
<p>And all the time it was growing darker and darker, and more 
dreary; and all was as quiet as death itself.&nbsp; It looked, by
all the world, like a grave, and me buried alive within it; till 
the rottens came out of their holes to lick the blood, and 
whisked about like wee evil spirits.&nbsp; I thought on my father
and my mother, and how I should never see them more; for I was 
sure that Cursecowl would come in the dark, tie my hands and feet
thegither, and lay me across the killing-stool.&nbsp; I grew more
and more frightened; and it grew more and more dark.&nbsp; I 
thought all the sheep-heads were looking at one another, and then
girn-girning at me.&nbsp; At last I grew desperate; and my hair 
was as stiff as wire, though it was as wet as if I had been 
douking in the Esk.&nbsp; I began to bite through the wooden 
spars with my teeth, and rugged at them with my nails, till they 
were like to come off&mdash;but no, it would not do.&nbsp; At 
length, when I had greeted myself mostly blind, and cried till I 
was as hoarse as a corbie, I saw auld Janet Hogg taking in her 
bit washing from the bushes, and I reeled and screamed till she 
heard me.&mdash;It was like being transported <!-- page 25--><a 
name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>into heaven; 
for, in less than no time, my mother, with her apron at her eyes,
was at the door; and Cursecowl, with a candle in the front of his
hat, had scarcely thrawn the key, when out I flew; and she lifted
up her foot, (I dare say it was the first and last time in her 
life, for she was a douce woman,) and gave him such a kick and a 
push, that he played bleach over, head foremost, without being 
able to recover himself; and, as we ran down the close, we heard 
him cursing and swearing in the dark, like a devil incarnate.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER VI.&mdash;PUSHING MY FORTUNE.</h2>
<blockquote><p>Oh, love, love, lassie,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Love is like a dizziness,<br />
It winna let a puir bodie<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Gang about their business.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">James 
Hogg</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The days of the years of my prenticeship having glided cannily
over on the working-board of my respected maister, James Hosey, 
where I sat sewing cross-legged like a busy bee, in the true 
spirit of industrious contentment, I found myself, at the end of 
the seven year, so well instructed in the tailoring trade, to 
which I had paid a near-sighted attention, that, without more 
ado, I girt myself round about with a proud determination of at 
once cutting my mother&rsquo;s apron string, and venturing to go 
without a hold.&nbsp; Thinks I to myself, &ldquo;faint heart 
never won fair lady;&rdquo; so, taking my stick in my hand, I set
out towards Edinburgh, as brave as a Highlander, in search of a 
journeyman&rsquo;s place.&nbsp; When I think how many have been 
out of bread, month after month, making vain application at the 
house of call, I may set it down to an especial Providence, that 
I found a place, on the very first day, to my heart&rsquo;s 
content, in by at <!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 26</span>the Grassmarket, where I stayed for 
the space of six calendar months.</p>
<p>Had it not been from a real sense of the duty I owed to my 
future employers, whomsoever they might be, in making myself a 
first-rate hand in the cutting, shaping, and sewing line, I would
not have found courage in my breast to have helped me out through
such a long and dreary time.&nbsp; The change from our own town, 
where every face was friendly, and where I could ken every man I 
saw, by the cut of his coat, at half a mile&rsquo;s distance, to 
the bum and bustle of the High Street, the tremendous cannons of 
the Castle, packed full of soldiers ready for war, and the 
filthy, ill-smelling abominations of the Cowgate, where I put up,
was almost more than could be tholed by man of woman born.&nbsp; 
My lodging was up six pair of stairs, in a room of Widow 
Randie&rsquo;s, which I rented for half-a-crown a-week, coals 
included; and many a time, after putting out my candle, before 
stepping into my bed, I used to look out at the window, where I 
could see thousands and thousands of lamps, spreading for miles 
adown streets and through squares, where I did not know a living 
soul; and dreeing the awful and insignificant sense of being a 
lonely stranger in a foreign land.&nbsp; Then would the memory of
past days return to me; yet I had the same trust in Heaven as I 
had before, seeing that they were the dividual stars above my 
head which I used to glour up at in wonder at 
Dalkeith&mdash;pleasant Dalkeith! ay, how different, with its 
bonny river Esk, its gardens full of gooseberry bushes and 
pear-trees, its grass parks spotted with sheep, and its grand 
green woods, from the bullying blackguards, the comfortless reek,
and the nasty gutters of the Netherbow.</p>
<p>To those, nevertheless, that take the world as they find it, 
there are pleasures in all situations; nor was mine, bad though I
allow it to be, entirely destitute of them; for our work-room 
being at the top of the stairs, and the light of heaven coming 
down through skylights, three in number, we could, by putting out
our heads, have a vizzy of the grand ancient building of George 
Heriot&rsquo;s Hospital, with the crowds of young laddies playing
through the grass parks, with their bit brown coaties, and 
shining leather caps, like a wheen puddocks; and all the <!-- 
page 27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
27</span>sweet country out by Barrowmuirhead, and thereaway; 
together with the Corstorphine Hills&mdash;and the Braid 
Hills&mdash;and the Pentland Hills&mdash;and all the rest of the 
hills, covered here and there with tufts of blooming whins, as 
yellow as the beaten gold&mdash;spotted round about their bottoms
with green trees, and growing corn, but with tops as bare as a 
gaberlunzie&rsquo;s coat&mdash;kepping the rowling clouds on 
their awful shoulders on cold and misty days; and freckled over 
with the flowers of the purple heather, on which the shy moorfowl
take a delight to fatten and fill their craps, through the cosey 
months of the blythe summer time.</p>
<p>Let nobody take it amiss, yet I must bear witness to the 
truth, though the devil should have me.&nbsp; My heart was 
sea-sick of Edinburgh folk and town manners, for the which I had 
no stomach.&nbsp; I could form no friendly acquaintanceship with 
a living soul; so I abode by myself, like St John in the Isle of 
Patmos, on spare allowance, making a sheep-head serve me for 
three days&rsquo; kitchen.&nbsp; I longed like a sailor that has 
been far at sea, and wasted and weatherbeaten, to see once more 
my native home; and, bundling up, flee from the noisy stramash to
the loun dykeside of domestic privacy.&nbsp; Every thing around 
me seemed to smell of sin and pollution, like the garments of the
Egyptians with the ten plagues; and often, after I took off my 
clothes to lie down in my bed, when the watchmen that guarded us 
through the night in blue dreadnoughts with red necks, and 
battons, and horn-bouets, from thieves, murderers, and 
pickpockets, were bawling, &ldquo;Half-past ten 
o&rsquo;clock,&rdquo; did I commune with my own heart, and think 
within myself, that I would rather be a sober, poor, honest man 
in the country, able to clear my day and way by the help of 
Providence, than the Provost himself, my lord though he be, or 
even the Mayor of London, with his velvet gown trailing for yards
in the glaur behind him&mdash;do what he likes to keep it up; or 
riding about the streets&mdash;as Joey Smith the Yorkshire 
jockey, to whom I made a hunting-cap, told me&mdash;in a coach 
made of clear crystal, and wheels of the beaten gold.</p>
<p>It was an awful business; dog on it, I ay wonder yet how I got
through with it.&nbsp; There was no rest for soul or body, by 
<!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
28</span>night or day, with police-officers crying, &ldquo;One 
o&rsquo;clock, an&rsquo; a frosty morning,&rdquo; knocking 
Eirishmen&rsquo;s teeth down their throats with their battons, 
hauling limmers by the lug and horn into the lock-up-house, or 
over by to Bridewell, where they were set to beat hemp for a 
small wage, and got their heads shaved; with carters bawling, 
&ldquo;Ye yo, yellow sand, yellow sand,&rdquo; with mouths as 
wide as a barn-door, and voices that made the drums of your ears 
dirl, and ring again like mad; with fishwives from Newhaven, 
Cockenzie, and Fisherrow, skirling, &ldquo;Roug-a-rug, warstling 
herring,&rdquo; as if every one was trying to drown out her 
neighbour, till the very landladies, at the top of the seventeen 
story houses, could hear, if they liked to be fashed, and might 
come down at their leisure to buy them at three for a penny; men 
from Barnton, and thereaway on the Queensferry Road, halloing 
&ldquo;Sour douk, sour douk;&rdquo; tinklers skirmishing the 
edges of brown plates they were trying to make the old wives 
buy&mdash;and what not.&nbsp; To me it was a real hell upon 
earth.</p>
<p>Never let us repine, howsomever, but consider that all is 
ordered for the best.&nbsp; The sons of the patriarch Jacob found
out their brother Joseph in a foreign land, and where they least 
expected it; so it was here&mdash;even here, where my heart was 
sickening unto death, from my daily and nightly thoughts being as
bitter as gall&mdash;that I fell in with the greatest blessing of
my life, Nanse Cromie!</p>
<p>In the flat below our workshop lived Mrs Whitteraick, the wife
of Mr Whitteraick, a dealer in hens and hams in the poultry 
market, that had been fallen in with, when her gudeman was riding
out on his bit sheltie in the Lauder direction, bargaining with 
the farmers for their ducks, chickens, gaislings, geese, 
turkey-pouts, howtowdies, guinea-hens, and other barn-door fowls;
and, among his other calls, having happened to make a transaction
with her father, anent some Anchovy-ducks, he, by a warm 
invitation, was kindly pressed to remain for the night.</p>
<p>The upshot of the business was, that, on mounting his pony to 
make the best of his way home, next morning after breakfast, 
Maister Whitteraick found he was shot through the heart with a 
stound of love; and that, unless a suitable remedy could be <!-- 
page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
29</span>got, there was no hope for him on this side of time, let
alone blowing out his brains, or standing before the 
minister.&nbsp; Right it was in him to run the risk of deciding 
on the last; and so well did he play his game, that, in two 
months from that date, after sending sundry presents on his part 
to the family, of smeaked hams and salt 
tongues&mdash;acknowledged on theirs, by return of carrier, in 
the shape of sucking pigs, jargonelle pears, skim-milk cheeses, 
and such like&mdash;matters were soldered; and Miss Jeanie 
Learig, made into Mrs Whitteraick by the blessing of Dr Blether, 
rode away into Edinburgh in a post-chaise, with a brown and a 
black horse, one blind, and the other lame, seated cheek-by-jowl 
with her loving spouse, who, doubtless, was busked out in his 
best, with a Manchester superfine blue coat, and double gilt 
buttons, a waterproof hat, silk stockings, with open-steek 
gushats, and bright yellow shamoy gloves.</p>
<p>A stranger among strangers, and not knowing how she might 
thole the company and conversation of town-life, Mrs Whitteraick 
that was to be, hired a bit wench of a lassie from the 
neighbourhood, that was to follow her, come the term.&nbsp; And 
who think ye should this lassie be, but Nanse 
Cromie&mdash;afterwards, in the course of a kind Providence, the 
honoured wife of my bosom, and the mother of bonny Benjie.</p>
<p>In going up and down the stairs&mdash;it being a common entry,
ye observe&mdash;me maybe going down with my everyday hat on to 
my dinner, and she coming up, carrying a stoup of water, or 
half-a-pound of pouthered butter on a plate, with a piece paper 
thrown over it&mdash;we frequently met half-way, and had to stand
still to let one another pass.&nbsp; Nothing came out of these 
fore-gatherings, howsomever, for a month or two, she being as shy
and modest as she was bonny, with her clean demity short-gown, 
and snow-white morning mutch, to say nothing of her cherry mouth,
and her glancing eyes; and me unco douffie in making up to 
strangers.&nbsp; We could not help, nevertheless, to take aye a 
stolen look of each other in passing; and I was a gone man, 
bewitched out of my seven senses, falling from my clothes, losing
my stomach, and over the lugs in love, three weeks and some odd 
days before ever a single syllable passed between us.</p>
<p>Gude kens how long this Quaker-meeting-like silence would <!--
page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
30</span>have continued, had we not chanced to foregather one 
gloaming; and I, having gotten a dram from one of our customers 
with a hump-back, at the Crosscausey, whose fashionable new coat 
I had been out fitting on, found myself as brave as a Bengal 
tiger, and said to her, &ldquo;This is a fine day, I say, my dear
Nancy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The ice being once broken, every thing went on as smoothly as 
ye like; so, in the long run, we went like lightning from 
two-handed cracks on the stair-head, to stown walks, after 
work-hours, out by the West Port, and thereaway.</p>
<p>If ever a man loved, and loved like mad, it was me, Mansie 
Wauch&mdash;and I take no shame in the confession; but, knowing 
it all in the course of nature, declare it openly and 
courageously in the face of the wide world.&nbsp; Let them laugh 
who like; honest folk, I pity them; such know not the pleasures 
of virtuous affection.&nbsp; It is not in corrupted, sinful 
hearts that the fire of true love can ever burn clear.&nbsp; 
Alas, and ohon orie! they lose the sweetest, completest, dearest,
truest pleasure that this world has in store for its 
children.&nbsp; They know not the bliss to meet, that makes the 
embrace of separation bitter.&nbsp; They never dreamed the dreams
that make wakening to the morning light unpleasant.&nbsp; They 
never felt the raptures that can dirl like darts through a 
man&rsquo;s soul from a woman&rsquo;s eye.&nbsp; They never 
tasted the honey that dwells on a woman&rsquo;s lip, sweeter than
yellow marygolds to the bee; or fretted under the fever of bliss 
that glows through the frame in pressing the hand of a suddenly 
met, and fluttering sweetheart.&nbsp; But 
tuts-tuts&mdash;hech-how! my day has long since passed; and this 
is stuff to drop from the lips of an auld fool.&nbsp; 
Nevertheless, forgive me, friends: I cannot help all-powerful 
nature.</p>
<p>Nanse&rsquo;s taste being like my own, we amused one another 
in abusing great cities, which are all chokeful of the 
abominations of the Scarlet Woman; and it is curious how soon I 
learned to be up to trap&mdash;I mean in an honest way; for, when
she said she was wearying the very heart out of her to be home 
again to Lauder, which she said was her native, and the true land
of Goshen, I spoke back to her by way of 
answer&mdash;&ldquo;Nancy, my dear, believe me that the real land
of Goshen is out at Dalkeith; <!-- page 31--><a 
name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>and if 
ye&rsquo;ll take up with me, and enter into a way of doing, I 
daursay in a while ye&rsquo;ll come to think so too.&rdquo;</p>
<p>What will ye say there?&nbsp; Matters were by-and-bye settled 
full tosh between us; and, though the means of both parties were 
small, we were young, and able and willing to help one 
another.&nbsp; Nanse, out of her wages, had hained a trifle; and 
I had safe lodged under lock-and-key in the Bank of Scotland, 
against the time of my setting up, the siller which was got by 
selling the bit house of granfaither&rsquo;s, on the death of my 
ever-to-be-lamented mother, who survived her helpmate only six 
months, leaving me an orphan lad in a wicked world, obliged to 
fend, forage, and look out for myself.</p>
<p>Taking matters into account, therefore, and considering that 
it is not good for man to be alone, Nanse and me laid our heads 
together towards the taking a bit house in the fore-street of 
Dalkeith; and at our leisure kept a look-out about buying the 
plenishing&mdash;the expense of which, for different littles and 
littles, amounted to more than we expected; yet, to our 
hearts&rsquo; content, we made some most famous second-hand 
bargains of sprechery, amongst the old-furniture warehousemen of 
the Cowgate.&nbsp; I might put down here the prices of the 
room-grate, the bachelor&rsquo;s oven, the cheese-toaster, and 
the warming-pan especially, which, though it had a wheen holes in
it, kept a fine polish; but, somehow or other, have lost the 
receipt, and cannot make true affidavy.</p>
<p>Certain it is, whatever cadgers may say to the contrary, that 
the back is aye made for the burden; and, were all to use the 
means, and be industrious, many, that wyte bad harvests, and 
worse times, would have, like the miller in the auld sang, 
&ldquo;A penny in the purse for dinner and for supper,&rdquo; or 
better to finish the verse, &ldquo;Gin ye please a guid fat 
cheese, and lumps of yellow butter.&rdquo;</p>
<p>For two three days, I must confess, after Maister Wiggie had 
gone through the ceremony of tying us together, and Nanse and me 
found ourselves in the comfortable situation of man and wife, I 
was a wee dowie and desponding, thinking that we were to have a 
numerous small family, and where trade was to come from; but no 
sooner was my sign nailed up, with, four iron <!-- page 32--><a 
name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>hold-fasts, 
by Johnny Hammer, painted in black letters on a blue ground, with
a picture of a jacket on one side, and a pair of shears on the 
other,&mdash;and my shop-door opened to the public, with a wheen 
ready-made waistcoats, gallowses, leather-caps and Kilmarnock 
cowls, hung up at the window, than business flowed in upon us in 
a perfect torrent.&nbsp; First one came in for his measure, and 
then another.&nbsp; A wife came in for a pair of red worsted 
boots for her bairn, but would not take them for they had not 
blue fringes.&nbsp; A bareheaded lassie, hoping to be handsel, 
threw down twopence, and asked tape at three yards for a 
halfpenny.&nbsp; The minister sent an old black coat beneath his 
maid&rsquo;s arm, pinned up in a towl, to get docked in the tails
down into a jacket; which I trust I did to his entire 
satisfaction, making it fit to a hair.&nbsp; The Duke&rsquo;s 
butler himself patronized me, by sending me a coat which was all 
hair-powder and pomate, to get a new neck put to it.&nbsp; And 
James Batter, aye a staunch friend of the family, dispatched a 
barefoot cripple lassie down the close to me, with a brown paper 
parcel, tied with skinie, and having a memorandum letter sewed on
the top of it, and wafered with a wafer.&nbsp; It ran as follows;
&ldquo;Maister Batter has sent down, per the bearer, with his 
compliments to Mr Wauch, a cuttikin of corduroy, deficient in the
instep, which please let out, as required.&nbsp; Maister Wauch 
will also please be so good as observe, that three of the buttons
have sprung the thorls, which he will be obliged to him to 
replace, at his earliest convenience.&nbsp; Please send me a 
message what that may be; and have the account made out, article 
for article, and duly discharged, that I may send down the bearer
with the change; and to bring me back the cuttikin and the 
account, to save time and trouble.&nbsp; I am, dear sir, your 
most obedient friend, and ever most sincerely,</p>
<p style="text-align: right">&ldquo;<span class="smcap">James 
Batter</span>.&rdquo;</p>
<p>No wonder than we attracted customers, for our sign was the 
prettiest ye ever saw, though the jacket was not just so neatly 
painted, as for some sand-blind creatures not to take it for a 
goose.&nbsp; I daresay there were fifty half-naked bairns 
glowring their eyes out of their heads at it, from morning till 
night; and, <!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 33</span>after they all were gone to their 
beds, both Nanse and me found ourselves so proud of our new 
situation in life, that we slipped out in the dark by ourselves, 
and had a prime look at it with a lantern.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER VII.&mdash;THE FOREWARNING.</h2>
<blockquote><p>I had a dream which was not all a dream.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Byron</span>.</p>
<p>Coming events cast their shadows before.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Campbell</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On first commencing business, I have freely confessed, I 
believe, that I was unco solicitous of custom, though less from 
sinful, selfish motives, than from the, I trust, laudable fear I 
had about becoming in a jiffy the father of a small family, every
one with a mouth to fill and a back to cleid&mdash;helpless 
bairns, with nothing to look to or lean on, save and except the 
proceeds of my daily handiwork.&nbsp; Nothing, however, is sure 
in this world, as Maister Wiggie more than once took occasion to 
observe, when lecturing on the house built by the foolish man on 
the sea-sands; for months passed on, and better passed on; and 
these, added together by simple addition, amounted to three 
years; and still neither word nor wittens of a family, to 
perpetuate our name to future generations, appeared to be 
forthcoming.</p>
<p>Between friends, I make no secret of the matter, that this was
a catastrophe which vexed me not a little, for more reasons than 
one.&nbsp; In the first place, youngsters being a bond of mutual 
affection between man and wife, sweeter than honey from the comb,
and stronger than the Roman cement with which the old Picts built
their bridges, that will last till the day of doom.&nbsp; In the 
second place, bairns toddling round a bit ingle make a house look
like itself, especially in the winter time, when hailstanes 
rattle on the window, and winds roar like the voices of mighty 
<!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
34</span>giants at the lum-head; for then the maister of the 
dwelling finds himself like an ancient patriarch, and the 
shepherd of a flock, tender as young lambs, yet pleasant to his 
eye, and dear to his heart.&nbsp; And, in the third place, (for 
I&rsquo;ll speak the truth and shame the deil,) as I could not 
thole the gibes and idle tongues of a wheen fools, that, for 
their diversion, would be asking me, &ldquo;How the wife and 
bairns were; and if I had sent my auldest laddie to the school 
yet?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I have swithered within myself for more than half-an-hour 
whether I should relate a circumstance bordering a little on the 
supernatural line, that happened to me, as connected with the 
business of the bairns of which I have just been speaking; and, 
were it for no other reason, but just to plague the scoffer that 
sits in his elbow-chair, I have determined to jot down the whole 
miraculous paraphernally in black and white.&nbsp; With folk that
will not listen to the voice of reason, it is needless to be 
wasterful of words; so them that like, may either prin their 
faith to my coat-sleeve, about what I am going to relate, or 
not&mdash;just as they choose.&nbsp; All that I can say in my 
defence, and as an affidavy to my veracity, is, that I have been 
thirty year an elder of Maister Wiggie&rsquo;s kirk&mdash;and 
that is no joke.&nbsp; The matter I make free to consider is not 
a laughing concern, nor any thing belonging to the Merry-Andrew 
line; and, if folk were but strong in the faith, there is no 
saying what may come to pass for their good.&nbsp; One might as 
well hold up their brazen face, and pretend not to believe any 
thing&mdash;neither the Witch of Endor raising up Samuel; nor 
Cornel Gardener&rsquo;s vision; nor Johnny Wilkes and the 
De&rsquo;il; nor Peden&rsquo;s prophecies.</p>
<p>Nanse and me aye made what they call an anniversary of our 
wedding-day, which happened to be the fifth of November, the very
same as that on which the Gunpowder Plot chances to be 
occasionally held&mdash;Sundays excepted.&nbsp; According to 
custom, this being the fourth year, we collected a good few 
friends to a tea-drinking; and had our cracks and a glass or two 
of toddy.&nbsp; Thomas Burlings, if I mind, was there, and his 
wife; and Deacon Paunch, he was a bachelor; and likewise James 
Batter; and David Sawdust and his wife, and their four bairns, 
good customers; and a wheen more, that, without telling a lie, I 
could <!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 35</span>not venture to particularize at this 
moment, though maybe I may mind them when I am not 
wanting&mdash;but no matter.&mdash;Well, as I was saying, after 
they all went away, and Nanse and me, after locking the door, 
slipped to our bed, I had one of the most miraculous dreams 
recorded in the history of man; more especially if we take into 
consideration where, when, and to whom it happened.</p>
<p>At first I thought I was sitting by the fireside, where the 
cat and the kittling were playing with a mouse they had catched 
in the meal-kit, cracking with James Batter on check-reels for 
yarn, and the cleverest way of winding pirns, when, all at once, 
I thought myself transplanted back to the auld 
world&mdash;forgetting the tailoring trade; broad and narrow 
cloth; worsted boots and Kilmarnock cowls; pleasant Dalkeith; our
late yearly ploy; my kith and kindred; the friends of the people;
the Duke&rsquo;s parks; and so on&mdash;and found myself walking 
beneath beautiful trees, from the branches of which hung apples, 
and oranges, and cocky-nuts, and figs, and raisins, and 
plumdamases, and corry-danders, and more than the tongue of man 
can tell, while all the birds and beasts seemed as tame as our 
bantings; in fact, just as they were in the days of Adam and 
Eve&mdash;Bengal tigers passing by on this hand, and Russian 
bears on that, rowing themselves on the grass, out of fun; while 
peacocks, and magpies, and parrots, and cockytoos, and yorlins, 
and grey-linties, and all birds of sweet voice and fair feather, 
sported among the woods, as if they had nothing to do but sit and
sing in the sweet sunshine, having dread neither of the net of 
the fowler, the double-barrelled gun of the gamekeeper, nor the 
laddies&rsquo; girn set with moolings of bread.&nbsp; It was real
paradise; and I found myself fairly lifted off my feet and 
transported out of my seven senses.</p>
<p>While sauntering about at my leisure, with my Sunday hat on, 
and a pair of clean white cotton stockings, in this heavenly 
mood, under the green trees, and beside the still waters, out of 
which beautiful salmon trouts were sporting and leaping, 
methought in a moment I fell down in a trance, as flat as a 
flounder, and I heard a voice visibly saying to me, &ldquo;Thou 
shalt have a son; let him be christened Benjamin!&rdquo;&nbsp; 
The joy that this <!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 36</span>vision brought my spirit thrilled 
through my bones, like the sounds of a blind man grinding 
&ldquo;Rule Britannia&rdquo; out of an organ, and my senses 
vanished from me into a kind of slumber on rousing from which I 
thought I found myself walking, all dressed, with powdered hair, 
and a long tye behind, just like a grand gentleman, with a 
valuable bamboo walking-stick in my hand, among green yerbs and 
flowers, like an auncient hermit far away among the hills, at the
back of beyont; as if broad cloth and buckram had never been 
heard tell of, and serge, twist, pocket-linings, and shamoy 
leather, were matters with which mortal man had no concern.</p>
<p>Speak of auld-light or new-light as ye like, for my own part I
am not much taken up with any of your warlock and wizard tribe; I
have no brew of your auld Major Weir, or Tam o&rsquo; Shanter, or
Michael Scott, or Thomas the Rhymer&rsquo;s kind, knocking in 
pins behind doors to make decent folk dance, jig, cut, and 
shuffle themselves to death&mdash;splitting the hills as ye would
spelder a haddy, and playing all manner of evil pranks, and 
sinful abominations, till their crafty maister, Auld Nick, puts 
them to their mettle, by setting them to twine ropes out of 
sea-sand, and such like.&nbsp; I like none of your paternosters, 
and saying of prayers backwards, or drawing lines with chalk 
round ye, before crying,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Redcowl, redcowl, come if ye daur;<br />
Lift the sneck, and draw the bar.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I never, in the whole course of my life, was fond of lending 
the sanction of my countenance to any thing that was not canny; 
and, even when I was a wee smout of a callant, with my jacket and
trowsers buttoned all in one, I never would play, on 
Hallo&rsquo;-e&rsquo;en night, at any thing else but douking for 
apples, burning nuts, pulling kail-runts, foul water and clean, 
drapping the egg, or trying who was to be your sweetheart out of 
the lucky-bag.</p>
<p>As I have often thought, and sometimes taken occasion to 
observe, it would be well for us all to profit by 
experience&mdash;&ldquo;burned bairns should dread the 
fire,&rdquo; as the proverb goes.&nbsp; After the miserable 
catastrophe of the playhouse, for instance&mdash;which I shall 
afterwards have occasion to commemorate in due <!-- page 37--><a 
name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>time, and in 
a subsequent chapter of my eventful life&mdash;I would have been 
worse than mad, had I persisted, night after night, to pay my 
shilling for a veesy of vagrants in buckram, and limmers in silk,
parading away at no allowance&mdash;as kings and queens, with 
their tale&mdash;speaking havers that only fools have throats 
wide enough to swallow, and giving themselves airs to which they 
have no more earthly title than the man in the moon.&nbsp; I say 
nothing, besides, of their throwing glamour in honest folks een; 
but I&rsquo;ll not deny that I have been told by them who would 
not lie, and were living witnesses of the transaction, that, as 
true as death, they had seen the tane of these 
ne&rsquo;er-do-weels spit the other, through and through, with a 
weel-sharpened, old, Highland, forty-second Andrew Ferrary, in 
single combat; whereupon, as might reasonably be expected, he 
would, in the twinkling of a farthing rushlight, fall down as 
dead as a bag of sand; yet, by their rictum-ticktum, 
rise-up-Jack, slight-of-hand, hocus-pocus way, would be on his 
legs, brushing the stour from his breeches knees, before the 
green curtain was half-way down.&nbsp; James Batter himself once 
told me, that, when he was a laddie, he saw one of these 
clanjamphrey go in behind the scenes with nankeen trowsers, a 
blue coat out at the elbows, and fair hair hanging over his ears,
and in less than no time come out a real negro, as black as 
Robinson Crusoe&rsquo;s man Friday, with a jacket on his back of 
Macgregor tartan, and as good a pair of buckskin breeches as 
jockey ever mounted horse in at a Newmarket race.&nbsp; Where the
silk stockings were wrought, and the Jerusalem sandals made, that
he had on his feet, James Batter used doucely to observe he would
leave every reasonable man to guess at a venture.</p>
<p>A good story not being the worse of being twice told, I repeat
it over again, that I would have been worse than daft, after the 
precious warning it was my fortune to get, to have sanctioned 
such places with my presence, in spite of the remonstrances of my
conscience&mdash;and of Maister Wiggie&mdash;and of the 
kirk-session.&nbsp; Whenever any thing is carried on out of the 
course of nature, especially when accompanied with dancing and 
singing, toot-tooing of clarionets, and bumming of bass-fiddles, 
ye may be as <!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 38</span>sure as you are born, that ye run a 
chance of being deluded out of your right senses&mdash;that the 
sounds are by way of lulling the soul asleep&mdash;and that, to 
the certainty of a without-a-doubt, you are in the heat and heart
of one of the devil&rsquo;s rendevooses.</p>
<p>To say no more, I was once myself, for example, at one of our 
Dalkeith fairs, present in a hay-loft&mdash;I think they charged 
threepence at the door, but let me in with a grudge for twopence,
but no matter&mdash;to see a punch and puppie-show business, and 
other slight-of-hand work.&nbsp; Well, the very moment I put my 
neb within the door, I was visibly convinced of the smell of 
burnt roset, with which I understand they make lightning, and 
knew, as well as maybe, what they had been trafficking about with
their black art; but, nevertheless, having a stout heart, I 
determined to sit still, and see what they would make of it, 
knowing well enough, that, as long as I had the Psalm-book in my 
pocket, they would be gay and clever to throw any of their 
blasted cantrips over me.</p>
<p>What do ye think they did?&nbsp; One of them, a wauf, 
drucken-looking scoundrel, fired a gold ring over the window, and
mostly set fire to the thatch house opposite&mdash;which was not 
insured.&nbsp; Yet where think ye did the ring go to?&nbsp; With 
my living een I saw it taken out of auld Willie Turneep&rsquo;s 
waistcoat pouch, who was sitting blind fou, with his mouth open, 
on one of the back seats; so, by no earthly possibility could it 
have got there, except by whizzing round the gable, and in 
through the steeked door by the key-hole.</p>
<p>Folk may say what they chuse by way of apology, but I neither 
like nor understand such on-going as changing sterling silver 
half-crowns into copper penny-pieces, or mending a man&rsquo;s 
coat&mdash;as they did mine, after cutting a blad out of one of 
the tails&mdash;by the black-art.</p>
<p>But, hout-tout, one thing and another coming across me, had 
almost clean made me forget explaining to the world, the upshot 
of my extraordinary vision; but better late than never&mdash;and 
now for it.</p>
<p>Nanse, on finding herself in a certain way, was a thought 
dumfoundered; and instead of laughing, as she did at first, when 
<!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
39</span>I told her my dream, she soon came to regard the matter 
as one of sober earnest.&nbsp; The very prospect of what was to 
happen threw a gleam of comfort round our bit fireside: and, long
ere the day had come about which was to crown our expectations, 
Nanse was prepared with her bit stock of baby&rsquo;s wearing 
apparel, and all necessaries appertaining thereto&mdash;wee 
little mutches with lace borders, and side-knots of blue 
three-ha&rsquo;penny ribbon&mdash;long muslin frockies, vandyked 
across the breast, drawn round the waist with narrow nittings, 
and tucked five rows about the tail&mdash;Welsh-flannel 
petticoaties&mdash;demity wrappers&mdash;a coral gum-stick, and 
other uncos, which it does not befit the like of me to 
particularize.&nbsp; I trust, on my part, as far as in me lay, I 
was not found wanting; having taken care to provide a famous 
Dunlop cheese, at fivepence-halfpenny the pound&mdash;I believe I
paled fifteen, in Joseph Gowdy&rsquo;s shop, before I fixed on 
it;&mdash;to say nothing of a bottle, or maybe two, of real 
peat-reek, Farintosh, small-still Hieland whisky&mdash;Glenlivat,
I think, is the name o&rsquo;t&mdash;half a peck of shortbread, 
baken by Thomas Burlings, with three pounds of butter, and two 
ounces of carvie-seeds in it, let alone orange-peel, and a 
pennyworth of ground cinnamon&mdash;half a mutchkin of best cony 
brandy, by way of change&mdash;and a Musselburgh ankerstoke, to 
slice down for tea-drinkings and posset cups.</p>
<p>Every one has reason to be thankful, and me among the rest; 
for many a worse provided for, and less welcome down-lying has 
taken place, time out of mind, throughout broad Scotland.&nbsp; I
say this with a warm heart, as I am grateful for all my 
mercies.&nbsp; To hundreds above hundreds such a catastrophe 
brings scarcely any joy at all; but it was far different with me,
who had a Benjamin to look for.</p>
<p>If the reader will be so kind as to look over the next 
chapter, he will find whether or not I was disappointed in my 
expectations.</p>
<h2><!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
40</span>CHAPTER VIII.&mdash;LETTING LODGINGS.</h2>
<blockquote><p>Then first he ate the white puddings,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And syne he ate the black, O;<br />
Though muckle thought the Gudewife to hersell,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet ne&rsquo;er a word she spak, O.<br />
But up then started our Gudeman,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And an angry man was he, O.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Song</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It would be curious if I passed over a remarkable incident, 
which at this time fell out.&nbsp; Being but new beginners in the
world, the wife and I put our heads constantly together to 
contrive for our forward advancement, as it is the bounden duty 
of all to do.&nbsp; So our housie being rather large, (two rooms 
and a kitchen, not speaking of a coal-cellar and a hen-house,) 
and having as yet only the expectation of a family, we thought we
could not do better than get John Varnish the painter, to do off 
a small ticket, with &ldquo;A Furnished Room to Let&rdquo; on it,
which we nailed out at the window; having collected into it the 
choicest of our furniture, that it might fit a genteeler lodger 
and produce a better rent&mdash;And a lodger soon we got.</p>
<p>Dog on it!&nbsp; I think I see him yet.&nbsp; He was a 
blackaviced Englishman, with curled whiskers and a powdered pow, 
stout round the waistband, and fond of good eating, let alone 
drinking, as we found to our cost.&nbsp; Well, he was our first 
lodger.&nbsp; We sought a good price, that we might, on 
bargaining, have the merit of coming down a tait; but no, 
no&mdash;go away wi&rsquo; ye; it was dog-cheap to him.&nbsp; The
half-guinea a-week was judged perfectly moderate; but if all his 
debts were&mdash;yet I must not cut before the cloth.</p>
<p>Hang expenses! was the order of the day.&nbsp; Ham and eggs 
for breakfast, let alone our currant jelly.&nbsp; Roast-mutton 
cold, and strong ale at twelve, by way of check, to keep away 
wind from the stomach.&nbsp; Smoking roast-beef, with scraped 
horse raddish, at four precisely; and toasted cheese, punch, and 
porter, <!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 41</span>for supper.&nbsp; It would have been 
less, had all the things been within ourselves.&nbsp; Nothing had
we but the cauler new-laid eggs; then there was Deacon 
Heukbane&rsquo;s butcher&rsquo;s account; and John Cony&rsquo;s 
spirit account; and Thomas Burlings&rsquo; bap account; and 
deevil kens how many more accounts, that came all in upon us 
afterwards.&nbsp; But the crowning of all was reserved for the 
end.&nbsp; It was no farce at the time, and kept our heads down 
at the water edge for many a day.&nbsp; I was just driving the 
hot goose along the seams of a Sunday jacket I was finishing for 
Thomas Clod the ploughman, when the Englisher came in at the shop
door, whistling &ldquo;Robert Adair,&rdquo; and &ldquo;Scots wha 
ha&rsquo;e wi&rsquo; Wallace bled,&rdquo; and whiles, maybe, 
churming to himself like a young blackbird;&mdash;but I have not 
patience to go through with it.&nbsp; The long and the short of 
the matter, however, was, that, after rummaging among my two or 
three webs of broadcloth on the shelf, he pitched on a Manchester
blue, five quarters wide, marked CXD.XF, which is to say, 
three-and-twenty shillings the yard.&nbsp; I told him it was 
impossible to make a pair of pantaloons to him in two hours; but 
he insisted upon having them, alive or dead, as he had to go down
the same afternoon to dine with my Lord Duke, no less.&nbsp; I 
convinced him, that if I was to sit up all night, he could get 
them by five next morning, if that would do, as I would also keep
my laddie, Tammy Bodkin, out of his bed; but no&mdash;I thought 
he would have jumped out of his seven senses.&nbsp; &ldquo;Just 
look,&rdquo; he said, turning up the inside seam of the 
leg&mdash;&ldquo;just see&mdash;can any gentleman make a visit in
such things as these? they are as full of holes as a 
coal-sieve.&nbsp; I wonder the devil why my baggage has not come 
forward.&nbsp; Can I get a horse and boy to ride express to 
Edinburgh for a ready-made article?&rdquo;</p>
<p>A thought struck me; for I had heard of wonderful advancement 
in the world, for those who had been so lucky as help the great 
at a pinch.&nbsp; &ldquo;If ye&rsquo;ll no take it amiss, 
sir,&rdquo; said I, making my obedience, &ldquo;a notion has just
struck me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, what is it?&rdquo; said he briskly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, I have a pair of knee-breeches, of most 
famous velveteen, double tweel, which have been only once on my 
legs, and that no farther gone than last Sabbath.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
pretty sure <!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 42</span>they would fit ye in the meantime; 
and I would just take a pleasure in driving the needle all night,
to get your own ready.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A clever thought,&rdquo; said the Englisher.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;Do you think they would fit me?&mdash;Devilish clever 
thought, indeed.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;To a hair,&rdquo; I answered; and cried to Nanse to 
bring the velveteens.</p>
<p>I do not think he was ten minutes, when lo, and behold! out at
the door he went, and away past the shop-window like a 
lamplighter.&nbsp; The buttons on the velveteens were glittering 
like gold at the knees.&nbsp; Alas! it was like the flash of the 
setting sun; I never beheld them more.&nbsp; He was to have been 
back in two or three hours, but the laddie, with the box on his 
shoulder, was going through the street crying &ldquo;Hot 
penny-pies&rdquo; for supper, and neither word nor wittens of 
him.&nbsp; I began to be a thought uneasy, and fidgeted on the 
board like a hen on a hot girdle.&nbsp; No man should do any 
thing when he is vexed, but I could not help giving Tammy Bodkin,
who was sewing away at the lining of the new pantaloons, a 
terrible whisk in the lug for singing to himself.&nbsp; I say I 
was vexed for it afterwards; especially as the laddie did not 
mean to give offence; and as I saw the blae marks of my four 
fingers along his chaft-blade.</p>
<p>The wife had been bothering me for a new gown, on strength of 
the payment of our grand bill; and in came she, at this blessed 
moment of time, with about twenty swatches from Simeon 
Calicoe&rsquo;s prinned on a screed of paper.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Which of these do you think bonniest?&rdquo; said 
Nanse, in a flattering way; &ldquo;I ken, Mansie, you have a good
taste.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Cut not before the cloth,&rdquo; answered I, 
&ldquo;gudewife,&rdquo; with a wise shake of my head.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll be time enough, I daresay, to make your choice
to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Nanse went out as if her nose had been blooding.&nbsp; I could
thole it no longer; so, buttoning my breeches-knees, I threw my 
cowl into a corner, clapped my hat on my head, and away down in 
full birr to the Duke&rsquo;s gate.</p>
<p>I speired at the porter, if the gentleman with the velveteen 
breeches and powdered hair, that was dining with the Duke, had 
come up the avenue yet?</p>
<p>&ldquo;Velveteen breeches and powdered hair!&rdquo; said auld 
Paul <!-- page 43--><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
43</span>laughing, and taking the pipe out of his cheek, 
&ldquo;whose butler is&rsquo;t that ye&rsquo;re after?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said I to him, &ldquo;I see it all as 
plain as a pikestaff.&nbsp; He is off bodily; but may the meat 
and the drink he has taken off us be like drogs to his inside; 
and may the velveteens play crack, and cast the steeks at every 
step he takes!&rdquo;&nbsp; It was no Christian wish; and Paul 
laughed till he was like to burst, at my expense.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;Gang your ways hame, Mansie,&rdquo; said he to me, 
clapping me on the shoulder as if I had been a wean, &ldquo;and 
give over setting traps, for ye see you have catched a 
Tartar.&rdquo;</p>
<p>This was too much; first to be cheated by a swindling loon, 
and then made game of by a flunkie; and, in my desperation, I 
determined to do some awful thing.</p>
<p>Nanse followed me in from the door, and asked what 
news?&mdash;I was ower big, and ower vexed to hear her; so, never
letting on, I went to the little looking-glass on the 
drawers&rsquo; head, and set it down on the table.&nbsp; Then I 
looked myself in it for a moment, and made a gruesome face.&nbsp;
Syne I pulled out the little drawer, and got the sharping strap, 
the which I fastened to my button.&nbsp; Syne I took my razor 
from the box, and gave it five or six turns along first one side 
and then the other, with great precision.&nbsp; Syne I tried the 
edge of it along the flat of my hand.&nbsp; Syne I loosed my 
neckcloth, and laid it over the back of the chair; and syne I 
took out the button of my shirt-neck, and folded it back.&nbsp; 
Nanse, who was, all the time, standing behind, looking what I was
after, asked me, &ldquo;if I was going to shave without hot 
water?&rdquo; when I said to her in a fierce and brave manner, 
(which was very cruel, considering the way she was in,) 
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll let you see that presently.&rdquo;&nbsp; The 
razor looked desperate sharp; and I never liked the sight of 
blood; but oh, I was in a terrible flurry and fermentation.&nbsp;
A kind of cold trembling went through me; and I thought it best 
to tell Nanse what I was going to do, that she might be something
prepared for it.&nbsp; &ldquo;Fare ye well, my dear!&rdquo; said 
I to her, &ldquo;you will be a widow in five minutes&mdash;for 
here goes!&rdquo;&nbsp; I did not think she could have mustered 
so much courage, but she sprang at me like a tiger; and, throwing
the razor into the ass-hole, took me round the neck, and cried 
like a bairn.&nbsp; First she was seized with a fit of the <!-- 
page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
44</span>hystericks, and then with her pains.&nbsp; It was a 
serious time for us both, and no joke; for my heart smote me for 
my sin and cruelty.&nbsp; But I did my best to make up for 
it.&nbsp; I ran up and down like mad for the Howdie, and at last 
brought her trotting along with me by the lug.&nbsp; I could not 
stand it.&nbsp; I shut myself up in the shop with Tammy Bodkin, 
like Daniel in the lions&rsquo; den; and every now and then 
opened the door to speir what news.&nbsp; Oh, but my heart was 
like to break with anxiety!&nbsp; I paced up and down, and to and
fro, with my Kilmarnock on my head and my hands in my breeches 
pockets, like a man out of Bedlam.&nbsp; I thought it would never
be over; but, at the second hour of the morning, I heard a wee 
squeel, and knew that I was a father; and so proud was I, that 
notwithstanding our loss, Lucky Bringthereout and me whanged away
at the cheese and bread, and drank so briskly at the whisky and 
foot-yill, that, when she tried to rise and go away, she could 
not stir a foot.&nbsp; So Tammy and I had to oxter her out 
between us, and deliver the howdie herself&mdash;safe in at her 
own door.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER IX.&mdash;BENJIE&rsquo;S CHRISTENING.</h2>
<blockquote><p>We&rsquo;ll hap and row, hap and row,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll hap and row the feetie o&rsquo;t.<br />
It is a wee bit weary thing,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I dinnie bide the greetie o&rsquo;t.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Provost 
Creech</span>.</p>
<p>An honest man, close button&rsquo;d to the chin,<br />
Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Cowper</span>.</p>
<p>This great globe and all that it inherits shall dissolve,<br 
/>
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,<br />
Leave not a rack behind.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>At the christening of our only bairn, Benjie, two or three 
remarkable circumstances occurred, which it behoves me to 
relate.</p>
<p><!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
45</span>It was on a cold November afternoon; and really when the
bit room was all redd up, the fire bleezing away, and the candles
lighted, every thing looked full tosh and comfortable.&nbsp; It 
was a real pleasure, after looking out into the drift that was 
fleeing like mad from the east, to turn one&rsquo;s neb inwards, 
and think that we had a civilized home to comfort us in the 
dreary season.&nbsp; So, one after another, the bit party we had 
invited to the ceremony came papping in; and the crack began to 
get loud and hearty; for, to speak the truth, we were blessed 
with canny friends, and a good neighbourhood.&nbsp; 
Notwithstanding, it was very curious, that I had no mind of 
asking down James Batter, the weaver, honest man, though he was 
one of our own elders; and in papped James, just when the company
had haffins met, with his stocking-sleeves on his arms, his 
nightcap on his head, and his blue-stained apron hanging down 
before him, to light his pipe at our fire.</p>
<p>James, when he saw his mistake, was fain to make his retreat; 
but we would not hear tell of it, till he came in, and took a 
dram out of the bottle, as we told him the not doing so would 
spoil the wean&rsquo;s beauty, which is an old freak, (the 
smallpox, however, afterwards did that;) so, with much 
persuasion, he took a chair for a gliff, and began with some of 
his drolls&mdash;for he is a clever, humoursome man, as ye ever 
met with.&nbsp; But he had now got far on with his jests, when 
lo! a rap came to the door, and Mysie whipped away the bottle 
under her apron, saying &ldquo;Wheesht, wheesht, for the sake of 
gudeness, there&rsquo;s the minister!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The room had only one door, and James mistook it, running his 
head, for lack of knowledge, into the open closet, just as the 
minister lifted the outer-door sneck.&nbsp; We were all now 
sitting on nettles, for we were frighted that James would be 
seized with a cough, for he was a wee asthmatic; or that some, 
knowing there was a thief in the pantry, might hurt good manners 
by breaking out into a giggle.&nbsp; However, all for a 
considerable time was quiet, and the ceremony was performed; 
little Nancy, our niece, handing the bairn upon my arm to receive
its name.&nbsp; So, we thought, as the minister seldom made a 
long stay on similar occasions, that all would pass off well 
enough&mdash;But wait a wee.</p>
<p><!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
46</span>There was but one of our company that had not cast up, 
to wit, Deacon Paunch, the flesher, a most worthy man, but 
tremendously big, and grown to the very heels; as was once seen 
on a wager, that his ankle was greater than my brans.&nbsp; It 
was really a pain to all feeling Christians, to see the worthy 
man waigling about, being, when weighed in his own scales, 
two-and-twenty stone ten ounces, Dutch weight.&nbsp; Honest man, 
he had had a sore fecht with the wind and the sleet, and he came 
in with a shawl roppined round his neck, peching like a 
broken-winded horse; so fain was he to find a rest for his weary 
carcass in our stuffed chintz pattern elbow-chair by the fire 
cheek.</p>
<p>From the soughing of wind at the window, and the rattling in 
the lum, it was clear to all manner of comprehension, that the 
night was a dismal one; so the minister, seeing so many of his 
own douce folk about him, thought he might do worse than 
volunteer to sit still, and try our toddy: indeed, we would have 
pressed him before this to do so; but what was to come of James 
Batter, who was shut up in the closet, like the spies in the 
house of Rahab the harlot, in the city of Jericho?</p>
<p>James began to find it was a bad business; and having been 
driving the shuttle about from before daylight, he was fain to 
cruik his hough, and felt round about him quietly in the dark for
a chair to sit down upon, since better might not be.&nbsp; But, 
wae&rsquo;s me! the cat was soon out of the pock.</p>
<p>Me and the minister were just argle-bargling some few words on
the doctrine of the camel and the eye of the needle, when, in the
midst of our discourse, as all was wheesht and attentive, an 
awful thud was heard in the closet, which gave the minister, who 
thought the house had fallen down, such a start, that his very 
wig louped for a full three-eighths off his crown.&nbsp; I say we
were needcessitated to let the cat out of the pock for two 
reasons; firstly, because we did not know what had happened; and,
secondly, to quiet the minister&rsquo;s fears, decent man, for he
was a wee nervous.&nbsp; So we made a hearty laugh of it, as well
as we could, and opened the door to bid James Batter come out, as
we confessed all.&nbsp; Easier said than done, howsoever.&nbsp; 
When we pulled open the door, and took forward one of the 
candles, there was James doubled up, sticking twofold like a 
rotten in a sneak-trap, <!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 47</span>in an old chair, the bottom of which 
had gone down before him, and which, for some craize about it, 
had been put out of the way by Nanse, that no accident might 
happen.&nbsp; Save us! if the deacon had sate down upon it, pity 
on our brick-floor.</p>
<p>Well, after some ado, we got James, who was more frighted than
hurt, hauled out of his hidy-hole; and after lifting off his 
cowl, and sleeking down his front hair, he took a seat beside us,
apologeezing for not being in his Sunday&rsquo;s garb, the which 
the minister, who was a free and easy man, declared there was no 
occasion for, and begged him to make himself comfortable.</p>
<p>Well, passing over that business, Mr Wiggie and me entered 
into our humours, for the drappikie was beginning to tell on my 
noddle, and made me somewhat venturesome&mdash;not to say that I 
was not a little proud to have the minister in my bit housie; so,
says I to him in a cosh way, &ldquo;Ye may believe me or no, Mr 
Wiggie, but mair than me think ye out of sight the best preacher 
in the parish&mdash;nane of them, Mr Wiggie, can hold the candle 
to ye, man.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weesht, weesht,&rdquo; said the body, in rather a cold 
way that I did not expect, knowing him to be as proud as a 
peacock&mdash;&ldquo;I daresay I am just like my 
neighbours.&rdquo;</p>
<p>This was not quite so kind&mdash;so says I to him, 
&ldquo;Maybe sae, for many a one thinks ye could not hold a 
candle to Mr Blowster the Cameronian, that whiles preaches at 
Lugton.&rdquo;</p>
<p>This was a stramp on his corny toe.&nbsp; &ldquo;Na, 
na,&rdquo; answered Mr Wiggie, rather nettled; &ldquo;let us drop
that subject.&nbsp; I preach like my neighbours.&nbsp; Some of 
them may be worse, and others better; just as some of your own 
trade may make clothes worse, and some better, than 
yourself.&rdquo;</p>
<p>My corruption was raised.&nbsp; &ldquo;I deny that,&rdquo; 
said I, in a brisk manner, which I was sorry for 
after&mdash;&ldquo;I deny that, Mr Wiggie,&rdquo; says I to him; 
&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make a pair of breeches with the face of 
clay.&rdquo;</p>
<p>But this was only a passing breeze, during the which, 
howsoever, I happened to swallow my thimble, which accidentally 
slipped off my middle finger, causing both me and the company 
general alarm, as there were great fears that it might mortify in
the <!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
48</span>stomach; but it did not; and neither word nor wittens of
it have been seen or heard tell of from that to this day.&nbsp; 
So, in two or three minutes, we had some few good songs, and a 
round of Scotch proverbs, when the clock chapped eleven.&nbsp; We
were all getting, I must confess, a thought noisy; Johnny Soutter
having broken a dram-glass, and Willie Fegs couped a bottle on 
the bit table-cloth; all noisy, I say, except Deacon Paunch, 
douce man, who had fallen into a pleasant slumber; so, when the 
minister rose to take his hat, they all rose except the Deacon, 
whom we shook by the arms for some time, but in vain, to waken 
him.&nbsp; His round, oily face, good creature, was just as if it
had been cut out of a big turnip, it was so fat, fozy, and soft; 
but at last, after some ado, we succeeded, and he looked about 
him with a wild stare, opening his two red eyes, like Pandore 
oysters, asking what had happened; and we got him hoized up on 
his legs, tying the blue shawl round his bull-neck again.</p>
<p>Our company had not got well out of the door, and I was 
priding myself in my heart, about being landlord to such a goodly
turn out, when Nanse took me by the arm, and said, &ldquo;Come, 
and see such an unearthly sight.&rdquo;&nbsp; This startled me, 
and I hesitated; but, at long and last, I went in with her, a 
thought alarmed at what had happened, and&mdash;my gracious!! 
there, on the easy-chair, was our bonny tortoise-shell cat, 
Tommy, with the red morocco collar about its neck, bruised as 
flat as a flounder, and as dead as a mawk!!!</p>
<p>The Deacon had sat down upon it without thinking; and the poor
animal, that our neighbours&rsquo; bairns used to play with, and 
be so fond of, was crushed out of life without a cheep.&nbsp; The
thing, doubtless, was not intended, but it gave Nanse and me a 
very sore heart.</p>
<h2><!-- page 49--><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
49</span>CHAPTER X.&mdash;THE RESURRECTION MEN.</h2>
<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;How then was the Devil drest!<br
/>
&nbsp;&nbsp; He was in his Sunday&rsquo;s best;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; His coat was red, and his breeches were blue,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; With a hole behind where his tail came 
thro&rsquo;.<br />
Over the hill, and over the dale,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And he went over the plain:<br />
And backward and forward he switch&rsquo;d his tail,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; As a gentleman switches his cane.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Coleridge</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>About this time there arose a great sough and surmise, that 
some loons were playing false with the kirkyard, howking up the 
bodies from their damp graves, and harling them away to the 
College.&nbsp; Words cannot describe the fear, and the dool, and 
the misery it caused.&nbsp; All flocked to the kirk-yett; and the
friends of the newly buried stood by the mools, which were yet 
dark, and the brown newly cast divots, that had not yet taken 
root, looking, with mournful faces, to descry any tokens of 
sinking in.</p>
<p>I&rsquo;ll never forget it.&nbsp; I was standing by when three
young lads took shools, and, lifting up the truff, proceeded to 
houk down to the coffin, wherein they had laid the grey hairs of 
their mother.&nbsp; They looked wild and bewildered like, and the
glance of their een was like that of folk out of a mad-house; and
none dared in the world to have spoken to them.&nbsp; They did 
not even speak to one another; but wrought on with a great hurry,
till the spades struck on the coffin lid&mdash;which was 
broken.&nbsp; The dead-clothes were there huddled together in a 
nook, but the dead was gone.&nbsp; I took hold of Willie 
Walker&rsquo;s arm, and looked down.&nbsp; There was a cold sweat
all over me;&mdash;losh me! but I was terribly frighted and 
eerie.&nbsp; Three more graves were opened, and all just alike; 
save and except that of a wee unchristened wean, which was off 
bodily, coffin and all.</p>
<p>There was a burst of righteous indignation throughout the <!--
page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
50</span>parish; nor without reason.&nbsp; Tell me that doctors 
and graduates must have the dead; but tell it not to Mansie 
Wauch, that our hearts must be trampled in the mire of scorn, and
our best feelings laughed at, in order that a bruise may be 
properly plaistered up, or a sore head cured.&nbsp; Verily, the 
remedy is worse than the disease.</p>
<p>But what remead?&nbsp; It was to watch in the session-house, 
with loaded guns, night about, three at a time.&nbsp; I never 
liked to go into the kirkyard after darkening, let-a-be to sit 
there through a long winter night, windy and rainy it may be, 
with none but the dead around us.&nbsp; Save us! it was an unco 
thought, and garred all my flesh creep; but the cause was 
good&mdash;my corruption was raised&mdash;and I was determined 
not to be dauntened.</p>
<p>I counted and counted, but the dread day at length came and I 
was summoned.&nbsp; All the live-long afternoon, when 
ca&rsquo;ing the needle upon the board, I tried to whistle Jenny 
Nettles, Neil Gow, and other funny tunes, and whiles crooned to 
myself between hands; but my consternation was visible, and all 
would not do.</p>
<p>It was in November; and the cold glimmering sun sank behind 
the Pentlands.&nbsp; The trees had been shorn of their frail 
leaves, and the misty night was closing fast in upon the dull and
short day; but the candles glittered at the shop windows, and 
leery-light-the-lamps was brushing about with his ladder in his 
oxter, and bleezing flamboy sparking out behind him.&nbsp; I felt
a kind of qualm of faintness and down-sinking about my heart and 
stomach, to the dispelling of which I took a thimbleful of 
spirits, and, tying my red comforter about my neck, I marched 
briskly to the session-house.&nbsp; A neighbour (Andrew Goldie, 
the pensioner) lent me his piece, and loaded it to me.&nbsp; He 
took tent that it was only half-cock, and I wrapped a napkin 
round the dog-head, for it was raining.&nbsp; Not being well 
acquaint with guns, I kept the muzzle aye away from me; as it is 
every man&rsquo;s duty not to throw his precious life into 
jeopardy.</p>
<p>A furm was set before the session-house fire, which bleezed 
brightly, nor had I any thought that such an unearthly place <!--
page 51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
51</span>could have been made to look half so comfortable either 
by coal or candle; so my spirits rose up as if a weight had been 
taken off them, and I wondered, in my bravery, that a man like me
could be afraid of anything.&nbsp; Nobody was there but a touzy, 
ragged, halflins callant of thirteen, (for I speired his age,) 
with a desperate dirty face, and long carroty hair, tearing a 
speldrin with his teeth, which looked long and sharp enough, and 
throwing the skin and lugs into the fire.</p>
<p>We sat for mostly an hour together, cracking the best way we 
could in such a place; nor was anybody more likely to cast 
up.&nbsp; The night was now pitmirk; the wind soughed amid the 
head-stones and railings of the gentry, (for we must all die,) 
and the black corbies in the steeple-holes cackled and crawed in 
a fearsome manner.&nbsp; All at once we heard a lonesome sound; 
and my heart began to play pit-pat&mdash;my skin grew all rough, 
like a pouked chicken&mdash;and I felt as if I did not know what 
was the matter with me.&nbsp; It was only a false alarm, however,
being the warning of the clock; and, in a minute or two 
thereafter, the bell struck ten.&nbsp; Oh, but it was a lonesome 
and dreary sound!&nbsp; Every chap went through my breast like 
the dunt of a fore-hammer.</p>
<p>Then up and spak the red-headed 
laddie:&mdash;&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no fair; anither should hae come 
by this time.&nbsp; I wad rin awa hame, only I am frighted to 
gang out my lane.&mdash;Do ye think the doup of that candle wad 
carry i&rsquo; my cap?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Na, na, lad; we maun bide here, as we are here 
now.&mdash;Leave me alane?&nbsp; Lord safe us! and the yett 
lockit, and the bethrel sleeping with the key in his breek 
pouches!&mdash;We canna win out now though we would,&rdquo; 
answered I, trying to look brave, though half frightened out of 
my seven senses:&mdash;&ldquo;Sit down, sit down; I&rsquo;ve 
baith whisky and porter wi&rsquo; me.&nbsp; Hae, man, 
there&rsquo;s a cawker to keep your heart warm; and set down that
bottle,&rdquo; quoth I, wiping the saw-dust affn&rsquo;t with my 
hand, &ldquo;to get a toast; I&rsquo;se warrant it for Deacon 
Jaffrey&rsquo;s best brown stout.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The wind blew higher, and like a hurricane; the rain began to 
fall in perfect spouts; the auld kirk rumbled and rowed, and made
a sad soughing; and the branches of the bourtree behind <!-- page
52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>the 
house, where auld Cockburn that cut his throat was buried creaked
and crazed in a frightful manner; but as to the roaring of the 
troubled waters, and the bumming in the lum-head, they were past 
all power of description.&nbsp; To make bad worse, just in the 
heart of the brattle, the grating sound of the yett turning on 
its rusty hinges was but too plainly heard.&nbsp; What was to be 
done?&nbsp; I thought of our both running away; and then of our 
locking ourselves in, and firing through the door; but who was to
pull the trigger?</p>
<p>Gudeness watch over us!&nbsp; I tremble yet when I think on 
it.&nbsp; We were perfectly between the de&rsquo;il and the deep 
sea&mdash;either to stand still and fire our gun, or run and be 
shot at.&nbsp; It was really a hang choice.&nbsp; As I stood 
swithering and shaking, the laddie flew to the door, and, 
thrawing round the key, clapped his back to it.&nbsp; Oh! how I 
looked at him, as he stood for a gliff, like a magpie hearkening 
with his lug cocked up, or rather like a terrier watching a 
rotten.&nbsp; &ldquo;They&rsquo;re coming! they&rsquo;re 
coming!&rdquo; he cried out; &ldquo;cock the piece, ye 
sumph;&rdquo; while the red hair rose up from his pow like 
feathers; &ldquo;they&rsquo;re coming, I hear them tramping on 
the gravel!&rdquo;&nbsp; Out he stretched his arms against the 
wall, and brizzed his back against the door like mad; as if he 
had been Samson pushing over the pillars in the house of 
Dagon.&nbsp; &ldquo;For the Lord&rsquo;s sake, prime the 
gun,&rdquo; he cried out, &ldquo;or our throats will be cut frae 
lug to lug before we can cry Jack Robison!&nbsp; See that 
there&rsquo;s priming in the pan.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I did the best I could; but my whole strength could hardly 
lift up the piece, which waggled to and fro like a cock&rsquo;s 
tail on a rainy day; my knees knocked against one another, and 
though I was resigned to die&mdash;I trust I was resigned to 
die&mdash;&rsquo;od, but it was a frightful thing to be out of 
one&rsquo;s bed, and to be murdered in an old session-house, at 
the dead hour of night, by unearthly resurrection men, or rather 
let me call them deevils incarnate, wrapt up in dreadnoughts, 
with blacked faces, pistols, big sticks, and other deadly 
weapons.</p>
<p>A snuff-snuffing was heard; and, through below the door, I saw
a pair of glancing black een.&nbsp; &rsquo;Od, but my heart 
nearly louped off the bit&mdash;a snouff, and a gur-gurring, and 
over all the plain tramp of a man&rsquo;s heavy tackets and 
cuddy-heels among <!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 53</span>the gravel.&nbsp; Then came a great 
slap like thunder on the wall; and the laddie, quitting his grip,
fell down, crying, &ldquo;Fire, fire!&mdash;murder! holy 
murder!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wha&rsquo;s there?&rdquo; growled a deep rough voice; 
&ldquo;open, I&rsquo;m a freend.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I tried to speak, but could not; something like a halfpenny 
roll was sticking in my throat, so I tried to cough it up, but it
would not come.&nbsp; &ldquo;Gie the pass-word then,&rdquo; said 
the laddie, staring as if his eyes would loup out; &ldquo;gie the
pass-word!&rdquo;</p>
<p>First came a loud whistle, and then &ldquo;Copmahagen,&rdquo; 
answered the voice.&nbsp; Oh! what a relief!&nbsp; The laddie 
started up, like one crazy with joy.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ou! ou!&rdquo; 
cried he, thrawing round the key, and rubbing his hands; 
&ldquo;by jingo, it&rsquo;s the bethrel&mdash;it&rsquo;s the 
bethrel&mdash;it&rsquo;s auld Isaac himsell.&rdquo;</p>
<p>First rushed in the dog, and then Isaac, with his glazed hat, 
slouched over his brow, and his horn bowet glimmering by his 
knee.&nbsp; &ldquo;Has the French landed, do ye think?&nbsp; Losh
keep us a&rsquo;,&rdquo; said he, with a smile on his half-idiot 
face, (for he was a kind of a sort of a natural, with an 
infirmity in his leg,) &ldquo;&rsquo;od sauf us, man, put by your
gun.&nbsp; Ye dinna mean to shoot me, do ye?&nbsp; What are ye 
about here with the door lockit?&nbsp; I just keppit four 
resurrectioners louping ower the wall.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Gude guide us!&rdquo; I said, taking a long breath to 
drive the blood from my heart, and something relieved by 
Isaac&rsquo;s company&mdash;&ldquo;Come now, Isaac, ye&rsquo;re 
just gieing us a fright.&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t that true, 
Isaac?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&rsquo;m joking&mdash;and what for no?&mdash;but 
they might have been, for onything ye wad hae hindered them to 
the contrair, I&rsquo;m thinking.&nbsp; Na, na, ye maunna lock 
the door; that&rsquo;s no fair play.&rdquo;</p>
<p>When the door was put ajee, and the furm set fornent the fire,
I gave Isaac a dram to keep his heart up on such a cold stormy 
night.&nbsp; &rsquo;Od, but he was a droll fellow, Isaac.&nbsp; 
He sung and leuch as if he had been boozing in Luckie 
Thamson&rsquo;s, with some of his drucken cronies.&nbsp; Feint a 
hair cared he about auld kirks, or kirkyards, or vouts, or 
through-stanes, or dead folk in their winding-sheets, with the 
wet grass growing over them; and at last I began to brighten up a
wee myself; so when he <!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 54</span>had gone over a good few funny 
stories, I said to him, quoth I, &ldquo;Mony folk, I daresay, mak
mair noise about their sitting up in a kirkyard than it&rsquo;s 
a&rsquo; worth.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s naething here to harm 
us?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I beg to differ wi&rsquo; ye there,&rdquo; answered 
Isaac, taking out his horn mull from his coat pouch, and tapping 
on the lid in a queer style&mdash;&ldquo;I could gie anither 
version of that story.&nbsp; Did ye no ken of three young 
doctors&mdash;Eirish students&mdash;alang with some 
resurrectioners, as waff and wild as themsells, firing shottie 
for shottie with the guard at Kirkmabreck, and lodging three 
slugs in ane of their backs, forbye firing a ramrod through 
anither ane&rsquo;s hat?&rdquo;</p>
<p>This was a wee alarming&mdash;&ldquo;No,&rdquo; quoth I; 
&ldquo;no, Isaac, man; I never heard of it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But, let alane resurrectioners, do ye no think there is
sic a thing as ghaists?&nbsp; Guide ye, man, my grannie could hae
telled as muckle about them as would have filled a 
minister&rsquo;s sermons from June to January.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Kay&mdash;kay&mdash;that&rsquo;s all buff,&rdquo; I 
said.&nbsp; &ldquo;Are there nae cutty-stool businesses&mdash;are
there nae marriages going on just now, Isaac?&rdquo; for I was 
keen to change the subject.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye may kay&mdash;kay, as ye like, though; I can just 
tell ye this:&mdash;Ye&rsquo;ll mind auld Armstrong with the 
leather breeks, and the brown three-story wig&mdash;him that was 
the grave-digger?&nbsp; Weel, he saw a ghaist wi&rsquo; his 
leeving een&mdash;aye, and what&rsquo;s better, in this very 
kirkyard too.&nbsp; It was a cauld spring morning, and daylight 
just coming in, whan he cam to the yett yonder, thinking to meet 
his man, paidling Jock&mdash;but Jock had sleepit in, and wasna 
there.&nbsp; Weel, to the wast corner ower yonder he gaed, and 
throwing his coat ower a headstane, and his hat on the tap 
o&rsquo;t, he dug away with his spade, casting out the mools, and
the coffin handles, and the green banes and sic like, till he 
stoppit a wee to take breath.&mdash;What! are ye whistling to 
yoursell?&rdquo; quoth Isaac to me, &ldquo;and no hearing 
what&rsquo;s God&rsquo;s truth?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ou, ay,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;but ye didna tell me if 
onybody was cried last Sunday?&rdquo;&mdash;I would have given 
every farthing I had made by the needle, to have been at that 
blessed time in my <!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 55</span>bed with my wife and wean.&nbsp; Ay, 
how I was gruing!&nbsp; I mostly chacked off my tongue in 
chittering.&mdash;But all would not do.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel, speaking of ghaists&mdash;when he was resting on 
his spade he looked up to the steeple, to see what o&rsquo;clock 
it was, wondering what way Jock hadna come, when lo! and behold, 
in the lang diced window of the kirk yonder, he saw a lady 
a&rsquo; in white, with her hands clasped thegither, looking out 
to the kirkyard at him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He couldna believe his een, so he rubbit them with his 
sark sleeve, but she was still there bodily; and, keeping ae ee 
on her, and anither on his road to the yett, he drew his coat and
hat to him below his arm, and aff like mad, throwing the shool 
half a mile ahint him.&nbsp; Jock fand that; for he was coming 
singing in at the yett, when his maister ran clean ower the tap 
o&rsquo; him, and capsized him like a toom barrel; never stopping
till he was in at his ain house, and the door baith bolted and 
barred at his tail.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did ye ever hear the like of that, Mansie?&nbsp; Weel, 
man, I&rsquo;ll explain the hail history of it to ye.&nbsp; Ye 
see&mdash;&rsquo;Od! how sound that callant&rsquo;s 
sleeping,&rdquo; continued Isaac; &ldquo;he&rsquo;s snoring like 
a nine-year-auld!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was glad he had stopped, for I was like to sink through the 
ground with fear; but no, it would not do.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Dinna ye ken&mdash;sauf us! what a fearsome night this 
is!&nbsp; The trees will be all broken.&nbsp; What a noise in the
lum!&nbsp; I daresay there&rsquo;s some auld hag of a witch-wife 
gaun to come rumble doun&rsquo;t.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s no the first 
time, I&rsquo;ll swear.&nbsp; Hae ye a silver sixpence?&nbsp; Wad
ye like that?&rdquo; he bawled up the chimney.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ll hae heard,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;lang ago, 
that a wee murdered wean was buried&mdash;didna ye hear a 
voice?&mdash;was buried below that corner&mdash;the hearth-stane 
there, where the laddie&rsquo;s lying on?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I had now lost my breath, so that I could not stop him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye never heard tell o&rsquo;t, didna ye?&nbsp; Weel, 
I&rsquo;se tell&rsquo;t ye&mdash;Sauf us, what swurls of smoke 
coming doun the chimley&mdash;I could swear something no 
canny&rsquo;s stopping up the lum head&mdash;Gang out, and 
see!&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
56</span>At that moment a clap like thunder was heard&mdash;the 
candle was driven over&mdash;the sleeping laddie roared 
&ldquo;Help!&rdquo; and &ldquo;Murder!&rdquo; and 
&ldquo;Thieves!&rdquo; and, as the furm on which we were sitting 
played flee backwards, cripple Isaac bellowed out, 
&ldquo;I&rsquo;m dead!&mdash;I&rsquo;m killed&mdash;shot through 
the head!&mdash;Oh! oh! oh!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Surely I had fainted away; for, when I came to myself, I found
my red comforter loosed; my face all wet&mdash;Isaac rubbing down
his waistcoat with his sleeve&mdash;the laddie swigging ale out 
of a bicker&mdash;and the brisk brown stout, which, by casting 
its cork, had caused all the alarm, 
whizz&mdash;whizz&mdash;whizzing in the chimley lug.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER XI.&mdash;TAFFY WITH THE PIGTAIL.</h2>
<blockquote><p>In the sweet shire of Cardigan,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,<br />
An old man dwells, a little man;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve heard he once was tall.<br />
A long blue livery coat has he,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; That&rsquo;s fair behind and fair before;<br />
Yet, meet him where you will, you see<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; At once that he is poor.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Wordsworth</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It was a clear starry night, in the blasty month of January, I
mind it well.&nbsp; The snow had fallen during the afternoon; or,
as Benjie came in crying, that &ldquo;the auld wives o&rsquo; the
norlan sky were plucking their geese;&rdquo; and it continued dim
and dowie till towards the gloaming, when, as the road-side 
labourers were dandering home from their work, some with pickaxes
and others with shools, and just as our cocks and hens were going
into their beds, poor things, the lift cleared up to a sharp 
freeze, and the well-ordered stars came forth glowing over the 
blue sky.&nbsp; Between six and seven the moon rose; and I could 
not get my two prentices in from the door, where they were 
bickering one <!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 57</span>another with snow-balls, or maybe 
carhailling the folk on the street in their idle wantonness; so I
was obliged for that night to disappoint Edie Macfarlane of the 
pair of black spatterdashes he was so anxious to get finished, 
for dancing in next day, at Souple Jack the carpenter&rsquo;s 
grand penny-wedding.</p>
<p>Seeing that little more good was to be expected till morning, 
I came to the resolution of shutting-in half-an-hour earlier than
usual; so, as I was carrying out the shop-shutters, with my hat 
over my cowl, for it was desperately sharp, I mostly in my hurry 
knocked down an old man, that was coming up to ask me, &ldquo;if 
I was Maister Wauch the tailor and furnisher.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Having told him that I was myself, instead of a better; and 
having asked him to step in, that I might have a glimpse of his 
face at the candle, I saw that he was a stranger, dressed in a 
droll auld-farrant green livery-coat, faced with white.&nbsp; His
waistcoat was cut in the Parly-voo fashion, with long lappels, 
and a double row of buttons down the breast; and round his neck 
he had a black corded stock, such like, but not so broad, as I 
afterwards wore in the volunteers, when drilling under Big 
Sam.&nbsp; He had a well-worn scraper on his head, peaked before 
and behind, with a bit crape knotted round it, which he politely 
took off, making a low bow; and requesting me to bargain with him
for a few articles of grand second-hand apparel, which once 
belonged to his master that was deceased, and which was now 
carried by himself, in a bundle under his left oxter.</p>
<p>Happening never to make a trade of dealing in this line, and 
not very sure like as to how the old man might have come by the 
bundle in these riotous and knock-him-down times, I swithered a 
moment, giving my chin a rub, before answering; and then advised 
him to take a step in at his leisure to St Mary&rsquo;s Wynd, 
where he would meet in with merchants in scores.&nbsp; But no; he
seemed determined to strike a bargain with me; and I heard from 
the man&rsquo;s sponsible and feasible manner of speech&mdash;for
he was an old weatherbeaten-looking body of a creature, with gleg
een, a cock nose, white locks, and a tye behind&mdash;that the 
clothes must have been left him, as a kind of friendly keepsake, 
by his master, now beneath the mools.&nbsp; Thinking by this, 
that if I got them at a wanworth, I might boldly venture, I 
condescended to <!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 58</span>his loosing down the bundle, which 
was in a blue silk napkin with yellow flowers.&nbsp; As he was 
doing this, he told me that he was on his way home from the north
to his own country, which lay among the green Welsh hills, far 
away; and that he could not carry much luggage with him, as he 
was obliged to travel with his baggage tied up in a bundle, on 
the end of his walking-staff, over his right shoulder.</p>
<p>Pity me! what a grand coat it was!&nbsp; I thought at first it
must have been worn on the King&rsquo;s own back, honest man; for
it was made of green velvet, and embroidered all round 
about&mdash;back seams, side seams, flaps, lappels, button-holes,
nape and cuffs, with gold lace and spangles, in a manner to have 
dazzled the understanding of any Jew with a beard shorter than 
his arm.&nbsp; So, no wonder that it imposed on the like of me; 
and I was mostly ashamed to make him an offer for it of a 
crown-piece and a dram.&nbsp; The waistcoat, which was of white 
satin, single-breasted, and done up with silver tinsel in a most 
beautiful manner, I also bought from him for a couple of 
shillings, and four hanks of black thread.&nbsp; Though I would 
on no account or consideration give him a bode for the Hessian 
boots, which having cuddy-heels and long silk tossels, were by 
far and away over grand for the like of a tailor, such as me, and
fit for the Sunday&rsquo;s wear of some fashionable Don of the 
first water.&nbsp; However, not to part uncivilly, and be as good
as my word, I brought ben Nanse&rsquo;s bottle, and gave him a 
cawker at the shop counter; and, after taking a thimbleful to 
myself, to drink a good journey to him, I bade him take care of 
his feet, as the causeway was frozen, and saw the auld flunkie 
safely over the strand with a candle.</p>
<p>Ye may easily conceive that Nanse got a surprise, when I 
paraded ben to the room with the grand coat and waistcoat on, 
cocking up my head, putting my hands into the haunch pockets, and
strutting about more like a peacock than a douce elder of Maister
Wiggie&rsquo;s kirk; so just as, thinking shame of myself, I was 
about to throw it off, I found something bulky at the bottom of 
the side pocket, which I discovered to be a wheen papers fastened
together with green tape.&nbsp; Finding they were written in a 
real neat hand, I put on my spectacles, and sending up the <!-- 
page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
59</span>close for James Batter, we sat round the fireside, and 
read away like nine-year-aulds.</p>
<p>The next matter of consideration was, whether, in buying the 
coat as it stood, the paper belonged to me, or the old flunkie 
waiting-servant with the peaked hat.&nbsp; James and me, after an
hour and a half&rsquo;s argle-bargleing pro and con, in the way 
of Parliament-house lawyers, came at last to be unanimously of 
opinion, that according to the auld Scotch proverb of</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;He that finds keeps,<br />
And he that loses seeks,&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>whatever was part or pendicle of the coat at the time of 
purchase, when it hung exposed for sale over the white-headed 
Welshman&rsquo;s little finger, became, according to the law of 
nature and nations, as James Batter wisely observed, part and 
pendicle of the property of me, Mansie Wauch, the legal 
purchaser.</p>
<p>Notwithstanding all this, however, I was not sincerely 
convinced in my own conscience; and I daresay if the creature had
cast up, and come seeking them back, I would have found myself 
bound to make restitution.&nbsp; This is not now likely to 
happen; for twenty long years have come and passed away, like the
sunshine of yesterday, and neither word nor wittens of the body 
have been seen or heard tell of; so, according to the course of 
nature, being a white-headed old man, with a pigtail, when the 
bargain was made, his dust and bones have, in all likelihood, 
long ago mouldered down beneath the green turf of his own 
mountains, like his granfather&rsquo;s before him.&nbsp; This 
being the case, I daresay it is the reader&rsquo;s opinion as 
well as my own, that I am quite at liberty to make what use of 
them I like.&nbsp; Concerning the poem things that came first in 
hand, I do not pretend to be any judge; but James thinks he could
scarcely write any muckle better himself: so here goes; but I 
cannot tell you to what tune:</p>
<h3>SONG.</h3>
<p>I.</p>
<p>They say that other eyes are bright,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I see no eyes like thine;<br />
So full of Heaven&rsquo;s serenest light,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Like midnight stars they shine.</p>
<p><!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
60</span>II.</p>
<p>They say that other cheeks are fair&mdash;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; But fairer cannot glow<br />
The rosebud in the morning air,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Or blood on mountain snow.</p>
<p>III.</p>
<p>Thy voice&mdash;Oh sweet it streams to me,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And charms my raptured breast;<br />
Like music on the moonlight sea,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; When waves are lull&rsquo;d to rest.</p>
<p>IV.</p>
<p>The wealth of worlds were vain to give<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Thy sinless heart to buy;<br />
Oh I will bless thee while I live,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And love thee till I die!</p>
<p>From this song it appears a matter beyond doubt&mdash;for I 
know human nature&mdash;that the flunkie&rsquo;s master had, in 
his earlier years, been deeply in love with some beautiful young 
lady, that loved him again, and that maybe, with a bounding and 
bursting heart, durst not let her affection be shown, from dread 
of her cruel relations, who insisted on her marrying some lord or
baronet that she did not care one button about.&nbsp; If so, 
unhappy pair, I pity them!&nbsp; Were we to guess our way in the 
dark a wee farther, I think it not altogether unlikely, that he 
must have fallen in with his sweetheart abroad, when wandering 
about on his travels; for what follows seems to come as it were 
from her, lamenting his being called to leave her forlorn, and 
return home.&nbsp; This is all merely supposition on my part, and
in the antiquarian style, whereby much is made out of little; but
both me and James Batter are determined to be unanimously of this
opinion, until otherwise convinced to the contrary.&nbsp; Love is
a fiery and fierce passion everywhere; but I am told that we, who
live in a more favoured land, know vary little of the terrible 
effects it sometimes causes, and the bloody tragedies, which it 
has a thousand times produced, where the heart of man is 
uncontrolled by reason or religion, and his blood heated into a 
raging fever, by the burning sun that glows in the heaven above 
his head.</p>
<p><!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
61</span>Here follows the poem of Taffy&rsquo;s master&rsquo;s 
foreign sweetheart; which, considering it to be a woman&rsquo;s 
handiwork, is, I daresay, not that far amiss.</p>
<h3>SONG OF THE SOUTH.</h3>
<p>I.</p>
<p>Of all the garden flowers<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; The fairest is the rose;<br />
Of winds that stir the bowers,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Oh! there is none that blows<br />
Like the south&mdash;the gentle south&mdash;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; For that balmy breeze is ours.</p>
<p>II.</p>
<p>Cold is the frozen north;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; In its stern and savage mood,<br />
&rsquo;Mid gales, come drifting forth<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Bleak snows and drenching flood:<br />
But the south&mdash;the gentle south&mdash;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Thaws to love the willing blood.</p>
<p>III.</p>
<p>Bethink thee of the vales,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; With their birds and blossoms fair&mdash;<br />
Of the darkling nightingales,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; That charm the starry air<br />
In the south&mdash;the gentle south,&mdash;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Ah! our own dear home is there.</p>
<p>IV.</p>
<p>Where doth Beauty brightest glow,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; With each rich and radiant charm,<br />
Eye of light, and brow of snow,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Cherry lip, and bosom warm;<br />
In the south&mdash;the gentle south&mdash;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; There she waits, and works her harm</p>
<p>V.</p>
<p>Say, shines the Star of Love,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; From the clear and cloudless sky,<br />
The shadowy groves above,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Where the nestling ringdoves lie?<br />
From the south&mdash;the gentle south&mdash;<br />
Gleams its lone and lucid eye.</p>
<p><!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
62</span>VI.</p>
<p>Then turn ye to the home<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Of your brethren and your bride;<br />
Far astray your steps may roam,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; But more joys for thee abide,<br />
In the south&mdash;our gentle south&mdash;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Than in all the world beside.</p>
<p>After reading a lot of the unknown gentleman&rsquo;s 
compositions in prose and verse, something like his private 
history, James Batter informs me, can be made out, provided we 
are allowed to eke a little here and there.&nbsp; That he was an 
Englisher we both think amounts to a probability; and, from 
having an old &ldquo;Taffy was a Welshman&rdquo; for a flunkie, 
it would not be out of the order of nature to jealouse, that he 
may have resided somewhere among the hills, where he had picked 
him up and taken him into his kitchen, promoting him thereafter, 
for sobriety and good conduct, to be his body servant, and 
gentleman&rsquo;s gentleman.&nbsp; Where he was born, however, is
a matter of doubt, and also who were his folks; but of a surety, 
he was either born with a silver spoon in his mouth, or rose from
the ranks like many another great man.&nbsp; That, however, is a 
matter of moonshine; we are all descended in a direct line from 
Adam.&nbsp; Where he was educated does not appear; but there can 
scarcely be a shadow of doubt, that he was for a considerable 
while at some school or other, where he had a number of 
cronies.&nbsp; In proof of this, and to show that we have good 
reasons for our suppositions, James recommends me to print the 
following rigmarole meditations, on the top of which is written 
in half-text,</p>
<h3>SCHOOL RECOLLECTIONS.</h3>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;&mdash;They who in the vale of years 
advance,<br />
And the dark eve is closing on their way,<br />
When on the mind the recollections glance<br />
Of early joy, and Hope&rsquo;s delightful day,<br />
Behold, in brighter hues than those of truth,<br />
The light of morning on the fields of youth.&rdquo;</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Southey</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The morning being clear and fine, full of Milton&rsquo;s 
&ldquo;vernal delight and joy,&rdquo; I determined on a saunter; 
the inclemency of the <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 63</span>weather having, for more than a week,
kept me a prisoner at home.&nbsp; Although now advanced into the 
heart of February, a great fall of snow had taken place; the 
roads were blocked up; the mails obstructed; and, while the 
merchant grumbled audibly for his letters, the politician, no 
less chagrined, conned over and over again his dingy rumpled old 
newspaper, compelled &ldquo;to eat the leek of his 
disappointment.&rdquo;&nbsp; The wind, which had blown 
inveterately steady from the surly north-east, had veered, 
however, during the preceding night, to the west; and, as it were
by the spell of an enchanter, an instant thaw commenced.&nbsp; In
the low grounds the snow gleamed forth in patches of a pearly 
whiteness; but, on the banks of southern exposure, the green 
grass and the black trodden pathway again showed 
themselves.&nbsp; The vicissitudes of twenty-four hours were 
indeed wonderful.&nbsp; Instead of the sharp frost, the pattering
hail, and the congealed streams, we had the blue sky, the vernal 
zephyr, and the genial sunshine; the stream murmuring with a 
broader wave, as if making up for the season spent in the fetters
of congelation; and that luxurious flow of the spirits, which 
irresistibly comes over the heart, at the re-assertion of 
Nature&rsquo;s suspended vigour.</p>
<p>As I passed on under the budding trees, how delightful it was 
to hear the lark and the linnet again at their cheerful songs, to
be aware that now &ldquo;the winter was over and gone;&rdquo; and
to feel that the prospect of summer, with its lengthening days, 
and its rich variety of fruits and flowers, lay fully before 
us.&nbsp; There is something within us that connects the spring 
of the year with the childhood of our existence, and it is more 
especially at that season, that the thrilling remembrances of 
long departed pleasures are apt to steal into the thoughts; the 
re-awakening of nature calling us, by a fearful contrast, to the 
contemplation of joys that never can return, while all the time 
the heart is rendered more susceptible by the beauteous 
renovation in the aspect of the external world.</p>
<p>This sensation pressed strongly on my mind, as I chanced to be
passing the door of the village school, momentarily opened for 
the admission of one, creeping along somewhat tardily with 
satchel on back, and &ldquo;shining morning face.&rdquo;&nbsp; 
What a sudden burst of sound was emitted&mdash;what harmonious 
discord&mdash;what a <!-- page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 64</span>commixture of all the tones in the 
vocal gamut, from the shrill treble to the deep under-hum!&nbsp; 
A chord was touched which vibrated in unison; boyish days and 
school recollections crowded upon me; pleasures long vanished; 
feelings long stifled; and friendships&mdash;aye, everlasting 
friendships&mdash;cut asunder by the sharp stroke of death!</p>
<p>A public school is a petty world within itself&mdash;a wheel 
within a wheel&mdash;in so far as it is entirely occupied with 
its own concerns, affords its peculiar catalogue of virtues and 
vices, its own cares, pleasures, regrets, anticipations, and 
disappointments&mdash;in fact, a Lilliputian fac-simile of the 
great one.&nbsp; By grown men, nothing is more common than the 
assertion that childhood is a perfect Elysium; but it is a false 
supposition that school-days are those of unalloyed carelessness 
and enjoyment.&nbsp; It seems to be a great deal too much 
overlooked, that &ldquo;little things are great to little 
men;&rdquo; and perhaps the mind of boyhood is more active in its
conceptions&mdash;more alive to the impulses of pleasure and 
pain&mdash;in other words, has a more extended scope of 
sensations, than during any other portion of our existence.&nbsp;
Its days are not those of lack-occupation; they are full of stir,
animation, and activity, for it is then we are in training for 
after life; and, when the hours of school restraint glide slowly 
over, &ldquo;like wounded snakes,&rdquo; the clock, that chimes 
to liberty, sends forth the blood with a livelier flow; and 
pleasure thus derives a double zest from the bridle that duty has
imposed, joy being generally measured according to the difficulty
of its attainment.&nbsp; What delight in life have we ever 
experienced more exquisite than that, which flowed at once in 
upon us from the teacher&rsquo;s &ldquo;<i>bene</i>, 
<i>bene</i>,&rdquo; our own self-approbation, and release from 
the tasks of the day?&mdash;the green fields around us wherein to
ramble, the stream beside us wherein to angle, the world of games
and pastimes &ldquo;before us where to choose.&rdquo;&nbsp; Words
are inadequate to express the thrill of transport, with which, on
the rush from the school-house door, the hat is waved in air, and
the shout sent forth!</p>
<p>Then what a variety of amusements succeed each other.&nbsp; 
Every mouth has its favourite ones.&nbsp; The sportsman does not 
more keenly scrutinize his kalendar for the commencement of the 
trouting, grouse-shooting, or hare-hunting season, than the <!-- 
page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
65</span>younker for the time of flying kites, bowling at 
cricket, football, spinning peg-tops, and playing at 
marbles.&nbsp; Pleasure is the focus, which it is the common aim 
to approximate; and the mass is guided by a sort of 
unpremeditated social compact, which draws them out of doors as 
soon as meals are discussed, with a sincere thirst of amusement, 
as certainly as rooks congregate in spring to discuss the 
propriety of building nests, or swallows in autumn to deliberate 
in conclave on the expediency of emigration.</p>
<p>Then how perfectly glorious was the anticipation of a 
holiday&mdash;a long summer day of liberty and ease!&nbsp; In 
anticipation it was a thing boundless and endless, a foretaste of
Elysium.&nbsp; It extended from the <i>prima luce</i>, from the 
earliest dawn of radiance that streaked the &ldquo;severing 
clouds in yonder east,&rdquo; through the sun&rsquo;s matin, 
meridian, postmeridian, and vesper circuit; from the 
disappearance of Lucifer in the re-illumined skies, to his 
evening entr&eacute;e in the character of Hesperus.&nbsp; 
Complain not of the brevity of life; &rsquo;tis <i>men</i> that 
are idle; a thousand things could be contrived and accomplished 
in that space, and a thousand schemes were devised by us, when 
<i>boys</i>, to prevent any portion of it passing over without 
improvement.&nbsp; We pursued the fleet angel of time through all
his movements till he blessed us.</p>
<p>With these and similar thoughts in my mind, I strayed down to 
the banks of the river, and came upon the very spot, which, in 
those long-vanished years, had been a favourite scene of our 
boyish sports.&nbsp; The impression was overpowering; and as I 
gazed silently around me, my mind was subdued to that tone of 
feeling which Ossian so finely designates &ldquo;the joy of 
grief.&rdquo;&nbsp; The trees were the same, but older, like 
myself; seemingly unscathed by the strife of years&mdash;and 
herein was a difference.&nbsp; Some of the very bushes I 
recognised as our old lurking-places at &ldquo;hunt the 
hare;&rdquo; and, on the old fantastic beech-tree, I discovered 
the very bough from which we were accustomed to suspend our 
swings.&nbsp; What alterations&mdash;what sad havoc had time, 
circumstances, the hand of fortune, and the stroke of death, made
among us since then!&nbsp; How were the thoughts of the heart, 
the hopes, the pursuits, the feelings changed; and, in <!-- page 
66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
66</span>almost every instance, it is to be feared, for the 
worse!&nbsp; As I gazed around me, and paused, I could not help 
reciting aloud to myself the lines of Charles Lamb, so touching 
in their simple beauty.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;I have had playmates, I have had 
companions,<br />
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days;<br />
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.<br />
Some they have died, and some they have left me,<br />
And some are taken from me, all are departed;<br />
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The fresh green plat, by the brink of the stream, lay before 
me.&nbsp; It was there that we played at leap-frog, or gathered 
dandelions for our tame rabbits; and, at its western extremity, 
were still extant the reliques of the deal-seat, at which we used
to assemble on autumn evenings to have our round of 
stories.&nbsp; Many a witching tale and wondrous tradition hath 
there been told; many a marvel of &ldquo;figures that visited the
glimpses of the moon;&rdquo; many a recital of heroic and 
chivalrous enterprise, accomplished ere warriors dwindled away to
the mere puny-strength of mortals.&nbsp; Sapped by the wind and 
rain, the planks lay in a sorely decayed and rotten state, 
looking in their mossiness like a sign-post of desolation, a 
memento of terrestrial instability.&nbsp; Traces of the knife 
were still here and there visible upon the trunks of the 
supporting trees; and with little difficulty I could decipher 
some well-remembered initials.</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Cold were the hands that carved them 
there.&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It is, no doubt, wonderful that the human mind can retain such
a mass of recollections; yet we seem to be, in general, little 
aware that for one solitary incident in our lives, preserved by 
memory, hundreds have been buried in the silent charnel-house of 
oblivion.&nbsp; We peruse the past, like a map of pleasing or 
melancholy recollections, and observe lines crossing and 
re-crossing each other in a thousand directions; some spots are 
almost blank; others faintly traced; and the rest a confused and 
perplexed labyrinth.&nbsp; A thousand feelings that, in their day
and hour, agitated our bosoms, are now forgotten; a thousand 
hopes, and joys, and apprehensions, and fears, are vanished 
without a trace.&nbsp; Schemes, which cost us much care in their 
<!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
67</span>formation, and much anxiety in their fulfilment, have 
glided, like the clouds of yesterday, from our remembrance.&nbsp;
Many a sharer of our early friendships, and of our boyish sports,
we think of no more; they are as if they had never been, till 
perhaps some accidental occurrence, some words in conversation, 
some object by the wayside, or some passenger in the street, 
attract our notice&mdash;and then, as if awaking from a 
perplexing trance, a light darts in upon our darkness; and we 
discover that thus some one long ago spoke; that there something 
long ago happened; or that the person, who just passed us like a 
vision, shared smiles with us long, long years ago, and added a 
double zest to the enjoyments of our childhood.</p>
<p>Of our old class-fellows, of those whose days were of &ldquo;a
mingled yarn&rdquo; with ours, whose hearts blended in the 
warmest reciprocities of friendship, whose joys, whose cares, 
almost whose wishes were in common, how little do we know? how 
little will even the severest scrutiny enable us to 
discover?&nbsp; Yet, at one time, we were inseparable &ldquo;like
Juno&rsquo;s swans;&rdquo; we were as brothers, nor dreamt we of 
ought else, in the susceptibility of our youthful imagination, 
than that we were to pass through all the future scenes of life, 
side by side; and, mutually supporting and supported, lengthen 
out the endearments, the ties, and the feelings of boyhood unto 
the extremities of existence.&nbsp; What a fine but a fond 
dream&mdash;alas, how wide of the cruel reality!&nbsp; The casual
relation of a traveller may discover to us where one of them 
resided or resides.&nbsp; The page of an obituary may 
accidentally inform us how long one of them lingered on the bed 
of sickness, and by what death he died.&nbsp; Some we may perhaps
discover in elevated situations, from which worldly pride might 
probably prevent their stooping down to recognise us.&nbsp; 
Others, immersed in the labyrinths of business, have forgot all, 
in the selfish pursuits of earthly accumulation.&nbsp; While the 
rest, the children of misfortune and disappointment, we may 
occasionally find out amid the great multitude of the streets, to
whom life is but a desert of sorrow, and against whom prosperity 
seems to have shut for ever her golden gates.</p>
<p>Such are the diversities of condition, the varieties of 
fortune to which man is exposed, while climbing the hill of 
probationary <!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 68</span>difficulty.&nbsp; And how sublimely 
applicable are the words of Job, expatiating on the uncertainty 
of human existence: &ldquo;Man dieth and wasteth away; yea, man 
giveth up the ghost, and where is he?&nbsp; As the waters fail 
from the sea, and the flood decayeth and drieth up; so man lieth 
down and riseth not till the heavens be no more.&rdquo;</p>
<p>While standing on the same spot, where of yore the boyish 
multitude congregated in pursuit of their eager sports, a silent 
awe steals over the bosom, and the heart desponds at the thought,
that all these once smiling faces are scattered now!&nbsp; Some, 
mayhap, tossing on the waste and perilous seas; some the 
merchants of distant lands; some fighting the battles of their 
country; others dead&mdash;inhabitants of the dark and narrow 
house, and hearing no more the billows of life, that thunder and 
break above their low and lonely dwelling-place!</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>Nanse, who was sitting by the table, knitting a pair of 
light-blue worsted stockings for Benjie, and myself, who was 
sewing on the buttons of a velveteen jacket for a country lad, 
were, I must say, not a little delighted, not only with the way 
in which the Welshman&rsquo;s late master had spoken of his 
school-fellows, but with the manner in which James Batter, with 
his specs on, had read it over to us.&nbsp; Upon my 
word&mdash;and that of an elder&mdash;I do not believe that even 
Mr Wiggie himself could have done the thing greater 
justice.&nbsp; It was just as if he had been a play-actor man, 
spouting Douglas&rsquo;s tragedy.</p>
<p>Having folded up that paper, and turned over not a few others,
the docketings of which he read out to us, James at last says, 
&ldquo;Ou ay, here it is.&nbsp; I think I can now prove to ye, 
that the gentleman&rsquo;s sweetheart died abroad; and that, 
likely from her name&mdash;for it is here mentioned&mdash;she 
must have been a Portug&eacute;e or Spaniard.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ay, let us hear it,&rdquo; cried Nanse.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;Do, like a man, let us hear it, James; for I delight above
a&rsquo; things to hear about love-stories.&nbsp; Do ye mind, 
Maister,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;when ye was so deep in love 
aince yoursell?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Foolish woman,&rdquo; I said, giving her a kind of 
severe look; &ldquo;is that all your manners to interrupt Mr 
Batter?&nbsp; If ye&rsquo;ll just <!-- page 69--><a 
name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>keep a calm 
sough, ye&rsquo;ll hear the long and the short o&rsquo;t, in good
time.&rdquo;</p>
<p>By this, James, who did not relish interruption, and was a 
thought fidgety in his natural temper, had laid down the paper on
the table, snuffed the candle, and raised his spectacles on his 
brow.&nbsp; But I said to him, &ldquo;Excuse freedoms, James, and
be so good as resume your discourse.&rdquo;&nbsp; Then wishing to
smooth him down, I added, by way of compliment&mdash;&ldquo;Do go
on; for you really are a prime reader.&nbsp; Nature surely 
intended ye for a minister.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Dinna flatter me,&rdquo; said James; looking, however, 
rather proudishly at what I had said, and replacing his glasses 
on the brig of his nose, he then read us a screed of metre to the
following effect; part of which, I am free to confess, is rather 
above my comprehension.&nbsp; But, never mind.</p>
<h3>ELEGIAC STANZAS.</h3>
<p>I.</p>
<p>&rsquo;Tis midnight deep; the full round moon,<br />
As &rsquo;twere a spectre, walks the sky;<br />
The balmy breath of gentlest June<br />
Just stirs the stream that murmurs by;<br />
Above me frowns the solemn wood;<br />
Nature, methinks, seems Solitude<br />
Embodied to the eye.</p>
<p>II.</p>
<p>Yes, &rsquo;tis a season and a scene,<br />
Inez, to think on thee; the day,<br />
With stir and strife, may come between<br />
Affection and thy beauty&rsquo;s ray,<br />
But feeling here assumes control,<br />
And mourns my desolated soul<br />
That thou are rapt away!</p>
<p>III.</p>
<p>Thou wert a rainbow to my sight,<br />
The storms of life before thee fled;<br />
The glory and the guiding light,<br />
That onward cheer&rsquo;d and upward led;<br />
From boyhood to this very hour,<br />
For me, and only me, thy flower<br />
Its fragrance seem&rsquo;d to shed.</p>
<p><!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
70</span>IV.</p>
<p>Dark though the world for me might show<br />
Its sordid faith and selfish gloom,<br />
Yet &rsquo;mid life&rsquo;s wilderness to know<br />
For me that sweet flower shed its bloom,<br />
Was joy, was solace:&mdash;thou art gone&mdash;<br />
And hope forsook me, when the stone<br />
Sank darkly o&rsquo;er thy tomb.</p>
<p>V.</p>
<p>And art thou dead?&nbsp; I dare not think<br />
That thus the solemn truth can be;<br />
And broken is the only link<br />
That chain&rsquo;d youth&rsquo;s pleasant thoughts to me!<br />
Alas! that thou couldst know decay,<br />
That, sighing, I should live to say<br />
&lsquo;The cold grave holdeth thee!&rsquo;</p>
<p>VI.</p>
<p>For me thou shon&rsquo;st, as shines a star,<br />
Lonely, in clouds when Heaven is lost;<br />
Thou wert my guiding light afar,<br />
When on misfortune&rsquo;s billows tost:<br />
Now darkness hath obscured that light,<br />
And I am left in rayless night,<br />
On Sorrow&rsquo;s lowering coast.</p>
<p>VII.</p>
<p>And art thou gone?&nbsp; I deem&rsquo;d thee some<br />
Immortal essence&mdash;art thou gone?&mdash;<br />
I saw thee laid within the tomb,<br />
And turn&rsquo;d away to mourn alone:<br />
Once to have loved, is to have loved<br />
Enough; and, what with thee I proved,<br />
Again I&rsquo;ll seek in none.</p>
<p>VIII.</p>
<p>Earth in thy sight grew fa&euml;ry land;&mdash;<br />
Life was Elysium&mdash;thought was love,&mdash;<br />
When, long ago, hand clasp&rsquo;d in hand,<br />
We roam&rsquo;d through Autumn&rsquo;s twilight grove;<br />
Or watch&rsquo;d the broad uprising moon<br />
Shed, as it were, a wizard noon,<br />
The blasted heath above.</p>
<p>IX.</p>
<p>Farewell!&mdash;and must I say farewell?&mdash;<br />
No&mdash;thou wilt ever be to me<br />
<!-- page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
71</span>A present thought; thy form shall dwell<br />
In love&rsquo;s most holy sanctuary;<br />
Thy voice shall mingle with my dreams,<br />
And haunt me, when the shot-star gleams<br />
Above the rippling sea.</p>
<p>X.</p>
<p>Never revives the past again;<br />
But still thou art, in lonely hours,<br />
To me earth&rsquo;s heaven,&mdash;the azure main,&mdash;<br />
Soft music,&mdash;and the breath of flowers;<br />
My heart shall gain from thee its hues:<br />
And Memory give, though Truth refuse,<br />
The bliss that once was ours!</p>
<p>After this, Mr Batter read over to us a great many other 
curiosities, about foreign things wonderful to hear, and foreign 
places wonderful to behold.&nbsp; Moreover, also, of divers 
adventures by sea and land.&nbsp; But the time wearing late, and 
Tammie Bodkin having brought ben the shop-key, after putting on 
the window-shutters, Nanse and I, out of good-fellowship, thought
we could not do less than ask the honest man, whose cleverality 
had diverted us so much, to sit still and take a chack of 
supper;&mdash;James being up in the air, from having been allowed
to ride on his hobby so briskly, made only a show of objection; 
so, after a rizzard haddo, we had a jug of toddy, and sat round 
the fire with our feet on the fender&mdash;Benjie having fallen 
asleep with his clothes on, and been carried away to his 
bed.&nbsp; Poor bit mannikin!</p>
<p>I never remember to have heard James so prime either on Boston
or Josephus; but as his heart warmed with the liquor and the good
fire, for it was a cold rawish night,&mdash;he returned to Taffy 
with the pigtail&rsquo;s master; and insisted, that as we had 
heard about his foreign sweetheart&rsquo;s death, which he 
appeared to have taken so much to heart, we should just bear with
him once more, as he read over what he called her dirgie, which 
was written on a half-sheet of grey mouldy paper&mdash;as if 
handed down from the days of the Covenanters.&nbsp; It jingles 
well; and both Nanse and me thought it gey and pretty; but eh! if
ye only had heard how James Batter read it.&nbsp; It beat 
cock-fighting.</p>
<h3><!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
72</span>DIRGE.</h3>
<p>I.</p>
<p>Weep not for her!&mdash;Oh she was far too fair,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Too pure to dwell on this guilt-tainted earth!<br />
The sinless glory, and the golden air<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Of Zion, seem&rsquo;d to claim her from her 
birth;<br />
A Spirit wander&rsquo;d from its native Zone,<br />
Which, soon discovering, took her for its own:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Weep not for Her!</p>
<p>II.</p>
<p>Weep not for her!&mdash;Her span was like the sky,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Whose thousand stars shine beautiful and bright;<br 
/>
Like flowers that know not what it is to die;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Like long-linked, shadeless months of Polar 
light;<br />
Like music floating o&rsquo;er a waveless lake,<br />
While Echo answers from the flowery brake:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Weep not for Her!</p>
<p>III.</p>
<p>Weep not for her!&mdash;She died in early youth,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Ere hope had lost its rich romantic hues;<br />
When human bosoms seem&rsquo;d the homes of truth,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And earth still gleam&rsquo;d with beauty&rsquo;s 
radiant dews.<br />
Her summer prime waned not to days that freeze;<br />
Her wine of life was run not to the lees:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Weep not for Her!</p>
<p>IV.</p>
<p>Weep not for her&mdash;By fleet or slow decay,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; It never grieved her bosom&rsquo;s core to mark<br 
/>
The playmates of her childhood wane away,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Her prospects wither, or her hopes grow dark;<br />
Translated by her God with spirit shriven,<br />
She pass&rsquo;d as &rsquo;twere in smiles from earth to 
heaven:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Weep not for Her!</p>
<p>V.</p>
<p>Weep not for her!&mdash;It was not hers to feel<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; The miseries that corrode amassing years,<br />
&rsquo;Gainst dreams of baffled bliss the heart to steel,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To wander sad down age&rsquo;s vale of tears,<br />
As whirl the wither&rsquo;d leaves from friendship&rsquo;s 
tree,<br />
And on earth&rsquo;s wintry wold alone to be:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Weep not for Her!</p>
<p><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
73</span>VI.</p>
<p>Weep not for her!&mdash;She is an angel now,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And treads the sapphire floors of paradise:<br />
All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Sin, sorrow, suffering, banish&rsquo;d from her 
eyes;<br />
Victorious over death, to her appear<br />
The vista&rsquo;d joys of heaven&rsquo;s eternal year;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Weep not for Her!</p>
<p>VII.</p>
<p>Weep not for her!&mdash;Her memory is the shrine<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of 
flowers.<br />
Calm as on windless eve the sun&rsquo;s decline,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers,<br />
Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light,<br />
Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Weep not for Her.</p>
<p>VIII.</p>
<p>Weep not for her!&mdash;There is no cause for woe;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; But rather nerve the spirit that it walk<br />
Unshrinking o&rsquo;er the thorny paths below,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And from earth&rsquo;s low defilements keep thee 
back:<br />
So, when a few, fleet, severing years have flown,<br />
She&rsquo;ll meet thee at heaven&rsquo;s gate&mdash;and lead thee
on!<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Weep not for Her.</p>
<p>Having right and law on my side, as any man of judgment may 
perceive with half an eye, nothing could hinder me, if I so 
liked, to print the whole bundle; but, in the meantime, we must 
just be satisfied with the foregoing curiosities, which we have 
picked out.&nbsp; All that I have set down concerning myself, the
reader may take on credit as open and even-down truth; but as to 
whether Taffy&rsquo;s master&rsquo;s nick-nackets be true or 
false, every one is at liberty, in this free country, to think 
for himself.&nbsp; Old sparrows are not easily caught with chaff;
and unless I saw a proper affidavit, I would not, for my own 
part, pin my faith to a single word of them.&nbsp; But every man 
his own opinion,&mdash;that&rsquo;s my motto.</p>
<p>In the Yankee Almanack of Poor Richard, which, besides the 
Pilgrim&rsquo;s Progress and the Book of Martyrs, I whiles read 
on the week-days for a little diversion, I see it is set down 
with <!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
74</span>great rationality, that &ldquo;we should never buy for 
the bargain sake.&rdquo;&nbsp; Experience teaches all men, and I 
found that to my cost in this matter; for, cheap as the coat and 
waistcoat seemed which I had bought from the auld-farrant Welsh 
flunkie with the peaked hat and the pigtail, I made no great 
shakes of them after all.&nbsp; Neither the Lord Provost of 
Edinburgh, nor any other of the grand public characters, ever 
made me an offer for them, as some had led me to expect; and the 
playhouse people lay all as quiet as ducks in a storm.&nbsp; 
After hanging at my window for two or three months, collecting 
all the idle wives and weans of the parish to glour and gaze at 
them from morn till night, during which time I got half of my 
lozens broken, by their knocking one another&rsquo;s heads 
through, I was obliged to get quit of them at last, by selling 
them to a man and his son, that kept dancing dogs, Pan&rsquo;s 
pipes, and a tambourine; and that made a livelihood by tumbling 
on a carpet in the middle of the street, the one playing 
&ldquo;Carle now the King&rsquo;s come,&rdquo; as the other 
whummled head over heels, and then jumped up into the air, 
cutting capers, to show that not a bone of his body had been 
broken.</p>
<p>Knowing that the raiment was not for every body&rsquo;s wear, 
and that the like of it was not to be found in a country side, I 
put a decent price on it, &ldquo;foreign birds with fair 
feathers&rdquo; aye taking the top place of the market.&nbsp; 
When I mentioned forty shillings to the dancing-dog man and his 
son, they said nothing, but, putting their tongues in their 
cheeks, took up their hats, wishing me a good day.&nbsp; Next 
forenoon, however, a slight-of-hand character having arrived, 
together with a bass drum and a bugle horn, that was likely to 
take the shine out of them, and maybe also purchase my 
article&mdash;which was capital for his purpose, having famous 
wide sleeves&mdash;they came back in less than no time, asking 
the liberty, before finally concluding with me, of carrying them 
home to their lodgings for ten minutes to see how they would fit;
and, in that case, offering me thirty-five shillings and an old 
flute.&nbsp; The old flute was for next to no use at all, except 
for wee Benjie, poor thing, too-tooing on, to keep him good, and 
I told them so, myself being no musicianer; but <!-- page 75--><a
name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>would take 
their offer not to quarrel.&nbsp; It would not do unless some of 
us were timber-tuned; men not being meant for blackbirds.</p>
<p>Home went the man, and home went the son, and home went my 
grand coat and waistcoat over his arm; and putting my hands into 
my breeches pockets, as if I had satisfactorily concluded a great
transaction, I marched ben to the back shop, and took my needle 
into play, as if nothing in the world had happened; but where 
their home lay, or whether the raiment fitted or not, goodness 
knows, having never to this blessed hour heard word or wittens of
either of them.&nbsp; Such a pair of blacks!&nbsp; It just shows 
us how simple we Scotch folk are.&nbsp; The London man swindled 
me out of my lawful room-rent and my Sunday velveteens; the 
Eirishers, as will be but too soon seen, made free with my 
hen-house, committing felonious robbery at the dead hour of 
night; and here a decent-looking old Welshman, with a pigtail 
tied with black tape, palmed a grand coat and waistcoat upon me, 
that were made away with by a man and his son, a devilish deal 
too long out of Botany Bay.</p>
<p>Benjie, poor doggie, was vastly proud of the flute, which he 
fifed away on morning, noon, and night; and, for more than a 
fortnight, would not go to his bed unless it was laid under his 
pillow.&nbsp; But for me I could not bide the sight of it, 
knowing whose hands it had been in, and reminding me as it did of
the depravity of human nature.</p>
<p>Verily, verily, this is a wonderfully wicked world.&nbsp; To 
find out the two vagabonds would have been hopeless; unless I 
could have followed them to the Back of Beyond, where the mare 
foaled the fiddler.</p>
<h2><!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
76</span>CHAPTER XII.&mdash;VOLUNTEERING.</h2>
<blockquote><p>Come from the hills where your hirsels are 
grazing,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;<br />
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow:<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Many a banner spread<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Flutters above your herd,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Many a crest that is famous in story;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mount and make ready then,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sons of the mountain glen,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Fight for the <i>King</i>, and our old Scottish 
glory.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Sir Walter 
Scott&rsquo;s</span> <i>Monastery</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The sough of war and invasion flew over the face of the land, 
at this time, like a great whirlwind; and the hearts of men died 
within their persons with fear and trembling.&nbsp; The accounts 
that came from abroad were just dreadful beyond all power of 
description.&nbsp; Death stalked about from place to place, like 
a lawless tyrant, and human blood was spilt like water; while the
heads of crowned kings were cut off; and great dukes and lords 
were thrown into dark dungeons, or obligated to flee for their 
lives into foreign lands, and to seek out hiding-places of safety
beyond the waves of the sea.&nbsp; What was worst of all, our 
trouble seemed a smittal one; the infection spread around; and 
even our own land, which all thought hale and healthy, began to 
show symptoms of the plague-spot.&nbsp; Losh me! that men, in 
their seven senses, could have ever shown themselves so 
infatuated.&nbsp; Johnny Wilkes and liberty was but a joke to 
what was hanging over the head of the nation, brewing like a dark
tempest which was to swallow it up.&nbsp; Bills were posted up 
through night, by hands that durst not have been seen at the work
through day; and the agents of the Spirit of Darkness, calling 
themselves the Friends of the People, held secret meetings, and 
hatched plots to blow up our blessed King and Constitution.</p>
<p>Yet the business, though fearsome in the main, was in some 
parts almost laughable.&nbsp; Every thing was to be divided, and 
<!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
77</span>every one made alike: houses and lands were to be 
distributed by lot; and the mighty man and the beggar&mdash;the 
auld man and the hobble-de-hoy&mdash;the industrious man and the 
spendthrift&mdash;the maimed, the cripple, and the blind, the 
clever man of business and the haveril simpleton, made all just 
brethren, and alike.&nbsp; Save us! but to think of such 
nonsense!!&mdash;At one of their meetings, held at the sign of 
the Tappet Hen and the Tankard, there was a prime fight of five 
rounds between Tammy Bowsie the snab, and auld Thrashem the 
dominie with the boulie-back, about their drawing cuts which was 
to get Dalkeith Palace, and which Newbottle Abbey.&nbsp; Oh, sic 
riff-raff!!!</p>
<p>What was worst of all, it was an agreed and determined on 
thing among them, these wise men of Gotham, to abolish all kings,
clergy, and religion, as havers.&nbsp; No, no&mdash;what need had
such wise pows as theirs of being taught or lectured to?&nbsp; 
What need had such feelosophers of having a king to rule over, or
a Parliament to direct them?&nbsp; There was not a single one 
among their number, that did not think himself, in his own 
conceit, as wise as Solomon or William Pitt, and as mighty as 
King Nebuchadnezzar.</p>
<p>It was full time to put a stop to all such nonsense.&nbsp; The
newspapers told us what it had done abroad; and what better could
we expect from it at home?&nbsp; Weeds will not grow into flowers
anywhere, and no man can handle tar without being defiled; the 
first of which comparisons is I daresay true, and the latter must
be&mdash;for we read of it in Scripture.&nbsp; Well, as I was 
saying, it was a brave notion of the king to put the loyalty of 
his land to the test, that the daft folk might be dismayed, and 
that the clanjamphrey might be tumbled down before their betters,
like windle-straes in a hurricane:&mdash;and so they were.</p>
<p>Such a crowd that day, when the names of the volunteers came 
to be taken down!&nbsp; No house could have held them, even 
though many had not stepped forward who thought to have got 
themselves enrolled.&nbsp; Losh me! did they think the government
was so far gone, as to take characters with deformed legs, and 
thrawn necks, and blind eyes, and hashie lips, and grey hairs on 
their pows?&nbsp; No, no, they were not put to such straits; 
though it showed that the right spirit was in the creatures, and 
that, <!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 78</span>though their bodies might be 
deformed, they had consciences to direct them, and souls to be 
saved like their neighbours.</p>
<p>I will never forget the first day that I got my regimentals 
on; and when I looked myself in the bit glass, just to think I 
was a sodger, who never in my life could thole the smell of 
powder, and had not fired any thing but a penny cannon on a 
Fourth of June, when I was a haflins callant.&nbsp; I thought my 
throat would have been cut with the black corded stock; for, 
whenever I looked down, without thinking like, my chaff-blade 
played clank against it, with such a dunt that I mostly chacked 
my tongue off.&nbsp; And, as to the soaping of the hair, that 
beat cock-fighting.&nbsp; It was really fearsome; but I could 
scarcely keep from laughing when I glee&rsquo;d round over my 
shoulder, and saw a glazed leather queue hanging for half an ell 
down the braid of my back, and a pickle horse-hair curling out 
like a rotten&rsquo;s tail at the far end of it.&nbsp; And then 
the worsted taissels on the shoulders&mdash;and the lead 
buttons&mdash;and the yellow facings,&mdash;oh, but it was 
grand!&nbsp; I sometimes fancied myself a general, and giving the
word of command.&nbsp; Then the pipeclayed breeches&mdash;but 
that was a sore job; many a weary arm did they give 
me&mdash;beat-beating camstane into them.</p>
<p>The pipeclaying of the breeches, I was saying, was the most 
fashious job, let alone courtship, that ever mortal man put his 
hand to.&nbsp; Indeed, there was no end to the rubbing, and 
scrubbing, and brushing, and fyling, and cleaning; for to the 
like of me, who was not well accustomed to the thing, the 
whitening was continually coming off and destroying my red coat, 
or my black leggings.&nbsp; I had mostly forgot to speak of the 
birse for cleaning out the pan, and the piker for clearing the 
motion-hole.&nbsp; But time enough till we come to firing.</p>
<p>Big Sam, who was a sergeant of the Fencibles, and enough to 
have put five Frenchmen to flight any day of the year, whiles 
came to train us; and a hard battle he had with more than 
me.&nbsp; I have already said, that nature never intended me for 
the soldiering trade; and why should I hesitate about confessing,
that Sam never got me out of the awkward squad?&nbsp; But I had 
two or three neighbours to keep me in countenance.&nbsp; A weary 
work we made with the right, left&mdash;left, 
right,&mdash;right-wheel, left-wheel&mdash;<!-- page 79--><a 
name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>to the right 
about,&mdash;at ease,&mdash;attention,&mdash;by 
sections,&mdash;and all the rest of it.&nbsp; But then there is 
nothing in the course of nature that is useless; and what was to 
hinder me from acting as orderly, or being one of the 
camp-colour-men on head days?</p>
<p>We all cracked very crouse about fighting, when we heard of 
garments rolled in blood only from abroad; but one dark night we 
got a fleg in sober earnest.</p>
<p>There were signal-posts on the hills, up and down all the 
country, to make alarms in case of necessity; and I never went to
my bed without giving first a glee eastward to Falside-brae, and 
then another westward to the Calton-hill, to see that all the 
country was quiet.&nbsp; I had just papped in&mdash;it might be 
about nine o&rsquo;clock&mdash;after being gey hard drilled, and 
sore between the shoulders, with keeping my head back and playing
the dumb-bells; when, lo and behold! instead of getting my 
needful rest in my own bed, with my wife and wean, jow went the 
bell, and row-de-dow gaed the drums, and all in a minute was 
confusion and uproar.&nbsp; I was seized with a severe shaking of
the knees, and a flaffing at the heart; but I hurried, with my 
nightcap on, up to the garret window, and there I too plainly saw
that the French had landed&mdash;for all the signal posts were in
a bleeze.&nbsp; This was in reality to be a soldier!&nbsp; I 
never got such a fright since the day I was cleckit.&nbsp; Then 
such a noise and hullabaloo in the streets&mdash;men, women, and 
weans, all hurrying through ither, and crying with loud voices, 
amid the dark, as if the day of judgment had come, to find us all
unprepared; and still the bells ringing, and the drums beating to
arms.&nbsp; Poor Nanse was in a bad condition, and I was well 
worse; she, at the fears of losing me, their bread-winner; and I,
with the grief of parting from her, the wife of my bosom, and 
going out to scenes of blood, bayonets, and gunpowder, none of 
which I had the least stomach for.&nbsp; Our little son, Benjie, 
mostly grat himself blind, pulling me back by the cartridge-box; 
but there was no contending with fate, so he was obliged at last 
to let go.</p>
<p>Notwithstanding all that, we behaved ourselves like true-blue 
Scotsmen called forth to fight the battles of our country; and if
the French had come, as they did not come, they would have found 
that to their cost, as sure as my name is Mansie.&nbsp; However, 
it turned out <!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 80</span>as well, in the meantime, that it was
a false alarm, and that the thief Buonaparte had not landed at 
Dunbar, as it was jealoused: so, after standing under arms for 
half the night, with nineteen rounds of ball-cartridge in our 
boxes, and the baggage carts all loaden, and ready to follow us 
to the field of battle, we were sent home to our beds; and, 
notwithstanding the awful state of alarm to which I had been put,
never in the course of my life did I enjoy six hours sounder 
sleep; for we were hippet the morning parade, on account of our 
gallant men being kept so long without natural rest.&nbsp; It is 
wise to pick a lesson even out of our adversities; and, at all 
events, it was at this time fully shown to us the necessity of 
our regiment being taught the art of firing&mdash;a tactic to the
length of which it had never yet come.</p>
<p>Next day, out we were taken for the whilk purpose; and we went
through our motions bravely.&nbsp; Prime&mdash;load&mdash;handle 
cartridge&mdash;ram down cartridge&mdash;return 
bayonets&mdash;and shoulder hoop&mdash;make 
ready&mdash;present&mdash;fire.&nbsp; Such was the confusion, and
the flurry, and the din of the report, that I was so flustered 
and confused, thinking that half of us would have been shot dead,
that&mdash;will ye believe it?&mdash;I never yet had mind to pull
the tricker.&nbsp; Howsomever, I minded aye with the rest to ram 
down a fresh cartridge at the word of command; and something told
me I would repent not doing like the rest, (for I had half a kind
of notion that my piece never went off;) so, when the firing was 
over, the sergeant of the company ordered all that had loaded 
pieces to come to the front.&nbsp; I swithered a little, not 
being very sure like what to do; but some five or six stept out; 
and our corporal, on looking at my piece, ordered me with the 
rest to the front.&nbsp; It was just by all the world like an 
execution; we six, in the face of the regiment, in a little line,
going through our mau&oelig;uvres at the word of command; and I 
could hardly stand upon my feet, with a queer feeling of fear and
trembling, till at length the terrible moment came.&nbsp; I 
looked straight forward&mdash;for I durst not jee my head about, 
and turned to the hills and green trees, as if I was never to see
nature more.</p>
<p>Our pieces were cocked; and at the word&mdash;Fire!&mdash;off 
they went.&nbsp; It was an act of desperation to draw the 
tricker, and I had hardly well shut my blinkers, when I got such 
a thump in <!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 81</span>the shoulder, as knocked me backwards
head-over-heels on the grass.&nbsp; Before I came to my senses, I
could have sworn I was in another world; but, when I opened my 
eyes, there were the men at ease, holding their sides, laughing 
like to spleet them; and my gun lying on the ground, two or three
ell before me.</p>
<p>When I found myself not killed outright, I began to rise 
up.&nbsp; As I was rubbing my breek-knees, I saw one of the men 
going forward to lift up the fatal piece; and my care for the 
safety of others overcame the sense of my own 
peril,&mdash;&ldquo;Let alane&mdash;let alane!&rdquo; cried I to 
him, &ldquo;and take care of yoursell, for it has to gang off 
five times yet.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The laughing was now terrible, but being little of a soldier, 
I thought, in my innocence, that we should hear as many reports 
as I had crammed cartridges down her muzzle.&nbsp; This was a 
sore joke against me for a length of time; but I tholed it 
patiently, considering cannily within myself, that knowledge is 
only to be bought by experience, and that, if we can credit the 
old song, even Johnny Cope himself did not learn the art of war 
in a single morning.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER XIII.&mdash;THE CHINCOUGH PILGRIMAGE.</h2>
<blockquote><p>Man hath a weary pilgrimage<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; As through the world he wends:<br />
On every stage from youth to age<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Still discontent attends.<br />
With heaviness he casts his eye<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Upon the road before,<br />
And still remembers with a sigh<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; The days that are no more.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Southey</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Some folks having been bred up from their cradle to the 
writing of books, of course naturally do the thing regularly and 
<!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
82</span>scientifically; but that&rsquo;s not to be expected from
the like of me, that have followed no other way of life than the 
shaping and sewing line.&nbsp; It behoves me, therefore, to beg 
pardon for not being able to carry my history aye regularly 
straight forward, and for being forced whiles to zig-zag and 
vandyke.&nbsp; For instance, I clean forgot to give, in its 
proper place, a history of one of my travels, with Benjie in my 
bosom, in search of a cure for the chincough.</p>
<p>My son Benjie was, at this dividual time, between four and 
five years old, when&mdash;poor wee chieldie!&mdash;he took the 
chincough, and in more respects than one was not in a good way; 
so the doctor recommended his mother and me, for the change of 
air, first to carry him down a coal-pit, and syne to the 
limekilns at Cousland.</p>
<p>The coal-pit I could not think of at all; to say nothing of 
the danger of swinging down into the bowels of the earth in a 
creel, the thing aye put me in mind of the awful place, where the
wicked, after death and judgment, howl, and hiss, and gnash their
teeth; and where, unless Heaven be more merciful than we are 
just&mdash;we may all be soon enough.&nbsp; So I could not think 
of that, till other human means failed; and I determined, in the 
first place, to hire Tammie Dobbie&rsquo;s cart, and try a smell 
of the fresh air about the limekilns.</p>
<p>It was a fine July forenoon, and the cart, filled with clean 
straw, was at the door by eleven o&rsquo;clock; so our wife 
handed us out a pair of blankets to hap round me, and syne little
Benjie into my arms, with his big-coatie on, and his leather 
cappie tied below his chin, and a bit red worsted comforterie 
round his neck; for, though the sun was warm and pleasant withal,
we dreaded cold, as the doctor bade us.&nbsp; Oh, he was a fine 
old man, Doctor Hartshorn!</p>
<p>We had not well got out of the town, when Tammie Dobbie louped
up on the fore-tram.&nbsp; He was a crouse, cantie auld cock, 
having seen much and not little in his day; so he began a 
pleasant confab, pointing out all the gentlemen&rsquo;s houses 
round the country, and the names of the farms on the hill 
sides.&nbsp; To one like me, whose occupations tie him to the 
town-foot, it really is a sweet and grateful thing to be let 
loose, as it were, for a wee <!-- page 83--><a 
name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>among the 
scenes of peace and quietness, where nature is in a way wild and 
wanton&mdash;where the clouds above our heads seem to sail along 
more grandly over the bosom of the sky, and the wee birds to 
cheep and churm, from the hedges among the fields, with greater 
pleasure, feeling that they are God&rsquo;s free creatures.</p>
<p>I cannot tell how many thoughts came over my mind, one after 
another, like the waves of the sea down on Musselburgh beach; but
especially the days when I was a wee callant with a daidly at 
Dominie Duncan&rsquo;s school, were fresh in my mind as if the 
time had been but yesterday; though much, much was I changed 
since then, being at that time a little, careless, ragged laddie,
and now the head of a family, earning bread to my wife and wean 
by the sweat of my brow.&nbsp; I thought on the blythe summer 
days when I dandered about the braes and bushes seeking 
birds&rsquo;-nests with Alick Bowsie and Samuel Search; and of 
the time when we stood upon one another&rsquo;s backs, to speil 
up to the ripe cherries that hung over the garden walls of 
Woodburn.&nbsp; Awful changes had taken place since then.&nbsp; I
had seen Sammy die of the black jaundice&mdash;an awful 
spectacle! and poor Alick Bowsie married to a drucken randie, 
that wore the breeks, and did not allow the misfortunate creature
the life of a dog.</p>
<p>When I was meditating thus, after the manner of the patriarch 
Isaac, there was a pleasant sadness at my heart, though it was 
like to loup to my mouth; but I could not get leave to enjoy it 
long for the tongue of Tammie Dobbie.&nbsp; He bade me look over 
into a field, about the middle of which were some wooden railings
round the black gaping mouth of a coal-pit.&nbsp; &ldquo;Div ye 
see that dark bit owre yonder amang the green clover, wi&rsquo; 
the sticks about it?&rdquo; asked Tammie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;and what for?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel, do you ken,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; Tammie, &ldquo;that
has been a weary place to mair than ane.&nbsp; Twa-three year 
ago, some o&rsquo; the collyer bodies were choked to death down 
below wi&rsquo; a blast of foul air; and a pour o&rsquo; orphan 
weans they left behint them on the cauldrife parish.&nbsp; But 
ye&rsquo;ll mind Hornem, the sherry-officer wi&rsquo; the thrawn 
shouther?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ou, bravely; I believe he came to some untimeous end 
hereaway about?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
84</span>&ldquo;Just in that spat,&rdquo; answered Tammie.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;He was a drucken, blustering chield, as ye mind; fearing 
neither man nor de&rsquo;il, and living a wild, wicked, 
regardless life; but, puir man, that couldna aye last.&nbsp; He 
had been bousing about the countryside somehow&mdash;maybe 
harrying out of house and hald some puir bodies that hadna the 
wherewith to pay their rents; so, in riding hame fou&mdash;it was
pitmirk, and the rain pouring down in bucketfu&rsquo;s&mdash;he 
became dumfoundered wi&rsquo; the darkness and the dramming 
thegither; and, losing his way, wandered about the fields, 
hauling his mare after him by the bridle.&nbsp; In the morning 
the beast was found nibbling away at the grass owre by yonder, 
wi&rsquo; the saddle upon its back, and a broken bridle hinging 
down about its fore-legs, by the which the folks round were 
putten upon the scent; for, on making search down yon pit, he was
fund at the bottom, wi&rsquo; his brains smashed about him, and 
his legs and arms broken to chitters!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Save us!&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;it makes a&rsquo; my 
flesh grue.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel it may,&rdquo; answered Tammie, &ldquo;or the 
story&rsquo;s lost in the telling; for the collyers that fand him
shook as if they had been seized wi&rsquo; the ague.&nbsp; The 
dumb animal, ye observe, had far mair sense than him; for, when 
his fitting gaed way, instead of following it had plunged back; 
and the bit o&rsquo; the bridle, that had broken, was still in 
his grup, when they spied him wi&rsquo; their 
lanterns.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It was an awful like way to leave the world,&rdquo; 
said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Deed it was, and nae less,&rdquo; answered 
Tammie, &ldquo;to gang to his lang account in the middle of his 
mad thochtlessness, without a moment&rsquo;s warning.&nbsp; But 
see, yonder&rsquo;s Cousland lying right forrit to the east 
hand.&rdquo;</p>
<p>At this very nick of time Benjie was seized with a severe 
kink; so Tammie stopped his cart, and I held his head over the 
side of it till the cough went by.&nbsp; I thought his inside 
would have jumped out; but he fell sound asleep in two or three 
minutes; and we jogged on till we came to the yill-house door, 
where, after louping out, we got a pickle pease-strae to 
Tammie&rsquo;s horse.</p>
<h2><!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
85</span>CHAPTER XIV.&mdash;MY LORD&rsquo;S RACES.</h2>
<blockquote><p>Aff they a&rsquo; went galloping, galloping;<br />
Legs and arms a&rsquo; walloping, walloping;<br />
De&rsquo;il take the hindmost, quo&rsquo; Duncan 
M&lsquo;Calapin,<br />
The Laird of Tillyben, joe.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Song</i>.</p>
<p>He went a little further,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And turn&rsquo;d his head aside,<br />
And just by Goodman Whitfield&rsquo;s gate,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Oh there the mare he spied,<br />
He ask&rsquo;d her how she did,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; She stared him in the face,<br />
Then down she laid her head again&mdash;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; She was in wretched case.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Poulter&rsquo;s Mare</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It happened curiously that, of all the days of the year, this 
should have been the one on which the Carters&rsquo;-play was 
held; and, by good luck, we were just in time to see that grand 
sight.&nbsp; The whole regiment of carters were paraded up at my 
Lord&rsquo;s door, for so they call their box-master; and a 
beautiful thing it was, I can assure ye.&nbsp; What a sight of 
ribands was on the horses!&nbsp; Many a crame must have been 
emptied ere such a number of manes and long tails could have been
busked out.&nbsp; The beasts themselves, poor things, I dare say,
wondered much at their bravery, and no less I am sure did the 
riders.&nbsp; They looked for all the world like living 
haberdashery shops.&nbsp; Great bunches of wallflower, thyme, 
spearmint, batchelor buttons, gardeners&rsquo; gartens, peony 
roses, gillyflower, and southernwood, were stuck in their 
button-holes; and broad belts of stripped silk, of every colour 
in the rainbow, were flung across their shoulders.&nbsp; As to 
their hats, the man would have had a clear ee that could have 
kent what was their shape or colour.&nbsp; They were all rowed 
round with ribands, and puffed about the rim with long green or 
white feathers; and cockades were stuck on the off side, to say 
nothing of long strips fleeing behind them in the wind like 
streamers.&nbsp; Save us! to see men so proud of finery; if they 
had <!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
86</span>been peacocks one would have thought less; but in decent
sober men, the heads of small families, and with no great wages, 
the thing was crazy-like.&nbsp; Was it not?</p>
<p>At long and last we saw them all set in motion, like a 
regiment of dragoons, two and two, with a drum and fife at their 
head, as if they had been marching to the field of battle.&nbsp; 
By-the-bye, it was two of our own volunteer lads that were 
playing that day before them, Rory Skirl the snab, and Geordie 
Thump the dyer; so this, ye see, verified the old proverb, that 
travel where ye like, to the world&rsquo;s end, ye&rsquo;ll aye 
meet with kent faces; Tammie and me coming out to the yill-house 
door to see them pass by.</p>
<p>Behind the drum and fife came a big, half-crazy looking 
chield, with a broad blue bonnet on his head, and a red worsted 
cherry sticking in the crown of it.&nbsp; He was carrying a new 
car-saddle over his shoulder on a well-cleaned pitchfork.&nbsp; 
Syne came three abreast, one on each side of my lord, being the 
key-keepers; he keeping the box, and they keeping the keys, in 
case like he should take any thing out.&nbsp; And syne came the 
auld my lord&mdash;him that was my lord last year, ye observe; 
and syne came the colours, as bright and bonny as mostly any 
thing ye ever saw.&nbsp; On one of them was painted a plough and 
harrows, and a man sowing wheat; over the top of which were 
gilded letters, the which I was able to read when I put on my 
specs, being, if I mind well, &ldquo;Speed the 
Plough.&rdquo;&nbsp; On the other one, which was a mazarine blue 
with yellow fringes, was the picture of two carters, with flat 
bonnets on their heads, the tane with a whip in his hand, and the
tither a rake, making hay like.&nbsp; Then came they all passing 
by two and two, looking as if each one of them had been the Duke 
of Buccleuch himself, every one rigged out in his best; the young
callants, such like as had just entered the box, coming hindmost,
and thinking themselves, I daresay, no small drink, and the day a
great one when they were first allowed to be art and part in such
a grand procession.</p>
<p>But losh me!&nbsp; I had mostly forgot the piper, that played 
in the middle, as proud as Hezekiah, that we read of in Second 
Kings, strutting about from side to side with his bare legs and 
big buckles, and bit Macgregor tartan jacket&mdash;his cheeks 
blown up with wind like a smith&rsquo;s bellows&mdash;the 
feathers dirling with <!-- page 87--><a name="page87"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 87</span>conceit in his bonnet&mdash;and the 
drone, below his oxter, squeeling and skirling like an evil 
spirit tied up in a green bag.&nbsp; Keep us all! what gleys he 
gied about him to observe that the folk were looking at 
him!&nbsp; He put me in mind of the song that old Barny used to 
sing about the streets&mdash;</p>
<blockquote><p>Ilka ane his sword and dirk has,<br />
Ilka ane as proud&rsquo;s a Turk is;<br />
There&rsquo;s the Grants o&rsquo; Tullochgorum,<br />
Wi&rsquo; their pipers gaun before &rsquo;em;<br />
Proud the mithers are that bore &rsquo;em.<br />
Feedle, faddle, fa, fum.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But who do ye think should come up to us at this blessed 
moment, with a staff in his hand, being old now, and not able to 
ride in the procession, as he had many a time and often done 
before, but honest Saunders Tram, that had been a staunch 
customer of mine since the day on which I opened shop, and to 
whom I had made countless pairs of corduroy spatterdashes; so we 
shook hands jocosely together, like old acquaintances, and the 
body hodged and leuch as if he had found a fiddle, he was so glad
to see me.</p>
<p>Benjie having fallen asleep, Luckie Barm of the Change, a 
douce woman, put him to his bed, and promised to take care of him
till we came back; Saunders Tram insisting on us to go forward 
along with him to see the race.&nbsp; I had no great scruple to 
do this, as I thought Benjie would likely sleep for an hour, 
being wearied with the joogling of the cart, and having supped a 
mutchkin bowlful of Luckie Barm&rsquo;s broo and bread.</p>
<p>By the time we had tramped on to the braehead, two or three 
had booked for the race, and were busy pulling away the flowers 
that hung over about their horses&rsquo; lugs, to say little of 
the tapes and twine; and which made them look, poor brutes, as if
they were not very sure what was the matter with them.&nbsp; 
Meanwhile, there was a terrible uproar between my lord and a man 
from Edinburgh Grassmarket, leading a limping horse, covered with
a dirty sheet, with two holes for the beast&rsquo;s een looking 
out at.</p>
<p>But, for all this outward care, the poor thing seemed very 
like as if wind was more plenty in the land than corn, being thin
and starved-looking, and as lame as Vulcan in the off 
hind-leg.&nbsp; <!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 88</span>So ye see the managers of the box 
insisted on its not running; and the man said &ldquo;it had a 
right to run as well as any other horse;&rdquo; and my lord said 
&ldquo;it had no such thing, as it was not in the box;&rdquo; and
the man said &ldquo;he would take out a protest;&rdquo; and my 
lord said &ldquo;he didna gie a bawbee for a protest; and that he
would not allow him to run on any account whatsoever;&rdquo; but 
the man was throng all the time they were argle-bargling taking 
the cover off the beast&rsquo;s back, that was ready saddled, and
as accoutred for running as our regiment of volunteers was for 
fighting on field-days.&nbsp; So he swore like a trooper, that, 
notwithstanding all their debarring, he would run in spite of 
their teeth&mdash;both my lord&rsquo;s teeth, ye observe, and 
that of the two key-keepers;&mdash;maybe, too, of the man that 
carried the saddle, for he aye lent in a word at my lord&rsquo;s 
back, egging him on to stand out for the laws to the last drop of
his blood.</p>
<p>To cut a long tale short, the drum ruffed, and off set four of
them, a black one, and a white one, and a brown one, and the 
man&rsquo;s one, neck and neck, as neat as you like.&nbsp; The 
race course was along the high-road; and, dog on it, they made a 
noise like thunder, throwing out their big heavy feet behind 
them, and whisking their tails from side to side as if they would
have dung out one another&rsquo;s een; till, not being used to 
gallop, they at last began to funk and fling; syne first one 
stopping, and then another, wheeling round and round about like 
peiries, in spite of the riders whipping them, and pulling them 
by the heads.&nbsp; The man&rsquo;s mare, however, from the 
Grassmarket, with the limping leg, carried on, followed by the 
white one, an old tough brute, that had belonged in its youth to 
a trumpeter of the Scots Greys; and, to tell the truth, it showed
mettle still, though far past its best; so back they came, neck 
and neck, all the folk crying, and holloing, and clapping their 
hands&mdash;some &ldquo;Weel dune the lame ane&mdash;five 
shillings on the lame ane;&rdquo;&mdash;and others, &ldquo;Weel 
run Bonaparte&mdash;at him, auld Bonaparte&mdash;two to one that 
Whitey beats him all to sticks,&rdquo;&mdash;when, dismal to 
relate, the limping-legged ane couped the creels, and old white 
Bonaparte came in with his tail cocked amid loud cheering, and no
small clapping of hands.</p>
<p>We all ran down the road to the place where the limping <!-- 
page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
89</span>horse was lying, for it was never like to rise up again 
any more than the bit rider, that was thrown over its head like 
an arrow out of a bow; but on helping him to his feet, save and 
except the fright, two wide screeds across his trowser-knees, and
a scratch along the brig of his nose, nothing visible was to be 
perceived.&nbsp; It was different, however, with the limping 
horse.&nbsp; Misfortunate brute! one of its fore-legs had folded 
below it, and snapped through at the fetlock joint.&nbsp; There 
was it lying with a sad sorrowful look, as if it longed for death
to come quick and end its miseries; the blood, all the while, 
gush-gushing out at the gaping wound.&nbsp; To all it was as 
plain as the A, B, C, that the bones would never knit; and that, 
considering the case it was in, it would be an act of Christian 
charity to put the beast out of pain.&nbsp; The maister gloomed, 
stroked his chin, and looked down, knowing, weel-a-wat, that he 
had lost his bread-winner, then gave his head a nod, 
nod&mdash;thrusting both his hands down to the bottom lining of 
the pockets of his long square-tailed jockey coat.&nbsp; He was a
wauf, hallanshaker-looking chield, with an old broad-snouted 
japanned beaver hat pulled over his brow&mdash;one that seemed by
his phisog to hold the good word of the world as 
nothing&mdash;and that had, in the course of circumstances, been 
reduced to a kind of wild desperation, either by 
chance-misfortunes, cares and trials, or, what is more likely, by
his own sinful, regardless way of life.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It canna be helpit,&rdquo; he said, giving his head a 
bit shake; &ldquo;it canna be helpit, friends.&nbsp; Ay, Jess, ye
were a gude ane in yere day, lass,&mdash;mony a penny and pound 
have I made out of ye.&nbsp; Which o&rsquo; ye can lend me a 
hand, lads?&nbsp; Rin away for a gun some o&rsquo; ye.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Here Thomas Clod interfered with a small bit of advice&mdash;a
thing that Thomas was good at, being a Cameraman elder, and 
accustomed to giving a word.&nbsp; &ldquo;Wad ye no think it 
better,&rdquo; said Thomas, &ldquo;to stick her with a long 
gully-knife, or a sharp shoemaker&rsquo;s parer?&nbsp; It wad be 
an easier way, I&rsquo;m thinking.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Dog on it!&nbsp; I could scarcely keep from shuddering when I 
heard them speaking in this wild, heathenish, bloody sort of a 
manner.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Deed no,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; Saunders Tram, at 
whose side I was standing, <!-- page 90--><a 
name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span> &ldquo;far 
better send away for the smith&rsquo;s forehammer, and hit her a 
smack or twa betwixt the e&rsquo;en; so ye wad settle her in half
a second.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, no;&rdquo; cried Tammie Dobbie, lending in his 
word, &ldquo;a better plan than a&rsquo; that, wad be to make a 
strong kinch of ropes, and hang her.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Lovey ding! such ways of showing how to be merciful!!&nbsp; 
But the old Jockey himself interfered.&nbsp; &ldquo;Haud yere 
tongues, fules,&rdquo; was his speech; &ldquo;yonder&rsquo;s the 
man coming wi&rsquo; a gun.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll shune put an end to
her.&nbsp; She would have won for a hunder pounds, if she hadna 
broken her leg.&mdash;Wha&rsquo;ll wager me that she wadna hae 
won?&nbsp; But she&rsquo;s the last of my stable, puir beast; and
I havena ae plack to rub against anither, now that I have lost 
her.&nbsp; Gi&rsquo;e me the gun and the penny candle.&nbsp; Is 
she loaded?&rdquo; speired he at the man that carried the 
piece.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Troth is she,&rdquo; was the answer, &ldquo;double 
charged.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then stand back, lads,&rdquo; quod the old 
round-shouthered horse-couper, and ramming down the candle he 
lifted up the piece, cocking it as he went four or five yards in 
front of the poor bleeding brute, that seemed, though she could 
not rise, to know what he was about with the weapon of 
destruction; casting her black eye up at him, and looking 
pitifully in his face.</p>
<p>When I saw him taking his aim, and preparing to draw the 
trigger, I turned round my back, not being able to stand it, and 
brizzed the flats of my hands with all my pith against the 
opening of my ears; nevertheless, I heard a faint boom; so, 
heeling round, I observed the miserable bleeding creature lift 
her head, and pulling up her legs, give them a plunge down again 
on the divots: after which she lay still, and we all saw, to our 
satisfaction, that death had come to her relief.</p>
<p>We are not commanded to be the judges of our fellow-creatures,
but to think charitably of all men, hoping every thing for the 
best; and, though the horse-couper was a thought suspicious, both
in look, speech, dress, and outward behaviour, still, ever and 
anon, we were bound by the ten commandments to consider him only 
in the light of a fellow-mortal in distress of mind and poverty 
of pocket; so we made a superscription for the poor man; and, 
though he did not look much like one that deserved <!-- page 
91--><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>our 
charity, nevertheless and howsoever, maybe he was a bad 
halfpenny, and maybe not; yet one thing was visibly certain, that
he was as poor as Job&mdash;misery being written in big-hand 
letters on his brow.&nbsp; So it behoved each one to open his 
purse as he could afford it; and, though I say not what I put 
into the hat, proud am I to tell that he collected two or three 
shillings to help him home.</p>
<p>This job being over to his mind as well as mine, and the money
safely stowed into his big hinder coat-pocket&mdash;would ye 
believe it? ere yet the beast was scarcely cold, just as we were 
decamping from the place, and buttoning up our breeches-pockets, 
we saw him casting his coat, and had the curiosity to stand still
for a jiffy, to observe what he was after, in case, in the middle
of his misfortunes, he was bent on some act of desperation; when,
lo and behold! he out with a gully knife, and began skinning his 
old servant, as if he had been only peeling the bark off a fallen
tree!</p>
<p>One cannot sit at their ingle-cheek and expect, without 
casting their eyes about them, to grow experienced in the ways of
men, or the on-goings of the world.&nbsp; This spectacle gave me,
I can assure you, much and no little insight; and so dowie was I 
with the thoughts of what I had witnessed of the selfishness, the
sinfulness, and perversity of man, that I grew more and more 
home-sick, thinking never so much in my life before of my quiet 
hearthstone and cheerful ingle; and though Thomas Clod insisted 
greatly on my staying to their head-meeting dinner, and taking a 
reel with the lassies in the barn; and Tammie Dobbie, the bit 
body, had got so much into the spirit of the thing, that little 
persuasion would have made him stay all night and reel till the 
dawing&mdash;yet I was determined to make the best of my way 
home; more-be-token, as Benjie might take skaith from the night 
air, and our jaunt therefrom might, instead of contributing to 
his welfare, do him more harm than good.&nbsp; So, after getting 
some cheese and bread, to say nothing of a glass or two of strong
beer and a dram at Luckie Barm&rsquo;s, we waited in her parlour,
which was hung round with most beautiful pictures of Joseph and 
his Brethren, besides two stucco parrots on the chimney-piece, 
amusing ourselves with looking at them, as a <!-- page 92--><a 
name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>pastime like,
till Benjie wakened; on the which I made Tammie yoke his beast, 
and rowing the bit callant in his mother&rsquo;s shawl, took him 
into my arms in the cart, and, after shaking hands with all and 
sundry twice or thrice over, we hade them a 
&ldquo;good-night,&rdquo; and drove away.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER XV.&mdash;THE RETURN.</h2>
<blockquote><p>That sweet home is their delight,<br />
And thither they repair<br />
Communion with their own to hold!<br />
Peaceful as, at the fall of night,<br />
Two little lambkins gliding white<br />
Return unto the gentle air,<br />
That sleeps within the fold.<br />
Or like two birds to their lonely nest,<br />
Or wearied waves to their bay of rest,<br />
Or fleecy clouds when their race is run,<br />
That hang in their own beauty blest,<br />
&rsquo;Mid the calm that sanctifies the west<br />
Around the setting sun.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Wilson</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I may confess, without thinking shame, that I was glad when I 
found our nebs turned homeward; and, when we got over the turn of
the brae at the old quarry-holes, to see the blue smoke of our 
own Dalkeith, hanging like a thin cloud over the tops of the 
green trees, through which I perceived the glittering weathercock
on the old kirk steeple.&nbsp; Tammie, poor creature, I observed,
was a whit ree with the good cheer; and, as he sat on the 
fore-tram, with his whip-hand thrown over the beast&rsquo;s 
haunches, he sang, half to himself and half-aloud, a great many 
old Scotch songs, such as &ldquo;the Gaberlunzie,&rdquo; 
&ldquo;Aiken Drum,&rdquo; &ldquo;Tak&rsquo; yere Auld Cloak about
ye,&rdquo; and &ldquo;the Deuks dang ower my Daddie;&rdquo; 
besides &ldquo;The Mucking o&rsquo; Geordie&rsquo;s Byre,&rdquo; 
and &ldquo;Ca&rsquo; the Ewes to the Knowes,&rdquo; and so on; 
but, do what I liked, I could not keep my spirits up, thinking of
the woful end <!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 93</span>of the poor old horse, and of the 
ne&rsquo;er-do-weel loon its master.&nbsp; Many an excellent 
instruction of Mr Wiggie&rsquo;s came to my mind, of how we 
misguided the good things that were lent us for our use here, by 
a gracious Provider, who would, however, bid us render a final 
account to him of our conduct and conversation.&nbsp; I thought 
of how many were aye complaining and complaining, myself whiles 
among the rest, of the hardships, the miseries, and the 
misfortunes of their lot; putting all down to the score of fate, 
and never once thinking of the plantations of sorrow, reared up 
from the seeds of our own sinfulness; or how any thing, save 
punishment, could come of the breaking of the ten commandments 
delivered to the patriarch Moses.&nbsp; Perhaps, reckoned I with 
myself, perhaps in this, even I myself may have in this 
day&rsquo;s transactions erred.&nbsp; Here am I wandering about 
in a cart; exposing myself to the defilement of the world, to the
fear of robbers, and to the night air, in the search of health 
for a dwining laddie; as if the hand that dealt that blessing out
was not as powerful at home as it is abroad.&nbsp; Had I remained
at my own lapbroad, the profits of my day&rsquo;s work would have
been over and above for the maintenance of my family, outside and
inside; instead of which, I have been at the expense of a 
cart-hire and a horse&rsquo;s up-putting, let alone 
Tammie&rsquo;s debosh and my own, besides the trifle of 
threepence to the round-shouldered old horse-couper with the 
slouched japan beaver hat.&nbsp; The story was too true a one; 
but, alack-a-day, it was now over late to repent!</p>
<p>As I was thus musing, the bright red sun of summer sank down 
behind the top of the Pentland Hills, and all looked bluish, 
dowie, and dreary, as if the heart of the world had been seized 
with a sudden dwalm, and the face of nature had at once withered 
from blooming youth into the hoariness of old age.&nbsp; Now and 
then the birds gave a bit chitter; and whiles a cow mooed from 
the fields; and the dew was falling like the little tears of the 
fairies out of the blue lift, where the gloaming-star soon began 
to glow and glitter bonnily.</p>
<p>What I had seen and witnessed made my thoughts heavy and my 
heart sad; I could not get the better of it.&nbsp; I looked round
and round me, as we jogged along over the height, down on the far
distant country, that spread out as if it had been <!-- page 
94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>a 
great big picture, with hills, and fields, and woods; and I could
still see to the norward the ships lying at their anchors on the 
sea, and the shores of Fife far far beyond it.&nbsp; It was a 
great and a grand sight; and made me turn from the looking at it 
into my own heart, causing me to think more and more of the glory
of the Maker&rsquo;s handiworks, and less and less of the 
littleness of prideful man.&nbsp; But Tammie had gotten his 
drappikie, and the tongue of the body would not lie still a 
moment; so he blethered on from one thing to another, as we 
jogged along, till I was forced at the last to give up thinking, 
and begin a twa-handed crack with him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you your snuff-box upon ye?&rdquo;&mdash;said 
Tammie.&nbsp; &ldquo;Gi&rsquo;e me a pinch.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Having given him the box, I observed to him, that &ldquo;it 
was beginning to grow dark and dowie.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Deed is&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Tammie; &ldquo;but 
a body can now scarcely meet on the road wi&rsquo; ony think waur
than themsell.&nbsp; Mony a witch, de&rsquo;il, and bogle, 
however, did my grannie see and hear tell of, that used to scud 
and scamper hereaway langsyne like maukins.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Witches!&rdquo; quo&rsquo; I.&nbsp; &ldquo;No, no 
Tammie, all these things are out of the land now; and muckle luck
to them.&nbsp; But we have other things to fear; what think ye of
highway robbers?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Highway robbers!&rdquo; said Tammie.&nbsp; &ldquo;Kay, 
kay; I&rsquo;ll tell ye of something that I met in wi&rsquo; 
mysell.&nbsp; Ae dark winter night, as I was daundering hame frae
Pathhead&mdash;it was pitmirk, and about the twall&mdash;losh me,
I couldna see my finger afore me!&mdash;that a stupid thocht cam 
into my head that I wad never wun hame, but be either killed, 
lost, murdered, or drowned, between that and the dawing.&nbsp; 
All o&rsquo; a sudden I sees a light coming dancing forrit amang 
the trees; and my hair began to stand up on end.&nbsp; Then, in 
the next moment&mdash;save us a&rsquo;!&mdash;I sees anither 
light, and forrit, forrit they baith cam, like the een of some 
great fiery monster, let loose frae the pit o&rsquo; darkness by 
its maister, to seek whom it might devour.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Stop, Tammie,&rdquo; said I to him, &ldquo;yell wauken 
Benjie.&nbsp; How far are we from Dalkeith?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Twa mile and a bittock,&rdquo; answered Tammie.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;But wait a wee.&mdash;Up cam the two lights 
snoov-snooving, nearer and <!-- page 95--><a 
name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>nearer; and I
heard distinctly the sound of feet that werena 
men&rsquo;s&mdash;cloven feet, maybe&mdash;but nae wheels.&nbsp; 
Sae nearer it cam and nearer, till the sweat began to pour owre 
my een as cauld as ice; and, at lang and last, I fand my knees 
beginning to gi&rsquo;e way; and, after tot-tottering for half a 
minute, I fell down, my staff playing bleach out before me.&nbsp;
When I cam to mysell, and opened my een, there were the twa 
lights before me, bleez-bleezing, as if they wad blast my sight 
out.&nbsp; And what did they turn out to be, think ye?&nbsp; The 
de&rsquo;il or spunkie, whilk o&rsquo; them?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I canna tell,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Naithing mair then,&rdquo; answered Tammie, &ldquo;but 
twa bowets; ane tied to ilka knee of auld Doofie, the half-crazy 
horse-doctor, mounted on his lang-tailed naig, and away through 
the dark by himsell, at the dead hour o&rsquo; night, to the 
relief of a man&rsquo;s mare seized with the batts, somewhere 
down about Oxenford.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was glad that Tammie&rsquo;s story had ended in this way, 
when out came another tramping on its heels.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you see the top of yon black trees to the eastward 
there, on the braehead?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I think I do,&rdquo; was my reply.&nbsp; &ldquo;But how
far, think ye, are we from home now?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;About a mile and a half,&rdquo; said 
Tammie.&mdash;&ldquo;Weel, as to the trees, I&rsquo;ll tell ye 
something about them.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There was an auld widow-leddy lived langsyne about the 
town-end of Dalkeith.&nbsp; A sour, cankered, curious 
body&mdash;she&rsquo;s dead and rotten lang ago.&nbsp; But what I
was gaun to say, she had a bonny bit fair-haired, blue-ee&rsquo;d
lassie of a servant-maid that lodged in the house wi&rsquo; her, 
just by all the world like a lamb wi&rsquo; an wolf; a bonnier 
quean, I&rsquo;ve heard tell, never steppit in leather shoon; so 
all the young lads in the gate-end were wooing at her, and fain 
to have her; but she wad only have ae joe for a&rsquo; 
that.&nbsp; He was a journeyman wright, a trades-lad, and they 
had come, three or four year before, frae the same place 
thegither&mdash;maybe having had a liking for ane anither since 
they were bairns; so they were gaun to be married the week after 
Da&rsquo;keith Fair, and a&rsquo; was settled.&nbsp; But what, 
think ye, happened?&nbsp; He got a drap drink, and a recruiting 
party <!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 96</span>lifted him in the king&rsquo;s name, 
wi&rsquo; pitting a white shilling in his loof.</p>
<p>&ldquo;When the poor lassie heard what had come to pass, and 
how her sweetheart had ta&rsquo;en the bounty, she was like to 
gang distrackit, and took to her bed.&nbsp; The doctor never took
up her trouble; and some said it was a fever.&nbsp; At last she 
was roused out o&rsquo;t, but naebody ever saw her laugh after; 
and frae ane that was as cantie as a lintie, she became as douce 
as a Quaker, though she aye gaed cannily about her wark, as if 
amaist naething had happened.&nbsp; If she was ony way 
light-headed before, to be sure she wasna that noo; but just what
a decent quean should be, sitting for hours by the kitchen fire 
her lane, reading the Bible, and thinking, wha kens, of what wad 
become o&rsquo; the wicked after they died; and so ye 
see&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What light is yon?&rdquo; said I, interrupting him, 
wishing him like to break off.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ou, it&rsquo;s just the light on some of the 
coal-hills.&nbsp; The puir blackened creatures will be gaun down 
to their wark.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s an unyearthly kind of trade, 
turning night intil day, and working like moudiewarts in the 
dark, when decent folks are in their beds sleeping.&mdash;And so,
as I was saying, ye see, it happened ae Sunday night that a chap 
cam to the back door; and the mistress too heard it.&nbsp; She 
was sitting in the foreroom wi&rsquo; her specs on, reading some 
sermon book; but it was the maid that answered.</p>
<p>&ldquo;In a while thereafter, she rang her bell, being a 
curious body, and aye anxious to ken a&rsquo; thing of her ain 
affairs, let alane her neighbours; so, after waiting a wee, she 
rang again,&mdash;and better rang; then lifting up her stick, for
she was stiff with the rheumaticks and decay of nature, she 
hirpled into the kitchen,&mdash;but feint a hait saw she there, 
save the open Bible lying on the table, the cat streekit out 
before the fire, and the candle burning&mdash;the 
candle&mdash;na, I daur say I am wrang there, I believe it was a 
lamp, for she was a near ane.&nbsp; As for her maiden, there was 
no trace of her.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What do ye think came owre her then?&rdquo; said I to 
him, liking to be at my wits&rsquo; end.&nbsp; &ldquo;Naething 
uncanny, I daur say?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
97</span>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ll hear in a moment,&rdquo; answered 
Tammie, &ldquo;a&rsquo; that I ken o&rsquo; the matter.&nbsp; Ye 
see&mdash;as I asked ye before&mdash;yon trees on the hill-head 
to the eastward; just below yon black cloud yonder?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Preceesely,&rdquo; said I&mdash;&ldquo;I see them well 
enough.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel, after a&rsquo; thochts of finding her were 
gi&rsquo;en up, and it was fairly concluded, that it was the auld
gudeman that had come and chappit her out, she was fund in a pond
among yon trees, floating on her back, wi&rsquo; her 
Sunday&rsquo;s claes on!!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Drowned?&rdquo; said I to him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Drowned&mdash;and as stiff as a deal board,&rdquo; 
answered Tammie.&nbsp; &ldquo;But when she was drowned&mdash;or 
how she came to be drowned&mdash;or who it was drowned 
her&mdash;has never been found out to this blessed 
moment.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Maybe,&rdquo; said I, lending in my 
word&mdash;&ldquo;maybe she had grown demented, and thrown 
herself in i&rsquo; the dark.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Or maybe,&rdquo; said Tammie, &ldquo;the de&rsquo;il 
flew away wi&rsquo; her in a flash o&rsquo; fire; and, soosing 
her down frae the lift, she landit in that hole, where she was 
fund floating.&nbsp; But&mdash;wo!&mdash;wo!&rdquo; cried he to 
his horse, coming across its side with his whip&mdash;&ldquo;We 
maun be canny; for this brig has a sharp turn, (it was the Cow 
Brig, ye know,) and many a one, both horse and man, have got 
their necks broken, by not being wary enough of that 
corner.&rdquo;</p>
<p>This made me a thought timorous, having the bit laddie Benjie 
fast asleep in my arms; and as I saw that Tammie&rsquo;s horse 
was a wee fidgety; and glad, I dare say, poor thing, to find 
itself so near home.&nbsp; We heard the water, far down below, 
roaring and hushing over the rocks, and thro&rsquo; among the 
Duke&rsquo;s woods&mdash;big, thick, black trees, that threw 
their branches, like giant&rsquo;s arms, half across the Esk, 
making all below as gloomy as midnight; while over the tops of 
them, high, high aboon, the bonnie wee starries were 
twink-twinkling far amid the blue.&nbsp; But there was no end to 
Tammie&rsquo;s tongue.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;speaking o&rsquo; the 
brig, I&rsquo;ll tell you a gude story about that.&nbsp; Auld 
Jamie Bowie, the potato merchant, that lived at the Gate-end, had
a horse and cart that met wi&rsquo; an accident just at the turn 
o&rsquo; the corner yonder; and up cam a chield sair forfaughten,
and a&rsquo; out of breath, to Jamie&rsquo;s door, crying like 
the prophet Jeremiah to the auld Jews, &lsquo;Rin, rin away <!-- 
page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
98</span>doun to the Cow Brig; for your cart&rsquo;s dung to 
shivers, and the driver&rsquo;s killed, as weel as the 
horse!&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;James ran in for his hat; but, as he was coming out at 
the door, he met another messenger, such as came running across 
the plain to David, to acquaint him of the death of Absalom, 
crying, &lsquo;Rin away doun, Jamie, rin away doun; your cart is 
standing yonder, without either horse or driver; for 
they&rsquo;re baith killed!&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Jamie thanked Heaven that the cart was to the fore; 
then, rinning back for his stick, which he had forgotten, he 
stopped a moment to bid his wife not greet so loud, and was then 
rushing out in full birr, when he ran foul of a third chield, 
that mostly knocked doun the door in his hurry.&nbsp; 
&lsquo;Awfu&rsquo; news, man, awfu&rsquo; news,&rsquo; was the 
way o&rsquo;t, with this second Eliphaz the Temanite.&nbsp; 
&lsquo;Your cart and horse ran away&mdash;and threw the driver, 
puir fellow, clean owre the brig into the water.&nbsp; No a 
crunch o&rsquo; him is to be seen or heard tell of; for he was 
a&rsquo; smashed to pieces!!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s an awfu&rsquo; 
business!&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;But where&rsquo;s the horse? and where&rsquo;s 
the cart, then?&rsquo; askit Jamie, a thought brisker.&nbsp; 
&lsquo;Where&rsquo;s the horse and cart, then, my man?&nbsp; Can 
ye tell me ought of that?&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Ou,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;they&rsquo;re baith 
doun at the Toll yonder, no a hair the waur.&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;That&rsquo;s the best news I&rsquo;ve heard the 
nicht, my man.&mdash;Goodwife, I say, Goodwife; are ye deaf or 
donnart?&nbsp; Give this lad a dram; and, as it rather looks like
a shower, I&rsquo;ll e&rsquo;en no go out the 
night.&mdash;I&rsquo;ll easily manage to find another driver, 
though half a hundred o&rsquo; the blockheads should get their 
brains knocked out.&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is not that a gude ane noo?&rdquo; quo&rsquo; Tammie, 
laughing.&nbsp; &ldquo;&rsquo;Od Jamie Bowie was a real 
ane.&nbsp; He wadna let them light a candle by his bedside to let
him see to dee; he gied them a curse, and said that was needless 
extravagance.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Dog on it, thought I to myself, the further in the 
deeper.&nbsp; This beats the round-shouldered horse-couper with 
the Japan hat, skinning his reeking horse, all to sticks; and so 
I again fell into a gloomy sort of a musing; when, just as we 
came opposite the Duke&rsquo;s gate, with the deers on each side 
of it, two men rushed out upon us, and one of them seized 
Tammie&rsquo;s horse by <!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 99</span>the bridle, as the other one held his
horse-pistol to my nose, and bade me stop in the King&rsquo;s 
name!</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hold your hand, hold your hand, for the sake of 
mercy!&rdquo; cried I.&nbsp; &ldquo;Spare the father of a small 
family that will starve on the street if ye take my life!!&nbsp; 
Hae&mdash;hae&mdash;there&rsquo;s every coin and copper I have 
about me in the world!&nbsp; Be merciful, be merciful; and do not
shed blood that will not, cannot be rubbed out of your 
conscience.&nbsp; Take all that we have&mdash;horse and cart and 
all if ye like; only spare our lives, and let us away 
home!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;De&rsquo;il&rsquo;s in the man,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; 
Tammie, &ldquo;horse and cart! that&rsquo;s a gude one!&nbsp; Na,
na, lads; fire away gin ye like; for as lang as I hae a drap 
o&rsquo; bluid in me, ye&rsquo;ll get neither.&nbsp; Better be 
killed than starve.&nbsp; Do your best, ye thieves that ye are; 
and I&rsquo;ll hae baith of ye hanged neist week before the 
Fifteen!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Every moment I expected my head to be shot off, till I got my 
hand clapped on Tammie&rsquo;s mouth, and could get cried to 
them&mdash;&ldquo;Shoot him then, lads; shoot him then, lads, if 
he wants it; but take my siller like Christians, and let me away 
with my poor deeing bairn!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The two men seemed a something dumfoundered with what they 
heard; and I began to think them, if they were highway robbers, a
wee slow at their trade; when, what think ye did they turn out to
be&mdash;only guess?&nbsp; Nothing more nor less than two excise 
officers, that had got information of some smuggled gin, coming 
up in a cart from Fisherrow Harbour, and were lurking on the 
road-side, looking out for spuilzie!!</p>
<p>When they quitted us giggling, I could not keep from laughing 
too; though the sights I had seen, and the fright I had got, made
me nervish and eerie; so blithe was I when the cart rattled on 
our own street, and I began to waken Benjie, as we were not above
a hundred yards from our own door.</p>
<p>In this day&rsquo;s adventures, I saw the sin and folly of my 
conduct visibly, as I jumped out of the cart at our close 
mouth.&nbsp; So I determined within myself, with a strong 
determination, to behave more sensibly for the future, and think 
no more about limekilns and coal-pits; but to trust, for 
Benjie&rsquo;s recovery from the chincough, to a kind Providence,
together with Daffy&rsquo;s elixir, and warm blankets.</p>
<h2><!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 100</span>CHAPTER XVI.&mdash;THE BLOODY 
CARTRIDGE.</h2>
<blockquote><p>So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear<br 
/>
Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear;<br />
And hears him in the rustling wood, and sees<br />
His course at distance by the bending trees;<br />
And thinks&mdash;Here comes my mortal enemy,<br />
And either he must fall in fight or I.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Dryden&rsquo;s</span> <i>Palamon and 
Arcite</i>.</p>
<p>Nay, never shake thy gory locks at me;<br />
Thou canst not say I did it!</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Macbeth</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It was on a fine summer morning, somewhere about four 
o&rsquo;clock, when I wakened from my night&rsquo;s rest, and was
about thinking to bestir myself, that I heard the sound of voices
in the kail-yard stretching south from our back windows.&nbsp; I 
listened&mdash;and I listened&mdash;and I better 
listened&mdash;and still the sound of the argle-bargling became 
more distinct, now in a fleeching way, and now in harsh angry 
tones, as if some quarrelsome disagreement had taken place.&nbsp;
I had not the comfort of my wife&rsquo;s company in this dilemmy;
she being away, three days before, on the top of Tammie Trundle 
the carrier&rsquo;s cart, to Lauder, on a visit to her folks 
there; her mother (my gudemother like) having been for some time 
ill with an income in her leg, which threatened to make a lameter
of her in her old age, the two doctors there&mdash;not speaking 
of the blacksmith, and sundry skeely old women&mdash;being able 
to make nothing of the business; so nobody happened to be with me
in the room saving wee Benjie, who was lying asleep at the back 
of the bed, with his little Kilmarnock on his head, as sound as a
top.&nbsp; Nevertheless, I looked for my clothes; and, opening 
one half of the window shutter, I saw four young birkies, well 
dressed&mdash;indeed three of them customers of my own&mdash;all 
belonging to the town; two of them young doctors, one of them a 
writer&rsquo;s clerk, and the other a grocer.&nbsp; The whole 
appeared very fierce and fearsome, like turkey-cocks; swaggering 
about with warlike <!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 101</span>arms as if they had been the 
king&rsquo;s dragoons; and priming a pair of pistols, which one 
of the surgeons, a spirity, outspoken lad, Maister Blister, was 
holding in his grip.</p>
<p>I jealoused at once what they were after, being now a wee up 
to fire-arms; so I saw that scaith was to come of it; and that I 
would be wanting in my duty on four heads,&mdash;first, as a 
Christian; second, as a man; third, as a subject; and fourth, as 
a father; if I withheld myself from the scene; nor lifted up my 
voice, however fruitlessly, against such crying iniquity as the 
wanton letting out of human blood; so forth I hastened, half 
dressed, with my grey stockings rolled up my thighs over my 
corduroys, and my old hat above my cowl, to the kail-yard of 
contention.</p>
<p>I was just in the nick of time; and my presence checked the 
effusion of blood for a little&mdash;but wait a wee.&nbsp; So 
high and furious were at least three of the party, that I saw it 
was catching water in a sieve to waste words on them, knowing as 
clearly as the sun serves the world, that interceding would be of
no avail.&nbsp; Howsoever, I made a feint, and threatened to bowl
away for a magistrate, if they would not desist from their 
barbarous and bloody purpose; but, i&rsquo;fegs, I had better 
kept my counsel till it was asked for.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tailor Mansie,&rdquo; blustered out Maister Thomas 
Blister with a furious cock of his eye&mdash;he was a queer 
Eirish birkie, come over for his education&mdash;&ldquo;since ye 
have ventured to thrust your nose, ma vourneen,&rdquo; said he, 
&ldquo;where nobody invited ye, you must just stay,&rdquo; added 
he, &ldquo;and abide by the consequences.&nbsp; This is an affair
of honour, you take, don&rsquo;t ye? and if ye venture to stir 
one foot from the spot, och then, ma bouchal,&rdquo; said he, 
&ldquo;by the poker of St Patrick, but whisk through ye goes one 
of these leaden playthings, as sure as ye ever spoiled a coat, or
cabbaged broadcloth!&nbsp; Ye have now come out, ye 
observe,&mdash;hark ye,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and are art and 
part in the business; and if one, or both, of the principals be 
killed, poor devils,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;we are all alike 
liable to take our trial before the Justiciary Court, hark ye; 
and by the powers,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I doubt not but, on 
proper consideration, machree, that they will allow us to get off
<!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
102</span>mercifully, on this side of swinging, by a verdict of 
manslaughter&mdash;and be hanged to them!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&rsquo;Od, I found myself immediately in a scrape; but how to 
get out of it baffled my gumption.&nbsp; It set me all a 
shivering; yet I thought that, come the worst when it should, 
they surely would not hang the father of a helpless small family,
that had nothing but his needle for their support, if I made a 
proper affidavy, about having tried to make peace between the 
youths.&nbsp; So, conscience being a brave supporter, I abode in 
silence, though not without many queer and qualmish thoughts, and
a pit-patting of the heart, not unco pleasant in the tholing.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Blood and wounds!&rdquo; bawled Maister Thomas Blister,
&ldquo;it would be a disgrace for ever on the honourable 
profession of physic,&rdquo; egging on poor Maister Willy 
Magneezhy, whose face was as white as double-bleached linen, 
&ldquo;to make an apology for such an insult.&nbsp; Arrah, my 
honey! you not fit to doctor a cat,&mdash;you not fit to bleed a 
calf,&mdash;you not fit to poultice a pig,&mdash;after three 
years&rsquo; apprenticeship,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and a winter 
with Doctor Monro?&nbsp; By the cupping-glasses of 
&rsquo;Pocrates,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and by the pistol of 
Gallon, but I would have caned him on the spot if he had just let
out half as much to me!&nbsp; Look ye, man,&rdquo; said he, 
&ldquo;look ye, man, he is all shaking,&rdquo; (this was a 
God&rsquo;s truth;) &ldquo;he&rsquo;ll turn tail.&nbsp; At him 
like fire, Willie.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Magneezhy, though sadly frightened, looked a thought brighter;
and made a kind of half step forward.&nbsp; &ldquo;Say that 
ye&rsquo;ll ask my pardon once more,&mdash;and if not,&rdquo; 
whined the poor lad, with a voice broken and trembling, 
&ldquo;then we must just shoot one another.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Devil a bit,&rdquo; answered Maister Bloatsheet, 
&ldquo;devil a bit.&nbsp; No, sir; you must down on your bare 
knees, and beg ten thousand pardons for calling me out here, in a
raw morning; or I&rsquo;ll have a shot at you, whether you will 
or not.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Will you stand that?&rdquo; said Blister, with eyes 
like burning coals.&nbsp; &ldquo;By the living jingo, and the 
holy poker, Magneezhy, if you stand that,&mdash;if you stand 
that, I say, I stand no longer your second, but leave you to 
disgrace and a caning.&nbsp; If he likes to shoot you like a dog,
and not as a gentleman, then, cuishla machree,&mdash;let him do 
it, and be done!&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
103</span>&ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; replied Magneezhy with a 
quivering voice, which he tried in vain, poor fellow, to render 
warlike, (he had never been in the volunteers like me.)&nbsp; 
&ldquo;Hand us the pistols, then; and let us do or 
die!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Spoken like a hero, and brother of the lancet: as 
little afraid at the sight of your own blood, as at that of your 
patients,&rdquo; said Blister.&nbsp; &ldquo;Hand over the 
pistols.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was an awful business.&nbsp; Gude save us, such goings on 
in a Christian land!&nbsp; While Mr Bloatsheet, the young writer,
was in the act of cocking the bloody weapon, I again, but to no 
purpose, endeavoured to slip in a word edgeways.&nbsp; Magneezhy 
was in an awful case; if he had been already shot, he could not 
have looked more clay and corpse-like; so I took up a douce 
earnest confabulation, while the stramash was drawing to a bloody
conclusion, with Mr Harry Molasses, the fourth in the spree, who 
was standing behind Bloatsheet with a large mahogany box under 
his arm, something in shape like that of a licensed packman, 
ganging about from house to house, through the country-side, 
selling toys and trinkets; or niffering plaited ear-rings, and 
suchlike, with young lasses, for old silver coins or cracked 
teaspoons.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; answered he, very composedly, as if it had 
been a canister full of black-rapee or black-guard, that he had 
just lifted down from his top-shelf, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s just 
Doctor Blister&rsquo;s saws, whittles, and big knives, in case 
any of their legs or arms be blown away, that he may cut them 
off.&rdquo;&nbsp; Little would have prevented me sinking down 
through the ground, had I not remembered at the preceese moment, 
that I myself was a soldier, and liable, when the hour of danger 
threatened, to be called out, in marching-order, to the field of 
battle.&nbsp; But by this time the pistols were in the hands of 
the two infatuated young men, Mr Bloatsheet, as fierce as a 
hussar dragoon, and Magneezhy as supple in the knees as if he was
all on oiled hinges; so the next consideration was to get well 
out of the way, the lookers-on running nearly as great a chance 
of being shot as the principals, they not being accustomed, like 
me for instance, to the use of arms; on which account, I scougged
myself behind a big pear-tree; both being to fire when Blister 
gave the word &ldquo;Off!&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
104</span>I had scarcely jouked into my hidy-hole, when 
&ldquo;crack&mdash;crack&rdquo; played the pistols like 
lightning; and as soon as I got my cowl taken from my eyes, and 
looked about, woes me!&nbsp; I saw Magneezhy clap his hand to his
brow, wheel round like a peerie, or a sheep seized with the 
sturdie, and then play flap down on his broadside, breaking the 
necks of half-a-dozen cabbage-stocks&mdash;three of which were 
afterwards clean lost, as we could not put them all into the pot 
at one time.&nbsp; The whole of us ran forward, but foremost was 
Bloatsheet, who seizing Magneezhy by the hand, cried, with a 
mournful face, &ldquo;I hope you forgive me?&nbsp; Only say this 
as long as you have breath; for I am off to Leith harbour in half
a minute.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The blood was running over poor Magneezhy&rsquo;s eyes, and 
drib-dribbling from the neb of his nose, so he was truly in a 
pitiful state; but he said with more strength than I thought he 
could have mustered,&mdash;&ldquo;Yes, yes, fly for your 
life.&nbsp; I am dying without much pain&mdash;fly for your life,
for I am a gone man!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Bloatsheet bounced through the kail-yard like a maukin, clamb 
over the bit wall, and off like mad; while Blister was feeling 
Magneezhy&rsquo;s pulse with one hand, and looking at his 
doctor&rsquo;s watch, which he had in the other.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do 
ye think that the poor lad will live, doctor?&rdquo; said I to 
him.</p>
<p>He gave his head a wise shake, and only observed, &ldquo;I 
dare say, it will be a hanging business among us.&nbsp; In what 
direction do you think, Mansie, we should all take 
flight?&rdquo;</p>
<p>But I answered bravely, &ldquo;Flee them that will, I&rsquo;se
flee nane.&nbsp; If I am taken prisoner, the town-officers maun 
haul me from my own house; but, nevertheless, I trust the 
visibility of my innocence will be as plain as a pikestaff to the
eyes of the Fifteen!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What, then, Mansie, will we do with poor 
Magneezhy?&nbsp; Give us your advice in need.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let us carry him down to my own bed,&rdquo; answered I;
&ldquo;I would not desert a fellow-creature in his dying 
hour!&nbsp; Help me down with him, and then flee the country as 
fast as you are able!&rdquo;</p>
<p>We immediately proceeded, and lifted the poor lad, who had now
dwalmed away, upon our wife&rsquo;s hand-barrow&mdash;Blister 
taking the feet, and me the oxters, whereby I got my waistcoat 
<!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
105</span>all japanned with blood; so, when we got him laid 
right, we proceeded to carry him between us down the close, just 
as if he had been a sticked sheep, and in at the back door, which
cost us some trouble, being narrow, and the barrow getting jammed
in; but, at long and last, we got him streeked out above the 
blankets, having previously shooken Benjie, and wakened him out 
of his morning&rsquo;s nap.</p>
<p>All this being accomplished and got over, Blister decamped, 
leaving me my leeful lane, excepting Benjie, who was next to 
nobody, in the house with the dying man.&nbsp; What a frightful 
face he had, all smeared over with blood and powder&mdash;and I 
really jealoused, that if he died in that room it would be 
haunted for evermair, he being in a manner a murdered man; so 
that, even should I be acquitted of art and part, his ghost might
still come to bother us, making our house a hell upon earth, and 
frighting us out of our seven senses.&nbsp; But in the midst of 
my dreadful surmises, when all was still, so that you might have 
heard a pin fall, a knock-knock-knock, came to the door, on 
which, recovering my senses, I dreaded first that it was the 
death-chap, and syne that the affair had got wind, and that it 
was the beagles come in search of me; so I kissed little Benjie, 
who was sitting on his creepie, blubbering and greeting for his 
parritch, while a tear stood in my own eye as I went forward to 
lift the sneck to let the officers, as I thought, harrie our 
house, by carrying off me, its master; but it was, thank Heaven, 
only Tammie Bodkin, coming in whistling to his work, with some 
measuring papers hanging round his neck.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah, Tammie,&rdquo; said I to him, my heart warming at a
kent face, and making the laddie, although my bounden servant by 
a regular indenture of five years, a friend in my need, 
&ldquo;come in, my man.&nbsp; I fear yell hae to take charge of 
the business for some time to come; mind what I tell&rsquo;d ye 
about the shaping and the cutting, and no making the goose ower 
warm; as I doubt I am about to be harled away to the 
tolbooth.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Tammie&rsquo;s heart swelled to his mouth.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah, 
maister,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;ye&rsquo;re joking.&nbsp; What 
should ye have done that ye should be ta&rsquo;en to sic an ill 
place?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ay, Tammie, lad,&rdquo; answered I, &ldquo;it is but 
ower true.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
106</span>&ldquo;Weel, weel,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; Tammie&mdash;I 
really thought it a great deal of the laddie&mdash;&ldquo;weel, 
weel, they canna prevent me coming to sew beside ye; and if I can
take the measure of customers without, ye can cut the claith 
within.&nbsp; But what is&rsquo;t for, maister?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Come in here,&rdquo; said I to him, &ldquo;and believe 
your ain een, Tammie, my man.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Losh me!&rdquo; cried the poor laddie, glowring at the 
bloody face of the man in the bed, and starting back on his 
tip-toes.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ay&mdash;ay&mdash;ay! maister; save us, 
maister; ay&mdash;ay&mdash;ay&mdash;you have na cloured his 
harnpan with the guse?&nbsp; Ay, maister, maister! whaten an 
unearthly sight!!&nbsp; I doubt they&rsquo;ll hang us a&rsquo;; 
you for doing&rsquo;t&mdash;and me on suspicion&mdash;and Benjie 
as art and part, puir thing!&nbsp; But I&rsquo;ll rin for a 
doctor.&nbsp; Will I, maister?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The thought had never struck me before, being in a sort of a 
manner dung stupid; but catching up the word, I said with all my 
pith and birr, &ldquo;Rin, rin, Tammie, rin for life and 
death!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Tammie bolted like a nine-year-old, never looking behind his 
tail; so, in less than ten minutes, he returned, hauling along 
old Doctor Peelbox, whom he had waukened out of his bed, in a 
camblet morning-gown, and a pair of red slippers, by the lug and 
horn, at the very time I was trying to quiet young Benjie, who 
was following me up and down the house, as I was pacing to and 
fro in distraction, girning and whingeing for his breakfast.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Bad business, bad business; bless us, what is 
this?&rdquo; said the old Doctor, who was near-sighted, staring 
at Magneezhy&rsquo;s bloody face through his silver 
spectacles&mdash;&ldquo;what&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The poor patient knew at once his master&rsquo;s tongue, and 
lifting up one of his eyes, the other being stiff and barkened 
down said in a melancholy voice, &ldquo;Ah, master, do you think 
I&rsquo;ll get better?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Doctor Peelbox, old man as he was, started back as if he had 
been a French dancing-master, or had stramped on a hot bar of 
iron.&nbsp; &ldquo;Tom, Tom, is this you? what, in the name of 
wonder, has done this?&rdquo;&nbsp; Then feeling his 
wrist&mdash;&ldquo;but your pulse is quite good.&nbsp; Have you 
fallen, boy?&nbsp; Where is the blood coming from?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Somewhere about the hairy scalp,&rdquo; answered 
Magneezhy, <!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 107</span>in their own queer sort of 
lingo.&nbsp; &ldquo;I doubt some artery&rsquo;s cut 
through!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Doctor immediately bade him lie quiet and hush, as he was 
getting a needle and silken thread ready to sew it up; ordering 
me to have a basin and water ready, to wash the poor lad&rsquo;s 
physog.&nbsp; I did so as hard as I was able, though I was not 
sure about the blood just; old Doctor Peelbox watching over my 
shoulder with a lighted penny candle in one hand, and the needle 
and thread in the other, to see where the blood spouted 
from.&nbsp; But we were as daft as wise; so he bade me take my 
big shears, and cut out all the hair on the fore part of the head
as bare as my loof; and syne we washed, and better washed; so 
Magneezhy got the other eye up, when the barkened blood was 
loosed; looking, though as pale as a clean shirt, more frighted 
than hurt; until it became plain to us all, first to the Doctor, 
syne to me, and syne to Tammie Bodkin, and last of all to 
Magneezhy himself, that his skin was not so much as peeled.&nbsp;
So we helped him out of the bed, and blithe was I to see the lad 
standing on the floor, without a hold, on his own feet.</p>
<p>I did my best to clean his neckcloth and shirt of the blood, 
making him look as decentish as possible, considering 
circumstances; and lending him, as the scripture commands, my 
tartan mantle to hide the infirmity of his bloody trowsers and 
waistcoat.&nbsp; Home went he and his master together; me 
standing at our close mouth, wishing them a good-morning, and 
blithe to see their backs.&nbsp; Indeed, a condemned thief with 
the rope about his neck, and the white cowl tied over his eyes, 
to say nothing of his hands yerked together behind his back, and 
on the nick of being thrown over, could not have been more 
thankful for a reprieve than I was, at the same blessed 
moment.&nbsp; It was like Adam seeing the deil&rsquo;s rear 
marching out of Paradise, if one may be allowed to think such a 
thing.</p>
<p>The whole business, tag-rag and bob-tail, soon, however, 
spunked out, and was the town talk for more than one 
day&mdash;But you&rsquo;ll hear.</p>
<p>At the first I pitied the poor lads, that I thought had fled 
for ever and aye from their native country, to Bengal, 
Seringapatam, Copenhagen, Botany Bay, or Jamaica, leaving behind 
<!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
108</span>them all their friends and old Scotland, as they might 
never hear of the goodness of Providence in their behalf.&nbsp; 
But wait a wee.</p>
<p>Would you believe it?&nbsp; As sure&rsquo;s death, the whole 
was but a wicked trick played by that mischievous loon Blister 
and his cronies, upon one that was a simple and soft-headed 
callant.&nbsp; De&rsquo;il a hait was in the one pistol but a 
pluff of powder; and in the other, a cartridge-paper, full of 
blood, was rammed down upon the charge; the which, hitting 
Magneezhy on the ee-bree, had caused a business that seemed to 
have put him out of life, and nearly put me (though one of the 
volunteers) out of my seven senses.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER XVII.&mdash;MY FIRST AND LAST PLAY.</h2>
<blockquote><p><i>Pla</i>.&nbsp; I&rsquo; faith<br />
I like the audience that frequenteth there<br />
With much applause: a man shall not be chokt<br />
With the stench of garlick, nor be pasted firm<br />
To the barmy jacket of a beer-brewer.<br />
<i>Bra</i>.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a good gentle audience, and I 
hope<br />
The boys will come one day in great request.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jack Drum&rsquo;s 
Entertainment</i>. 1601.</p>
<p>Out cam the gudeman, and laigh he louted;<br />
Out cam the gudewife, and heigh she shouted;<br />
And a the toun-neibours gather&rsquo;d about it;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; And there he lay, I trow.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>The Cauldrife Wooer</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The time of Tammie Bodkin&rsquo;s apprenticeship being nearly 
worn through, it behoved me, as a man attentive to business, and 
the interests of my family, to cast my eyes around me in search 
of a callant to fill his place; as it is customary in our trade 
for young men, when their time is out, taking a year&rsquo;s 
journeymanship in Edinburgh, to perfect them in the more 
intricate branches of the business, and learn the newest manner 
of the French and London fashions, by cutting cloth for the young
advocates, the college <!-- page 109--><a 
name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>students, 
the banking-house clerks, the half-pay ensigns, and the rest of 
the principal tip-top bucks.</p>
<p>Having, though I say it myself, the word of being a canny 
maister, more than one brought their callants to me, on reading 
the bill of &ldquo;An apprentice wanted,&rdquo; pasted on my 
shop-window.</p>
<p>Offering to bind them for the regular time, yet not wishing to
take but one, I thought best not to fix in a hurry, and make 
choice of him that seemed more exactly cut out for my 
purpose.&nbsp; In the course of a few weeks three or four cast 
up, among whom was a laddie of Ben Aits the mealmonger, and a son
of William Burlings the baker; to say little of the callant of 
Saunders Broom the sweep, that would fain have put his 
blackit-looking bit creature with the one eye and the wooden leg 
under my wing; but I aye looked to respectability in these 
matters; so glad was I when I got the offer of Mungo 
Glen.&mdash;But more of this in half a minute.</p>
<p>I must say I was glad of any feasible excuse to make to the 
sweep, to get quit of him and his laddie, the father being a 
drucken ne&rsquo;er-do weel, that I wonder did not fall long ere 
this time of day from some chimney-head, and get his neck 
broken.&nbsp; So I told him at long and last, when he came 
papping into my shop, plaguing me every time he passed, that I 
had fitted myself; and that there would be no need of his taking 
the trouble to call again.&nbsp; Upon which he gave his blacked 
nieve a desperate thump on the counter, making the observation, 
that out of respect for him I might have given his son the 
preference.&nbsp; Though I was a wee puzzled for an answer, I 
said to him for want of a better, that having a timber leg, he 
could not well creuk his hough to the shop-board for our 
trade.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hout, touts,&rdquo; said Saunders, giving his lips a 
smack&mdash;&ldquo;Creuk his hough, ye body you!&nbsp; Do you 
think his timber leg canna screw off?&mdash;That&rsquo;ll no 
pass.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was a little dumfoundered at this cleverness.&nbsp; So I 
said, more on my guard&mdash;&ldquo;True, true, Saunders, but 
he&rsquo;s ower little.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ower little, and be hanged to ye!&rdquo; cried the 
disrespectful follow, wheeling about on his heel, as he grasped 
the sneck of the shop-door, and gave a girn that showed the only 
clean parts <!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 110</span>of his body&mdash;to wit the whites 
of his eyes, and his sharp teeth:&mdash;&ldquo;Ower 
little!&mdash;Pu, pu!&mdash;He&rsquo;s like the 
blackamoor&rsquo;s pig, then, Maister Wauch&mdash;he&rsquo;s like
the blackamoor&rsquo;s pig&mdash;he may be ver&rsquo; leetle, but
he be tam ould;&rdquo; and with this he showed his back, clapping
the door at his tail without wishing a good-day; and I am 
scarcely sorry when I confess, that I never cut cloth for either 
father or son from that hour to this one, the losing of such a 
customer being no great matter at best, and almost clear gain 
compared with saddling myself with a callant with only one eye 
and one leg; the one having fallen a victim to the dregs of the 
measles, and the other having been harled off by a farmer&rsquo;s
threshing-mill.&nbsp; However, I got myself properly 
suited;&mdash;but ye shall hear.</p>
<p>Our neighbour Mrs Grassie, a widow woman, unco intimate with 
our wife, and very attentive to Benjie when he had the 
chin-cough, had a far-away cousin of the name of Glen, that held 
out among the howes of the Lammermoor hills&mdash;a distant part 
of the country, ye observe.&nbsp; Auld Glen, a decent-looking 
body of a creature, had come in with his sheltie about some 
private matters of business&mdash;such as the buying of a horse, 
or something to that effect, where he could best fall in with it,
either at our fair, or the Grassmarket, or such like; so he had 
uppitting, free of expense, from Mrs Grassie, on account of his 
relationship; Glen being second cousin to Mrs Grassie&rsquo;s 
brother&rsquo;s wife, which is deceased.&nbsp; I might, indeed, 
have mentioned, that our neighbour herself had been twice 
married, and had the misery of seeing out both her gudemen; but 
such was the will of fate, and she bore up with perfect 
resignation.</p>
<p>Having made a bit warm dinner ready, for she was a tidy body, 
and knew what was what, she thought she could not do better than 
ask in a reputable neighbour to help her friend to eat it, and 
take a cheerer with him; as, maybe, being a stranger here, he 
would not like to use the freedom of drinking by himself&mdash;a 
custom which is at the best an unsocial one&mdash;especially with
none but women-folk near him; so she did me the honour to make 
choice of me&mdash;though I say it, who should not say 
it;&mdash;and when we got our jug filled for the second time, and
began to grow better acquainted, ye would really wonder to see 
how <!-- page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 111</span>we became merry, and cracked away 
just like two pen-guns.&nbsp; I asked him, ye see, about sheep 
and cows, and corn and hay, and ploughing and threshing, and 
horses and carts, and fallow land, and lambing-time, and 
har&rsquo;st, and making cheese and butter, and selling eggs, and
curing the sturdie, and the snifters, and the batts, and such 
like;&mdash;and he, in his turn, made enquiry regarding broad and
narrow cloth, Kilmarnock cowls, worsted comforters, Shetland 
hose, mittens, leather-caps, stuffing and padding, metal and mule
buttons, thorls, pocket-linings, serge, twist, buckram, shaping 
and sewing, back-splaying, cloth-runds, goosing the labroad, 
botkins, black thread, patent shears, measuring, and all the 
other particulars belonging to our trade, which he said, at long 
and last after we had joked together, was a power better one than
the farming line.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye should make your son ane, then,&rdquo; said I, 
&ldquo;if ye think so.&nbsp; Have ye any bairns?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ve hit the nail on the head,&mdash;&rsquo;Od, 
man, if ye wasna so far away, I would bind our auldest callant to
yoursell, I&rsquo;m sae weel pleased wi&rsquo; your gentlemanly 
manners.&nbsp; But I&rsquo;m speaking havers.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Havers here or havers there, what,&rdquo; said I, 
&ldquo;is to prevent ye boarding him, at a cheap rate, either 
with our friend Mrs Grassie, or with the wife?&nbsp; Either of 
the two would be a sort of mother to him.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Deed I daur say would they,&rdquo; answered 
Maister Glen, stroking his chin, which was gey rough, and had not
got a clean since Sunday, having had four days of sheer 
growth&mdash;our meeting, you will observe by this, being on the 
Thursday afternoon&mdash;&ldquo;&rsquo;Deed would 
they.&mdash;&rsquo;Od, I maun speak to the mistress about 
it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>On the head of this we had another jug, three being cannie, 
after which we were both a wee tozy-mozy; and I daresay Mrs 
Grassie saw plainly that we were getting into a state where we 
would not easily make a halt; so, without letting on, she brought
in the tea-things before us, and showed us a playbill, to tell us
that a company of strolling playactors had come in a body in the 
morning, with a whole cartful of scenery and grand <!-- page 
112--><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
112</span>dresses; and were to make an exhibition at seven 
o&rsquo;clock, at the ransom of a shilling a-head, in Laird 
Wheatley&rsquo;s barn.</p>
<p>Many a time and often had I heard of playacting; and of 
players making themselves kings and queens, and saying a great 
many wonderful things; but I had never before an opportunity of 
making myself a witness to the truth of these hearsays.&nbsp; So 
Maister Glen, being as full of nonsense, and as fain to have his 
curiosity gratified as myself, we took upon us the stout 
resolution to go out together, he offering to treat me; and I 
determined to run the risk of Maister Wiggie, our 
minister&rsquo;s rebuke, for the transgression, hoping it would 
make no lasting impression on his mind, being for the first and 
only time.&nbsp; Folks should not on all occasions be over 
scrupulous.</p>
<p>After paying our money at the door, never, while I live and 
breathe, will I forget what we saw and heard that night; it just 
looks to me, by all the world, when I think on it, like a fairy 
dream.&nbsp; The place was crowded to the full; Maister Glen and 
me having nearly got our ribs dung in before we found a seat, the
folks behind being obliged to mount the back benches to get a 
sight.&nbsp; Right to the forehand of us was a large green 
curtain, some five or six ells wide, a good deal the worse of the
wear, having seen service through two-three summers; and, just in
the front of it, were eight or ten penny candles stuck in a board
fastened to the ground, to let us see the players&rsquo; feet 
like, when they came on the stage&mdash;and even before they came
on the stage&mdash;for the curtain being scrimpit in length, we 
saw legs and sandals moving behind the scenes very neatly; while 
two blind fiddlers they had brought with them played the bonniest
ye ever heard.&nbsp; &rsquo;Od, the very music was worth a 
sixpence of itself.</p>
<p>The place, as I said before, was choke-full, just to excess; 
so that one could scarcely breathe.&nbsp; Indeed, I never saw any
part so crowded, not even at a tent preaching, when the Rev. Mr 
Roarer was giving his discourses on the building of 
Solomon&rsquo;s Temple.&nbsp; We were obligated to have the 
windows opened for a mouthful of fresh air, the barn being as 
close as a baker&rsquo;s oven, my neighbour and me fanning our 
red faces with our hats, to keep us cool; and, though all were 
half stewed, we certainly <!-- page 113--><a 
name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>had the 
worst of it, the toddy we had taken having fermented the blood of
our bodies into a perfect fever.</p>
<p>Just at the time that the two blind fiddlers were playing the 
Downfall of Paris, a handbell rang, and up goes the green 
curtain; being hauled to the ceiling, as I observed with the tail
of my eye, by a birkie at the side, that had hold of a 
rope.&nbsp; So, on the music stopping, and all becoming as still 
as that you might have heard a pin fall, in comes a decent old 
gentleman at his leisure, well powdered, with an old-fashioned 
coat on, waistcoat with flap-pockets, brown breeches with buckles
at the knees, and silk stockings with red gushats on a blue 
ground.&nbsp; I never saw a man in such distress; he stamped 
about, and better stamped about, dadding the end of his staff on 
the ground, and imploring all the powers of heaven and earth to 
help him to find out his runaway daughter, that had decamped with
some ne&rsquo;er-do-weel loon of a half-pay captain, that keppit 
her in his arms from her bedroom-window, up two pair of 
stairs.</p>
<p>Every father and head of a family must have felt for a man in 
his situation, thus to be robbed of his dear bairn, and an only 
daughter too, as he told us over and over again, as the salt, 
salt tears ran gushing down his withered face, and he aye blew 
his nose on his clean calendered pocket-napkin.&nbsp; But, ye 
know, the thing was absurd to suppose that we should know any 
inkling about the matter, having never seen him or his daughter 
between the een before, and not kenning them by headmark; so, 
though we sympathized with him, as folks ought to do with a 
fellow-creature in affliction, we thought it best to hold our 
tongues, to see what might cast up better than he expected.&nbsp;
So out he went stumping at the other side, determined, he said, 
to find them out, though he should follow them to the 
world&rsquo;s end, Johnny Groat&rsquo;s House, or something to 
that effect.</p>
<p>Hardly was his back turned, and almost before ye could cry 
Jack Robison, in comes the birkie and the very young lady the old
gentleman described, arm-and-arm together, smoodging and laughing
like daft.&nbsp; Dog on it! it was a shameless piece of 
business.&nbsp; As true as death, before all the crowd of folk, 
he <!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
114</span>put his arm round her waist, and called her his 
sweetheart, and love, and dearie, and darling, and every thing 
that is fine.&nbsp; If they had been courting in a close together
on a Friday night, they could not have said more to one another, 
or gone greater lengths.&nbsp; I thought such shame to be an 
eyewitness to sic ongoings, that I was obliged at last to hold up
my hat before my face, and look down; though, for all that, the 
young lad, to be such a blackguard as his conduct showed, was 
well enough faured, and had a good coat to his back, with double 
gilt buttons and fashionable lapells, to say little of a very 
well-made pair of buckskins, a thought the worse of the wear to 
be sure, but which, if they had been well cleaned, would have 
looked almost as good as new.&nbsp; How they had come we never 
could learn, as we neither saw chaise nor gig; but, from his 
having spurs on his boots, it is more than likely that they had 
lighted at the back-door of the barn from a horse, she riding on 
a pad behind him, maybe, with her hand round his waist.</p>
<p>The father looked to be a rich old bool, both from his manner 
of speaking, and the rewards he seemed to offer for the 
apprehension of his daughter; but to be sure, when so many of us 
were present that had an equal right to the spuilzie, it would 
not be a great deal a thousand pounds, when divided, still it was
worth the looking after; so we just bidit a wee.</p>
<p>Things were brought to a bearing, howsoever, sooner than 
either themselves, I daresay, or anybody else present, seemed to 
have the least glimpse of; for, just in the middle of their fine 
goings-on, the sound of a coming foot was heard, and the lassie, 
taking guilt to her, cried out, &ldquo;Hide me, hide me, for the 
sake of goodness, for yonder comes my old father!&rdquo;</p>
<p>No sooner said than done.&nbsp; In he stappit her into a 
closet; and, after shutting the door on her, he sat down upon a 
chair, pretending to be asleep in the twinkling of a 
walking-stick.&nbsp; The old father came bouncing in, and seeing 
the fellow as sound as a top, he ran forward and gave him such a 
shake as if he would have shooken him all sundry; which soon made
him open his eyes as fast as he had steeked them.&nbsp; After 
blackguarding the chield at no allowance, cursing him up hill and
down dale, and calling him every name but a gentleman, he held 
his <!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 115</span>staff over his crown, and gripping 
him by the cuff of the neck, asked him, in a fierce tone, what he
had made of his daughter.&nbsp; Never since I was born did I ever
see such brazenfaced impudence!&nbsp; The rascal had the brass to
say at once, that he had not seen word or wittens of the lassie 
for a month, though more than a hundred folk sitting in his 
company had beheld him dauting her with his arm round her jimpy 
waist, not five minutes before.&nbsp; As a man, as a father, as 
an elder of our kirk, my corruption was raised, for I aye hated 
lying as a poor cowardly sin, and an inbreak on the ten 
commandments; and I found my neighbour, Mr Glen, fidgeting on the
seat as well as me; so I thought, that whoever spoke first would 
have the best right to be entitled to the reward; whereupon, just
as he was in the act of rising up, I took the word out of his 
mouth, saying, &ldquo;Dinna believe him, auld 
gentleman&mdash;dinna believe him, friend; he&rsquo;s telling a 
parcel of lees.&nbsp; Never saw her for a month!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
no worth arguing, or calling witnesses; just open that 
press-door, and ye&rsquo;ll see whether I&rsquo;m speaking truth 
or not!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The old man stared, and looked dumfoundered; and the young 
one, instead of running forward with his double nieves to strike 
me, the only thing I was feared for, began a-laughing, as if I 
had done him a good turn.&nbsp; But never since I had a being, 
did I ever witness such an uproar and noise as immediately took 
place.&nbsp; The whole house was so glad that the scoundrel had 
been exposed, that they set up siccan a roar of laughter, and 
thumped away at siccan a rate at the boards with their feet, that
at long and last, with pushing and fidgeting, clapping their 
hands, and holding their sides, down fell the place they call the
gallery; all the folk in&rsquo;t being hurl&rsquo;d topsy-turvy, 
head foremost among the saw-dust on the floor below; their 
guffawing soon being turned to howling, each one crying louder 
than another at the top note of their voices, &ldquo;Murder! 
murder! hold off me; murder! my ribs are in; murder!&nbsp; 
I&rsquo;m killed&mdash;I&rsquo;m speechless!&rdquo; and other 
lamentations to that effect; so that a rush to the door took 
place, in the which every thing was overturned&mdash;the 
doorkeeper being wheeled away like wildfire&mdash;the furms 
stramped to pieces&mdash;the lights knocked out&mdash;and the two
blind fiddlers dung head foremost over the stage, the bass fiddle
cracking like thunder <!-- page 116--><a name="page116"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 116</span>at every bruise.&nbsp; Such tearing,
and swearing, and tumbling, and squealing, was never witnessed in
the memory of man since the building of Babel: legs being likely 
to be broken, sides staved in, eyes knocked out, and lives 
lost&mdash;there being only one door, and that a small one; so 
that, when we had been carried off our feet that length, my wind 
was fairly gone, and a sick dwalm came over me, lights of all 
manner of colours, red, blue, green, and orange, dancing before 
me, that entirely deprived me of common sense; till, on opening 
my eyes in the dark, I found myself leaning with my broadside 
against the wall on the opposite side of the close.&nbsp; It was 
some time before I minded what had happened; so, dreading skaith,
I found first the one arm, and then the other, to see if they 
were broken&mdash;syne my head&mdash;and finally both of my legs;
but all, as well as I could discover, was skin-whole and 
scart-free.&nbsp; On perceiving this, my joy was without bounds, 
having a great notion that I had been killed on the spot.&nbsp; 
So I reached round my hand, very thankfully, to take out my 
pocket-napkin, to give my brow a wipe, when lo, and behold! the 
tail of my Sunday&rsquo;s coat was fairly off and away, docked by
the hainch buttons.</p>
<p>So much for plays and playactors&mdash;the first and last, I 
trust in grace, that I shall ever see.&nbsp; But indeed I could 
expect no better, after the warning that Maister Wiggie had more 
than once given us from the pulpit on the subject.&nbsp; Instead,
therefore, of getting my grand reward for finding the old 
man&rsquo;s daughter, the whole covey of them, no better than a 
set of swindlers, took leg-bail, and made that very night a 
moonlight flitting, and Johnny Hammer, honest man, that had 
wrought from sunrise to sunset for two days, fitting up their 
place by contract, instead of being well paid for his trouble, as
he deserved, got nothing left him but a ruckle of his own good 
deals, all dung to shivers.</p>
<h2><!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 117</span>CHAPTER XVIII.&mdash;THE 
BARLEY-FEVER&mdash;AND REBUKE.</h2>
<blockquote><p>Sages their solemn een may steek,<br />
And raise a philosophic reek,<br />
And, physically, causes seek,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; In clime and season;<br />
But tell me <i>Whisky&rsquo;s</i> name in Greek,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll tell the reason.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Burns</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On the morning after the business of the playhouse had 
happened, I had to take my breakfast in my bed, a thing very 
uncommon to me, being generally up by cock-craw, except on Sunday
mornings whiles, when each one, according to the bidding of the 
Fourth Commandment, has a license to do as he likes; having a 
desperate sore head, and a squeamishness at the stomach, 
occasioned, I jealouse in a great measure, from what Mr Glen and 
me had discussed at Widow Grassie&rsquo;s, in the shape of warm 
toddy, over our cracks concerning what is called the agricultural
and manufacturing interests.&nbsp; So our wife, poor body, put a 
thimbleful of brandy, Thomas Mixem&rsquo;s real, into my first 
cup of tea, which had a wonderful virtue in putting all things to
rights; so that I was up and had shaped a pair of lady&rsquo;s 
corsets, an article in which I sometimes dealt, before ten 
o&rsquo;clock, though, the morning being rather cold, I did not 
dispense with my Kilmarnock.</p>
<p>At eleven in the forenoon, or thereabouts, maybe five minutes 
before or after, but no matter, in comes my crony Maister Glen, 
rather dazed-like about the een; and with a large piece of white 
sticking-plaister, about half a nail wide, across one of his 
cheeks, and over the bridge of his nose; giving him a wauf, 
outlandish, and rather blackguard sort of appearance; so that I 
was a thought uneasy at what neighbours might surmise concerning 
our intimacy; but the honest man accounted for the thing in a 
very feasible manner, from the falling down on that side of his 
<!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
118</span>head of one of the brass candlesticks, while he was 
lying on his broadside before one of the furms in the 
stramash.</p>
<p>His purpose of calling was to tell me, that he could not leave
the town without looking in upon me to bid me farewell; more 
betoken, as he intended sending in his son Mungo by the carrier 
for trial, to see how the line of life pleased him, and how I 
thought he would answer&mdash;a thing which I was glad came from 
his side of the house, being likely to be in the upshot the best 
for both parties.&nbsp; Yet I thought he would find our way of 
doing so canny and comfortable, that it was not very likely he 
could ever start objections; and I must confess, that I looked 
forward with no small degree of pride, seeing the probability of 
my soon having the son of a Lammermoor farmer sitting 
crosslegged, cheek for jowl with me on the board, and bound to 
serve me at all lawful times, by night and day, by a regular 
indenture of five years.&nbsp; Maister Glen insisted on the 
laddie having a three months&rsquo; trial; and then, after a 
trifling show of standing out, just to make him aware that I 
could be elsewhere fitted if I had a mind, I agreed that the 
request was reasonable, and that I had no earthly objections to 
conforming with it.&nbsp; So, after giving him his meridian and a
bite of shortbread, we shook hands, and parted in the 
understanding that his son would arrive on the top of limping 
Jamie the carrier&rsquo;s cart, in the course, say, of a 
fortnight.</p>
<p>Through the whole of the forepart of the day, I remained 
rather queerish, as if something was working about my inwards, 
and a droll pain between my eyes.&nbsp; The wife saw the case I 
was in, and advised me, for the sake of the fresh air, to take a 
step into the bit garden, and try a hand at the spade, the smell 
of the new earth being likely to operate as a cordial; but 
no&mdash;it would not do; and when I came in at one o&rsquo;clock
to my dinner, the steam of the fresh broth, instead of making me 
feel, as usual, as hungry as a hawk, was like to turn my stomach,
while the sight of the sheep&rsquo;s head, one of the primest 
ones I had seen the whole season, looked, by all the world, like 
the head of a boiled blackamoor, and made me as sick as a dog; so
I could do nothing but take a turn out again, and swig away at 
the small beer, that never seemed able to slocken my 
drouth.&nbsp; At long and last, I <!-- page 119--><a 
name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>minded 
having heard Andrew Redbeak, the excise-officer, say, that 
nothing ever put him right after a debosh except something they 
call a bottle of soda-water; so my wife dispatched Benjie to the 
place where we knew it could be found, and he returned in a 
jiffie with a thing like a blacking-bottle below his daidly, as 
he was bidden.&nbsp; There being a wire over the cork for some 
purpose or other, or maybe just to look neat, we had some fight 
to get it torn away, but at last we succeeded.&nbsp; I had turned
about for a jug, and the wife was rummaging for the screw, while 
Benjie was fiddling away with his fingers at the cork&mdash;Save 
us! all at once it gave a thud like thunder, driving the cork 
over poor Benjie&rsquo;s head, while it squirted there-up in his 
eyes like a fire-engine, and I had only just time to throw down 
the jug, and up with the bottle to my mouth.&nbsp; Luckily, for 
the sixpence it cost, there was a drop left, which tasted, by all
the world, just like brisk dish-washings; but for all that, it 
had a wonderful power of setting me to rights; and my noddle in a
while began to clear up, like a March-day after a heavy 
shower.</p>
<p>I mind very well too, on the afternoon of the dividual same 
day, that my door-neighbour, Thomas Burlings, popped in; and, in 
our two-handed crack over the counter, after asking me in a dry, 
curious way, if I had come by no skaith in the business of the 
play, he said, the thing had now spread far and wide, and was 
making a great noise in the world.&nbsp; I thought the body a wee
sharp in his observes; so I pretended to take it quite lightly, 
proceeding in my shaping-out a pair of buckskin breeches, which I
was making for one of the Duke&rsquo;s huntsmen; so seeing he was
off the scent, he said in a more jocose way&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, speaking about buckskins, I&rsquo;ll tell ye a 
good story about that.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let us hear&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said I; for I was in that 
sort of queerish way, that I did not care much about being very 
busy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;se get it as I heard it,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; 
Thomas; &ldquo;and it&rsquo;s no less worth telling, that it 
bears a good moral application in its tail; after the same 
fashion that a blister does good by sucking away the vicious 
humours of the body, thereby making the very pain it gives 
precious.&rdquo;&nbsp; And here&mdash;though maybe it was just my
thought&mdash;the body stroked his chin, and gave me a kind of 
half gley, <!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 120</span>as much as saying, &ldquo;take that 
to ye, neighbour.&rdquo;&nbsp; But I deserved it all, and could 
not take it ill off his hand; being, like myself, one of the 
elders of our kirk, and an honest enough, precise-speaking 
man.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye see, ye ken,&rdquo; said Thomas, &ldquo;that the 
Breadalbane Fencibles, a wheen Highland birkies, were put into 
camp at Fisherrow links, maybe for the benefit of their douking, 
on account of the fiddle <a name="citation120"></a><a 
href="#footnote120" class="citation">[120]</a>&mdash;or maybe in 
case the French should land at the water-mouth&mdash;or maybe to 
give the regiment the benefit of the sea air&mdash;or maybe to 
make their bare houghs hardier, for it was the winter time, frost
and snaw being as plenty as ye like, and no sae scarce as 
pantaloons among the core&mdash;or for some ither reason, guid, 
bad, or indifferent, which disna muckle matter; but ye see the 
lang and the short o&rsquo; the story is, that there they were 
encamped, man and mother&rsquo;s son of them, going through their
dreels by day, and sleeping by night&mdash;the privates in their 
tents, and the offishers in their marquees, living in the course 
of nature on their usual rations of beef, and tammies, and so 
on.&nbsp; So, ye understand me, there was nae such smart ordering
of things in the army in those days, the men not having the beef 
served out to them by a butcher, supplying each company or 
companies by a written contract, drawn up between him and the 
paymaster before &rsquo;sponsible witnesses; but ilka ane 
bringing what pleased him, either tripe, trotters, steaks, 
cow&rsquo;s-cheek, pluck, hough, spar-rib, jigget, or so 
forth.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Od!&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;Thomas, ye crack like 
a minister.&nbsp; Where did ye happen to pick up all that 
knowledge?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Where should I have got it, but from an auld half-pay 
sergeant-major, that lived in our spare room, and had been out in
the American war, having seen a power of service, and been twice 
wounded, once in the aff-cuit, and the other time in the cuff of 
the neck.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I thought as muckle,&rdquo; said I&mdash;&ldquo;Weel, 
say on, man, it&rsquo;s unco entertaining.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel,&rdquo; continued he, &ldquo;let me see where I 
was at when ye stoppit me; for maybe I&rsquo;ll hae to begin at 
the beginning again.&nbsp; <!-- page 121--><a 
name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>For gif ye 
yinterrupt me, or edge in a word, or put me out by asking 
questions, I lose the thread of my discourse, and canna 
proceed.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ou, let me see,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;ye was about the 
contract concerning the beef.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Preceesely,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; Thomas, stretching out 
his fore-finger&mdash;&ldquo;ye&rsquo;ve said it to a hair.&nbsp;
At that time, as I was observing, the butcher didna supply a 
company or companies, according to the terms of a contract, drawn
up before &rsquo;sponsible witnesses, between him and the 
paymaster; but the soldiers got beef-money along with their pay; 
with which said money, given them, ye observe, for said purpose, 
they were bound and obligated, in terms of the statute, to buy, 
purchase, and provide the said beef, twice a-week or oftener, as 
it might happen; an orderly offisher making inspection of the 
camp-kettles regularly every forenoon, at one o&rsquo;clock or 
thereabouts.</p>
<p>&ldquo;So, as ye&rsquo;ll pay attention to observe, there was 
a private in Captain M&lsquo;Tavish&rsquo;s company, the second 
to the left of the centre, of the name of Duncan MacAlpine, a 
wee, hardy, blackaviced, in-knee&rsquo;d creature, remarkable for
nothing that ever I heard tell of, except being reported to have 
shotten a gauger in Badenough, or thereabouts; and for having a 
desperate red nose, the effects, ye observe, of drinking 
spirituous liquors; ye observe, I daur say, what I am 
saying&mdash;the effects of drinking malt speerits.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel, week after week passed over, and better passed 
over, and Duncan played aff his tricks, like anither Herman Boaz,
the slight-o&rsquo;-hand juggler, him that&rsquo;s suspeckit to 
be in league and paction with the de&rsquo;il.&nbsp; But 
ye&rsquo;ll hear.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Od, it&rsquo;s diverting, Thomas,&rdquo; said I 
to him; &ldquo;gang on, man.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel, ye see, as I was observing&mdash;Let me see, 
where was I at?&mdash;Ou ay, having a paction with the 
de&rsquo;il.&nbsp; So, when all were watching beside the 
camp-kettles, some stirring them with spurtles, or 
parritch-sticks, or forks, or whatever was necessary, the orderly
offisher made a point and practice of regularly coming by, about 
the chap of one past meridian, as I observed to ye before, to 
make inspection of what ilka ane had wared his pay on, and what 
he had got simmering in the het water for his dinner.</p>
<p><!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
122</span>&ldquo;So, on the day concerning which I am about to 
speak, it fell out, as usual, that he happened to be making his 
rounds, halting a moment, or twa maybe, before ilka pot; the man 
that had the charge thereof, by the way of stirring like, 
clapping down his lang fork, and bringing up the piece of meat, 
or whatever he happened to be making kail of, to let the 
inspector see whether it was lamb, pork, beef, mutton, or 
veal.&nbsp; For, ye observe,&rdquo; continued Thomas, giving me, 
as I took it to myself, another queer side-look, &ldquo;the 
purpose of the offisher making the inspection, was to see that 
they laid out their pay-money conform to military regulation; and
not to fyling their stamicks, and ruining baith sowl and body, by
throwing it away on whisky&mdash;as but ower mony, that aiblins 
should have kenned better, have dune but too often.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis but ower true,&rdquo; said I till him; 
&ldquo;but the best will fa&rsquo; intil a faut sometimes.&nbsp; 
We have a&rsquo; our failings, Thomas.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Just so,&rdquo; answered Thomas; &ldquo;but where was I
at?&mdash;Ou, about the whisky.&nbsp; Weel, speaking about the 
whisky, ye see the offisher, Lovetenant Todrick I b&rsquo;lief 
they called him, had made an observe about Duncan&rsquo;s kettle;
so, when he came to him, Duncan was sitting in the lown side of a
dyke, with his red nose, and a pipe in his cheek, on a big stane,
glowring frae him anither way; and, as I was saying, when he came
to him he said,</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Weel, Duncan MacAlpine, what have ye in your 
kettle the day, man?&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And Duncan, rinning down his lang fork, answered in his
ain Highland brogue way&mdash;&lsquo;Please your honours, just my
auld favourite, tripe.&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Deed, Duncan,&rsquo; said Lovetenant Todrick, or
whatever they caa&rsquo;d him, &lsquo;it is an auld favourite 
surely, for I have never seen ye have onything else for your 
dinner, man.&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Every man to his taste, please your 
honour,&rsquo; answered Duncan MacAlpine; &lsquo;let ilka ane 
please her nain sell,&rsquo;&mdash;hauling up a screed half a 
yard lang.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ilka man to his taste, please your 
honour, Lovetenant Todrick.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Od, man,&rdquo; said I to him, &ldquo;&rsquo;Od,
man, ye&rsquo;re a deacon at telling a story.&nbsp; Ye&rsquo;re a
queer hand.&nbsp; Weel, what came next?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What think ye should come next?&rdquo; quo&rsquo; 
Thomas drily.</p>
<p><!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
123</span>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I dinna ken,&rdquo; answered 
I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell&mdash;but 
where was I at?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ou, at the observe of Lovetenant Todrick, or what they 
caa&rsquo;d him, about the tripe; and the answer of Duncan 
MacAlpine on that head, &lsquo;That ilka man has his ain 
taste.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Vera true,&rsquo; said Lovetenant Todrick, 
&lsquo;but lift it out a&rsquo;thegither on that dish, till I get
my specs on; for never since I was born, did I ever see before 
boiled tripe with buttons and button-holes 
intill&rsquo;t.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p>At this I set up a loud laughing, which I could not help, 
though it was like to split my sides; but Thomas Burlings bade me
whisht till I heard him out.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Buttons and button-holes!&rsquo; quo&rsquo; 
Duncan MacAlpine.&nbsp; &lsquo;Look again, wi&rsquo; yer specs; 
for ye&rsquo;re surely wrang, Lovetenant Todrick.&rsquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Buttons and button-holes! and &rsquo;deed I am 
surely right, Duncan,&rsquo; answered the Lovetenant Todrick, 
taking his specs deliberately off the brig o&rsquo; his nose, and
faulding them thegither, as he put them first into his shagreen 
case, and syne into his pocket&mdash;&lsquo;Howsomever, Duncan 
MacAlpine, I&rsquo;ll pass ye ower for this time, gif ye take my 
warning, and for the future ware your pay-money on wholesome 
butcher&rsquo;s meat, like a Christian, and no be trying to 
delude your ain stamick, and your offisher&rsquo;s een, by 
holding up, on a fork, such a heathenish mak-up for a dish, as 
the leg of a pair o&rsquo; buckskin breeches!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Buckskin breeches!&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;and did he 
really and actually boil siccan trash to his dinner?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Nae sae far south as that yet, friend,&rdquo; answered 
Thomas.&nbsp; &ldquo;Duncan was not so bowed in the intellect as 
ye imagine, and had some spice of cleverality about his queer 
man&oelig;uvres.&mdash;Eat siccan trash to his dinner!&nbsp; Nae 
mair, Mansie, than ye intend to eat that iron guse ye&rsquo;re 
rinning along that piece claith; but he wanted to make his 
offishers believe that his pay gaed the right way: like the 
Pharisees of old that keepit praying, in ell-lang faces, about 
the corners of the streets, and gaed hame wi&rsquo; hearts full 
of wickedness and a&rsquo; manner of cheatrie.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And what way did his pay gang, then?&rdquo; asked I; 
&ldquo;and how did he live?&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 124--><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
124</span>&ldquo;I telled ye before, frien,&rdquo; answered 
Thomas, &ldquo;that he was a deboshed creature; and, like ower 
mony in the world, likit weel what didna do him ony good.&nbsp; 
It&rsquo;s a wearyfu&rsquo; thing that whisky.&nbsp; I wish it 
could be banished to Botany Bay.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is that,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;Muckle and nae 
little sin does it breed and produce in this world.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad,&rdquo; quoth Thomas, stroking down his 
chin in a slee way, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad the guilty should see 
the folly o&rsquo; their ain ways; it&rsquo;s the first step, ye 
ken, till amendment;&mdash;and indeed I tell&rsquo;t Maister 
Wiggie, when he sent me here, that I could almost become guid for
your being mair wary of your conduct for the future time to 
come.&rdquo;</p>
<p>This was like a thunder-clap to me, and I did not know for a 
jiffie what to feel, think, or do, more than perceiving that it 
was a piece of devilish cruelty on their parts, taking things on 
this strict.&nbsp; As for myself, I could freely take sacred oath
on the Book, that I had not had a dram in my head for four months
before; the knowledge of which made my corruption rise like 
lightning, as a man is aye brave when he is innocent; so, giving 
my pow a bit scart, I said briskly, &ldquo;So ye&rsquo;re after 
some session business in this visit, are ye?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ve just guessed it,&rdquo; answered Thomas 
Burlings, sleeking down his front hair with his fingers in a 
sober way; &ldquo;we had a meeting this forenoon; and it was 
resolved ye should stand a public rebuke in the meeting-house on 
Sunday next.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hang me, if I do!&rdquo; answered I, thumping my nieve 
down with all my might on the counter, and throwing back my cowl 
behind me into a corner.&nbsp; &ldquo;No, man!&rdquo; added I, 
snapping with great pith my finger and thumb in.&nbsp; 
Thomas&rsquo;s eyes, &ldquo;not for all the ministers and elders 
that ever were cleckit!&nbsp; They may do their best; and ye may 
tell them so, if ye like.&nbsp; I was born a free man; I live in 
a free country; I am the subject of a free king and constitution;
and I&rsquo;ll be shot before I submit to such rank, diabolical 
papistry.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hooly and fairly,&rdquo; quoth Thomas, staring a wee 
astonished like, and not a little surprised to see my birse up in
this manner; for, when he thought upon shearing a lamb, he found 
he had <!-- page 125--><a name="page125"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 125</span>catched a tartar; so, calming down 
as fast as ye like, he said, &ldquo;Hooly and fairly, 
Mansie,&rdquo; (or Maister Wauch, I believe, he did me the honour
to call me,) &ldquo;they&rsquo;ll maybe no be sae hard as they 
threaten.&nbsp; But ye ken, my friend, I&rsquo;m speaking to ye 
as a brither; it was an unco-like business for an elder, not only
to gang till a play, which is ane of the deevil&rsquo;s 
rendevouses, but to gang there in a state of liquor: making 
yoursell a world&rsquo;s wonder&mdash;and you an elder of our 
kirk!!&nbsp; I put the question to yourself soberly.&rdquo;</p>
<p>His threatening I could despise, and could have fought, 
cuffed, and kicked with all the ministers and elders of the 
General Assembly, to say nothing of the Relief Synod and the 
Burgher Union, before I would have demeaned myself to yield to 
what my inward spirit plainly told me to be rank cruelty and 
injustice; but ah! his calm, brotherly, flattering way I could 
not thole with, and the tears came rapping into my eyes, faster 
than it cared my manhood to let be seen; so I said till him, 
&ldquo;Weel, weel, Thomas, I ken I have done wrong; and I am 
sorry for&rsquo;t: they&rsquo;ll never find me in siccan a scrape
again.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Thomas Burlings then came forward in a friendly way, and shook
hands with me; telling that he would go back and plead before 
them in my behalf.&nbsp; He said this over again, as we parted, 
at my shop-door; and, to do him justice, surely he had not been 
worse than his word, for I have aye attended the kirk as usual, 
standing, when it came to my rotation, at the plate, and nobody, 
gentle or semple, ever spoke to me on the subject of the 
playhouse, or minted the matter of the Rebuke from that day to 
this.</p>
<h2><!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 126</span>CHAPTER XIX.&mdash;THE AWFUL 
NIGHT.</h2>
<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ha!&mdash;&rsquo;twas but a 
dream;<br />
But then so terrible, it shakes my soul!<br />
Cold drops of sweat hang on my trembling flesh;<br />
My blood grows chilly, and I freeze with horror.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Richard the Third</i>.</p>
<p>The Fire-king one day rather amorous felt;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; He mounted his hot copper filly;<br />
His breeches and boots were of tin, and the belt<br />
Was made of cast-iron, for fear it should melt<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; With the heat of the copper colt&rsquo;s belly.</p>
<p>Oh! then there was glitter and fire in each eye,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; For two living coals were the symbols;<br />
His teeth were calcined, and his tongue was so dry,<br />
It rattled against them as though you should try<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To play the piano on thimbles.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Rejected Addresses</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the course of a fortnight from the time I parted with 
Maister Glen, the Lauder carrier, limping Jamie, brought his 
callant to our shop-door in his hand.&nbsp; He was a tall slender
laddie, some fourteen years old, and sore grown away from his 
clothes.&nbsp; There was something genty and delicate-like about 
him, having a pale sharp face, blue eyes, a nose like a 
hawk&rsquo;s, and long yellow hair hanging about his haffets, as 
if barbers were unco scarce cattle among the howes of the 
Lammermoor hills.&nbsp; Having a general experience of human 
nature, I saw that I would have something to do towards bringing 
him into a state of rational civilization; but, considering his 
opportunities, he had been well educated, and I liked his 
appearance on the whole not that ill.</p>
<p>To divert him a while, as I did not intend yoking him to work 
the first day, I sent out Benjie with him, after giving him some 
refreshment of bread and milk, to let him see the town and all 
the uncos about it.&nbsp; I told Benjie first to take him to the 
auld kirk, which is one wonderful building, steeple and aisle; 
and as <!-- page 127--><a name="page127"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 127</span>for mason-work, far before any thing
to be seen or heard tell of in our day; syne to Lugton brig, 
which is one grand affair, hanging over the river Esk and the 
flour-mills like a rainbow&mdash;syne to the Tolbooth, which is a
terror to evil-doers, and from which the Lord preserve us 
all!&mdash;syne to the Market, where ye&rsquo;ll see lamb, beef, 
mutton, and veal, hanging up on cleeks, in roasting and boiling 
pieces&mdash;spar-rib, jigget, shoulder, and heuk-bane, in the 
greatest prodigality of abundance;&mdash;and syne down to the 
Duke&rsquo;s gate, by looking through the bonny white-painted 
iron-stanchels of which, ye&rsquo;ll see the deer running beneath
the green trees; and the palace itself, in the inside of which 
dwells one that needs not be proud to call the king his 
cousin.</p>
<p>Brawly did I know, that it is a little after a laddie&rsquo;s 
being loosed from his mother&rsquo;s apron-string, and hurried 
from home, till the mind can make itself up to stay among fremit 
folk; or that the attention can be roused to any thing said or 
done, however simple in the uptake.&nbsp; So, after Benjie 
brought Mungo home again, gey forfaughten and wearied-out like, I
bade the wife gave him his four-hours, and told him he might go 
to his bed as soon as he liked.&nbsp; Jealousing also, at the 
same time, that creatures brought up in the country have strange 
notions about them with respect to supernaturals&mdash;such as 
ghosts, brownies, fairies, and bogles&mdash;to say nothing of 
witches, warlocks, and evil-spirits, I made Benjie take off his 
clothes and lie down beside him, as I said, to keep him warm; 
but, in plain matter of fact, (between friends,) that the callant
might sleep sounder, finding himself in a strange bed, and not 
very sure as to how the house stood as to the matter of a good 
name.</p>
<p>Knowing by my own common sense, and from long experience of 
the ways of a wicked world, that there is nothing like industry, 
I went to Mungo&rsquo;s bedside in the morning, and wakened him 
betimes.&nbsp; Indeed, I&rsquo;m leeing there&mdash;I need not 
call it wakening him&mdash;for Benjie told me, when he was 
supping his parritch out of his luggie at breakfast-time, that he
never winked an eye all night, and that sometimes he heard him 
greeting to himself in the dark&mdash;such and so powerful is our
love of home and the force of natural affection.&nbsp; Howsoever,
as I was saying, I took him ben the house with me down to the 
<!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
128</span>workshop, where I had begun to cut out a pair of 
nankeen trowsers for a young lad that was to be married the week 
after to a servant-maid of Maister Wiggie&rsquo;s,&mdash;a trig 
quean, that afterwards made him a good wife, and the father of a 
numerous small family.</p>
<p>Speaking of nankeen, I would advise every one, as a friend, to
buy the Indian, and not the British kind&mdash;the expense of 
outlay being ill hained, even at sixpence a-yard&mdash;the latter
not standing the washing, but making a man&rsquo;s legs, at a 
distance, look like a yellow yorline.</p>
<p>It behoved me now as a maister, bent on the improvement of his
prentice, to commence learning Mungo some few of the mysteries of
our trade; so having showed him the way to crock his hough, 
(example is better than precept, as James Batter observes,) I 
taught him the plan of holding the needle; and having fitted his 
middle-finger with a bottomless thimble of our own sort, I set 
him to sewing the cotton-lining into one leg, knowing that it was
a part not very particular, and not very likely to be seen; so 
that the matter was not great, whether the stitching was exactly 
regular, or rather in the zigzag line.&nbsp; As is customary with
all new beginners, he made a desperate awkward hand at it, and of
which I would of course have said nothing, but that he chanced to
brog his thumb, and completely soiled the whole piece of work 
with the stains of blood; which, for one thing, could not wash 
out without being seen; and, for another, was an unlucky omen to 
happen to a marriage garment.</p>
<p>Every man should be on his guard: this was a lesson I learned 
when I was in the volunteers, at the time Buonaparte was expected
to land down at Dunbar.&nbsp; Luckily for me in this case, I had,
by some foolish mistake or another, made an allowance of a half 
yard, over and above what I found I could manage to shape on; so 
I boldly made up my mind to cut out the piece altogether, it 
being in the back seam.&nbsp; In that business I trust I showed 
the art of a good tradesman, having managed to do it so neatly 
that it could not be noticed without the narrowest inspection; 
and having the advantage of a covering by the coat-flaps, had 
indeed no chance of being so, except on desperately windy 
days.</p>
<p><!-- page 129--><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
129</span>In the week succeeding that on which this unlucky 
mischance happened, an accident almost as bad befell, though not 
to me, further than that every one is bound by the Ten 
Commandments, to say nothing of his own conscience, to take a 
part in the afflictions that befall their door-neighbours.</p>
<p>When the voice of man was wheisht, and all was sunk in the 
sound sleep of midnight, it chanced that I was busy dreaming that
I was sitting one of the spectators, looking at another 
play-acting piece of business.&nbsp; Before coming this length, 
howsoever, I should by right have observed, that ere going to bed
I had eaten for my supper part of a black pudding, and two 
sausages, that Widow Grassie had sent in a compliment to my wife,
being a genteel woman, and mindful of her friends&mdash;so that I
must have had some sort of nightmare, and not been exactly in my 
seven senses&mdash;else I could not have been even dreaming of 
siccan a place.&nbsp; Well, as I was saying, in the playhouse I 
thought I was; and all at once I heard Maister Wiggie, like one 
crying in the wilderness, hallooing with a loud voice through the
window, bidding me flee from the snares, traps, and gin-nets of 
the Evil One; and from the terrors of the wrath to come.&nbsp; I 
was in a terrible funk; and just as I was trying to rise from the
seat, that seemed somehow glued to my body, and would not let me,
to reach down my hat, which, with its glazed cover, was hanging 
on a pin to one side, my face all red, and glowing like a fiery 
furnace, for shame of being a second time caught in deadly sin, I
heard the kirk bell jow-jowing, as if it was the last trump 
summoning sinners to their long and black account; and Maister 
Wiggie thrust in his arm in his desperation, in a whirlwind of 
passion, claughting hold of my hand like a vice, to drag me out 
head-foremost.&nbsp; Even in my sleep, howsoever, it appears that
I like free-will, and ken that there are no slaves in our blessed
country; so I tried with all my might to pull against him, and 
gave his arm such a drive back, that he seemed to bleach over on 
his side, and raised a hullaballoo of a yell, that not only 
wakened me, but made me start upright in my bed.</p>
<p>For all the world such a scene!&nbsp; My wife was roaring 
&ldquo;Murder, murder!&mdash;Mansie Wauch, will ye no 
wauken?&mdash;<!-- page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 130</span>Murder, murder! ye&rsquo;ve felled 
me wi&rsquo; your nieve,&mdash;ye&rsquo;ve felled me 
outright,&mdash;I&rsquo;m gone for evermair,&mdash;my haill teeth
are doun my throat.&nbsp; Will ye no wauken, Mansie 
Wauch?&mdash;will ye no wauken?&mdash;Murder, murder!&mdash;I say
murder, murder, murder, murder!!!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s murdering us?&rdquo; cried I, throwing my 
cowl back on the pillow, and rubbing my eyes in the hurry of a 
tremendous fright.&mdash;&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s murdering 
us?&mdash;where&rsquo;s the robbers?&mdash;send for the 
town-officer!!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;O Mansie!&mdash;O Mansie!&rdquo; said Nanse, in a kind 
of greeting tone, &ldquo;I daursay ye&rsquo;ve felled 
me&mdash;but no matter, now I&rsquo;ve gotten ye roused.&nbsp; Do
ye no see the haill street in a bleeze of flames?&nbsp; Bad is 
the best; we maun either be burned to death, or out of house and 
hall, without a rag to cover our nakedness.&nbsp; Where&rsquo;s 
my son?&mdash;where&rsquo;s my dear bairn Benjie?&rdquo;</p>
<p>In a most awful consternation, I jumped at this out to the 
middle of the floor, hearing the causeway all in an uproar of 
voices; and seeing the flichtering of the flames glancing on the 
houses in the opposite side of the street, all the windows of 
which were filled with the heads of half-naked folks, in 
round-eared mutches or Kilmarnocks; their mouths open, and their 
eyes staring with fright; while the sound of the fire-engine, 
rattling through the streets like thunder, seemed like the 
dead-cart of the plague, come to hurry away the corpses of the 
deceased for interment in the kirk-yard.</p>
<p>Never such a spectacle was witnessed in this world of sin and 
sorrow since the creation of Adam.&nbsp; I pulled up the window 
and looked out&mdash;and, lo and behold! the very next house to 
our own was all in a low from cellar to garret; the burning 
joists hissing and cracking like mad; and the very wind that blew
along, as warm as if it had been out of the mouth of a 
baker&rsquo;s oven!!</p>
<p>It was a most awful spectacle! more by token to me, who was 
likely to be intimately concerned with it; and beating my brow 
with my clenched nieve, like a distracted creature, I saw that 
the labour of my whole life was likely to go for nought, and me 
to be a ruined man; all the earnings of my industry being <!-- 
page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
131</span>laid out on my stock in trade, and on the plenishing of
our bit house.&nbsp; The darkness of the latter days came over my
spirit like a vision before the prophet Isaiah; and I could see 
nothing in the years to come but beggary and starvation; myself a
fallen-back old man, with an out-at-the-elbows coat, a greasy 
hat, and a bald pow, hirpling over a staff, requeeshting an 
awmous&mdash;Nanse a broken-hearted beggar wife, torn down to 
tatters, and weeping like Rachel when she thought on better 
days&mdash;and poor wee Benjie going from door to door with a 
meal-pock on his back.</p>
<p>The thought first dung me stupid, and then drove me to 
desperation; and not even minding the dear wife of my bosom, that
had fainted away as dead as a herring, I pulled on my trowsers 
like mad, and rushed out into the street, bareheaded and barefoot
as the day that Lucky Bringthereout dragged me into the 
world.</p>
<p>The crowd saw in the twinkling of an eyeball that I was a 
desperate man, fierce as Sir William Wallace, and not to be 
withstood by gentle or semple.&nbsp; So most of them made way for
me; they that tried to stop me finding it a bad job, being heeled
over from right to left, on the broad of their backs, like 
flounders, without respect of age or person; some old women that 
were obstrapulous being gey sore hurt, and one of them with a 
pain in her hainch even to this day.&nbsp; When I had got almost 
to the door-cheek of the burning house, I found one grupping me 
by the back like grim death; and, in looking over my shoulder, 
who was it but Nanse herself, that, rising up from her faint, had
pursued me like a whirlwind.&nbsp; It was a heavy trial, but my 
duty to myself in the first place, and to my neighbours in the 
second, roused me up to withstand it; so, making a spend like a 
greyhound, I left the hindside of my shirt in her grasp, like 
Joseph&rsquo;s garment in the nieve of Potiphar&rsquo;s wife, and
up the stairs headforemost among the flames.</p>
<p>Mercy keep us all! what a sight for mortal man to glowr at 
with his living eyes!&nbsp; The bells were tolling amid the dark,
like a summons from above for the parish of Dalkeith to pack off 
to another world; the drums were beat-beating as if the French 
were coming, thousand on thousand, to kill, slay, and <!-- page 
132--><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
132</span>devour every maid and mother&rsquo;s son of us; the 
fire-engine pump-pump-pumping like daft, showering the water like
rainbows, as if the windows of heaven were opened, and the days 
of old Noah come back again; and the rabble throwing the good 
furniture over the windows like onion peelings, where it either 
felled the folk below, or was dung to a thousand shivers on the 
causey.&nbsp; I cried to them, for the love of goodness, to make 
search in the beds, in case there might be any weans there, human
life being still more precious than human means; but not a living
soul was seen but a cat, which, being raised and wild with the 
din, would on no consideration allow itself to be catched.&nbsp; 
Jacob Dribble found that to his cost; for, right or wrong, having
a drappie in his head, he swore like a trooper that he would 
catch her, and carry her down beneath his oxter; so forward he 
weired her into a corner, crouching on his hunkers.&nbsp; He had 
much better have let it alone; for it fuffed over his shoulder 
like wildfire, and scarting his back all the way down, jumped 
like a lamplighter head-foremost through the flames, where, in 
the raging and roaring of the devouring element, its pitiful 
cries were soon hushed to silence for ever and ever, Amen!</p>
<p>At long and last, a woman&rsquo;s howl was heard on the 
street, lamenting, like Hagar over young Ishmael in the 
wilderness of Beersheba, and crying that her old grannie, that 
was a lameter, and had been bedridden for four years come the 
Martinmas following, was burning to a cinder in the 
fore-garret.&nbsp; My heart was like to burst within me when I 
heard this dismal news, remembering that I myself had once an old
mother, that was now in the mools; so I brushed up the stair like
a hatter, and burst open the door of the fore-garret&mdash;for in
the hurry I could not find the sneck, and did not like to stand 
on ceremony.&nbsp; I could not see my finger before me, and did 
not know my right hand from the left, for the smoke; but I groped
round and round, though the reek mostly cut my breath, and made 
me cough at no allowance, till at last I catched hold of 
something cold and clammy, which I gave a pull, not knowing what 
it was, but found out to be the old wife&rsquo;s nose.&nbsp; I 
cried out as loud as I was able for the poor creature to hoise 
herself up into my arms; but, <!-- page 133--><a 
name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>receiving 
no answer, I discovered in a moment that she was suffocated, the 
foul air having gone down her wrong hause; and, though I had aye 
a terror at looking at, far less handling a dead corpse, there 
was something brave within me at the moment, my blood being up; 
so I caught hold of her by the shoulders, and harling her with 
all my might out of her bed, got her lifted on my back heads and 
thraws, in the manner of a boll of meal, and away as fast as my 
legs could carry me.</p>
<p>There was a providence in this haste; for, ere I was half-way 
down the stair, the floor fell with a thud like thunder; and such
a combustion of soot, stour, and sparks arose, as was never seen 
or heard tell of in the memory of man since the day that Samson 
pulled over the pillars in the house of Dagon, and smoored all 
the mocking Philistines as flat as flounders.&nbsp; For the space
of a minute I was as blind as a beetle, and was like to be choked
for want of breath; however, as the dust began to clear up, I saw
an open window, and hallooed down to the crowd for the sake of 
mercy to bring a ladder, to save the lives of two perishing 
fellow-creatures, for now my own was also in imminent 
jeopardy.&nbsp; They were long of coming, and I did not know what
to do; so thinking that the old wife, as she had not spoken, was 
maybe dead already, I was once determined just to let her drop 
down upon the street; but I knew that the so doing would have 
cracked every bone in her body, and the glory of my bravery would
thus have been worse than lost.&nbsp; I persevered, therefore, 
though I was fit to fall down under the dead weight, she not 
being able to help herself, and having a deal of beef in her skin
for an old woman of eighty; but I got a lean, by squeezing her a 
wee between me and the wall.</p>
<p>I thought they would never have come, for my shoeless feet 
were all bruised, and bleeding from the crunched lime and the 
splinters of broken stones; but, at long and last, a ladder was 
hoisted up, and having fastened a kinch of ropes beneath her 
oxters, I let her slide down over the upper step, by way of a 
pillyshee, having the satisfaction of seeing her safely landed in
the arms of seven old wives, that were waiting with a cosey warm 
blanket below.&nbsp; Having accomplished this grand 
man&oelig;uvre, wherein I succeeded in saving the precious life 
of a <!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 134</span>woman of eighty, that had been four 
long years bedridden, I tripped down the steps myself like a 
nine-year-old, and had the pleasure, when the roof fell in, to 
know that I for one had done my duty; and that, to the best of my
knowledge, no living creature except the poor cat had perished 
within the jaws of the devouring element.</p>
<p>But, bide a wee; the work was, as yet, only half done.&nbsp; 
The fire was still roaring and raging, every puff of wind that 
blew through the black firmament, driving the red sparks high 
into the air, where they died away like the tail of a comet, or 
the train of a skyrocket; the joisting crazing, cracking, and 
tumbling down; and now and then the bursting cans playing flee in
a hundred flinders from the chimney-heads.&nbsp; One would have 
naturally enough thought that our engine could have drowned out a
fire of any kind whatsoever in half a second, scores of folks 
driving about with pitcherfuls of water, and scaling half of it 
on one another and the causey in their hurry; but, woe&rsquo;s 
me! it did not play puh on the red-het stones, that whizzed like 
iron in a smiddy trough; so, as soon as it was darkness and smoke
in one place, it was fire and fury in another.</p>
<p>My anxiety was great; seeing that I had done my best for my 
neighbours, it behoved me now, in my turn, to try and see what I 
could do for myself; so, notwithstanding the remonstrances of my 
friend James Batter&mdash;whom Nanse, knowing I had bare feet, 
had sent out to seek me, with a pair of shoon in his hand; and 
who, in scratching his head, mostly rugged out every hair of his 
wig with sheer vexation&mdash;I ran off, and mounted the ladder a
second time, and succeeded, after muckle speeling, in getting 
upon the top of the wall; where, having a bucket slung up to me 
by means of a rope, I swashed down such showers on the top of the
flames, that I soon did more good, in the space of five minutes, 
than the engine and the ten men, that were all in a broth of 
perspiration with pumping it, did the whole night over; to say 
nothing of the multitude of drawers of water, men, wives, and 
weans, with their cuddies, leglins, pitchers, pails, and 
water-stoups; having the satisfaction, in a short time, to 
observe every thing getting as black as the crown of my hat, and 
the gable of my own house becoming as cool as a cucumber.</p>
<p><!-- page 135--><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
135</span>Being a man of method, and acquainted with business, I 
could have liked to have given a finishing stitch to my work 
before descending the ladder; but, losh me! sic a whingeing, 
girning, greeting, and roaring, got up all of a sudden, as was 
never seen or heard of since bowed Joseph raised the meal-mob, 
and burned Johnnie Wilkes in effigy: and, looking down, I saw 
Benjie, the bairn of my own heart, and the callant Glen, my 
apprentice on trial, that had both been as sound as tops till 
this blessed moment, standing in their nightgowns and their 
little red cowls, rubbing their eyes, cowering with cold and 
fright, and making an awful uproar, crying on me to come down and
not be killed.&nbsp; The voice of Benjie especially pierced 
through and through my heart, like a two-edged sword, and I could
on no manner of account suffer myself to bear it any longer, as I
jealoused the bairn would have gone into convulsion fits if I had
not heeded him; so, making a sign to them to be quiet, I came my 
ways down, taking hold of one in ilka hand, which must have been 
a fatherly sight to the spectators that saw us.&nbsp; After 
waiting on the crown of the causey for half an hour, to make sure
that the fire was extinguished, and all tight and right, I saw 
the crowd scaling, and thought it best to go in too, carrying the
two youngsters along with me.&nbsp; When I began to move off, 
however, siccan a cheering of the multitude got up as would have 
deafened a cannon; and though I say it myself, who should not say
it, they seemed struck with a sore amazement at my heroic 
behaviour, following me with loud cheers even to the threshold of
my own door.</p>
<p>From this folk should condescend to take a lesson, seeing 
that, though the world is a bitter bad world, yet that good deeds
are not only a reward to themselves, but call forth the applause 
of Jew and Gentile; for the sweet savour of my conduct on this 
memorable night remained in my nostrils for goodness knows the 
length of time, many praising my brave humanity in public 
companies and assemblies of the people, such as strawberry ploys,
council meetings, dinner parties, and so forth; and many in 
private conversation at their own ingle-cheek, by way of 
two-handed crack; in stage-coach confab, and in causey talk in 
<!-- page 136--><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
136</span>the forenoon, before going in to take their 
meridians.&nbsp; Indeed, between friends, the business proved in 
the upshot of no small advantage to me, bringing to me a sowd of 
strange faces, by way of customers, both gentle and semple, that 
I verily believe had not so muckle as ever heard of my name 
before, and giving me many a coat to cut, and cloth to shape, 
that, but for my gallant behaviour on the fearsome night 
aforesaid, would doubtless have been cut, sewed, and shaped by 
other hands.&nbsp; Indeed, considering the great noise the thing 
made in the world, it is no wonder that every one was anxious to 
have a garment of wearing apparel made by the individual same 
hands that had succeeded, under Providence, in saving the 
precious life of an old woman of eighty, that had been bedridden,
some say, four years come Yule, and others, come Martinmas.</p>
<p>When we got to the ingle-side, and, barring the door, saw that
all was safe, it was now three in the morning; so we thought it 
by much the best way of managing, not to think of sleeping any 
more, but to be on the look-out&mdash;as we aye used to be when 
walking sentry in the volunteers&mdash;in case the flames should,
by ony mischancy accident or other, happen to break out 
again.&nbsp; My wife blamed my hardihood muckle, and the rashness
with which I had ventured at once to places where even masons and
sclaters were afraid to put foot on; yet I saw, in the interim, 
that she looked on me with a prouder eye&mdash;knowing herself 
the helpmate of one that had courageously risked his neck, and 
every bone in his skin, in the cause of humanity.&nbsp; I saw 
this as plain as a pikestaff, as, with one of her kindest looks, 
she insisted on my putting on a better happing to screen me from 
the cold, and on my taking something comfortable inwardly towards
the dispelling of bad consequences.&nbsp; So, after half a 
minute&rsquo;s stand-out, by way of refusal like, I agreed to a 
cupful of het-pint, as I thought it would be a thing Mungo Glen 
might never have had the good fortune to have tasted; and as it 
might operate by way of a cordial on the callant Benjie, who kept
aye smally, and in a dwining way.&nbsp; No sooner said than 
done&mdash;and off Nanse brushed in a couple of hurries to make 
the het-pint.</p>
<p><!-- page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
137</span>After the small beer was put into the pan to boil, we 
found to our great mortification, that there were no eggs in the 
house, and Benjie was sent out with a candle to the hen-house, to
see if any of the hens had laid since gloaming, and fetch what he
could get.&nbsp; In the middle of the mean time, I was 
expatiating to Mungo on what taste it would have, and how he had 
never seen any thing finer than it would be, when in ran Benjie, 
all out of breath, and his face as pale as a dishclout.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter, Benjie, what&rsquo;s the 
matter?&rdquo; said I to him rising up from my chair in a great 
hurry of a fright&mdash;&ldquo;Has onybody killed ye? or is the 
fire broken out again? or has the French landed? or have ye seen 
a ghost? or are&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Eh, crifty!&rdquo; cried Benjie, coming till his 
speech, &ldquo;they&rsquo;re a&rsquo; aff&mdash;cock and hens and
a&rsquo;&mdash;there&rsquo;s naething left but the rotten 
nest-egg in the corner!&rdquo;</p>
<p>This was an awful dispensation, of which more hereafter.&nbsp;
In the midst of the desolation of the fire&mdash;such is the 
depravity of human nature&mdash;some ne&rsquo;er-do-weels had 
taken advantage of my absence to break open the hen-house door; 
and our whole stock of poultry, the cock along with our seven 
hens&mdash;two of them tappit, and one muffed&mdash;were carried 
away bodily, stoop and roop.</p>
<p>On this subject, howsoever, I shall say no more in this 
chapter, but merely observe in conclusion, that, as to our 
het-pint, we were obligated to make the best of a bad bargain, 
making up with whisky what it wanted in eggs; though our banquet 
could not be called altogether a merry one, the joys of our 
escape from the horrors of the fire being damped, as it were by a
wet blanket, on account of the nefarious pillaging of our 
hen-house.</p>
<h2><!-- page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 138</span>CHAPTER XX.&mdash;ADVENTURES IN THE 
SPORTING LINE.</h2>
<blockquote><p>A fig for them by law protected,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Liberty&rsquo;s a glorious feast;<br />
Courts for cowards were erected,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Churches built to please the priest.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jolly Beggars</i>.</p>
<p>Wi&rsquo; cauk and keel I&rsquo;ll win your bread,<br />
And spindles and whorles for them wha need,<br />
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To carry the Gaberlunzie on.<br />
I&rsquo;ll bow my leg and crook my knee,<br />
And draw a black clout owre my ee,<br />
A cripple or blind they will ca&rsquo; me,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; While we shall be merry and sing.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">King James 
V.</span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>The situation of me and my family at this time affords an 
example of the truth of the old proverb, that &ldquo;ae evil 
never comes its lane;&rdquo; being no sooner quit of our dread 
concerning the burning, than we were doomed by Providence to 
undergo the disaster of the rookery of our hen-house.&nbsp; I 
believe I have mentioned the number of our stock&mdash;to wit, a 
cock and seven hens, eight in all; but I neglected, on account of
their size, or somehow overlooked, the two bantams, than which 
two more neat or curiouser-looking creatures were not to be seen 
in the whole country-side.&nbsp; The hennie was quite a conceit 
of a thing, and laid an egg not muckle bigger than my thimble; 
while, for its size, the bit he-ane was, for spirit in the 
fechting line, a perfect wee deevil incarnate.</p>
<p>Most fortunately for my family in this matter, it so happened 
that, by paying in half-a-crown a-year, I was a regular member of
a society for prosecuting all whom it might concern, that dabbled
with foul fingers in the sinful and lawless trade of thievery, 
breaking the eighth commandment at no allowance, and drawing on 
their heads not only the passing punishments <!-- page 139--><a 
name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>of this 
world, by way of banishment to Botany Bay, or hanging at the 
Luckenbooths, but the threatened vengeance of one that will last 
for ever and ever.</p>
<p>Accordingly, putting on my hat about nine o&rsquo;clock, or 
thereabouts, when the breakfast things were removing from the bit
table, I poppit out, in the first and foremost instance, to take 
a vizzy of the depredation the flames had made in our 
neighbourhood.&nbsp; Losh keep us all, what a spectacle of wreck 
and ruination!&nbsp; The roof was clean off and away, as if a 
thunderbolt from heaven had knocked it down through the two 
floors, carrying every thing before it like a perfect 
whirlwind.&nbsp; Nought were standing but black, bare walls, a 
perfect picture of desolation; some with the bit pictures on 
nails still hanging up where the rooms were like; and others with
old coats hanging on pins; and empty bottles in boles, and so 
on.&nbsp; Indeed, Jacob Glowr, who was standing by my side with 
his specs on, could see as plain as a pikestaff, a tea-kettle 
still on the fire, in the hearth-place of one of the gable 
garrets, where Miss Jenny Withershins lived, but happened 
luckily, at the era of the conflagration, to be away to 
Prestonpans, on a visit to some of her far-away cousins, 
providentially for her safety, grievously, at that very time, 
smitten with the sciatics.</p>
<p>Having satisfied my eyes with a daylight view of the terrible 
devastation, I went away leisurely up the street with my hands in
my breeches-pockets, comparing the scene in my mind with the 
downfall of Babylon the Great, and Sodom and Gomorrah, and Tyre 
and Sidon, and Jerusalem, and all the lave of the great towns 
that had fallen to decay, according to the foretelling of the 
sacred prophets, until I came to the door of Donald Gleig, the 
head of the Thief Society, to whom I related, from beginning to 
end, the whole business of the hen-stealing.&nbsp; &rsquo;Od he 
was a mettle bodie of a creature; far north, Aberdeen-awa like, 
and looking at two sides of a halfpenny; but, to give the devil 
his due, in this instance he behaved to me like a 
gentleman.&nbsp; Not only did Donald send through the drum in the
course of half an hour, offering a reward for the apprehension of
the offenders of three guineas, names concealed, but he got a 
warrant granted to Francie Deep, <!-- page 140--><a 
name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>the 
sherry-officer, to make search in the houses of several 
suspicious persons.</p>
<p>The reward offered by tuck of drum failed, nobody making 
application to the crier; but the search succeeded; as, after 
turning every thing topsy-turvy, the feathers were found in a 
bag, in the house of an old woman of vile character, who 
contrived to make out a way of living by hiring beds at twopence 
a-night to Eirish travellers&mdash;South-country 
packmen&mdash;sturdy beggars, men and women, and weans of 
them&mdash;Yetholm tinklers&mdash;wooden-legged sailors without 
Chelsea pensions&mdash;dumb spaewomen&mdash;keepers of wild-beast
shows&mdash;dancing-dog folk&mdash;spunk-makers, and suchlike 
pickpockets.&nbsp; The thing was as plain as the loof of my hand;
for, besides great suspicion, what was more, was the finding the 
head of the muffed hen, to which I could have sworn, lying in a 
bye-corner; the body itself not being so kenspeckle in its 
disjasket state&mdash;as it hung twirling in a string by its legs
before the fire, all buttered over with swine&rsquo;s seam, and 
half roasted.</p>
<p>After some little ado, and having called in two men that were 
passing to help us to take them prisoners, in case of their being
refractory, we carried them by the lug and the horn before a 
justice of peace.</p>
<p>Except the fact of the stolen goods being found in their 
possession, it so chanced, ye observe, that we had no other sort 
of evidence whatsoever; but we took care to examine them one at a
time, the one not hearing what the other said; so, by dint of 
cross-questioning by one who well knew how to bring fire out of 
flint, we soon made the guilty convict themselves, and brought 
the transaction home to two wauf-looking fellows that we had got 
smoking in a corner.&nbsp; From the speerings that were put to 
them during their examination, it was found that they tried to 
make a way of doing by swindling folks at fairs by the game of 
the garter.&nbsp; Indeed, it was stupid of me not to recognise 
their faces at first sight, having observed both of them 
loitering about our back bounds the afternoon before; and one of 
them, the tall one with the red head and fustian jacket, having 
been in my shop in the fore part of the night, about the gloaming
like, asking me as a favour for a yard or two of spare runds, or 
selvages.</p>
<p><!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
141</span>I have aye heard that seeing is believing; and that 
youth might take a warning from the punishment that sooner or 
later is ever tacked to the tail of crime, I took Benjie and 
Mungo to hear the trial; and two more rueful faces than they put 
on, when they looked at the culprits, were never seen since Adam 
was a boy.&nbsp; It was far different with the two Eirishers, who
showed themselves so hardened by a long course of sin and misery,
that, instead of abasing themselves in the face of a magistrate, 
they scarcely almost gave a civil answer to a single question 
which was speered at them.&nbsp; Howsoever, they paid for that at
a heavy ransom, as ye shall hear by and by.</p>
<p>Having been kept all night in the cold tolbooth on bread and 
water, without either coal or candle to warm their toes, or let 
them see what they were doing, they were harled out amid an 
immense crowd of young and old, more especially wives and weans, 
at eleven o&rsquo;clock on the next forenoon, to the endurance of
a punishment which ought to have afflicted them almost as muckle 
as that of death itself.</p>
<p>When the key of the jail door was thrawn, and the two loons 
brought out, there was a bumming of wonder, and maybe sorrow, 
among the terrible crowd, to see fellow-creatures so left alone 
to themselves as to have robbed an honest man&rsquo;s hen-house 
at the dead hour of night, when a fire was bleezing next door, 
and the howl of desolation soughing over the town like a visible 
judgment.&nbsp; One of them, as I said before, had a red pow and 
a foraging cap, with a black napkin roppined round his weasand; a
jean jacket with six pockets, and square tails; a velveteen 
waistcoat with plated buttons; corduroy breeches buttoned at the 
knees; rig-and-fur stockings; and heavy, clanking wooden 
clogs.&nbsp; The other, who was little and round-shouldered, with
a bull neck and bushy black whiskers, just like a shoebrush stuck
to each cheek of his head, as if he had been a travelling agent 
for Macassar, had on a low-crowned, plated beaver hat, with the 
end of a peacock&rsquo;s feather stuck in the band; a long-tailed
old black coat, as brown as a berry, and as bare as my loof, to 
say nothing of being out at both elbows.&nbsp; His trowsers, I 
dare say, had once been nankeen; but as they did not appear to 
have seen the washing-tub for a season or two, it would be <!-- 
page 142--><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
142</span>rash to give any decided opinion on that head.&nbsp; In
short, they were two awful-like raggamuffins.</p>
<p>Women, however, are aye sympathizing and merciful; so, as I 
was standing among the crowd, as they came down the tolbooth 
stair, chained together by the cuffs of the coat, one said, 
&ldquo;Wae&rsquo;s me! what a weel-faur&rsquo;d fellow, wi&rsquo;
the red head, to be found guilty of stealing folk&rsquo;s 
hen-houses.&rdquo;&mdash;And another one said, &ldquo;Hech, sirs!
what a bonny blackaviced man that little ane is, to be paraded 
through the strees for a warld&rsquo;s wonder!&rdquo;&nbsp; But I
said nothing, knowing the thing was just, and a wholesome 
example; holding Benjie on my shoulder to see the poukit hens 
tied about their necks like keeking-glasses.&nbsp; But, puh! the 
fellows did not give one pinch of snuff; so off they set, and in 
this manner were drummed through the bounds of the parish, a 
constable walking at each side of them with Lochaber axes, and 
the town-drummer row-de-dowing the thief&rsquo;s march at their 
backs.&nbsp; It was a humbling sight.</p>
<p>My heart was sorrowful, notwithstanding the ills they had done
me and mine, by the nefarious pillaging of our hen-house, to see 
two human creatures, of the same flesh and blood as myself, 
undergoing the righteous sentence of the law, in a manner so 
degrading to themselves, and so pitiful to all that beheld 
them.&nbsp; But, nevertheless, considering what they had done, 
they neither deserved, nor did they seem to care for 
commiseration, holding up their brazen faces as if they had been 
taking a pleasure walk for the benefit of their health, and the 
poukit hens, that dangled before them, ornaments of their 
bravery.&nbsp; The whole crowd, young and old, followed them from
one end of the town to the other, liking to ding one another 
over, so anxious were they to get a sight of what was going on; 
but when they came to the gate-end, they stopped and gave the 
ne&rsquo;er-do-weels three cheers.&nbsp; What think you did the 
ne&rsquo;er-do-weels do in return?&nbsp; Fie shame! they took off
their old scrapers and gave a huzza too; clapping their hands 
behind them, in a manner as deplorable to relate as it was 
shocking to behold.</p>
<p>Their chains&mdash;the things, ye know, that held their cuffs 
together&mdash;were by this time taken off, along with the poukit
hens, which I fancy the town-offishers took home and cooked for 
<!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
143</span>their dinner; so they shook hands with the drummer, 
wishing him a good-day and a pleasant walk home, brushing away on
the road to Edinburgh, where their wives and weans, who had no 
doubt made a good supper on the spuilzie of the hens, had one 
away before, maybe to have something comfortable for their 
arrival, their walk being likely to give them an appetite.</p>
<p>Had they taken away all the rest of the hens, and only left 
the bantams, on which they must have found but desperate little 
eating, and the muffed one, I would have cared less; it being 
from several circumstances a pet one in the family, having been 
brought in a blackbird&rsquo;s cage by the carrier from Lauder, 
from my wife&rsquo;s mother, in a present to Benjie on his 
birth-day.&nbsp; The creature almost grat himself blind, when he 
heard of our having seen it roasting in a string by the legs 
before the fire, and found its bonny muffed head in a corner.</p>
<p>But let alone likings, the callant was otherwise a loser in 
its death, she having regularly laid a caller egg to him every 
morning, which he got along with his tea and bread, to the no 
small benefit of his health, being, as I have taken occasion to 
remark before, far from being robusteous in the 
constitution.&nbsp; I am sure I know one thing, and that is, that
I would have willingly given the louns a crown-piece to have 
preserved it alive, hen though it was of my own; but no&mdash;the
bloody deed was over and done, before we were aware that the poor
thing&rsquo;s life was sacrificed.</p>
<p>The names of the two Eirishers were John Dochart and Dennis 
Flint, both, according to their own deponement, from the county 
of Tipperary; and weel-a-wat the place has no great credit in 
producing two such bairns.&nbsp; Often, after that, did I look 
through that part of the Advertizer newspapers, that has a list 
of all the accidents, and so on, just above the births, 
marriages, and deaths, which I liked to read regularly.&nbsp; 
Howsoever, it was two years before I discovered their names 
again, having it seems, during a great part of that period, lived
under the forged name of Alias; and I saw that they were both 
shipped off at Leith, for transportation to some country called 
the Hulks, for being habit and repute thieves, and for having 
made a practice of coining bad silver.&nbsp; The thing, however, 
that condemned <!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 144</span>them, was for having knocked down a 
drunk man, in a beastly state of intoxication, on the 
King&rsquo;s highway in broad daylight; and having robbed him of 
his hat, wig, and neckcloth, an upper and under vest, a coat and 
great-coat, a pair of Hessian boots which he had on his legs, a 
silver watch with four brass seals and a key, besides a snuff-box
made of box-wood, with an invisible hinge, one of the 
Lawrencekirk breed, a pair of specs, some odd halfpennies, and a 
Camperdown pocket-napkin.</p>
<p>But of all months of the year&mdash;or maybe, indeed, of my 
blessed lifetime&mdash;this one was the most adventurous.&nbsp; 
It seemed, indeed, as if some especial curse of Providence hung 
over the canny town of Dalkeith; and that, like the great cities 
of the plain, we were at long and last to be burnt up from the 
face of the earth with a shower of fire and brimstone.</p>
<p>Just three days after the drumming of the two Eirish 
ne&rsquo;er-do-weels, a deaf and dumb woman came in prophesying 
at our back door, offering to spae fortunes.&nbsp; She was tall 
and thin, an unco witch-looking creature, with a runkled brow, 
sunbrunt haffits, and two sharp piercing eyes, like a 
hawk&rsquo;s, whose glance went through ye like the cut and 
thrust of a two-edged sword.&nbsp; On her head she had a tawdry 
brownish black bonnet, that had not improved from two three 
years&rsquo; tholing of sun and wind; a thin rag of a grey duffle
mantle was thrown over her shoulders, below which was a checked 
shortgown of gingham stripe, and a green glazed manco 
petticoat.&nbsp; Her shoon were terrible bauchles, and her grey 
worsted stockings, to hide the holes in them, were all dragooned 
down about her heels.&nbsp; On the whole, she was rather, I must 
confess, an out-of-the-way creature; and though I had not muckle 
faith in these bodies that pretend to see further through a 
millstone than their neighbours, I somehow or other, taking pity 
on her miserable condition, being still a fellow-creature, though
plain in the lugs, had not the heart to huff her out; more by 
token, as Nanse, Benjie, and the new prentice Mungo, had by this 
time got round me, all dying to know what grand fortunes waited 
them in the years of their after pilgrimage.&nbsp; Sinful 
creatures that we are! not content with the insight into its ways
that Providence affords us, but diving beyond our deeps, only to 
flounder into the whirlpools of error.&nbsp; Is it not clear, 
<!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
145</span>that had it been for our good, all things would have 
been revealed to us; and is it not as clear, that not a wink of 
sound sleep would we ever have got, had all the ills that have 
crossed our paths been ranged up before our een, like great black
towering mountains of darkness?&nbsp; How could we have found 
contentment in our goods and gear, if we saw them melting from us
next year like snow from a dyke; how could we sit down on the 
elbow-chair of ease, could we see the misfortunes that may make 
next week a black one; or how could we look a kind friend in the 
face without tears, could we see him, ere a month maybe was gone,
lying streiked beneath his winding-sheet, his eyes closed for 
evermore, and his mirth hushed to an awful silence!&nbsp; No, no,
let us rest content that Heaven decrees what is best for us: let 
us do our duty as men and Christians, and every thing, both here 
and hereafter, will work together for our good.</p>
<p>Having taken a piece of chalk out of her big, greasy, leather 
pouch, she wrote down on the table, &ldquo;Your wife, your son, 
and your prentice.&rdquo;&nbsp; This was rather curious, and 
every one of them, a wee thunderstruck like, cried out as they 
held up their hands, &ldquo;Losh me! did onybody ever see or hear
tell of the like o&rsquo; that?&nbsp; She&rsquo;s no 
canny!&rdquo;&mdash;It was gey droll, I thought; and I was aware 
from the Witch of Endor, and sundry mentions in the Old 
Testament, that things out of the course of nature have more than
once been permitted to happen; so I reckoned it but right to give
the poor woman a fair hearing, as she deserved.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Nanse to me, &ldquo;ye ken our 
Benjie&rsquo;s eight year auld; see if she kens; ask her how old 
he is.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I had scarcely written down the question, when she wrote 
beneath it, &ldquo;The bonny laddie, your only son, is eight year
old: He&rsquo;ll be an admiral yet.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;An admiral!&rdquo; said his mother; &ldquo;that&rsquo;s
gey and extraordinar.&nbsp; I never kenned he had ony inkling for
the seafaring line; and I thought, Mansie, you intended bringing 
him up to your ain trade.&nbsp; But, howsoever, ye&rsquo;re wrong
ye see.&nbsp; I tell&rsquo;t ye he wad either make a spoon or 
spoil a horn.&nbsp; I tell&rsquo;t ye, ower and ower again, that 
he would be either something or naething; what think ye o&rsquo; 
that noo?&mdash;See if she kens that Mungo comes from the 
country; and where the Lammermoor hills is.&rdquo;</p>
<p><!-- page 146--><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
146</span>When I had put down the question, in a jiffie she wrote
down beside it, &ldquo;That boy comes from the high green hills, 
and his name is Mungo.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Dog on it! this astonished us more and more, and fairly 
bamboozled my understanding; as I thought there surely must be 
some league and paction with the Old One; but the further in the 
deeper.&nbsp; She then pointed to my wife, writing down, 
&ldquo;Your name is Nancy&rdquo;&mdash;and turning to me, as she 
made some dumbie signs, she chalked down, &ldquo;Your name is 
Mansie Wauch, that saved the precious life of an old bedridden 
woman from the fire; and will soon get a lottery ticket of twenty
thousand pounds.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Knowing the truth of the rest of what she had said, I could 
not help jumping on the floor with joy, and seeing that she was 
up to every thing, as plain as if it had happened in her 
presence.&nbsp; The good news set us all a skipping like young 
lambs, my wife and the laddies clapping their hands as if they 
had found a fiddle; so, jealousing they might lose their 
discretion in their mirth, I turned round to the three, holding 
up my hand, and saying, &ldquo;In the name o&rsquo; Gudeness, 
dinna mention this to ony leeving sowl; as, mind ye, I havena 
taken out the ticket yet.&nbsp; The doing so might not only set 
them to the sinful envying of our good fortune, as forbidden in 
the tenth commandment, but might lead away ourselves to be 
gutting our fish before we get them.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Mind then,&rdquo; said Nanse, &ldquo;about your promise
to me, concerning the silk gown, and the pair&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wheesht, wheesht, gudewifie,&rdquo; answered I.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a braw time coming.&nbsp; We must not be in 
ower great a hurry.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I then bade the woman sit down by the ingle cheek, and our 
wife to give her a piece of cold beef, and a shave of bread, 
besides twopence out of my own pocket.&nbsp; Some, on hearing 
siccan sums mentioned, would have immediately struck work, but, 
even in the height of my grand expectations, I did not forget the
old saying, that &ldquo;a bird in the hand is worth two in the 
bush;&rdquo; and being thrang with a pair of leggins for Eben 
Bowsie, I brushed away ben to the workshop, thinking the woman, 
or witch, or whatever she was, would have more freedom and 
pleasure in <!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 147</span>eating by herself.&mdash;That she 
had, I am now bound to say by experience.</p>
<p>Two days after, when we were sitting at our comfortable 
four-hours, in came little Benjie, running out of 
breath&mdash;just at the individual moment of time my wife and me
were jeering one another, about how we would behave when we came 
to be grand ladies and gentlemen, keeping a flunkie 
maybe&mdash;to tell us, that when he was playing at the bools, on
the plainstones before the old kirk, he had seen the deaf and 
dumb spaewife harled away to the tolbooth, for stealing a pair of
trowsers that were hanging drying on a tow in Juden 
Elshinder&rsquo;s back close.&nbsp; I could scarcely credit the 
callant, though I knew he would not tell a lie for sixpence; and 
I said to him, &ldquo;Now be sure, Benjie, before ye speak.&nbsp;
The tongue is a dangerous weapon, and apt to bring folk into 
trouble&mdash;it might be another woman.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was real cleverality in the callant.&nbsp; He said, 
&ldquo;Ay, faither, but it was her; and she contrived to bring 
herself into trouble without a tongue at a&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I could not help laughing at this, it showed Benjie to be such
a genius; so he said,</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye needna laugh, faither; for it&rsquo;s as 
true&rsquo;s death it was her.&nbsp; Do you think I didna ken in 
a minute our cheese-toaster, that used to hing beside the kitchen
fire; and that the sherry-offisher took out frae beneath her grey
cloak?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The smile went off Nanse&rsquo;s cheek like lightning, and she
said it could not be true; but she would go to the kitchen to 
see.&nbsp; I&rsquo;fegs it was too true; for she never came back 
to tell the contrary.</p>
<p>This was really and truly a terrible business, but the truth 
for all that; the cheese-toaster casting up not an hour after, in
the hands of Daniel Search, to whom I gave a dram.&nbsp; The loss
of the tin cheese-toaster would have been a trifle, especially as
it was broken in the handle&mdash;but this was an awful blow to 
the truth of the thieving dumbie&rsquo;s grand prophecy.&nbsp; 
Nevertheless, it seemed at the time gey puzzling to me, to think 
how a deaf and dumb woman, unless she had some wonderful gift, 
could have told us what she did.</p>
<p><!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
148</span>On the next day, the Friday, I think, that story was 
also made as clear as daylight to us; for being banished out of 
the town as a common thief and vagabond, down on the Musselburgh 
road, by order of a justice of the peace, it was the bounden duty
of Daniel Search and Geordie Sharp to see her safe past the 
kennel, the length of Smeaton.&nbsp; They then tried to make her 
understand by writing on the wall, that if ever again she was 
seen or heard tell of in the town, she would be banished to 
Botany Bay; but she had a great fight, it seems, to make out 
Daniel&rsquo;s bad spelling, he having been very ill yedicated, 
and no deacon at the pen.</p>
<p>Howsoever, they got her to understand their meaning, by giving
her a shove forward by the shoulders, and aye pointing down to 
Inveresk.&nbsp; Thinking she did not hear them, they then took 
upon themselves the liberty of calling her some ill names, and 
bade her good-day as a bad one.&nbsp; But she was upsides with 
them for acting, in that respect, above their commission; for she
wheeled round again to them, and, snapping her fingers at their 
noses, gave a curse, and bade them go home for a couple of dirty 
Scotch vermin.</p>
<p>The two men were perfectly dumfoundered at hearing the 
tongue-tied wife speaking as good English as themselves; and 
could not help stopping to look after her for a long way on the 
road, as every now and then she stuck one of her arms a-kimbo in 
her side, and gave a dance round in the whirling-jig way, louping
like daft, and lilting like a grey-lintie.&nbsp; From her way of 
speaking, they also saw immediately that she too was an 
Eirisher.&mdash;They must be a bonny family when they are all at 
home.</p>
<h2><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 149</span>CHAPTER XXI.&mdash;ANENT MUNGO 
GLEN.</h2>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Earth to earth,&rdquo; and &ldquo;dust to 
dust,&rdquo;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; The solemn priest hath said,<br />
So we lay the turf above thee now,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And we seal thy narrow bed;<br />
But thy spirit, brother, soars away<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Among the faithful blest,<br />
Where the wicked cease from troubling,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And the weary are at rest.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Milman</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Perhaps, since I was born, I do not remember such a string of 
casualties as happened to me and mine, all within the period of 
one short fortnight.&nbsp; To say nothing connected with the 
playacting business, which was immediately before&mdash;first 
came Mungo Glen&rsquo;s misfortune with regard to the 
blood-soiling of the new nankeen trowsers, the foremost of his 
transactions, and a bad omen&mdash;next, the fire, and all its 
wonderfuls, the saving of the old bedridden woman&rsquo;s 
precious life, and the destruction of the poor cat&mdash;syne the
robbery of the hen-house by the Eirish ne&rsquo;er-do-weels, who 
paid so sweetly for their pranks&mdash;and lastly, the hoax, the 
thieving of the cheese-toaster without the handle, and the 
banishment of the spaewife.</p>
<p>These were awful signs of the times, and seemed to say that 
the world was fast coming to a finis; the ends of the earth 
appearing to have combined in a great Popish plot of 
villany.&nbsp; Every man that had a heart to feel, muse have 
trembled amid these threatening, judgment-like, and calamitous 
events.&nbsp; As for my own part, the depravity of the nations, 
which most of these scenes showed me, I must say, fell heavily 
upon my spirit; and I could not help thinking of the old cities 
of the plain, over the house-tops of which, for their heinous 
sins and iniquitous abominations, the wrath of the Almighty 
showered down fire and brimstone from heaven, till the very earth
melted and swallowed them up for ever and ever.</p>
<p>These added to the number, to be sure; but not that I had <!--
page 150--><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
150</span>never before seen signs and wonders in my time.&nbsp; I
had seen the friends of the people,&mdash;and the scarce 
years,&mdash;and the bloody gulleteening over-bye among the 
French blackguards,&mdash;and the business of Watt and Downie 
nearer home, at our own doors almost, in Edinburgh 
like,&mdash;and the calling out of the volunteers,&mdash;and 
divers sea-fights at Camperdown and elsewhere,&mdash;and land 
battles countless,&mdash;and the American war, part 
o&rsquo;t,&mdash;and awful murders,&mdash;and mock fights in the 
Duke&rsquo;s Parks,&mdash;and highway robberies,&mdash;and 
breakings of all the Ten Commandments, from the first to the 
last; so that, allowing me to have had but a common spunk of 
reflection, I must, like others, have cast a wistful eye on the 
ongoings of men: and, if I had not strength to pour out my inward
lamentations, I could not help thinking, with fear and trembling,
at the rebellion of such a worm as man, against a Power whose 
smallest word could extinguish his existence, and blot him out in
a twinkling from the roll of living things.</p>
<p>But, if I was much affected, the callant Mungo was a great 
deal more.&nbsp; From the days in which he had lain in his 
cradle, he had been brought up in a remote and quiet part of the 
country, far from the bustling of towns, and from man 
encountering man in the stramash of daily life; so that his heart
seemed to pine within him like a flower, for want of the blessed 
morning dew; and, like a bird that has been catched in a girn 
among the winter snows, his appetite failed him, and he fell away
from his meat and clothes.</p>
<p>I was vexed exceedingly to see the callant in this dilemmy, 
for he was growing very tall and thin, his chaft-blades being 
lank and white, and his eyes of a hollow drumliness, as if he got
no refreshment from the slumbers of the night.&nbsp; Beholding 
all this work of destruction going on in silence, I spoke to his 
friend Mrs Grassie about him, and she was so motherly as to offer
to have a glass of port-wine, stirred with best jesuit&rsquo;s 
barks, ready for him every forenoon at twelve o&rsquo;clock; for 
really nobody could be but interested in the laddie, he was so 
gentle and modest, making never a word of complaint, though 
melting like snow off a dyke; and, though he must have suffered 
both in body <!-- page 151--><a name="page151"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 151</span>and mind, enduring all with a silent
composure, worthy of a holy martyr.</p>
<p>Perceiving things going on from bad to worse, I thought it as 
best to break the matter to him, as he was never like to speak 
himself; and I asked him in a friendly way, as we were sitting 
together on the board finishing a pair of fustian overalls for 
Maister Bob Bustle&mdash;a riding clerk for one of the Edinburgh 
spirit shops, but who liked aye to have his clothes of the 
Dalkeith cut, having been born, bred, and educated in our town, 
like his forbears before him&mdash;if there was any thing the 
matter with him, that he was aye so dowie and heartless?&nbsp; 
Never shall I forget the look he gave me as he lifted up his 
eyes, in which I could see visible distress painted as plain as 
the figures of the saints on old kirk windows; but he told me, 
with a faint smile, that he had nothing particular to complain 
of, only that he would have liked to have died among his friends,
as he could not live from home, and away from the life he had 
been accustomed to all his days.</p>
<p>&rsquo;Od, I was touched to the quick; and when I heard him 
speaking of death in such a calm, quiet way, I found something, 
as if his words were words of prophecy, and as if I had seen a 
sign that told me he was not to be long for this world.&nbsp; 
Howsoever, I hope I had more sense than to let this be seen, so I
said to him, &ldquo;Ou, if that be a&rsquo;, Mungo, ye&rsquo;ll 
soon come to like us a&rsquo; well enough.&nbsp; Ye should take a
stout heart, man; and when your prenticeship&rsquo;s done, 
ye&rsquo;ll gang hame and set up for a great man, making coats 
for all the lords and lairds in broad Lammermoor.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Na, na,&rdquo; answered the callant with a trembling 
voice, which mostly made my heart swell to my mouth, and brought 
the tear to my eye, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never see the end of my 
prenticeship, nor Lammermoor again.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hout touts, man,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; I, &ldquo;never 
speak in that sort o&rsquo; way; it&rsquo;s distrustfu&rsquo; and
hurtful.&nbsp; Live in hope, though we should die in 
despair.&nbsp; When ye go home again, ye&rsquo;ll be as happy as 
ever.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Eh, na&mdash;never, never, even though I was to gang 
hame the morn.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll never be as I was before.&nbsp; I
lived and lived on, never thinking that such days were to come to
an end&mdash;but now I find it can, and must be otherwise.&nbsp; 
The thoughts of my heart <!-- page 152--><a 
name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>have been 
broken in upon, and nothing can make whole what has been shivered
to pieces.&rdquo;</p>
<p>This was to the point, as Dannie Thummel said to his needle; 
so just for speaking&rsquo;s sake, and to rouse him up a bit, I 
said, &ldquo;Keh, man, what need ye care sae muckle about the 
country?&mdash;It&rsquo;ll never be like our bonny streets, with 
all the braw shop windows, and the auld kirk; and the stands with
the horn spoons and luggies; and all the carts on the 
market-days; and the Duke&rsquo;s gate, and so on.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ay, but, maister,&rdquo; answered Mungo, &ldquo;ye was 
never brought up in the country&mdash;ye never kent what it was 
to wander about in the simmer glens, wi&rsquo; naething but the 
warm sun looking down on ye, the blue waters streaming ower the 
braes, the birds singing, and the air like to grow sick wi&rsquo;
the breath of blooming birks, and flowers of all colours, and 
wild-thyme sticking full of bees, humming in joy and 
thankfulness&mdash;Ye never kent, maister, what it was to wake in
the still morning, when, looking out, ye saw the snaws lying for 
miles round about ye on the hills, breast deep, shutting ye out 
from the world, as it were; the foot of man never coming during 
the storm to your door, nor the voice of a stranger heard from ae
month&rsquo;s end till the ither.&nbsp; See, it is coming on 
o&rsquo; hail the now, and my mother with my sister&mdash;I have 
but ane&mdash;and my four brithers, will be looking out into the 
drift, and missing me away for the first time frae their 
fireside.&nbsp; They&rsquo;ll hae a dreary winter o&rsquo;t, 
breaking their hearts for me&mdash;their ballants and their 
stories will never be sae funny again&mdash;and my heart is 
breaking for them.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With this, the tears prap-prapped down his cheeks, but his 
pride bade him turn his head round to hide them from me.&nbsp; A 
heart of stone would have felt for him.</p>
<p>I saw it was in vain to persist long, as the laddie was 
falling out of his clothes as fast as leaves from the November 
tree; so I wrote home by limping Jamie the carrier, telling his 
father the state of things, and advising him, as a matter of 
humanity, to take his son out to the free air of the hills again,
as the town smoke did not seem to agree with his stomach; and, as
he might be making a sticked tailor of one who was capable of 
being bred <!-- page 153--><a name="page153"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 153</span>a good farmer; no mortal being 
likely to make a great progress in any thing, unless the heart 
goes with the handiwork.</p>
<p>Some folks will think I acted right, and others wrong in this 
matter; if I erred, it was on the side of mercy, and my 
conscience does not upbraid me for the transaction.&nbsp; In due 
course of time, I had an answer from Mr Glen; and we got every 
thing ready and packed up, against the hour that Jamie was to set
out again.</p>
<p>Mungo got himself all dressed; and Benjie had taken such a 
liking to him, that I thought he would have grutten himself 
senseless when he heard he was going away back to his own 
home.&nbsp; One would not have imagined, that such a sincere 
friendship could have taken root in such a short time; but the 
bit creature Benjie was as warm-hearted a callant as ye ever 
saw.&nbsp; Mungo told him, that if he would not cry he would send
him in a present of a wee ewe-milk cheese whenever he got home; 
which promise pacified him, and he asked me if Benjie would come 
out for a month gin simmer, when he would let him see all worthy 
observation along the country side.</p>
<p>When we had shaken hands with Mungo, and, after fastening his 
comforter about his neck, wished him a good journey, we saw him 
mounted on the front of limping Jamie&rsquo;s cart; and, as he 
drove away, I must confess my heart was grit.&nbsp; I could not 
help running up the stair, and pulling up the fore-window to get 
a long look after him.&nbsp; Away, and away they wore; in a short
time, the cart took a turn and disappeared; and, when I drew down
the window, and sauntered, with my arms crossed, back to the 
workshop, something seemed amissing, and the snug wee place, with
its shapings, and runds, and paper-measurings, and its bit fire, 
seemed in my eyes to look douff and gousty.</p>
<p>Whether in the jougging of the cart, or what else I cannot 
say, but it&rsquo;s an unco story; for on the road, it turned out
that poor Mungo was seized with a terrible pain in his side; and,
growing worse and worse, was obliged to be left at Lauder, in the
care of a decent widow woman that had a blind eye, and a room to 
let furnished.</p>
<p>It was not for two-three days that we learnt these awful <!-- 
page 154--><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
154</span>tidings, which greatly distressed us all; and I gave 
the driver of the Lauder coach threepence to himself, to bring us
word every morning, as he passed the door, how the laddie was 
going on.</p>
<p>I learned shortly, that his father and mother had arrived, 
which was one comfort; but that matters with poor Mungo were 
striding on from bad to worse, being pronounced, by a skeely 
doctor, to be in a galloping consumption&mdash;and not able to be
removed home, a thing that the laddie freaked and pined for night
and day.&nbsp; At length, hearing for certain that he had not 
long to live, I thought myself bound to be at the expense of 
taking a ride out on the top of the coach, though I was aware of 
the danger of the machine&rsquo;s whiles couping, if it were for 
no more than to bid him fare-ye-weel&mdash;and I did so.</p>
<p>It was a cold cloudy day in February, and everything on the 
road looked dowie and cheerless; the very cows and sheep, that 
crowded cowering beneath the trees in the parks, seemed to be 
grieving for some disaster, and hanging down their heads like 
mourners at a burial.&nbsp; The rain whiles obliged me to put up 
my umbrella, and there was nobody on the top beside me, save a 
deaf woman, that aye said &ldquo;ay&rdquo; to every question I 
speered, and with whom I found it out of the power of man to 
carry on any rational conversation; so I was obliged to sit 
glowering from side to side at the bleak bare fields&mdash;and 
the plashing grass&mdash;and the gloomy dull woods&mdash;and the 
gentlemen&rsquo;s houses, of which I knew not the names&mdash;and
the fearful rough hills, that put me in mind of the wilderness, 
and of the abomination of desolation mentioned in scripture, I 
believe in Ezekiel.&nbsp; The errand I was going on, to be sure, 
helped to make me more sorrowful; and I could not think on human 
life without agreeing with Solomon, that &ldquo;all was vanity 
and vexation of spirit.&rdquo;</p>
<p>At long and last, when we came to our journey&rsquo;s end, and
I louped off the top of the coach, Maister Glen came out to the 
door, and bad me haste me if I wished to see Mungo 
breathing.&nbsp; Save us! to think that a poor young thing was to
be taken away from life and the cheerful sun, thus suddenly, and 
<!-- page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
155</span>be laid in the cold damp mools, among the moudiewarts 
and the green banes, &ldquo;where there is no work or 
device.&rdquo;&nbsp; But what will ye say there? it was the will 
of Him, who knows best what is for his creatures, and to whom we 
should&mdash;and must submit.&nbsp; I was just in time to see the
last row of his glazing een, that then stood still for ever, as 
he lay, with his face as pale as clay, on the pillow, his mother 
holding his hand, and sob-sobbing with her face leant on the bed,
as if her hope was departed, and her heart would break.&nbsp; I 
went round about, and took hold of the other one for a moment; 
but it was clammy, and growing cold with the coldness of grim 
death.&nbsp; I could hear my heart beating; but Mungo&rsquo;s 
heart stood still, like a watch that has run itself down.&nbsp; 
Maister Glen sat in the easy chair, with his hand before his 
eyes, saying nothing, and shedding not a tear; for he was a 
strong, little, blackaviced man, with a feeling heart, but with 
nerves of steel.&nbsp; The rain rattled on the window, and the 
smoke gave a swurl as the wind rummelled in the lum.&nbsp; The 
hour spoke to the soul, and the silence was worth twenty 
sermons.</p>
<p>They who would wish to know the real value of what we are all 
over-apt to prize in this world, should have been there too, and 
learnt a lesson not soon to be forgotten.&nbsp; I put my hand in 
my coat-pocket for my napkin to give my eyes a wipe, but found it
was away, and feared much I had dropped it on the road; though in
this I was happily mistaken, having, before I went to my bed, 
found that on my journey I had tied it over my neckcloth, to keep
away sore throats.</p>
<p>It was a sad heart to us all, to see the lifeless creature in 
his white nightcap and eyes closed, lying with his yellow hair 
spread on the pillow; and we went out, that the women-folk might 
cover up the looking-glass and the face of the clock, ere they 
proceeded to dress the body in its last clothes&mdash;clothes 
that would never need changing; but, when we were half down the 
stair, and I felt glad with the thoughts of getting to the fresh 
air, we were obliged to turn up again for a little, to let the 
man past that was bringing in the dead deal.</p>
<p>But why weave a long story out of the materials of sorrow? 
<!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
156</span>or endeavour to paint feelings that have no outward 
sign, lying shut up within the sanctuary of the heart?&nbsp; The 
grief of a father and a mother can only be conceived by them who,
as fathers and mothers, have suffered the loss of their 
bairns,&mdash;a treasure more precious to nature than silver or 
gold, home to the land-sick sailor, or daylight to the blind man 
sitting beaking in the heat of the morning sun.</p>
<p>The coffin having been ordered to be got ready with all haste,
two men brought it on their shoulders betimes on the following 
morning; and it was a sight that made my blood run cold to see 
the dead corpse of poor Mungo, my own prentice, hoisted up from 
the bed, and laid in his black-handled, narrow housie.&nbsp; All 
had taken their last looks, the lid was screwed down by means of 
screw-drivers, and I read the plate, which said, &ldquo;Mungo 
Glen, aged 15.&rdquo;&nbsp; Alas! early was he cut off from among
the living&mdash;a flower snapped in its spring blossom&mdash;and
an awful warning to us all, sinful and heedless mortals, of the 
uncertainty of this state of being.</p>
<p>In the course of the forenoon, Maister Glen&rsquo;s cart was 
brought to the door, drawn by two black horses with long tails 
and hairy feet, a tram one and a leader.&nbsp; Though the job 
shook my nerves, I could not refuse to give them a hand down the 
stair with the coffin, which had a fief-like smell of death and 
sawdust; and we got it fairly landed in the cart, among clean 
straw.&nbsp; I saw the clodhapper of a ploughman aye dighting his
een with the sleeve of his big-coat.</p>
<p>The mother, Mistress Glen, a little fattish woman, and as fine
a homely body as ye ever met with, but sorely distracted at this 
time by sorrow, sat at the head, with her bonnet drawn over her 
face, and her shawl thrown across her shoulders, being a blue and
red spot on a white ground.&nbsp; It was a dismal-like-looking 
thing to see her sitting there, with the dead body of her son at 
her feet; and, at the side of it, his kist with his claes, on the
top of which was tied&mdash;not being room for it in the inside 
like, (for he had twelve shirts, and three pair of trowsers, and 
a Sunday and everyday&rsquo;s coat, with stockings and other 
things)&mdash;his old white beaver hat, turned up behind, which 
he used to wear when he was with me.&nbsp; His Sunday&rsquo;s hat
I did not see; <!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 157</span>but most likely it was in among his 
claes, to keep it from the rain, and preserved, no doubt, for the
use of some of his little brothers, please God, when they grew up
a wee bigger.</p>
<p>Seeing Maister Glen, who had cut his chin in shaving, in a 
worn-out disjasket state, mounted on his sheltie, I shook hands 
with them both; and, in my thoughtlessness, wished them &ldquo;a 
good journey,&rdquo;&mdash;knowing well what a sorrowful 
home-going it would be to them, and what their bairns would think
when they saw what was lying in the cart beside their 
mother.&nbsp; On this the big ploughman, that wore a broad blue 
bonnet and corduroy cutikins, with a grey big-coat slit up behind
in the manner I commonly made for laddies, gave his long whip a 
crack, and drove off to the eastward.</p>
<p>It would be needless in me to waste precious time in relating 
how I returned to my own country, especially as I may be thankful
that nothing particular happened, excepting the coach-wheels 
riding over an old dog that was lying sleeping on the middle of 
the road, and, poor brute, nearly got one of his fore-paws 
chacked off.&nbsp; The day was sharp and frosty, and all the 
passengers took a loup off at a yill-house, with a Highland-man 
on the sign of it, to get a dram, to gar them bear up against the
cold; yet knowing what had but so lately happened, and having the
fears of Maister Wiggie before my eyes, I had made a solemn vow 
within myself, not to taste liquor for six months at least; nor 
would I here break my word, tho&rsquo; much made a fool of by an 
Englisher, and a fou Eirisher, who sang all the road; contenting 
myself, in the best way I could, with a tumbler of strong beer 
and two butter-bakes.</p>
<p>It is an old proverb, and a true one, that there is no rest to
the wicked; so when I got home, I found business crying out for 
me loudly, having been twice wanted to take the measure for suits
of clothes.&nbsp; Of course, knowing that my two customers would 
be wearying, I immediately cut my stick to their houses, and 
promised without fail to have my work done against the next 
Sabbath.&nbsp; Whether from my hurry, or my grief for poor Mungo,
or maybe from both, I found on the Saturday night, when the 
clothes were sent home on the arm of Tammie Bodkin, whom I was 
obliged to hire by way of foresman, that some awful <!-- page 
158--><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
158</span>mistake had occurred&mdash;the dress of the one having 
been made for the back of the other, the one being long and tall,
the other thick and short; so that Maister Peter Pole&rsquo;s 
cuffs did not reach above half-way down his arms, and the tails 
ended at the small of the back, rendering him a perfect fright; 
while Maister Watty Firkin&rsquo;s new coat hung on him like a 
dreadnought, the sleeves coming over the nebs of his fingers, and
the hainch buttons hanging down between his heels, making him 
resemble a mouse below a firlot.&nbsp; With some persuasion, 
however, there being but small difference in the value of the 
cloths, the one being a west of England bottle-green, and the 
other a Manchester blue, I caused them to niffer, and hushed up 
the business, which, had they been obstreperous, would have made 
half the parish of Dalkeith stand on end.</p>
<p>After poor Mungo had been beneath the mools, I daresay a good 
month, Benjie, as he was one forenoon diverting himself dozing 
his top in the room where they sleeped, happened to drive it in 
below the bed, where, scrambling in on his hands and feet, he 
found a half sheet of paper written over in Mungo&rsquo;s 
hand-writing, the which he brought to me; and, on looking over 
it, I found it jingled in metre like the Psalms of David.</p>
<p>Having no skeel in these matters, I sent up the close for 
James Batter, who, being a member of the fifteenpence a-quarter 
subscription book-club, had read a power of all sorts of things, 
sacred and profane.&nbsp; James, as he was humming it over with 
his specs on his beak, gave now and then a thump on his thigh, 
&ldquo;Prime, prime, man; fine, prime, good, capital!&rdquo; and 
so on, which astonished me much, kenning who had written 
it&mdash;a callant that had sleeped with our Benjie, and could 
not have shaped a pair of leggins though we had offered him the 
crown of the three kingdoms.</p>
<p>Seeing what it was thought of by one who knew what was what, 
and could distinguish the difference between a B and a 
bull&rsquo;s foot, I judged it necessary for me to take a copy of
it; which, for the benefit of them that like poems, I do not 
scruple to tag to the tail of this chapter.</p>
<blockquote><p>Oh, wad that my time were ower but,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Wi&rsquo; this wintry sleet and snaw,<br />
<!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
159</span>That I might see our house again<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo; the bonny birken shaw!&mdash;<br />
For this is no my ain life,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And I peak and pine away<br />
Wi&rsquo; the thochts o&rsquo; hame, and the young 
flow&rsquo;rs<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo; the glad green month o&rsquo; May.</p>
<p>I used to wauk in the morning<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Wi&rsquo; the loud sang o&rsquo; the lark,<br />
And the whistling o&rsquo; the ploughmen lads<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; As they gaed to their wark;<br />
I used to weir in the young lambs<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Frae the tod and the roaring stream;<br />
But the warld is changed, and a&rsquo; thing now<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To me seems like a dream.</p>
<p>There are busy crowds around me<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; On ilka lang dull street;<br />
Yet, though sae mony surround me,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I kenna ane I meet.<br />
And I think on kind, kent faces,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And o&rsquo; blythe and cheery days,<br />
When I wander&rsquo;d out, wi&rsquo; our ain folk,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Out-owre the simmer braes.</p>
<p>Wae&rsquo;s me, for my heart is breaking!<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I think on my brithers sma&rsquo;,<br />
And on my sister greeting,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; When I came frae hame awa;<br />
And oh! how my mither sobbit,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; As she shook me by the hand;<br />
When I left the door o&rsquo; our auld house,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To come to this stranger land;</p>
<p>There&rsquo;s nae place like our ain hame;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Oh, I wish that I was there!&mdash;<br />
There&rsquo;s nae hame like our ain hame<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To be met wi&rsquo; ony where!&mdash;<br />
And oh! that I were back again<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To our farm and fields so green;<br />
And heard the tongues o&rsquo; my ain folk,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And was what I hae been!</p>
</blockquote>
<p>That&rsquo;s poor Mungo&rsquo;s poem; which I and James 
Batter, and the rest, think excellent, and not far short of 
Robert Burns himself, had he been spared.&nbsp; Some may judge 
otherwise, out of bad taste or ill nature; but I would just thank
them to write a better at their leisure.</p>
<h2><!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 160</span>CHAPTER XXII.&mdash;THE JUNE 
JAUNT.</h2>
<blockquote><p>The lapwing lilteth o&rsquo;er the lea,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; With nimble wing she sporteth;<br />
By vows she&rsquo;ll flee from tree to tree<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Where Philomel resorteth:<br />
By break of day, the lark can say,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll bid you a good-morrow,<br />
I&rsquo;ll streik my wing, and mounting sing,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; O&rsquo;er Leader hauchs and Yarrow.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Nicol 
Burn</span>, <i>the Minstrel</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>After Tammie Bodkin had been working with me on the board for 
more than four years in the capacity of foresman, superintending 
the workshop department, together with the conduct and 
conversation of Joe Breeky, Walter Cuff, and Jack Thorl, my three
bounden apprentices, I thought I might lippen him awee to try his
hand in the shaping line, especially with the clothes of such of 
our customers as I knew were not very nice, provided they got 
enough of cutting from the Manchester manufacture, and room to 
shake themselves in.&nbsp; The upshot, however, proved to a moral
certainty, that such a length of tether is not chancey for youth,
and that a master cannot be too much on the head of his own 
business.</p>
<p>It was in the pleasant month of June, sometime, maybe six or 
eight days, after the birth-day of our good old King George the 
Third&mdash;for I recollect the withering branches of lily-oak 
and flowers still sticking up behind the signs, and over the 
lampposts,&mdash;that my respected acquaintance and customer, 
Peter Farrel the baker, to whom I have made many a good suit of 
pepper-and-salt clothes&mdash;which he preferred from their not 
dirtying so easily with the bakehouse&mdash;called in upon me, 
requesting me, in a very pressing manner, to take a pleasure ride
up with him the length of Roslin, in his good-brother&rsquo;s bit
phieton, to eat a wheen strawberries, and see how the forthcoming
harvest was getting on.</p>
<p>That the offer was friendly admitted not of doubt, but I did 
<!-- page 161--><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
161</span>not like to accept for two-three reasons; among which 
were, in the first place, my awareness of the danger of riding in
such vehicles&mdash;having read sundry times in the newspapers of
folk having been tumbled out of them, drunk or sober, 
head-foremost, and having got eyes knocked ben, skulls cloured, 
and collar-bones broken; and, in the second place, the expense of
feeding the horse, together with our finding ourselves in meat 
and drink during the journey&mdash;let alone tolls, strawberries 
and cream, bawbees to the waiter, the hostler, and what 
not.&nbsp; But let me speak the knock-him-down truth, and shame 
the de&rsquo;il,&mdash;above all, I was afraid of being seen by 
my employers wheeling about, on a work-day, like a gentleman, 
dressed out in my best, and leaving my business to mind itself as
it best could.</p>
<p>Peter Farrel, however, being a man of determination, stuck to 
his text like a horse-leech; so, after a great to-do, and 
considerable argle-bargling, he got me, by dint of powerful 
persuasion, to give him my hand on the subject.&nbsp; 
Accordingly, at the hour appointed, I popped up the back-loan 
with my stick in my hand&mdash;Peter having agreed to be waiting 
for me on the roadside, a bit beyond the head of the town, near 
Gallows-hall toll.&nbsp; The cat should be let out of the pock by
my declaring, that Nanse, the goodwife, had also a finger in the 
pie&mdash;as, do what ye like, women will make their points 
good&mdash;she having overcome me in her wheedling way, by 
telling me, that it was curious I had no ambition to speel the 
ladder of gentility, and hold up my chin in imitation of my 
betters.</p>
<p>That we had a most beautiful drive I cannot deny; for though I
would not allow Peter to touch the horse with the whip, in case 
it might run away, fling, or trot ower fast&mdash;and so we made 
but slow progress&mdash;little more even than walking; yet, as I 
told him, it gave a man leisure to use his eyes, and make 
observation to the right and the left; and so we had a prime look
of Eskbank, and Newbottle Abbey, and Melville Castle, and 
Dalhousie, and Polton, and Hawthornden, and Dryden 
woods&mdash;and the powder mills, the paper mills, the 
bleachfield&mdash;and so on.&nbsp; The day was bright and 
beautiful, and the feeling of summer came over our bosoms; the 
flowers blossomed and the birds sang; and, as the sun looked from
the blue sky, the quiet of nature banished from our thoughts <!--
page 162--><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
162</span>all the poor and paltry cares that embitter life, and 
all the pitiful considerations which are but too apt to be the 
only concerns of the busy and bustling, from their awaking in the
morning to their lying down on the pillow of evening rest.&nbsp; 
Peter and myself felt this forcibly; he, as he confessed to me, 
having entirely forgot the four pan-soled loaves that were, that 
morning, left by his laddie, Peter Crust, in the oven, and burned
to sticks; and for my own part, do what I liked, I could not 
bring myself to mind what piece of work I was employed on the 
evening before till, far on the road, I recollected that it was a
pair of mouse-brown spatterdashes for worthy old Mr Mooleypouch 
the meal-monger.</p>
<p>Oh, it is a pleasant thing, now and then, to get a peep of the
country!&nbsp; To them who live among shops and markets, and 
stone-walls, and butcher-stalls, and fishwives&mdash;and the 
smell of ready-made tripe, red herring, and Cheshire 
cheeses&mdash;the sights, and sounds, and smells of the country, 
bring to mind the sinless days of the world before the fall of 
man, when all was love, peace, and happiness.&nbsp; Peter Farrel 
and I were transported out of our seven senses, as we feasted our
eyes on the beauty of the green fields.&nbsp; The bumbees were 
bizzing among the gowans and bluebells; and a thousand wee birds 
among the green trees were churm-churming away, filling earth and
air with music, as it were a universal hymn of gratitude to the 
Creator for his unbounded goodness to all his creatures.&nbsp; We
saw the trig country lasses bleaching their snow-white linen on 
the grass by the waterside, and they too were lilting their 
favourite songs, Logan Water, the Flowers of the Forest, and the 
Broom of the Cowdenknowes.&nbsp; All the world seemed happy, and 
I could scarcely believe&mdash;what I kent to be true for all 
that&mdash;that we were still walking in the realms of sin and 
misery.&nbsp; The milk-cows were nipping the clovery parks, and 
chewing their cuds at their leisure;&mdash;the wild partridges 
whidding about in pairs, or birring their wings with fright over 
the hedges;&mdash;and the blue-bonneted ploughmen on the road 
cracking their whips in wantonness, and whistling along amid the 
clean straw in their carts.&nbsp; And then the rows of snug 
cottages, with their kailyards and their gooseberry bushes, with 
the fruit hanging from the branches like earrings <!-- page 
163--><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>on
the neck of a lady of fashion.&nbsp; How happy, thought we 
both&mdash;both Peter Farrel and me&mdash;how happy might they be
who, without worldly pride or ambition, passed their days in such
situations, in the society of their wives and children.&nbsp; Ah!
such were a blissful lot!</p>
<p>During our ride, Peter Farrel and I had an immense deal of 
rational conversation on a variety of matters, Peter having seen 
great part of the world in his youth, from having made two 
voyages to Greenland, during one of which he was very nearly 
frozen up&mdash;with his uncle, who was the mate of a 
whale-vessel.&nbsp; To relate all that Peter told me he had seen 
and witnessed in his far-away travels, among the white bears, and
the frozen seas, would take up a great deal of the reader&rsquo;s
time, and of my paper; but as to its being very diverting, there 
is no doubt of that.&nbsp; However, when Peter came to the years 
of discretion, Peter had sense enough in his noddle to discover, 
that &ldquo;a rowing stane gathers no fog;&rdquo; and, having got
an inkling of the penny-pie manufacture when he was a wee smout, 
he yoked to the baking trade tooth and nail; and, in the course 
of years, thumped butter-bakes with his elbows to some purpose; 
so that, at the time of our colleaguing together, Peter was well 
to do in the world&mdash;had bought his own bounds, and built new
ones&mdash;could lay down the blunt for his article, and take the
measure of the markets, by laying up wheat in his granaries 
against the day of trouble&mdash;to wit&mdash;rise of prices.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, Peter,&rdquo; said I to him, &ldquo;seeing that 
ye read the newspapers, and have a notion of things, what think 
ye, just at the present moment, of affairs in general?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Peter cocked up his lugs at this appeal, and, looking as wise 
as if he had been Solomon&rsquo;s nephew, gave a knowing smirk, 
and said&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is it foreign or domestic affairs that you are after, 
Maister Wauch? for the question is a six-quarters wide 
one.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was determined not to be beat by man of woman born; so I 
answered with almost as much cleverality as himself, &ldquo;Oh, 
Mr Farrel, as to our foreign concerns, I trust I am ower loyal a 
subject of George the Third to have any doubt at all about them, 
as the Buonaparte is yet to be born that will ever beat our 
regulars <!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 164</span>abroad&mdash;to say nothing of oar 
volunteers at home; but what think you of the paper 
specie&mdash;the national debt&mdash;borough reform&mdash;the 
poor-rates&mdash;and the Catholic question?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I do not think Peter jealoused I ever had so much in my 
noddle; but when he saw I had put him to his mettle, he did his 
best to give me satisfactory answers to my queries, saying, that 
till gold came in fashion, it would not be for my own interest or
that of my family, to refuse bank-notes, for which he would, any 
day of the year, give me as many quarter loaves as I could carry,
to say nothing of coarse flour for the prentices&rsquo; scones, 
and bran for the pigs&mdash;that the national debt would take 
care of itself long after both him and I were gathered to our 
fathers: and that individual debt was a much more hazardous, 
pressing, and personal concern, far more likely to come home to 
our more immediate bosoms and businesses&mdash;that the best 
species of reform was every one&rsquo;s commencing to make 
amendment in their own lives and conversations&mdash;that poor 
rates were likely to be worse before they were better; and that, 
as to the Catholic question,&mdash;&ldquo;But, Mansie,&rdquo; 
said he, &ldquo;it would give me great pleasure to hear your 
candid and judicious opinion of Popery and the 
Papists.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I saw, with half an e&rsquo;e, that Peter was trying to put me
to my mettle, and I devoutly wished that I had had James Batter 
at my elbow to have given him play for his money&mdash;James 
being the longest-headed man that ever drove a shuttle between 
warp and woof; but most fortunately, just as I was going to say, 
that &ldquo;every honest man, who wished well to the good of his 
country, could only have one opinion upon that 
subject,&rdquo;&mdash;we came to the by-road, that leads away off
on the right-hand side down to Hawthornden, and we observed, from
the curious ringle, that one of the naig&rsquo;s fore-shoon was 
loose; which consequently put an end to the discussion of this 
important national question, before Peter and I had time to get 
it comfortably settled to the world&rsquo;s satisfaction.</p>
<p>The upshot was, that we were needcessitated to dismount, and 
lead the animal by the head forward to Kittlerig, where Macturk 
Sparrible keeps his smith&rsquo;s shop; in order that, with his 
hammer, he might make fast the loose nails: and that him <!-- 
page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
165</span>and his foresman did in a couple of hurries; me and 
Peter looking over them with our hands in our big-coat pockets, 
while they pelt-pelted away with the beast&rsquo;s foot between 
their knees, as if we had been a couple of grand gentlemen 
incog.; and so we were to him.</p>
<p>After getting ourselves again decently mounted, and giving 
Sparrible a consideration for his trouble, Peter took occasion, 
from the horse casting its shoe, to make a few apropos moral 
observations, in the manner of the Rev. Mr Wiggie, on the 
uncertainties which it is every man&rsquo;s lot to encounter in 
the weariful pilgrimage of human life.&nbsp; &ldquo;There is many
a slip &rsquo;tween the cup and the lip,&rdquo; said Peter.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And, indeed, Mr Farrel, ye never spoke a truer 
word,&rdquo; said I.&nbsp; &ldquo;We are here to-day&mdash;yonder
to-morrow; this moment we are shining like the mid-day sun, and 
on the next, pugh! we go out like the snuff of a candle.&nbsp; 
&lsquo;Man&rsquo;s life,&rsquo; as Job observes, &lsquo;is like a
weaver&rsquo;s shuttle.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But, Maister Wauch,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; Peter, who was a 
hearer of the Parish Church, &ldquo;you dissenting bodies aye 
take the black side of things; never considering that the 
doubtful shadows of affairs sometimes brighten up into the 
cloudless daylight.&nbsp; For instance, now, there was an old 
fellow-apprentice of my father&rsquo;s, who, like myself, was a 
baker, his name was Charlie Cheeper; and, both his father and 
mother dying when he was yet hardly in trowsers, he would have 
been left without a hame in the world, had not an old widow 
woman, who had long lived next door to them, and whose only 
breadwinner was her spinning-wheel, taken the wee wretchie in to 
share her morsel.&nbsp; For several years, as might naturally 
have been expected, the callant was a perfect deadweight on the 
concern, and perhaps, in her hours of greater distress, the widow
regretted the heedlessness of her Christian charity; but Charlie 
had a winning way with him, and she could not find it in her 
heart to turn him to the door.&nbsp; By the time he was 
seven&mdash;and a ragged coute he was as ever stepped without 
shoes&mdash;he could fend for himself, by running 
messages&mdash;holding horses at shop doors&mdash;winning bools 
and selling them&mdash;and so on; so that, when he had collected 
half-a-crown in a penny pig, the widow sent him to the school, 
where he got on like a hatter, <!-- page 166--><a 
name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>and in a 
little while, could both read and write.&nbsp; When he was ten, 
he was bound apprentice to Saunders Snaps in the Back-row, whose 
grandson has yet, as you know, the sign of the Wheat Sheaf; and 
for five years he behaved himself like his betters.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, when his time was out, Charlie had an 
ambition to see the world; and, by working for a month or two as 
a journeyman in the Candlemaker-row at Edinburgh, he raked as 
much together as took him up to London in the steerage of a Leith
smack.&nbsp; For several years nothing was heard of him, except 
an occasional present of a shawl, or so on, to the widow, who had
been so kind to him in his helpless years; and at length a 
farewell present of some little money came to her, with his 
blessing for past favours, saying that he was off for good and 
all to America.</p>
<p>&ldquo;In the course of time, Widow Amos became frail and 
sand-blind.&nbsp; She was unable to work for herself, and the 
charity she had shown to others no one seemed disposed to extend 
to her.&nbsp; Her only child, Jeanie Amos, was obliged to leave 
her service, and come home to the house of poverty, to guard her 
mother&rsquo;s grey hairs from accident, and to divide with her 
the little she could make at the trade of mangling; for, with the
money that Charlie Cheeper had sent, before leaving the country, 
the old woman had bought a calender, and let it out to the 
neighbours at so much an hour; honest poverty having many 
shifts.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Matters had gone on in this way for two or three fitful
years; and Jeanie, who, when she had come home from service, was 
a buxom and blooming lass, although yet but a wee advanced in her
thirties, began to show, like all earthly things, that she was 
wearing past her best.&nbsp; Some said that she had lost hopes of
Charlie&rsquo;s return; and others, that, come hame when he 
liked, he would never look over his left shoulder after her.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, as fact as death, I mind mysell, when a 
laddie, of the rumpus the thing made in the town.&nbsp; One 
Saturday night, a whole washing of old Mrs Pernickity&rsquo;s 
that had been sent to be calendered, vanished like lightning, no 
one knew where: the old lady was neither to hold nor bind; and 
nothing would serve her, but having both the old woman and her 
daughter committed to the Tolbooth.&nbsp; So to the Tolbooth they
went, weeping and <!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 167</span>wailing; followed by a crowd, who 
cried loudly out at the sin and iniquity of the proceeding; 
because the honesty of the prisoners, although impeached, was 
unimpeachable; the mob were furious; and before the Sunday sun 
arose, old Mrs Pernickity awakened with a sore throat, every pane
of her windows having been miraculously broken during the dead 
hours.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The mother and the daughter were kept in custody until 
the Monday; when, as they were standing making a declaration of 
their innocence before the justices, who should come in but 
Francie Deep, the Sheriff-officer, with an Irish vagrant and his 
wife&mdash;two tinklers who were lodging in the Back-row, and in 
whose possession the bundle was found bodily, basket and 
all.&nbsp; Such a cheering as the folk set up! it did all honest 
folk&rsquo;s hearts good to hear it.&nbsp; Mrs Pernickity and her
lass, to save their bacon, were obliged to be let out by a back 
door; and, as the justices were about to discharge the two 
prisoners, who had been so unjustly and injuriously suspected, a 
stranger forced his way to the middle of the floor, and took the 
old woman in his arms!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Charlie Cheeper returned, for a gold guinea,&rdquo; 
said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And no other it was,&rdquo; said Peter, resuming his 
comical story.&nbsp; &ldquo;The world had flowed upon him to his 
heart&rsquo;s desire.&nbsp; Over in Virginia he had given up the 
baking business, and commenced planter; and, after years of 
industrious exertion, having made enough and to spare, he had 
returned to spend the rest of his days in peace and plenty, in 
his native town.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Not to interrupt you,&rdquo; added I, &ldquo;Mr Farrel,
I think I could wager something mair.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are a witch of a guesser I know, Mansie,&rdquo; 
said Peter; &ldquo;and I see what you are at.&nbsp; Well, sir, 
you are right again.&nbsp; For, on the very day week that Patrick
Makillaguddy and his spouse got their heads shaved, and were sent
to beat hemp in the New Bridewell on the Caltonhill, Jeanie Amos 
became Mrs Cheeper; the calender and the spinning-wheel were both
burned by a crowd of wicked weans before old Mrs 
Pernickity&rsquo;s door, raising such a smoke as almost smeaked 
her to a rizzar&rsquo;d haddock; and the old widow under the snug
roof of her ever grateful <!-- page 168--><a 
name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>son-in-law,
spent the remainder of her Christian life in peace and 
prosperity.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That story ends as it ought,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;Mr 
Farrel; neither Jew nor Gentle dare dispute that; and as to the 
telling of it, I do not think man of woman born, except maybe 
James Batter, who is a nonsuch, could have handled it more 
prettily.&nbsp; I like to hear virtue aye getting its ain 
reward.&rdquo;</p>
<p>As these dividual words were falling from my lips, we 
approached the end of our journey, the Roslin Inn house heaving 
in sight, at the door of which me and Peter louped out, an 
hostler with a yellow striped waistcoat, and white calico 
sleeves, I meantime holding the naig&rsquo;s head, in case it 
should spend off, and capsize the concern.&nbsp; After seeing the
horse and gig put into the stable, Peter and I pulled up our 
shirt necks, and after looking at our watches, as if time was 
precious, oxtered away, arm-in-arm, to see the Chapel, which 
surpasses all, and beats cock-fighting.</p>
<p>It is an unaccountable thing to me, how the auld folk could 
afford to build such grand kirks and castles.&nbsp; If once gold 
was like slate stones, there is a wearyful change now-a-days, I 
must confess; for, so to-speak, gold guineas seem to have taken 
flight from the land along with the witches and warlocks, and 
posterity are left as toom in the pockets as rookit gamblers.</p>
<p>But if the mammon of precious metals be now totally altogether
out of the world, weel-a-wat we had a curiosity still, and that 
was a cleipy woman with a long stick, that rhaemed away, and 
better rhaemed away, about the Prentice&rsquo;s Pillar, who got a
knock on the pow from his jealous blackguard of a 
master&mdash;and about the dogs and the deer&mdash;and Sir Thomas
this-thing and my Lord tother-thing, who lay buried beneath the 
broad flag-stones in their rusty coats of armour&mdash;and such a
heap of havers, that no throat was wide enough to swallow them 
for gospel, although gey an&rsquo; entertaining I allow.&nbsp; 
However, it was a real farce; that is certain.</p>
<p>Oh, but the building was a grand and overpowering sight, 
making man to dree the sense of his own insignificance, even in 
the midst of his own handiwork!&nbsp; First, we looked over our 
<!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
169</span>shoulders to the grand carved roofs, where the swallows
swee-swee&rsquo;d, as they darted through the open windows, and 
the yattering sparrows fed their gorbals in the far boles; and 
syne we looked shuddering down into the dark vaults, where nobody
in their senses could have ventured, though Peter Farrel, being a
rash courageous body, was keen on it, having heard less than I 
could tell him of such places being haunted by the spirits of 
those who have died or been murdered within them in the bloody 
days of the old times; or of their being so full of foul air, as 
to extinguish man&rsquo;s breath in his nostrils like the snuff 
of a candle.&nbsp; Though no man should throw his life into 
jeopardy, yet I commend all for taking timeous 
recreation&mdash;the King himself on the throne not being able to
live without the comforts of life; and even the fifteen Lords of 
Session, with as much powder on their wigs as would keep a small 
family in loaves for a week, requiring air and exercise, after 
sentencing vagabonds to be first hanged, and then their clothes 
given to Jock Heich, and their bodies to Doctor Monro.</p>
<p>Before going out to inspect the wonderfuls, we had taken the 
natural precaution to tell the goodman of the inn, that we would 
be back to take a chack of something from him, at such and such 
an hour; and, having had our bellyful of the Chapel,&mdash;and 
the Prentice&rsquo;s Pillar,&mdash;and the vaults,&mdash;and the 
cleipy auld wife with the lang stick,&mdash;we found that we had 
still half an hour to spare; so took a stroll into the Kirkyard, 
to see if we could find out if any of the martyrs had been buried
there-away-abouts.</p>
<p>We saw a good few head-stones, you may make no doubt, both 
ancient and modern; but nothing out of the course of nature; so, 
the day being pleasant, Mr Farrel and me sat down on a 
throughstane, below an old hawthorn, and commenced chatting on 
the Pentland Hills&mdash;the river 
Esk&mdash;Penicuik&mdash;Glencorse&mdash;and all the rest of the 
beautiful country within sight.&nbsp; A mooly auld skull was 
lying among the grass, and Peter, as he spoke, was aye stirring 
it about with his stick.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I never touched a dead man&rsquo;s bones in my 
life,&rdquo; said I to Peter, &ldquo;nor would I for a 
sixpence.&nbsp; Who might that have belonged to, now, I 
wonder?&nbsp; Maybe to a baker or a tailor, in his day and 
generation, like you and I, Peter; or maybe to ane <!-- page 
170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>of
the great Sinclairs with their coats-of-mail, that the auld wife 
was cracking so crousely about?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Deil may care,&rdquo; said Peter; &ldquo;but are you 
really frighted to touch a skull, Mansie?&nbsp; You would make a 
bad doctor, I&rsquo;m doubting, then; to say nothing of a 
resurrection man.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Doctor!&nbsp; I would not be a doctor for all the gold 
and silver on the walls of Solomon&rsquo;s 
temple&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yet you would think the young doctors suck in their 
trade with their mother&rsquo;s milk, and could cut off one 
another&rsquo;s heads as fast as look at you.&mdash;Speaking of 
skulls,&rdquo; added Peter, &ldquo;I mind when my father lived in
the under-flat of the three-story house at the top of Dalkeith 
street, that the Misses Skinflints occupied the middle story, and
Doctor Chickenweed had the one above, with the garrets, in which 
was the laboratory.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel, ye observe, in getting to the shop, it was not 
necessary to knock at the Doctor&rsquo;s door, but just proceed 
up the narrow wooden stair, facing the top of which was the 
shop-door, which, for light to the customer&rsquo;s feet, was 
generally allowed to stand open.</p>
<p>&ldquo;For a long time, the Doctor had heard the most 
unearthly noises in his house&mdash;as if a thunderbolt was in 
the habit of coming in at one of the sky-lights, and walking down
stairs; and the Misses Skinflints had more than once nearly got 
their door carried off the hinges; so they had not the life of 
dogs, for constant startings and surprises.&nbsp; At first they 
had no faith in ghosts; but, in the course of time, they came to 
be alike doubtful on that point; but you shall hear.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The foundation of the mystery was this.&nbsp; The three
mischievous laddies&mdash;the apprentices&mdash;after getting 
their daily work over, of making pills and potions for his 
Majesty&rsquo;s unfortunate subjects, took to the trick of 
mounting a human skull, like that, upon springs, so that it could
open its mouth, and setting it on a stand at the end of the 
counter, could make it gape, and turn from side to side, by 
pulling a string.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The door being left purposely ajee&mdash;whenever the 
rascals saw a fit subject, they set the skull a-moving and 
a-gaping; the consequence of which was, that many a poor customer
descended without counting the number of steps, and after 
bouncing against <!-- page 171--><a name="page171"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 171</span>Dr Chickenweed&rsquo;s panels, 
played flee down to try the strength of Misses 
Skinflints&rsquo;.&nbsp; One of the three instantly darted down 
behind the evanished patient; and, after assisting her or 
him&mdash;whichever it might chance to be&mdash;to gain their 
feet, begged of them not to mention what they had seen, as the 
house was haunted by the ghost of an old maiden aunt of their 
master&rsquo;s, who had died abroad; and that the thing would 
hurt his feelings if ever it came to his ears.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Dog on me,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;if ever I heard of 
such a trick since ever I was born!&nbsp; What was the 
upshot?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The upshot was, that the thing might have continued 
long enough, and the laboratory been left as deserted as Tadmor 
in the Wilderness, had not a fat old woman fallen one day 
perfectly through the doctor&rsquo;s door, and dislocated her 
ankle&mdash;which unfortunately incapacitated her from making a 
similar attack on that of the Misses Skinflints.&nbsp; The 
consequence was, that the conspiracy was detected&mdash;the 
Doctor&rsquo;s aunt&rsquo;s ghost laid&mdash;and the fat old 
woman carried down on a shutter to her bed, where she lay till 
her ankle grew better in the course of nature.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It being near the hour at which we had ordered our dinner to 
be ready, we rose up from the tombstone; and, after taking a 
snuff out of Peter&rsquo;s box, we returned arm-in-arm to the 
tavern, to lay in a stock of provisions.</p>
<p>Peter Farrel was a warm-hearted, thorough-going fellow, and 
did not like half-measures, such as swallowing the sheep and 
worrying on the tail; so, after having ate as many strawberries 
as we could well stow away, he began trying to fright me with 
stories of folk taking the elic passion&mdash;the colic&mdash;the
mulligrubs&mdash;and other deadly maladies, on account of 
neglecting to swallow a drop of something warm to qualify the 
coldness of the fruit; so, after we had discussed good part of a 
fore-quarter of lamb and chopped cabbage&mdash;the latter a prime
dish&mdash;we took first one jug, and syne another, till Peter 
was growing tongue-tied, and as red in the face as a bubbly-jock;
and, to speak the truth, my own een began to reel with the 
merligoes.&nbsp; In a jiffy, both of us found our hearts waxing 
so brave as to kick and spur at all niggardly hesitation; and we 
leuch and thumped on the good-man of the inn-house&rsquo;s 
mahogany table, as if it had been warranted <!-- page 172--><a 
name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>never to 
break.&nbsp; In fact, we were as furious and obstrapulous as two 
unchristened Turks; and it was a mercy that we ever thought of 
rising to come away at all.&nbsp; At the long and the last, 
however, we found ourselves mounted and trotting home at no 
allowance, me telling Peter, as far as I mind, to give the beast 
a good creish, and not to be frighted.</p>
<p>The evening was fine, and warmer than we could have wished our
cheeks glowing like dragoons&rsquo; jackets; and as we passed 
like lightning through among the trees, the sun was setting with 
a golden glory in the west, between the Pentland and the 
Corstorphine Hills, and flashing in upon us through the branches 
at every opening.&nbsp; About half-way on our road back, we 
foregathered with Robbie Maut, drucken body, with his Shetland 
rig-and-fur hose on, and his green umbrella in his hand, 
shug-shugging away home, keeping the trot, with his tale, and his
bit arm shake-shaking at his tae side, on his grey sheltie; so, 
after carhailing him, we bragged him to a race full gallop for 
better than a mile to the toll.&nbsp; The damage we did I dare 
not pretend to recollect.&nbsp; First, we knocked over two drunk 
Irishmen, that were singing &ldquo;Erin-go-Bragh,&rdquo; 
arm-in-arm&mdash;syne we rode over the top of an old woman with a
wheelbarrow of cabbages&mdash;and when we came to the toll, which
was kept by a fat man with a red waistcoat, Robbie&rsquo;s pony, 
being, like all Highlanders, a wilful creature, stopped all at 
once; and though he won the half-mutchkin by getting through 
first, after driving over the tollman, it was at the expense of 
poor Robbie&rsquo;s being ejected from his stirrups like a 
battering-ram, and disappearing headforemost through the 
toll-house window, which was open, hat, wig, green umbrella, and 
all&mdash;the tollman&rsquo;s wife&rsquo;s bairn making a 
providential escape from Robbie landing on all-fours, more than 
two yards on the far-side of the cradle in which it was lying 
asleep, with its little flannel nightgown on.</p>
<p>At the time, all was war and rebellion with the tollman, 
assault and battery, damages, broken panes, and what not; but 
with skilful management, and a few words in the private ear of Mr
Rory Sneckdrawer, the penny-writer, we got matters southered up 
when we were in our sober senses; though I shall not say how much
it cost us both in preaching and pocket, to <!-- page 173--><a 
name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>make the 
man keep a calm sough as to bringing us in for the penalty, which
would have been deadly.&nbsp; I think black-burning shame of 
myself to make mention of such ploys and pliskies; but, after 
all, it is better to make a clean breast.</p>
<p>Hame at last we got, making fire flee out of the Dalkeith 
causey stones like mad; and we arrived at our own door between 
nine and ten at night, still in a half-seas-overish state.&nbsp; 
I had, nevertheless, sense enough about me remaining, to make me 
aware that the best place for me would be my bed; so, after 
making Nanse bring the bottle and glass to the door on a server, 
to give Peter Farrel a dram by way of 
&ldquo;doch-an-dorris,&rdquo; as the Gaelic folk say, we wished 
him a good-night, and left him to drive home the bit gig, with 
the broken shaft spliced with ropes, to his own bounds; little 
jealousing, as we heard next morning, that he would be thrown 
over the back of it, without being hurt, by taking too sharp a 
turn at the corner.</p>
<p>After a tremendous sound sleep, I was up betimes in the 
morning, though a wee drumly about the head, anxious to enquire 
at Tammie Bodkin, the head of the business department, me being 
absent, if any extraordinars had occurred on the yesterday; and 
found that the only particular customer making enquiries anent me
was our old friend Cursecowl, savage for the measure of a 
killing-coat, which he wanted made as fast as directly.&nbsp; 
Though dreadfully angry at finding me from home, and unco 
swithering at first, he at length, after a volley of oaths enough
to have opened a stone wall, allowed Tammie Bodkin to take his 
inches; but, as he swore and went on havering and speaking 
nonsense all the time, Tammie&rsquo;s hand shook, partly through 
fear, and partly through anxiety; and if he went wrong in making 
a nick in the paper here and there in a wrong place, it was no 
more than might have been looked for, from his fright and 
inexperience.</p>
<p>In the twinkle of an eyelid, I saw that there was some mortal 
mistake in the measurement; as, unless Cursecowl had lost beef at
no allowance, I knew, judging from the past, that it would not 
peep on his corpus by four inches.&nbsp; The matter was, however,
now past all earthly remede, and there was nothing to be done but
trusting to good fortune, and allowing the killing-coat <!-- page
174--><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>to
take its chance in the world.&nbsp; How the thing happened, I 
have bothered and beat my brains to no purpose to make out, and 
it remains a wonderful mystery to me to this blessed day; but, by
long thought on the subject, both when awake and in my bed, and 
by multifarious cross-questionings at Tammie&rsquo;s self 
concerning the paper measurings, I am devoutly inclined to think,
that he mistook the nicking, of the side-seams and the 
shoulder-strap for the girth of the belly-band.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.&mdash;CATCHING A TARTAR.</h2>
<blockquote><p><i>Fr. Sol.</i>&nbsp; O, prennez 
mis&eacute;ricorde! ayez piti&eacute; de moy!<br />
<i>Pist.</i>&nbsp; Moy shall not serve, I will have forty 
moys;<br />
For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat,<br />
In drops of crimson blood.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Henry 
V.</span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>From the first moment I clapped eye on the caricature thing of
a coat, that Tammie Bodkin had, in my absence, shaped out for 
Cursecowl the butcher, I foresaw, in my own mind, that a 
catastrophe was brewing for us; and never did soldier gird 
himself to fight the French, or sailor prepare for a sea-storm, 
with greater alacrity, than I did to cope with the bull-dog 
anger, and buffet back the uproarious vengeance of our heathenish
customer.</p>
<p>At first I thought of letting the thing take its natural 
course, and of threaping down Cursecowl&rsquo;s throat that he 
must have been feloniously keeping in his breath when Tammie took
his measure; and, moreover, that as it was the fashion to be 
straight-laced, Tammie had done his utmost trying to make him 
look like his betters; till, my conscience checking me for such a
nefarious intention, I endeavoured, as became me in the relations
of man, merchant, and Christian, to solder the matter peaceably, 
and show him, if there was a fault committed, that there <!-- 
page 175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
175</span>was no evil intention on my side of the house.&nbsp; To
this end I dispatched the bit servant wench, on the Friday 
afternoon, to deliver the coat, which was neatly tied up in brown
paper, and directed&mdash;&ldquo;Mr Cursecowl, with care,&rdquo; 
and to buy a sheep&rsquo;s head; bidding her, by way of being 
civil, give my kind compliments, and enquire how Mr and Mrs 
Cursecowl, and the five little Miss Cursecowls, were keeping 
their healths, and trusting to his honour in sending me a good 
article.&nbsp; But have a moment&rsquo;s patience.</p>
<p>Being busy at the time, turning a pair of kuttikins for old Mr
Mooleypouch the mealmonger, when the lassie came back, I had no 
mind of asking a sight of the sheep&rsquo;s head, as I aye like 
the little blackfaced, in preference to the white, fat, fozy 
Cheviot breed; but, most providentially, I catched a gliskie of 
the wench passing the shop window, on the road over to Jamie Coom
the smith&rsquo;s, to get it singed, having been dispatched there
by her mistress.&nbsp; Running round the counter like lightning, 
I opened the sneck, and halooed to her to wheel to the right 
about, having, somehow or other, a superstitious longing to look 
at the article.&nbsp; As I was saying, there was a Providence in 
this, which, at the time, mortal man could never have thought 
of.</p>
<p>James Batter had popped in with a newspaper in his hand, to 
read me a curious account of a mermaid, that was seen singing a 
Gaelic song, and combing its hair with a tortoise-shell comb, 
someway terrible far north about Shetland, by a respectable 
minister of the district, riding home in the gloaming after a 
presbytery dinner.&nbsp; So, as he was just taking off his 
spectacles cannily, and saying to me&mdash;&ldquo;And was not 
that droll?&rdquo;&mdash;the lassie spread down her towel on the 
counter, when, lo and behold! such an abominable spectacle!&nbsp;
James Batter observing me run back, and turn white, put on his 
glasses again, cannily taking them out of his well-worn shagreen 
case, and, giving a stare down at the towel, almost touched the 
beast&rsquo;s nose with his own.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And what, in the name of goodness, is the 
matter?&rdquo; quo&rsquo; James Batter; &ldquo;ye seem in a 
wonderful quandary.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The matter!&rdquo; answered I, in astonishment; looking
to see <!-- page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 176</span>if the man had lost his sight or his
senses&mdash;&ldquo;the matter! who ever saw a sheep&rsquo;s head
with straight horns, and a visnomy all colours of the 
rainbow&mdash;red, blue, orange, green, yellow, white, and 
black?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Deed it is,&rdquo; said James, after a nearer 
inspection; &ldquo;it must be a lowsy-naturay.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m 
sure I have read most of Buffon&rsquo;s books, and I have never 
heard tell of the like.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s gey an&rsquo; 
queerish.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Od, James,&rdquo; answered I, &ldquo;ye take 
every thing very canny; you&rsquo;re a philosopher, to be sure; 
but, I daresay, if the moon was to fall from the lift, and knock 
down the old kirk, ye would say no more than &lsquo;it&rsquo;s 
gey an&rsquo; queerish!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Queerish, man! do ye not see that?&rdquo; added I, 
shoving down his head mostly on the top of it.&nbsp; &ldquo;Do ye
not see that? awful, most awful! extonishing!!&nbsp; Do ye not 
see that long beard?&nbsp; Who, in the name of goodness, ever was
an eyewitness to a sheep&rsquo;s head, in a Christian land, with 
a beard like an unshaven Jew crying &lsquo;owl clowes,&rsquo; 
with a green bag over his left shoulder!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Dog on it,&rdquo; said James, giving a fidge with his 
hainches; &ldquo;Dog on it, as I am a living sinner, that is the 
head of a Willie-goat.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Willie or Nannie,&rdquo; answered I, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s 
not meat for me; and never shall an ounce of it cross the craig 
of my family:&mdash;that is as sure as ever James Batter drave a 
shuttle.&nbsp; Give counsel in need, James: what is to be 
done?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That needs consideration,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; James, 
giving a bit hoast.&nbsp; &ldquo;Unless he makes ample apology, 
and explains the mistake in a feasible way, it is my humble 
opinion that he ought to be summoned before his betters.&nbsp; 
That is the legal way to make him smart for his sins.&rdquo;</p>
<p>At last a thought struck me, and I saw farther through my 
difficulties than ever mortal man did through a millstone; but, 
like a politician, I minted not the matter to James.&nbsp; 
Keeping my tongue cannily within my teeth, I then laid the head, 
wrapped up in the bit towel, in a corner behind the counter; and,
turning my face round again to James, I put my hands into my 
breeches-pockets, as if nothing in the world had happened, <!-- 
page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
177</span>and ventured back to the story of the mermaid.&nbsp; I 
asked him how she looked&mdash;what kind of dress she 
wore&mdash;if she swam with her corsets&mdash;what was the colour
of her hair&mdash;where she would buy the tortoise-shell 
comb&mdash;and so on; when, just as he was clearing his pipe to 
reply, who should burst open the shop-door like a clap of 
thunder, with burning cat&rsquo;s een, and a face as red as a 
soldier&rsquo;s jacket, but Cursecowl himself, with the new 
killing-coat in his hand,&mdash;which, giving tremendous curse, 
the words of which are not essentially necessary for me to 
repeat, being an elder of our kirk, he made play flee at me with 
such a birr, that it twisted round my neck, and mostly blinding 
me, made me doze like a tottum.&nbsp; At the same time, to clear 
his way, and the better to enable him to take a good mark, he 
gave James Batter a shove, that made him stoiter against the 
wall, and snacked the good new farthing tobacco-pipe, that James 
was taking his first whiff out of; crying, at the same blessed 
moment&mdash;&ldquo;Hold out o&rsquo; my road, ye long withered 
wabster.&nbsp; Ye&rsquo;re a pair of havering idiots; but 
I&rsquo;ll have pennyworths out of both your skins, as I&rsquo;m 
a sinner!&rdquo;</p>
<p>What was to be done?&nbsp; There was no time for speaking, for
Cursecowl, foaming like a mad dog with passion, seized hold of 
the ell-wand, which he flourished round his head like a 
Highlander&rsquo;s broadsword, and stamping about, with his 
stockings drawn up his thighs, threatened every moment to commit 
bloody murder.</p>
<p>If James Batter never saw service before, he learned a little 
of it that day, being in a pickle of bodily terror not to be 
imagined by living man; but his presence of mind did not forsake 
him, and he cowered for safety and succour into a far corner, 
holding out a web of buckram before him&mdash;me crying all the 
time, &ldquo;Send for the town-officer! will ye not send for the 
town-officer?&rdquo;</p>
<p>You may talk of your General Moores, and your Lord 
Wellingtons, as ye like; but never, since I was born, did I ever 
see or hear tell of anything braver than the way Tammie Bodkin 
behaved, in saving both our precious lives, at that blessed nick 
of time, from touch-and-go jeopardy: for, when Cursecowl <!-- 
page 178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
178</span>was rampauging about, cursing and swearing like a 
Russian bear, hurling out volleys of oaths that would have 
frighted John Knox, forbye the like of us, Tammie stole in behind
him like a wild-cat, followed by Joseph Breekey, Walter Cuff, and
Jack Thorl, the three apprentices, on their stocking soles; and, 
having strong and dumpy arms, pinned back his elbows like a flash
of lightning, giving the other callants time to jump on his back,
and hold him like a vice; while, having got time to draw my 
breath, and screw up my pluck, I ran forward like a lion, and 
houghed the whole concern&mdash;Tammie Bodkin, the three faithful
apprentices, Cursecowl and all, coming to the ground like a 
battered castle.</p>
<p>It was now James Batter&rsquo;s time to come up in line; and 
though a douce man, (being savage for the insulting way that 
Cursecowl had dared to use him,) he dropped down like mad, with 
his knees on Cursecowl&rsquo;s breast, who was yelling, roaring, 
and grinding his buck-teeth like a mad bull, kicking right and 
spurring left with fire and fury; and, taking his Kilmarnock off 
his head, thrust it, like a battering-ram, into Cursecowl&rsquo;s
mouth, to hinder him from alarming the neighbourhood, and 
bringing the whole world about our ears.&nbsp; Such a stramash of
tumbling, roaring, tearing, swearing, kicking, pushing, cuffing, 
rugging and riving about the floor!!&nbsp; I thought they would 
not have left one another with a shirt on: it seemed a combat 
even to the death.&nbsp; Cursecowl&rsquo;s breath was choked up 
within him like wind in an empty bladder, and when I got a 
gliskie of his face, from beneath James&rsquo;s cowl, it was 
growing as black as the crown of my hat.&nbsp; It feared me much 
that murder would be the upshot, the webs being all heeled over, 
both of broad cloth, buckram, cassimir, and Welsh flannel; and 
the paper shapings and worsted runds coiled about their throats 
and bodies like fiery serpents.&nbsp; At long and last, I thought
it became me, being the head of the house, to sound a parley, and
bid them give the savage a mouthful of fresh air, to see if he 
had anything to say in his defence.</p>
<p>Cursecowl, by this time, had forcible assurance of our ability
to overpower him, and finding he had by far the worst of it, was 
obliged to grow tamer, using the first breath he got to cry <!-- 
page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
179</span>out, &ldquo;A barley, ye thieves! a barley!&nbsp; I 
tell ye, give me wind.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s not a man in nine of 
ye!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Finding our own strength, we saw, by this time, that we were 
masters of the field; nevertheless, we took care to make good 
terms when they were in our power; nor would we allow Cursecowl 
to sit upright, till after he had said, three times over, on his 
honour as a gentleman, that he would behave as became one.</p>
<p>After giving his breeches-knees a skuff with his loof, to dad 
off the stoure, he came, right foot foremost, to the counter 
side, while the laddies were dighting their brows, and stowing 
away the webs upon their ends round about, saying, &ldquo;Maister
Wauch, how have ye the conscience to send hame such a piece 
o&rsquo; wark as that coat to ony decent man?&nbsp; Do ye dare to
imagine that I am a Jerusalem spider, that I could be crammed, 
neck and heels, into such a thing as that?&nbsp; Fye, 
shame&mdash;it would not button on yourself, man, 
scarecrow-looking mortal though ye be!&rdquo;</p>
<p>James Batter&rsquo;s blood was now up, and boiling like an old
Roman&rsquo;s; so he was determined to show Cursecowl that I had 
a friend in court, able and willing to keep him at 
stave&rsquo;s-end.&nbsp; &ldquo;Keep a calm sough,&rdquo; said 
James Batter, interfering, &ldquo;and not miscall the head of the
house in his own shop; or, to say nothing of present 
consequences, by way of showing ye the road to the door, perhaps 
Maister Sneckdrawer, the penny-writer, &rsquo;ll give ye a 
caption-paper with a broad margin, to claw your elbow with at 
your leisure, my good fellow.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Pugh, pugh,&rdquo; cried Cursecowl, snapping his finger
and thumb at James&rsquo;s beak, &ldquo;I do not value your 
threatening an ill halfpenny.&nbsp; Come away out your ways to 
the crown of the causey, and I&rsquo;ll box any three of ye, over
the bannys, for half-a-mutchkin.&nbsp; But &rsquo;odsake, Batter,
my man, nobody&rsquo;s speaking to you,&rdquo; added Cursecowl, 
giving a hack now and then, and a bit spit down on the floor; 
&ldquo;go hame, man, and get your cowl washed; I dare say you 
have pushioned me, so I have no more to say to the like of 
you.&nbsp; But now, Maister Wauch, just speaking hooly and 
fairly, do you not think black burning <!-- page 180--><a 
name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>shame of 
yourself, for putting such an article into any decent Christian 
man&rsquo;s hand, like mine?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wait a wee&mdash;wait a wee, friend, and I&rsquo;ll 
give ye a lock salt to your broth,&rdquo; answered I, in a calm 
and cool way; for, being a confidential elder of Maister 
Wiggie&rsquo;s, I kept myself free from the sin of getting into a
passion, or fighting, except in self-defence, which is forbidden 
neither by law nor gospel; and, stooping down, I took up the 
towel from the corner, and, spreading it upon the counter, bade 
him look, and see if he knew an auld acquaintance!</p>
<p>Cursecowl, to be such a dragoon, had some rational points in 
his character; so, seeing that he lent ear to me with a smirk on 
his rough red face, I went on: &ldquo;Take my advice as a friend 
and make the best of your way home, killing-coat and all; for the
most perfect will sometimes fall into an innocent mistake, and, 
at any rate, it cannot be helped now.&nbsp; But if ye show any 
symptom of obstrapulosity, I&rsquo;ll find myself under the 
necessity of publishing you abroad to the world for what you are,
and show about that head in the towel for a wonder to broad 
Scotland, in a manner that will make customers flee from your 
booth, as if it was infected with the seven plagues of 
Egypt.&rdquo;</p>
<p>At sight of the goat&rsquo;s-head, Cursecowl clapped his hand 
on his thigh two or three times, and could scarcely muster good 
manners enough to keep himself from bursting out a-laughing.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye seem to have found a fiddle, friend,&rdquo; said I; 
&ldquo;but give me leave to tell you, that ye&rsquo;ll may be 
find it liker a hanging-match than a musical matter.&nbsp; Are 
you not aware that I could hand you over to the sheriff, on two 
special indictments?&nbsp; In the first place, for an action of 
assault and batterification, in cuffing me, an elder of our kirk,
with a sticked killing-coat, in my own shop; and, in the second 
place, as a swindler, imposing on his Majesty&rsquo;s loyal 
subjects, taking the coin of the realm on false pretences, and 
palming off goat&rsquo;s flesh upon Christians, as if they were 
perfect Pagans.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Heathen though Cursecowl was, this oration alarmed him in a 
jiffie, soon showing him, in a couple of hurries, that it was 
necessary for him to be our humble servant: so he said, still 
<!-- page 181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
181</span>keeping the smirk on his face, &ldquo;Keh, keh, 
it&rsquo;s not worth making a noise about after all.&nbsp; Gie me
the jacket, Mansie, my man, and it&rsquo;ll maybe serve my 
nephew, young Killim, who is as lingit in the waist as a 
wasp.&nbsp; Let us take a shake of your paw over the counter, and
be friends.&nbsp; Bye-ganes should be bye-ganes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Never let it be said that Mansie Wauch, though one of the 
king&rsquo;s volunteers, ever thrust aside the olive branch of 
peace; so ill-used though I had been, to say nothing of James 
Batter, who had got his pipe smashed to crunches, and one of the 
eyes of his spectacles knocked out, I gave him my fist 
frankly.</p>
<p>James Batter&rsquo;s birse had been so fiercely put up, and no
wonder, that it was not so easily sleeked down; so, for a while, 
he looked unco glum, till Cursecowl insisted that our meeting 
should not be a dry one; nor would he hear a single word on me 
and James Batter not accepting his treat of a mutchkin of 
Kilbagie.</p>
<p>I did not think James would have been so doure and 
refractory&mdash;funking and flinging like old Jeroboam; but at 
last, with the persuasion of the treat, he came to, and, sleeking
down his front hair, we all three took a step down to the far end
of the close, at the back street, where Widow Thamson kept the 
sign of &ldquo;The Tankard and the Tappit Hen;&rdquo; Cursecowl, 
when we got ourselves seated, ordering in the spirits with a loud
rap on the table with his knuckles, and a whistle on the landlady
through his fore-teeth, that made the roof ring.&nbsp; A bottle 
of beer was also brought; so, after drinking one another&rsquo;s 
healths round, with a tasting out of the dram glass, Cursecowl 
swashed the rest of the raw creature into the tankard, 
saying,&mdash;&ldquo;Now take your will o&rsquo;t; there&rsquo;s 
drink fit for a king; that&rsquo;s real 
&lsquo;Pap-in.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
<p>He was an awful body, Cursecowl, and had a power of queer 
stories, which, weel-a-wat, did not lose in the telling.&nbsp; 
James Batter, beginning to brighten up, hodged and leuch like a 
nine-year-old; and I freely confess, for another, that I was so 
diverted, that, I dare say, had it not been for his fearsome 
oaths, which made our very hair stand on end, and were enough to 
<!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
182</span>open the stone-wall, we would have both sate from that 
time to this.</p>
<p>We got the whole story of the Willie-goat, out and out; it 
seeming to be, with Cursecowl, a prime matter of diversion, 
especially that part of it relating to the head, by which he had 
won a crown-piece from Deacon Paunch, who wagered that the wife 
and me would eat it, without ever finding out our mistake.&nbsp; 
But, aha, lad!</p>
<p>The long and the short of the matter was this.&nbsp; The 
Willie-Goat had, for eighteen year, belonged to a dragoon 
marching regiment, and, in its better days, had seen a power of 
service abroad; till, being now old and infirm, it had fallen off
one of the baggage-carts, and got its leg broken on the road to 
Piershill, where it was sold to Cursecowl, by a corporal, for 
half-a-crown and a dram.&nbsp; The four quarters he had managed 
to sell for mutton, like lightning&mdash;this one buying a 
jigget, that one a back-ribs, and so on.&nbsp; However, he had to
weather a gey brisk gale in making his point good.&nbsp; One 
woman remarked that it had an unearthly, rank smell; to which he 
said, &ldquo;No, no&mdash;ye do not ken your blessings, 
friend,&mdash;that&rsquo;s the smell of venison, for the beast 
was brought up along with the deers in the Duke&rsquo;s 
parks.&rdquo;&nbsp; And to another wife, that, after 
smell-smelling at it, thought it was a wee humphed, he replied, 
&ldquo;Faith, that&rsquo;s all the thanks folk gets for letting 
their sheep crop heather among the Cheviot-Hills;&rdquo; and such
like lies.&nbsp; But as for the head, that had been the doure 
business.&nbsp; Six times had it been sold and away, and six 
times had it been brought back again.&nbsp; One bairn said, that 
her &ldquo;mother didna like a sheep&rsquo;s head with horns like
these, and wanted it changed for another one.&rdquo;&nbsp; A 
second one said, that &ldquo;it had tup&rsquo;s een, and her 
father liked wether mutton.&rdquo;&nbsp; A third customer found 
mortal fault with the colours, which, she said, &ldquo;were not 
canny, or in the course of nature.&rdquo;&nbsp; What the fourth 
one said, and the fifth one took leave to observe, I have 
stupidly forgotten, though, I am sure, I heard both; but I mind 
one remarked, quite off-hand, as she sought back her money, that,
&ldquo;unless sheep could do without beards, like their 
neighbours, she would keep the pot boiling <!-- page 183--><a 
name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>with a 
piece beef, in the mean time.&rdquo;&nbsp; After all this, would 
any mortal man believe it, Deacon Paunch, the greasy Daniel 
Lambert that he is, had taken the wager, as I before took 
opportunity to remark, that our family would swallow the 
bait?&nbsp; But, aha, he was off his eggs there!</p>
<p>James and me were so tickled with Cursecowl&rsquo;s wild, 
outrageous, off-hand, humoursome way of telling his crack, that, 
though sore with neighering, none of the two of us ever thought 
of rising; Cursecowl chapping in first one stoup, and then 
another, and birling the tankard round the table, as if we had 
been drinking dub-water.&nbsp; I dare say I would never have got 
away, had I not slipped out behind Lucky Thamson&rsquo;s 
back&mdash;for she was a broad fat body, with a round-eared 
mutch, and a full-plaited check apron&mdash;when she was drawing 
the sixth bottle of small beer, with her corkscrew between her 
knees; Cursecowl lecturing away, at the dividual moment, like a 
Glasgow professor, to James Batter, whose een were gathering 
straws, on a pliskie he had once, in the course of trade, played 
on a conceited body of a French sicknurse, by selling her a lump 
of fat pork to make beef-tea of to her mistress, who was dwining 
in the blue Beelzebubs.</p>
<p>Ohone, and woes me, for old Father Adam and the fall of 
man!&nbsp; Poor, sober, good, honest James Batter was not, by a 
thousand miles, a match for such company.&nbsp; Every thing, 
however, has its moral, and the truth will out.&nbsp; When Nanse 
and me were sitting at our breakfast next morning, we heard from 
Benjie, who had been early up fishing for eels at the water-side,
that the whole town-talk was concerning the misfortunate James 
Batter, who had been carried home, totally incapable, far in the 
night, by Cursecowl and an Irish labourer&mdash;that sleeped in 
Widow Thamson&rsquo;s garret&mdash;on a hand-barrow, borrowed 
from Maister Wiggie&rsquo;s servant-lass, Jenny Jessamine.</p>
<h2><!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 184</span>CHAPTER XXIV.&mdash;JAMES BATTER AND
THE MAID OF DAMASCUS.</h2>
<blockquote><p>He chose a mournful muse<br />
Soft pity to infuse;<br />
He sung the Weaver wise and good,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; By too severe a fate,<br />
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Fallen from his high estate,<br />
And weltering in his blood.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Dryden</span> 
<i>Revised</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On the morning after the debosh with Mr Cursecowl, my 
respected friend, James Batter, the pattern of steadiness and 
sobriety, awoke in a terrible pliskie.&nbsp; The decent man came 
to the use of his senses as from a trance, and scarcely knew 
either where he was, or whether his head or heels were 
uppermost.&nbsp; He found himself lying without his Kilmarnock, 
from which he might have received deadly damage, being subject to
the rheumatics in the cuff of the neck; and every thing about him
was in a most fearful and disjaskit state.&nbsp; It was a long 
time before he could, for the life of him, bring his mind or 
memory to a sense of his condition, having still on his corduroy 
trowsers, and his upper and under vest, besides one of his 
stockings:&mdash;his hat, his wig, his neckcloth, his shoes, his 
coat, his snuff-box, his spectacles, and the other stocking, all 
lying on the floor, together with a table, a chair, a 
candlestick, with a broken candle, which had been knocked 
over;&mdash;the snuffers standing upright, being sharp in the 
point, and having stuck in the deal floor.</p>
<p>It was a terrible business! and might have been a life-long 
lesson to every one, of the truth of St Paul&rsquo;s maxim, that 
&ldquo;evil communication corrupts good 
manners;&rdquo;&mdash;Cursecowl being the most incomprehensible 
fellow that ever breathed the breath of life.&nbsp; To add to his
calamities, James found, on attempting to rise, that he had, in 
some way or other, of which he had not a shadow of recollection, 
dismally sprained his left <!-- page 185--><a 
name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>ankle, 
which, to his consternation, was swelled like a door-post, and as
blue as his apron.&nbsp; There was also a black ugly lump on his 
brow, as big as a pigeon&rsquo;s egg, which was horrible to look 
at in the bit glass.&nbsp; Many a gallant soldier escaped from 
Waterloo with less scaith&mdash;and that they did.&nbsp; Poor 
innocent sowl!&nbsp; I pitied him from the very bottom of my 
heart&mdash;as who would not?</p>
<p>Having got an inkling of the town-talk by breakfast-time, and 
knowing also that many a one&mdash;such is the corruption of 
human nature&mdash;would like to have a hair in the neck of 
James, by taking up an evil report, I remembered within myself 
that a friend in need is a friend indeed, and cannily papped up 
the close, after I had got myself shaved, to see how the land 
lay.&nbsp; And a humbling spectacle it was!&nbsp; James could 
scarcely yet be said to be himself, for his eyes were like scored
collops, and his stomach was so sick that his face was like 
ill-bleached linen&mdash;pale as a dishclout.&nbsp; When he tried
to speak, it was between a bock and a hiccup with him, and my 
feeling for his situation was such&mdash;knowing, as I did, all 
the ins and outs of the business&mdash;that I could not help 
being very wae for him.&nbsp; It therefore behoved me to make 
Nanse send him a cup of well-made tea, to see if it would act as 
a settler, but his heart stood at it, as if it had been 
&rsquo;cacuana, and do as he liked, he could not let a drop of it
down his craig.&nbsp; When the wife informed me of this, I at 
last luckily remembered the old saying about giving one a hair of
the dog that bit him; and I made poor James swallow a thimbleful 
of malt spirits&mdash;the real unadulterated creatur, with 
wonderfully good effects.&nbsp; Though then in his sixty-first 
year, James declares on his honour as a gentleman, that this was 
the first time he ever had fallen a victim to the 
barley-fever!</p>
<p>How could we do otherwise! it afforded Nanse and I great 
pleasure&mdash;and no mistake&mdash;in acting the part of good 
Samaritans, by pouring oil and wine into his wounds; I having 
bound up his brow with a Sunday silk-napkin, and she having 
fomented his unfortunate ankle with warm water and hog&rsquo;s 
lard.&nbsp; The truth is, that I found myself in conscience bound
and obligated to take a deep interest in the decent man&rsquo;s 
distresses, he having <!-- page 186--><a name="page186"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 186</span>come to his catastrophe in a cause 
of mine, and having fallen a victim to the snares and devices of 
Cursecowl, instead of myself, for whom the vagabond&rsquo;s girn 
was set.&nbsp; Providence decided that, in this particular case, 
I should escape; but a better man, James Batter, was caught in it
by the left ankle.&nbsp; What will a body say there?</p>
<p>The web of Lucky Caird, which James had promised to carry home
to her on the Saturday night, was still in the loom, and had I 
been up to the craft, I would not have hesitated to have driven 
the shuttle myself till I had got it off hand for him; but every 
man to his trade; so afraid of consequences, I let the batter and
the bobbin-box lie still, trusting to Lucky Caird&rsquo;s 
discretion, and my friend&rsquo;s speedy recovery.&nbsp; But the 
distress of James Batter was not the business of a day.&nbsp; In 
the course of the next night, to be sure, he had some natural 
sleep, which cleared his brain from the effects of that dangerous
and deluding drink, the &ldquo;Pap-in;&rdquo; but his ankle left 
him a grievous lameter hirpling on a staff; and, although his 
brown scratch and his Kilmarnock helped to hide the bump upon his
temple, the dregs of it fell down upon his e&rsquo;e-bree, which,
to the consternation of everybody, became as green as a docken 
leaf.</p>
<p>My friend, however, be it added to this, was not more a 
sufferer in body than in estate; for the illness, being of his 
own bringing on, he could not make application to the 
Weavers&rsquo; Society&mdash;of which he had been a regular 
member for forty odd years&mdash;for his lawful sick-money.&nbsp;
But, being a philosopher, James submitted to his bed of thorns 
without a murmur; Nanse and I soothing his calamities, as we best
could, by a bowl of sheep-head broth; a rizzar&rsquo;d haddock; a
tankard of broo-and-bread; a caller egg; a swine&rsquo;s trotter;
and other circumstantialities needless to repeat&mdash;as 
occasion required.</p>
<p>As for Cursecowl, the invincible reprobate, so ashamed was he 
of his infamous conduct, that he did not dare, for the life in 
his body, to show himself before my shop-window&mdash;far less in
my presence&mdash;for more than a week; yet, would ye believe it!
he made a perfect farce of the whole business among his own wauf 
cronies; and, instead of repentance, I verily believe, would not 
have cared twopence to have played me the same pliskie that <!-- 
page 187--><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
187</span>he did my douce and worthy friend.&nbsp; But away with 
him! he is not worth speaking about; and ye&rsquo;ll get nothing 
from a sow but&mdash;grumph!</p>
<p>Being betimes on the mending order, James sent down, one to 
request, with his compliments, that I would hand him up by the 
bearer old Taffy with the Pigtail&rsquo;s bundle of 
papers,&mdash;as having more leisure in his hands than either he 
liked, or well knew how to dispose of, it might afford him some 
diversion to take a reading of them, for the purpose of enquiring
farther into the particulars of the Welsh gentleman&rsquo;s 
history&mdash;which undoubtedly was a wee mysterious; consisting 
of matters lying heads and thraws; and of odds and ends, that no 
human skill could dovetail into a Christian consistency.</p>
<p>On the night of the next day&mdash;I mind it weel, for it was 
on that dividual evening that Willie, the minister&rsquo;s man, 
married Mysie Clouts, the keeper of the lodging-house called the 
Beggars&rsquo; Opera&mdash;it struck me, seeing the general joy 
of the weans on the street, and the laughing, daffing, and 
hallabuloo that they were making, that poor James must be lonely 
at his ingle side, and that a drink of porter and a crack would 
do his old heart good.&nbsp; Accordingly, I made Nanse send the 
bit lassie, our servant, Jenny Heggins, for a couple of bottles 
of Deacon Jaffrey&rsquo;s best brown stout, asking if he could 
pawn his word anent its being genuine, as it was for a gentleman 
in delicate health.&nbsp; So, brushing the sawdust off the doup 
of one of them, and slipping it into my coat pocket, which was 
gey an&rsquo; large, I popped at leisure up the close to pay my 
neighbour a friendly visit.</p>
<p>&rsquo;Od, but comfort is a grand thing.&nbsp; If ever ye saw 
an ancient patriarch, there was one.&nbsp; James was seated in 
his snug old easy-chair by the fireside, as if he had been an 
Edinburgh Parliament House lawyer, studying his hornings, 
duplies, and fugie warrants, with his left leg paraded out on a 
stool, with a pillow smoothed down over it, and all the 
Welshman&rsquo;s papers docketed on the bit table before 
him.&nbsp; The cat was lying streaked out on the hearth, 
pur-purring away to herself, and the kettle by the fire cheek was
singing along with her, as if to cheer the heart of their mutual 
master.&nbsp; As for Mr Batter, he looked as prejinct as a 
pikestaff, and so taken up was he with his papers, <!-- page 
188--><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
188</span>that, when I asked him how he felt, his answer, to my 
wonderment, was, that &ldquo;in the Song of Songs, Solomon had 
likened the nose of his beloved to the tower of Lebanon, which 
looketh towards Damascus.&rdquo;&nbsp; So brown was he in his 
studies, that for a while, I feared the fall had produced some 
crack in his pan, and that his seven senses had gone a 
wool-gathering; but the story will out, as ye will hear, and 
being naturally a wee-camstairie, I gave him time to gather the 
feet of his faculties before pressing him too hard; but even the 
sight of the bottle of porter toasting by the cheek of the fire, 
hardly brought him at once to his right mind.</p>
<p>Mr Batter&rsquo;s noddle, however, after a little patience, 
clearing up, we leisurely discussed between us the porter, which 
was in prime condition, with a ream as yellow as a marigold; 
together with half a dozen of butter-bakes, crimp and new-baked, 
it being batch-day with Thomas Burlings, who, like his father and
grandfather before him, have been notorious in the biscuit 
department.&nbsp; It soon became clear to me, that the dialogue 
about Lebanon and Damascus, which was followed up with a 
clishmaclaver anent dirks, daggers, red cloaks, and other bloody 
weapons which made all my flesh grue, had some connexion with 
Taffy&rsquo;s papers on the table&mdash;out of which James had 
been diverting himself by reading bits here and there, at random 
like.</p>
<p>In the course of our confab, he told me a monstrous heap about
them; but, in general, the things were so out of the course of 
Providence, and so queer and leeing-like, that I, for one, would 
not believe them without solemn affidavy.&nbsp; Indeed, I began 
at length to question within myself&mdash;for the subject 
naturally resolved itself into two heads; firstly, whether 
Taffy&rsquo;s master might not have had a bee in his bonnet; or, 
secondly, whether he was a person not over-scrupulous regarding 
the matter of truth.&nbsp; As for James, he declared him a 
nonsuch, and said, that although poor, he would not have 
hesitated to have given him sixpence for a lock of his hair, just
to keep beside him for a keepsake; (did any body ever hear such 
nonsense?)&nbsp; Before parting, he insisted that I should bear 
with him, till he read me over the story he had just finished as 
I came in, and <!-- page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 189</span>which had been running in his 
noddle.&nbsp; At such a late hour, for it was now wearing on to 
wellnigh ten o&rsquo;clock, I was not just clear about listening 
to any thing bloody; but not to vex the old boy who, I am sure, 
would not have sleeped a wink through the night for 
disappointment, had he not got a free breast made of it, I at 
long and last consented&mdash;provided his story was not too 
long.&nbsp; My chief particularity on this point, as I should 
mention, was, that it was past Benjie&rsquo;s bedtime, and the 
callant had a hoast, which required all his mother&rsquo;s as 
well as my own good doctoring&mdash;having cost us two bottles of
Dantzic black beer with little effect; besides not a few other 
recommendations of friends and skielly acquaintances.</p>
<p>It was best, therefore, to consent with a good grace; so, 
after clearing his windpipes, James wiped the eyes of his 
spectacles with the corner of his red-check pocket-napkin; and 
thereafter fixing them on his beak, he commenced preaching away 
in grand style at some queer outlandish stuff, which fairly 
baffled my gumption.&nbsp; I must confess, however, both in 
fairness to Taffy and to James, that, as I had been up since five
in the morning, (having pawned my word to send home Duncan Imrie,
the heel-cutter&rsquo;s new duffle great-coat by breakfast time, 
as he had to go into the Edinburgh leather-market by eleven,) my 
een were gathering straws; and it was only at the fearsome parts 
that I could for half a moment keep them sundry.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;Many men,&rdquo; however, &ldquo;many minds,&rdquo; as the
copy-line book says; and as every one has a right to judge for 
himself, I requested James to copy the concern out for me; and ye
here have it, word for word, without subtraction, multiplication,
or addition.</p>
<h3>THE MAID OF DAMASCUS.</h3>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;All close they met, all eves, before the 
dusk<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,<br />
Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Unknown of any, free from whispering 
tale.&rdquo;</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Keats</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the reign of the Greek Emperor Heraclius, when the 
beautiful city of Damascus was at the height of its splendour 
<!-- page 190--><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
190</span>and magnificence, dwelt therein a young noble, named 
Demetrius, whose decayed fortunes did not correspond with the 
general prosperity of the times.&nbsp; He was a youth of ardent 
disposition, and very handsome in person: pride kept him from 
bettering his estate by the profession of merchandise, yet more 
keenly did he feel the obscurity to which adverse fates had 
reduced him, that in his lot was involved the fortune of one 
dearer than himself.</p>
<p>It so happened that, in that quarter of the city which faces 
the row of palm-trees, within the gate Keisan, dwelt a wealthy 
old merchant, who had a beautiful daughter.&nbsp; Demetrius had 
by chance seen her some time before, and he was so struck with 
her loveliness, that, after pining for many months in secret, he 
ventured on a disclosure, and, to his delighted surprise, found 
that Isabelle had longed silently nursed a deep and almost 
hopeless passion for him also; so, being now aware that their 
love was mutual, they were as happy as the bird that, all day 
long, sings in the sunshine from the summits of the 
cypress-trees.</p>
<p>True is the adage of the poet, that &ldquo;the course of true 
love never did run smooth;&rdquo; and, in the father of the 
maiden, they found that a stumbling-block lay in the path of 
their happiness, for he was of an avaricious disposition, and 
they knew that he valued gold more than nobility of blood.&nbsp; 
Their fears grew more and more, as Isabelle, in her private 
conversations, endeavoured to sound her father on this point; and
although the suspicions of affection are often more apparent than
real, in this they were not mistaken; for, without consulting his
child&mdash;and as if her soul had been in his hand&mdash;he 
promised her in marriage to a rich old miser, ay, twice as rich, 
and nearly as old as himself.</p>
<p>Isabelle knew not what to do; for, on being informed by her 
father of the fate he had destined for her, her heart forsook 
her, and her spirit was bowed to the dust.&nbsp; Nowhere could 
she rest, like the Thracian bird that knoweth not to fold its 
wings in slumber&mdash;a cloud had fallen for her over the fair 
face of nature&mdash;and, instead of retiring to her couch, she 
wandered about weeping, under the midnight stars, on the terrace 
on the house-top&mdash;wailing <!-- page 191--><a 
name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>over her 
hapless fate, and calling on death to come and take her from her 
sorrows.</p>
<p>At morning she went forth alone into the garden; but neither 
could the golden glow of the orange-trees, nor the perfumes of 
the rosiers, nor the delicate fragrance of the clustering henna 
and jasmine, delight her; so she wearied for the hour of noon, 
having privately sent to Demetrius, inviting him to meet her by 
the fountain of the pillars at that time.</p>
<p>Poor Demetrius had, for some time, observed a settled sorrow 
in the conduct and countenance of his beautiful Isabelle&mdash;he
felt that some melancholy revelation was to be made to him; and, 
all eagerness, he came at the appointed hour.&nbsp; He passed 
along the winding walks, unheeding of the tulips streaked like 
the ruddy evening clouds&mdash;of the flower betrothed to the 
nightingale&mdash;of the geranium blazing in scarlet 
beauty,&mdash;till, on approaching the place of promise, he 
caught a glance of the maid he loved&mdash;and, lo! she sate 
there in the sunlight, absorbed in thought; a book was on her 
knee, and at her feet lay the harp whose chords had been for his 
ear so often modulated to harmony.</p>
<p>He laid his hand gently on her shoulder, as he seated himself 
beside her on the steps; and seeing her sorrowful, he comforted 
her, and bade her be of good cheer, saying, that Heaven would 
soon smile propitiously on their fortunes, and that their present
trials would but endear them the more to each other in the days 
of after years.&nbsp; At length, with tears and sobs, she told 
him of what she had learned; and, while they wept on each 
other&rsquo;s bosoms, they vowed over the Bible, which Isabelle 
held in her hand, to be faithful to each other to their dying 
day.</p>
<p>Meantime the miser was making preparations for the marriage 
ceremony, and the father of Isabelle had portioned out his 
daughter&rsquo;s dowery; when the lovers, finding themselves 
driven to extremity, took the resolution of escaping together 
from the city.</p>
<p>Now, it so happened, in accordance with the proverb, which 
saith that evils never come single, that, at this very time, the 
city of Damascus was closely invested by a mighty army, commanded
by the Caliph Abubeker Alwakidi, the immediate successor <!-- 
page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
192</span>of Mahomet; and, in leaving the walls, the lovers were 
in imminent hazard of falling into their cruel hands; yet, having
no other resource left, they resolved to put their perilous 
adventure to the risk.</p>
<p>&rsquo;Twas the Musselman hour of prayer Magrib: the sun had 
just disappeared, and the purple haze of twilight rested on the 
hills, darkening all the cedar forests, when the porter of the 
gate Keisan, having been bribed with a largess, its folding 
leaves slowly opened, and forthwith issued a horseman closely 
wrapt up in a mantle; and behind him, at a little space, followed
another similarly clad.&nbsp; Alas! for the unlucky fugitives it 
so chanced that Derar, the captain of the night-guard, was at 
that moment making his rounds, and observing what was going on, 
he detached a party to throw themselves between the strangers and
the town.&nbsp; The foremost rider, however, discovered their 
intention, and he called back to his follower to return.&nbsp; 
Isabelle&mdash;for it was she&mdash;instantly regained the gate, 
which had not yet closed, but Demetrius fell into the hands of 
the enemy.</p>
<p>As wont in those bloody wars, the poor prisoner was 
immediately carried by an escort into the presence of the Caliph,
who put the alternative in his power of either, on the instant, 
renouncing his religion, or submitting to the axe of the 
headsman.&nbsp; Demetrius told his tale with a noble simplicity; 
and his youth, his open countenance, and stately bearing, so far 
gained on the heart of Abubeker, that, on his refusal to embrace 
Mahomedism, he begged of him seriously to consider of his 
situation, and ordered a delay of the sentence, which he must 
otherwise pronounce, until the morrow.</p>
<p>Heart-broken and miserable, Demetrius was loaded with chains, 
and carried to a gloomy place of confinement.&nbsp; In the 
solitude of the night-hours he cursed the hour of his 
birth&mdash;bewailed his miserable situation&mdash;and feeling 
that all his schemes of happiness were thwarted, almost rejoiced 
that he had only a few hours to live.</p>
<p>The heavy hours lagged on towards daybreak, and, quite 
exhausted by the intense agony of his feelings, he sank down upon
the ground in a profound sleep, from which a band, with <!-- page
193--><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
193</span>crescented turbans and crooked sword-blades, awoke 
him.&nbsp; Still persisting to reject the Prophet&rsquo;s faith, 
he was led forth to die; but, in passing through the camp, the 
Soubachis of the Caliph stopped the troop, as he had been 
commanded, and Demetrius was ushered into the tent, where 
Abubeker, not yet risen lay stretched on his sofa.&nbsp; For a 
while the captive remained resolute, preferring death to the 
disgrace of turning a renegado; but the wily Caliph, who had 
taken a deep and sudden interest in the fortunes of the youth, 
knew well the spring, by the touch of which his heart was most 
likely to be affected.&nbsp; He pointed out to Demetrius 
prospects of preferment and grandeur, while he assured him that, 
in a few days, Damascus must to a certainty surrender, in which 
case his mistress must fall into the power of a fierce soldiery, 
and be left to a fate full of dishonour, and worse than death 
itself; but, if he assumed the turban, he pledged his royal word 
that especial care should be taken that no harm should alight on 
her he loved.</p>
<p>Demetrius paused, and Abubeker saw that the heart of his 
captive was touched.&nbsp; He drew pictures of power, and 
affluence, and domestic love, that dazzled the imagination of his
hearer; and while the prisoner thought of his Isabelle, instead 
of rejecting the impious proposal, as at first he had done, with 
disdain and horror, his soul bent like iron in the breath of the 
furnace flame, and he wavered and became irresolute.&nbsp; The 
keen eye of the Caliph saw the working of his spirit within him, 
and allowed him yet another day to form his resolution.&nbsp; 
When the second day was expired, Demetrius craved a third; and on
the fourth morning, miserable man, he abjured the faith of his 
fathers, and became a Mussulman.</p>
<p>Abubeker loved the youth, assigning him a post of dignity, and
all the mighty host honoured him whom the Caliph delighted to 
honour.&nbsp; He was clad in rich attire, and magnificently 
attended, and, to all eyes, Demetrius seemed a person worthy of 
envy; yet, in the calm of thought, his conscience upbraided him, 
and he was far less happy than he seemed to be.</p>
<p>Ere yet the glow of novelty had entirely ceased to bewilder 
the understanding of the renegade, preparations were made for 
<!-- page 194--><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
194</span>the assault; and after a fierce but ineffectual 
resistance under their gallant leaders Thomas and Herbis, the 
Damascenes were obliged to submit to their imperious conqueror, 
on condition of being allowed, within three days, to leave the 
city unmolested.</p>
<p>When the gates were opened, Demetrius, with a heart 
over-flowing with love and delight, was among the first to 
enter.&nbsp; He enquired of every one he met of the fate of 
Isabelle; but all turned from him with disgust.&nbsp; At length 
he found her out, but what was his grief and surprise&mdash;in a 
nunnery!&nbsp; Firm to the troth she had so solemnly plighted, 
she had rejected the proposition of her mercenary parent; and, 
having no idea but that her lover had shared the fate of all 
Christian captives, she had shut herself up from the world, and 
vowed to live the life of a vestal.</p>
<p>The surprise, the anguish, the horror of Isabelle, when she 
beheld Demetrius in his Moslem habiliments, cannot be 
described.&nbsp; Her first impulse, on finding him yet alive, was
to have fallen into his arms; but, instantly collecting herself, 
she shrunk back from him with loathing, as a mean and paltry 
dastard.&nbsp; &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;you are no
longer the man I loved; our vows of fidelity were pledged over 
the Bible; that book you have renounced as a fable; and he who 
has proved himself false to Heaven, can never be true to 
me!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Demetrius was conscience-struck; too late he felt his crime, 
and foresaw its consequences.&nbsp; The very object for whom he 
had dared to make the tremendous sacrifice had deserted him, and 
his own soul told him with how much justice; so, without uttering
a syllable, he turned away, heart-broken, from the holy and 
beautiful being whose affections he had forfeited for ever.</p>
<p>When the patriots left Damascus, Isabelle accompanied 
them.&nbsp; Retiring to Antioch, she lived with the sisterhood 
for many years; and, as her time was passed between acts of 
charity and devotion, her bier was watered with many a tear, and 
the hands of the grateful duly strewed her grave with 
flowers.&nbsp; To Demetrius was destined a briefer career.&nbsp; 
All-conscious of his miserable degradation, loathing himself, and
<!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
195</span>life, and mankind, he rushed back from the city into 
the Mahomedan camp; and entering, with a hurried step, the tent 
of the Caliph, he tore the turban from his brow, and cried 
aloud&mdash;&ldquo;Oh, Abubeker! behold a God-forsaken 
wretch.&nbsp; Think not it was the fear of death that led me to 
abjure my religion the religion of my fathers&mdash;the only true
faith.&nbsp; No; it was the idol of Love that stood between my 
heart and heaven, darkening the latter with its shadow; and had I
remained as true to God as I did to the Maiden of my love, I had 
not needed this.&rdquo;&nbsp; So saying, and ere the hand of 
Abubeker could arrest him, he drew a poniard from his embroidered
vest, and the heart-blood of the renegade spouted on the royal 
robes of the successor of Mahomet.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p>
<p>So grandly had James spooted this bloody story, that 
notwithstanding my sleepiness, his words whiles dirled through my
marrow like quicksilver, and set all my flesh a grueing.&nbsp; In
the middle of it, he was himself so worked up, that twice he 
pulled his Kilmarnock from his head, silk-napkin, bandage and 
all, and threw them down with a thump on the table, which once 
wellnigh capsized the candlestick.</p>
<p>The porter and the stabbing, also, very nearly put me beside 
myself; and I felt so queerish and eerie when I took my hat to 
wish him a good-night&mdash;knowing that baith Nanse and Benjie 
would be neither to hold nor bind, it being now half-past ten 
o&rsquo;clock&mdash;that, had it not been for the shame of the 
thing, and that I remembered being one of the King&rsquo;s 
gallant volunteers, I fear I would have asked James for the lend 
of his lantern, to show me down the dark close.</p>
<p>The reader will thus perceive that the adventure of the 
killing-coat, stuck alike in the measurement and in the making by
Tammie Bodkin, was destined, in the great current of human 
events, to form a prominent feature, not only in my own history, 
but in that of worthy James Batter.&nbsp; To me it might be 
considered as a passing breeze&mdash;having been accustomed to 
see and suffer a vast deal; but my friend, I fear much, will bear
marks of it to his grave.&nbsp; Yet I cannot blame myself <!-- 
page 196--><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
196</span>with a safe conscience for James having fallen the 
victim Cursecowl.&nbsp; I had tried every thing to solder up 
matters which the heart of man could suggest; and knowing that it
was a catastrophe which would bring down open war and rebellion 
throughout the whole parish, my thoughts were all of peace, and 
how to stave off the eruption of the bloody heathen.&nbsp; I had 
thought over the thing seriously in my bed; and, reckoning 
plainly that Cursecowl was not one likely soon to hold out a flag
of truce, I had come to the determination within myself to sound 
a parley&mdash;and offer either to take back the coat or refund 
part of the purchase-money.&nbsp; I may add, that having an 
unbounded regard for his judgment and discretion, I had, in my 
own mind, selected James Batter to be sent as the 
ambassador.&nbsp; The same day, however, brought round the 
extraordinary purchase of the Willie-goat&rsquo;s head, and gave 
a new and unexpected turn to the whole business.</p>
<p>Folk, moreover, should never be so over-proud as not to 
confess when they are in fault; and from what happened, I am free
to admit, that James, harmless as a sucking dove, was no match in
such a matter for the like of Cursecowl, who was a perfect 
incarnation, for devilry and cunning, of the old Serpent 
himself.</p>
<p>My intentions, however, were good, and those of a Christian; 
for, had Cursecowl accepted the ten shillings by way of 
blood-money, which it was thus my intention to have offered, this
fearful and bloody stramash would have been hushed up without the
world having become a whit the wiser.&nbsp; But &ldquo;there is 
many a slip,&rdquo; as the proverb says, &ldquo;between the cup 
and the lip;&rdquo; and the best intentions often fall to the 
ground, like the beggarman between the two stools.</p>
<p>The final conclusion of the whole tragedy was, as it behoves 
me to mention, that Cursecowl, in consideration of a 
month&rsquo;s gratis work in the slaughter-house, made a 
brotherly legacy of the coat to his nephew, young Killim.&nbsp; 
The laddie was a perfect world&rsquo;s wonder every Sunday, and 
would have been laughed at out of his seven senses, had he not at
last rebelled and fairly thrown it off.&nbsp; I make every 
allowance for the young man; and am sorry to confess that it was 
indeed a perfect shame to be <!-- page 197--><a 
name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>seen.&nbsp;
At Dalkeith, where one is well known, any thing may pass; but I 
was always in bodily terror, that, had he gone to Edinburgh, he 
would have been taken up by the police, on suspicion of being 
either a Spanish pawtriot or a highway robber.</p>
<h2>CHAPTER XXV.&mdash;A PHILISTINE IN THE COAL-HOLE.</h2>
<blockquote><p>They steeked doors, they steeked yetts,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Close to the cheek and chin;<br />
They steeked them a&rsquo; but a wee wicket,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And Lammikin crap in.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Ballad of the Lammikin</i>.</p>
<p>Hame cam our gudeman at een,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And hame cam he;<br />
And there he spied a man<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Where a man shouldna be.<br />
Hoo cam this man, kimmer,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And who can it be;<br />
Hoo cam this carle here,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Without the leave o&rsquo; me?</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Song</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Years wore on after the departure and death of poor Mungo 
Glen, during the which I had a sowd of prentices, good, bad, and 
indifferent, and who afterwards cut, and are cutting, a variety 
of figures in the world.&nbsp; Sometimes I had two or three at a 
time; for the increase of business that flowed in upon me with a 
full stream was tremendous, enabling me&mdash;who say it that 
should not say it&mdash;to lay by a wheen bawbees for a sore 
head, or the frailties of old age.&nbsp; Somehow or other, the 
clothes made on my shopboard came into great vogue through all 
Dalkeith, both for neatness of shape and nicety of workmanship; 
and the young journeymen of other masters did not think 
themselves perfected, or worthy a decent wage, till they had 
crooked their houghs for three months in my service.&nbsp; With 
regard to myself, some of my acquaintances told me, that if I had
gone <!-- page 198--><a name="page198"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 198</span>into Edinburgh to push my fortune, I
could have cut half the trade out of bread, and maybe risen, in 
the course of nature, to be Lord Provost himself; but I just 
heard them speak, and kept my wheisht.&nbsp; I never was overly 
ambitious; and I remembered how proud Nebuchadnaazer ended with 
eating grass on all-fours.&nbsp; Every man has a right to be the 
best judge of his own private matters; though, to be sure, the 
advice of a true friend is often more precious than rubies, and 
sweeter than the Balm of Gilead.</p>
<p>It was about the month of March, in the year of grace <i>anno 
Domini</i> eighteen hundred, that the whole country trembled, 
like a giant ill of the ague, under the consternation of 
Buonaparte, and all the French vagabonds emigrating over, and 
landing in the Firth.&nbsp; Keep us all! the folk, doitit bodies,
put less confidence than became them in what our volunteer 
regiments were able and willing to do; yet we had a remnant among
us of the true blood, that with loud laughter laughed the 
creatures to scorn; and I, for one, kept up my pluck, like a true
Highlander.&nbsp; Does any living soul believe that 
Scotland&mdash;the land of the Tweed, and the Clyde, and the 
Tay&mdash;could be conquered, and the like of us sold, like 
Egyptian slaves, into captivity?&nbsp; Fie, fie&mdash;I despise 
such haivers.&nbsp; Are we not descended, father and son, from 
Robert Bruce and Sir William Wallace, having the bright blood of 
freemen in our veins, and the Pentland Hills, as well as our own 
dear homes and firesides, to fight for?&nbsp; The rascal that 
would not give cut-and-thrust for his country as long as he had a
breath to draw, or a leg to stand on, should be tied neck and 
heels, without benefit of clergy, and thrown over Leith pier, to 
swim for his life like a mangy dog!</p>
<p>Hard doubtless it is&mdash;and I freely confess it&mdash;to be
called by sound of bugle, or tuck of drum, from the counter and 
the shop-board&mdash;men, that have been born and bred to 
peaceful callings, to mount the red-jacket, soap the hair, buckle
on the buff-belt, load with ball-cartridge, and screw bayonets; 
but it&rsquo;s no use talking.&nbsp; We were ever the free 
British; and before we would say to Frenchmen that we were their 
humble servants, we would either twist the very noses off their 
faces, or perish in the glorious struggle.</p>
<p><!-- page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
199</span>It was aye the opinion of the Political folk, the 
Whigs, the Black-nebs, the Radicals, the Papists, and the Friends
of the People, together with the rest of the clan-jamphrey, that 
it was a done battle, and that Buonaparte would lick us back and 
side.&nbsp; All this was in the heart and heat of the great war, 
when we were struggling, like drowning men, for our very life and
existence, and when our colours&mdash;the true British 
flag&mdash;were nailed to the mast-head.&nbsp; One would have 
thought these rips were a set of prophets, they were all so busy 
prophesying, and never any thing good.&nbsp; They kent (believe 
them) that we were to be smote hip and thigh; and that to oppose 
the vile Corsican was like men with strait-jackets out of 
Bedlam.&nbsp; They could see nothing brewing around them but 
death, and disaster, and desolation, and pillage, and national 
bankruptcy&mdash;our brave Highlanders, with their heads shot 
off, lying on the bloody field of battle, all slaughtered to a 
man; our sailors, handcuffed and shackled, musing in a French 
prison on the bypast days of Camperdown, and of Lord Rodney 
breaking through the line; with all their fleets sunk to the 
bottom of the salt sea, after being raked fore and aft with 
chain-shot; and our timber, sugar, tea and treacle merchants, all
fleeing for safety and succour down to lodgings in the Abbey 
Strand, with a yellow stocking on the ae leg and a black one on 
the other, like a wheen mountebanks.&nbsp; Little could they 
foresee, with their spentacles of prophecy, that a battle of 
Waterloo would ever be fought, to make the confounded fugies draw
in their horns, and steek up their scraighing gabs for 
ever.&nbsp; Poor fushionless creatures!</p>
<p>I do not pretend to be a politician,&mdash;having been bred to
the tailoring line syne ever I was a callant, and not seeing the 
Adverteezer Newspapers, or the Edinburgh Evening Courant, save 
and except at an orra time,&mdash;so I shall say no more, nor 
pretend to be one of the thousand-and-one wise men, able and 
willing to direct his Majesty&rsquo;s Ministers on all matters of
importance regarding Church or State.&nbsp; One thing, howsoever,
I trust I ken, and that is, my duty to my King as his loyal 
subject, to old Scotland as her unworthy son, and to my family as
their prop, support, and breadwinner;&mdash;so I shall stick to 
all <!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 200</span>three (under Heaven) as long as I 
have a drop of blood in my precious veins.&nbsp; But the truth 
is&mdash;and I will let it out and shame the 
de&rsquo;il&mdash;that I could not help making these general 
observations, (as Maister Wiggie calls the spiritualeezing of his
discourses,) as what I have to relate might well make my 
principles suspected, were they not known to all the world to be 
as firm as the foundations of the Bass Rock.&nbsp; Ye shall 
nevertheless judge for yourselves.</p>
<p>It was sometime in the blasty month of March, the weather 
being rawish and rainy, with sharp frosty nights that left all 
the window-soles whitewashed over with frost rind in the 
mornings, that as I was going out in the dark, before lying down 
in my bed, to give a look into the hen-house, and lock the 
coal-cellar, so that I might hang the bit key on the nail behind 
our room window-shutter, I happened to give a keek in, and, lo 
and behold! the awful apparition of a man with a yellow jacket, 
lying sound asleep on a great lump of parrot-coal in a 
corner!</p>
<p>In the first hurry of my terror and surprise, at seeing a man 
with a yellow jacket and a green foraging cap in such a 
situation, I was like to drop the good twopenny candle, and faint
clean away; but, coming to myself in a jiffie, I determined, in 
case it might be a highway robber, to thraw about the key, and, 
running up for the firelock, shoot him through the head 
instantly, if found necessary.&nbsp; In turning round the key, 
the lock, being in want of a feather of oil, made a noise, and 
wakened the poor wretch, who, jumping to the soles of his feet in
despair, cried out in a voice that was like to break my heart, 
though I could not make out one word of his paraphernally.&nbsp; 
It minded me, by all the world, of a wheen cats fuffing and 
fighting through ither, and whiles something that sounded like 
&ldquo;Sugar, sugar, measure the cord,&rdquo; and &ldquo;dabble 
dabble.&rdquo;&nbsp; It was worse than the most outrageous Gaelic
ever spoken in the height of passion by a Hieland shearer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oho!&rdquo; thinks I, &ldquo;friend, ye cannot be a 
Christian from your lingo, that&rsquo;s one thing poz; and I 
would wager tippence you&rsquo;re a Frenchy.&nbsp; Who kens, keep
us all, but ye may be Buonaparte <!-- page 201--><a 
name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>himself in 
disguise, come over in a flat-bottomed boat to spy the nakedness 
of the land.&nbsp; So ye may just rest content, and keep your 
quarters good till the morn&rsquo;s morning.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was a wonderful business, and enough to happen to a man in 
the course of his lifetime, to find Mounseer from Paris in his 
coal-neuk, and have the enemy of his country snug under lock and 
key; so, while he kept rampauging, fuffing, stamping, and 
<i>diabbling</i> away, I went in and brought out Benjie, with a 
blanket rowed round him, and my journeyman, Tommy 
Staytape&mdash;who, being an orphan, I made a kind of 
parlour-boarder of, he sleeping on a shake-down beyond the 
kitchen fire&mdash;to hold a consultation, and be witness of the 
transaction.</p>
<p>I got my musket, and Tommy Staytape armed himself with the 
goose&mdash;a deadly weapon, whoever may get a clour with 
it&mdash;and Benjie took the poker in one hand, and the tongs in 
the other; and out we all marched briskly, to make the Frenchman,
that was locked up from the light of day in the coal-house, 
surrender.&nbsp; After hearkening at the door for a while, and 
finding all quiet, we gave a knock to rouse him up, and see if we
could bring any thing out of him by speering 
cross-questions.&nbsp; Tommy and Benjie trembled from top to toe,
like aspen leaves, but fient a word could we make common sense of
at all.&nbsp; I wonder who educates these foreign creatures? it 
was in vain to follow him, for he just gab-gabbled away, like one
of the stone masons at the Tower of Babel.&nbsp; At first I was 
completely bamboozled, and almost dung stupid, though I kent one 
word of French which I wanted to put to him, so I cried through, 
&ldquo;Canna you speak Scotcha, Mounseer?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He had not the politeness to stop and make answer, but just 
went on with his string of haivers, without either rhyme or 
reason, which we could make neither top, tail, nor main of.</p>
<p>It was a sore trial to us all, putting us to our wit&rsquo;s 
end, and how to come on was past all visible comprehension; when 
Tommy Staytape, giving his elbow a rub, said, &ldquo;Od, maister,
I wager something that he&rsquo;s broken loose frae 
Penicuik.&nbsp; We have him like a rotten in a 
fa&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
<p>On Penicuik being mentioned, we heard the foreign creature in 
the coal-house groaning out, &ldquo;och,&rdquo; and 
&ldquo;ochone,&rdquo; and <!-- page 202--><a 
name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
202</span>&ldquo;parbleu,&rdquo; and &ldquo;Mysie 
Rabble,&rdquo;&mdash;that I fancy was his sweetheart at home, 
some bit French quean, that wondered he was never like to come 
from the wars and marry her.&nbsp; I thought on this, for his 
voice was mournful, though I could not understand the words; and 
kenning he was a stranger in a far land, my bowels yearned within
me with compassion towards him.</p>
<p>I would have given half-a-crown at that blessed moment to have
been able to wash my hands free of him; but I swithered, and was 
like the cuddie between the two bundles of hay.&nbsp; At long and
last a thought struck me, which was to give the deluded simple 
creature a chance of escape; reckoning that, if he found his way 
home, he would see the shame and folly of fighting against us any
more; and, marrying Mysie Rabble, live a contented and peaceful 
life, under his own fig and bay tree.&nbsp; So wishing him a 
sound sleep, I cried through the door, &ldquo;Mounseer, gooda 
nighta;&rdquo; decoying away Benjie and Tommy Staytape into the 
house.&nbsp; Bidding them depart to their beds, I said to them 
after shutting the door, &ldquo;Now, callants, we have the 
precious life of a fellow-creature in our hand, and to account 
for.&nbsp; Though he has a yellow jacket on, and speaks nonsense,
yet, nevertheless, he is of the same flesh and blood as 
ourselves.&nbsp; Maybe we may be all obliged to wear green 
foraging-caps before we die yet!&nbsp; Mention what we have seen 
or heard to no living soul; for maybe, if he were to escape, we 
would be all taken up on suspicion of being spies, and hanged on 
a gallows as high as Haman.&rdquo;&mdash;After giving them this 
wholesome advice, I dispatched them to their beds like 
lamplighters, binding them to never fash their thumbs, but sleep 
like tops, as I would keep a sharp look-out till morning.</p>
<p>As soon, howsoever, as I heard them sleeping, and playing on 
the pipes through their noses, I cried first &ldquo;Tommy,&rdquo;
and syne &ldquo;Benjie,&rdquo; to be sure; and, glad to receive 
no answer from either, I went to the aumrie and took out a 
mutton-bone, gey sair pyked, but fleshy enough at the mouse end; 
and, putting a penny row beside it, crap out to the coal-house on
my tiptaes.&nbsp; All was quiet as pussie,&mdash;so I shot them 
through the hole at the corner made for letting the gaislings in 
by; and giving a tirl, <!-- page 203--><a 
name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>cried 
softly through, &ldquo;Halloa, Mounseer, there&rsquo;s your 
suppera fora youa; for I dara saya you are yauppa.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The poor chiel commenced again to grunt and grane, and groan 
and yelp, and cry ochone;&mdash;and make such woful lamentations,
that heart of man could not stand it; and I found the warm tears 
prap-prapping to my een.&nbsp; Before being put to this trial of 
my strength, I thought that, if ever it was my fortune to 
foregather with a Frenchman, either him or me should do or die; 
but, i&rsquo;fegs, one should not crack so crouse before they are
put to the test; and, though I had taken a prisoner without 
fighting at all&mdash;though he had come into the coal-hole of 
the Philistines of his own accord as it were, and was as safe as 
the spy in the house of Rahab at Jericho&mdash;and though we had 
him like a mouse beneath a firlet, snug under custody of lock and
key, yet I considered within myself, with a pitiful 
consideration, that, although he could not speak well, he might 
yet feel deeply, that he might have a father and mother, and 
sisters and brothers, in his ain country, weeping and wearying 
for his return; and that his truelove Mysie Rabble might pine 
away like a snapped flower, and die of a broken heart.</p>
<p>Being a volunteer, and so one of his Majesty&rsquo;s 
confidential servants, I swithered tremendously between my duty 
as a man and a soldier; but, do what you like, nature will aye be
uppermost.&nbsp; The scale weighed down to the side of 
pity.&nbsp; I hearkened to the scripture that promises a blessing
to the merciful in heart; and determined, come of it what would, 
to let the Frenchy take his chance of falling into other 
hands.</p>
<p>Having given him a due allowance by looking at my watch, and 
thinking he would have had enough of time to have taken his will 
of the mutton-bone in the way of pyking, I went to the press and 
brought out a bottle of swipes, which I also shoved through the 
hole; although, for lack of a tanker, there being none at hand, 
he would be obliged to lift it to his head, and do his 
best.&nbsp; To show the creature did not want sense, he shoved, 
when he was done, the empty plate and the toom bottle through 
beneath the door, mumbling some trash or other which no living 
creature could comprehend, but which I dare say, from the way it 
was said, was the telling me how much he was obliged <!-- page 
204--><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
204</span>for his supper and poor lodging.&nbsp; From my kindness
towards him, he grew more composed; but as he went back to the 
corner to lie down, I heard him give two-three heavy 
sighs.&mdash;I could not thole&rsquo;t, mortal foe though the man
was of mine; so I gave the key a canny thraw round in the lock, 
as it were by chance; and, wishing him a good-night, went to my 
bed beside Nanse.</p>
<p>At the dawn of day, by cock-craw, Benjie and Tommy Staytape, 
keen of the ploy, were up and astir, as anxious as if their life 
depended on it, to see that all was safe and snug, and that the 
prisoner had not shot the lock.&nbsp; They agreed to march sentry
over him half an hour the piece, time about, the one stretching 
himself out on a stool beside the kitchen fire, by way of a bench
in the guard-house, while the other went to and fro like the 
ticker of a clock.&nbsp; I dare say they saw themselves marching 
him after breakfast time, with his yellow jacket, through a mob 
of weans with glowering een and gaping mouths, up to the 
Tolbooth.</p>
<p>The back window being up a jink, I heard the two 
confabbing.&nbsp; &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll draw cuts,&rdquo; said 
Benjie, &ldquo;which is to walk sentry first; see, here&rsquo;s 
two straws, the longest gets the 
choice.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve won,&rdquo; cried Tommy; 
&ldquo;so gang you in a while, and if I need ye, or grow 
frightened, I&rsquo;ll beat leather-ty-patch wi&rsquo; my buckles
on the back-door.&nbsp; But we had better see first what he is 
about, for he may be howking a hole through aneath the 
foundations; thae fiefs can work like 
moudiwarts.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll slip forret,&rdquo; 
said Benjie, &ldquo;and gie a peep.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Keep to a
side,&rdquo; cried Tommy Staytape, &ldquo;for, dog on it, 
Moosey&rsquo;ll maybe hae a pistol; and, if his birse be up, he 
would think nae mair o&rsquo; shooting ye as dead as a red 
herring, than I would do of taking my breakfast.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll rin past, and gie a knock at the door 
wi&rsquo; the poker to rouse him up?&rdquo; asked Benjie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Come away then,&rdquo; answered Tommy, &ldquo;and 
ye&rsquo;ll hear him gie a yowl, and commence gabbling like a 
goose.&rdquo;</p>
<p>As all this was going on, I rose and took a vizzy between the 
chinks of the window-shutters; so, just as I got my neb to the 
hole, I saw Benjie, as he flew past, give the door a drive.&nbsp;
His <!-- page 205--><a name="page205"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 205</span>consternation, on finding it flee 
half open, may be easier imagined than described; especially, as 
on the door dunting to again, it being soople in the hinges, they
both plainly heard a fistling within.&nbsp; Neither of them ever 
got such a fleg since they were born; for expecting the Frenchman
to bounce out like a roaring lion, they hurried like mad into the
house, couping the creels over one another, Tommy spraining his 
thumb against the back-door, and Benjie&rsquo;s foot going into 
Tommy&rsquo;s coat-pocket, which it carried away with it, like a 
cloth-sandal.</p>
<p>At the noise of this stramash, I took opportunity to come 
fleeing down the stair, with the gun in my hand; in the first 
place, to show them I was not frightened to handle fire-arms; 
and, in the second, making pretence that I thought it was 
Mounseer with his green foraging-cap making an attempt at 
housebreaking.&nbsp; Benjie was in a terrible pickle; and, though
his nose was blooding with the drive he had come against 
Tommy&rsquo;s teeth, he took hold of my arm like grim death, 
crying, &ldquo;Take tent, faither, take tent; the door is open, 
and the Penicuiker hiding himself behind it.&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll 
brain some of us with a lump of coal&mdash;and will 
he!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I jealoused at once that this was nonsense; judging that, by 
all means of rationality, the creature would be off and away like
lightning to the sea-shore, and over to France in some honest 
man&rsquo;s fishing-boat, down by at Fisherrow; but, to throw 
stoure in the een of the two callants, I loaded with a wheen 
draps in their presence; and, warily priming the pan, went 
forward with the piece at full-cock.</p>
<p>Tommy and Benjie came behind me, while, pushing the door wide 
open with the muzzle, as I held my finger at the tricker, I 
cried, &ldquo;Stand or be shot;&rdquo; when young 
Cursecowl&rsquo;s big ugly mastiff-dog, with the bare mutton bone
in its teeth, bolted through between my legs like a fury, and 
with such a force as to heel me over on the braid of my back, 
while I went a dunt on the causey that made the gun go off, and 
riddled Nanse&rsquo;s best washing-tub in a manner that laid it 
on the superannuated list as to the matter of holding in 
water.&nbsp; The goose that was sitting on her eggs, among clean 
straw, in the inside of it, was also rendered a lameter for 
life.</p>
<p><!-- page 206--><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
206</span>What became of the French vagrant was never seen or 
heard tell of from that day to this.&nbsp; Maybe he was catched, 
and, tied neck and heels, hurried back to Penicuik as fast as he 
left it; or maybe&mdash;as one of the Fisherrow oyster-boats was 
amissing next morning&mdash;he succeeded in giving our brave 
fleets the slip, and rowing night and day against wind and tide, 
got home in a safe skin: but this is all matter of 
surmise&mdash;nobody kens.</p>
<p>On making search in the coal-house at our leisure afterwards, 
we found a boxful of things with black dots on them, some with 
one, some with two, and four, and six, and so on, for playing at 
an outlandish game they call the dominoes.&nbsp; It was the 
handiwork of the poor French creature, that had no other 
Christian employment but making these and suchlike, out of 
sheep-shanks and marrow-bones.&nbsp; I never liked gambling all 
my life, it being contrary to the Ten Commandments; and mind of 
putting on the back of the fire the old pack of cards, with the 
Jack of Trumps among them, that the deboshed journeymen tailors, 
in the shop with me in the Grassmarket, used to play birkie with 
when the maister&rsquo;s back was turned.&nbsp; This is the first
time I have acknowledged the transaction to a living soul; had 
they found me out at the time, my life would not have been worth 
a pinch of snuff.&nbsp; But as to the dominoes, considering that 
the Frenchy must have left them as a token of gratitude, and as 
the only payment in his power for a bit comfortable supper, it 
behoved me&mdash;for so I thought&mdash;not to turn the wrong 
side of my face altogether on his present, as that would be 
unmannerly towards a poor stranger.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, and notwithstanding all these reasons, the 
dominoes, after every thing that can be said of good anent them, 
were a black sight, and for months and months produced a scene of
riot and idleness after working hours, that went far to render 
our housie, that was before a picture of decorum and decency, a 
tabernacle of confusion, and a hell upon earth.&nbsp; Whenever 
time for stopping work came about, down we regularly all sat, 
night after night, the wife, Benjie, Tommy Staytape, and myself, 
playing for a ha&rsquo;penny the game, and growing as anxious, 
fierce, and keen about it, as if we had been earning the bread of
life.&nbsp; After two or three months&rsquo; trial, I <!-- page 
207--><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
207</span>saw that it would never do, for all subordination was 
fast coming to an end in our bit house, and, for lack of looking 
after, a great number of small accounts for clouting elbows, 
piecing waistcoats, and mending leggins, remained unpaid; a great
number of wauf customers crowding about us, by way of giving us 
their change, but with no intention of ever paying a single 
fraction.&nbsp; The wife, that used to keep every thing bein and 
snug, behaving herself like the sober mother of a family, began 
to funk on being taken through hands, and grew obstrapulous with 
her tongue.&nbsp; Instead of following my directions&mdash;who 
was his born maister in the cutting and shaping line&mdash;Tommy 
Staytape pretended to set up a judgment of his own, and 
disfigured some ploughmen&rsquo;s jackets in a manner most 
hideous to behold; while, to crown all, even Absalom, the very 
callant Benjie, my only bairn, had the impudence to contradict me
more than once, and began to think himself as clever as his 
father.&nbsp; Save us all! it was a terrible business, but I 
determined, come what would, to give it the finishing stitch.</p>
<p>Every night being worse than another, I did not wait long for 
an opportunity of letting the whole of them ken my mind, and 
that, whenever I chose, I could make them wheel to the right 
about.&nbsp; So it chanced, as we were playing, that I was in 
prime luck, first rooking the one and syne the other, and I saw 
them twisting and screwing their mouths about as if they were 
chewing bitter aloes.&nbsp; Finding that they were on the point 
of being beaten roop and stoop, they all three rose up from the 
chairs, crying with one voice, that I was a cheat.&mdash;An elder
of Maister Wiggie&rsquo;s kirk to be called a cheat!&nbsp; Most 
awful!!!&nbsp; Flesh and blood could not stand it, more 
especially when I thought on who had dared to presume to call me 
such; so, in a whirlwind of fury, I swept up two nievefuls of 
dominoes off the table, and made them flee into the bleezing 
fire; where, after fizzing and cracking like a wheen squeebs, the
whole tot, except about half-a-dozen which fell into the 
porritch-pot, which was on boiling at the time, were reduced to a
heap of grey aizles.&nbsp; I soon showed them who was the top of 
the tree, and what they were likely to make of undutiful 
rebellion.</p>
<p>So much for a Mounseer&rsquo;s legacy; being in a kind of 
doubt <!-- page 208--><a name="page208"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 208</span>whether, according to the Riot Act 
and the Articles of War, I had a clear conscience in letting him 
away, I could not expect that any favour granted at his hands was
likely to prosper.&nbsp; In fighting, it is well kent to 
themselves and all the world, that they have no earthly chance 
with us; so they are reduced to the necessity of doing what they 
can, by coming to our firesides in sheep&rsquo;s clothing, and 
throwing ram-pushion among the family broth.&nbsp; They had 
better take care that they do not get their fingers scadded.</p>
<p>Having given the dominoes their due, and washed my hands free 
of gambling I trust for evermore, I turned myself to a better 
business, which was the going, leaf by leaf, back through our bit
day-book, where I found a tremendous sowd of wee outstanding 
debts.&nbsp; I daresay, not to tell a lee, there were fifty of 
them, from a shilling to eighteenpence, and so on; but small and 
small, reckoned up by simple addition, amount to a round sum; 
while, to add to the misery of the matter, I found we were 
entangling ourselves to work to a wheen ugly customers, skemps 
that had not wherewithal to pay lawful debts, and downright 
rascals, raggamuffins, and ne&rsquo;er-do-weels.&nbsp; According 
to the articles of indenture drawn up between me and Tommy 
Staytape, by Rory Sneckdrawer the penny-writer, when he was bound
a prentice to me for seven years, I had engaged myself to bring 
him up to be a man of business.&nbsp; Though now a journeyman, I 
reckoned the obligation still binding; so, tying up two dockets 
of accounts with a piece of twine, I gave one parcel to Tommy, 
and the other to Benjie, telling them, by way of encouragement, 
that I would give them a penny the pound for what silver they 
could bring me in by hook or crook.</p>
<p>After three days&rsquo; toil and trouble, wherein they mostly 
wore their shoon off their feet, going first up one close and 
syne down another, up trap-stairs to garrets and ben long trances
that led into dirty holes&mdash;what think ye did they 
collect?&nbsp; Not one bodle&mdash;not one coin of copper!&nbsp; 
This one was out of work;&mdash;and that one had his house-rent 
to pay;&mdash;and a third one had an income in his 
nose;&mdash;and a fourth was bedridden with rheumatics;&mdash;and
a fifth one&rsquo;s mother&rsquo;s auntie&rsquo;s cousin was 
dead;&mdash;and a sixth one&rsquo;s good-brother&rsquo;s nevoy 
was going to be <!-- page 209--><a name="page209"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 209</span>married come Martymas;&mdash;and a 
seventh one was away to the back of beyond to see his granny in 
the Hielands;&mdash;and so on.&nbsp; It was a terrible business, 
but what wool can ye get by clipping swine?</p>
<p>The only rational answers I got were two; one of them, Geggie 
Trotter, a natural simpleton, told Tommy Staytape, &ldquo;that, 
for part-payment, he would give me a prime leg of mutton, as he 
had killed his sow last week.&rdquo;&mdash;And what, said I to 
Benjie, did Jacob Truff the gravedigger tell ye by way of 
news?&nbsp; &ldquo;He just bad me tell ye, faither, that hoo 
could ye expect he cou&rsquo;d gie ye onything till the times 
grew better; as he hadna buried a living soul in the kirkyard for
mair nor a fortnight.&rdquo;</p>
<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.&mdash;BENJIE ON THE CARPET.</h2>
<blockquote><p>It&rsquo;s no in titles, nor in rank&mdash;<br />
It&rsquo;s no in wealth, like Lon&rsquo;on bank,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To purchase peace and rest;<br />
It&rsquo;s no in making muckle <i>mair</i>&mdash;<br />
It&rsquo;s no in books&mdash;it&rsquo;s no in lear,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; To make us truly blest.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Burns</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It is a most wonderful thing to the eye of a philosopher, to 
make observation how youth gets up, notwithstanding all the dunts
and tumbles of infancy&mdash;to say nothing of the spaining-brash
and the teeth-cutting; and to behold the visible changes that the
course of a few years produces.&nbsp; Keep us all! it seemed but 
yesterday to me, when Benjie, a wee bit smout of a wean, with 
long linty locks and docked petticoats, toddled but and ben, with
a coral gumstick tied round his waist with a bit knitten; and 
now, after he had been at Dominie Threshem&rsquo;s for four 
years, he had learned to read Barrie&rsquo;s Collection almost 
<!-- page 210--><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
210</span>as well as the master could do for his lugs; and was up
to all manner of accounts, from simple addition and the 
multiplication-table, even to vulgar fractions, and all the lave 
of them.</p>
<p>At the yearly examination of the school-room by the Presbytery
and Maister Wiggie, he aye sat at the head of the form, and never
failed getting a clap on the head and a wheen carvies.&nbsp; They
that are fathers will not wonder that this made me as proud as a 
peacock; but when they asked his name, and found whose son he 
was, then the matter seemed to cease being a business of wonder, 
as nobody could suppose that an only bairn, born to me in lawful 
wedlock, could be a dult.&nbsp; Folk&rsquo;s cleverness&mdash;at 
least I should think so&mdash;lies in their pows; and, that 
allowed, Benjie&rsquo;s was a gey droll one, being of the most 
remarkable sort of a shape ye ever saw; but, what is more to the 
purpose both here and hereafter, he was a real good-hearted 
callant, though as gleg as a hawk and as sharp as a needle.&nbsp;
Everybody that had the smallest gumption prophesied that he would
be a real clever one; nor could we grudge that we took pains in 
his rearing&mdash;he having been like a sucking-turkey, or a 
hot-house plant from far away, delicate in the 
constitution&mdash;when we saw that the debt was likely to be 
paid with bank-interest, and that, by his uncommon cleverality, 
the callant was to be a credit to our family.</p>
<p>Many and long were the debates between his fond mother and me,
what trade we would breed him up to&mdash;for the matter now 
became serious, Benjie being in his thirteenth year; and, though 
a wee bowed in the near leg, from a suppleness about his 
knee-joint, nevertheless as active as a hatter, and fit for any 
calling whatsoever under the sun.&nbsp; One thing I had 
determined in my own mind, and that was, that he should never 
with my will go abroad.&nbsp; The gentry are no doubt 
philosophers enough to bring up their bairns like sheep to the 
slaughter, and dispatch them as cadies to Bengal and the Cape of 
Good Hope, as soon as they are grown up; when, lo and behold! the
first news they hear of them is in a letter, sealed with black 
wax, telling how they died of the liver complaint, and were 
buried by six blacks two hours after.</p>
<p>That was one thing settled and sealed, so no more need be <!--
page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
211</span>said about it; yet, notwithstanding of Nanse&rsquo;s 
being satisfied that the spaewife was a deceitful gipsy, 
perfectly untrustworthy, she would aye have a finger in the pie, 
and try to persuade me in a coaxing way.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m 
sure,&rdquo; she would say, &ldquo;ane with half an e&rsquo;e may
see that our son Benjie has just the physog of an admiral.&nbsp; 
It&rsquo;s a great shame contradicting nature.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Po, po,&rdquo; answered I, &ldquo;woman, ye dinna ken 
what ye&rsquo;re saying.&nbsp; Do ye imagine that, if he were 
made a sea-admiral, we could ever live to have any comfort in the
son of our bosom?&nbsp; Would he not, think ye, be obliged with 
his ship to sail the salt seas, through foul weather and fair; 
and, when he met the French, to fight, hack, and hew them down, 
lith and limb, with grape-shot and cutlass; till some unfortunate
day or other, after having lost a leg and an arm in the service, 
he is felled as dead as a door-nail, with a cut and thrust over 
the crown, by some furious rascal that saw he was off his guard, 
glowring with his blind e&rsquo;e another way?&mdash;Ye speak 
havers, Nanse; what are all the honours of this world 
worth?&nbsp; No worth this pinch of snuff I have between my 
finger and thumb&mdash;no worth a bodle, if we never saw our 
Benjie again, but he was aye ranging and rampauging far abroad, 
shedding human blood; and when we could only aye dream about him 
in our sleep, as one that was wandering night and day blindfold, 
down the long, dark, lampless avenue of destruction, and destined
never more to visit Dalkeith again, except with a wooden stump 
and a brass virl, or to have his head blown off his shoulders, 
mast high, like ingan peelings, with some exploding earthquake of
combustible gunpowder.&mdash;Call in the laddie, I say, and see 
what he would like to be himsell.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Nanse ran but the house, and straightway brought Benjie, who 
was playing at the bools, ben by the lug and horn.&nbsp; I had 
got a glass, so my spirit was up.&nbsp; &ldquo;Stand 
there,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;Benjie, look me in the face, and 
tell me what trade ye would like to be.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Trade?&rdquo; answered Benjie; &ldquo;I would like to 
be a gentleman.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Dog on it, it was more than I could thole, and I saw that his 
mother had spoiled him; so, though I aye liked to give him <!-- 
page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
212</span>wholesome reproof rather than lift my fist, I broke 
through this rule in a couple of hurries, and gave him such a 
yerk in the cheek with the loof of my hand, as made, I am sure, 
his lugs ring, and sent him dozing to the door like a peerie.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye see that,&rdquo; said I, as the laddie went ben the 
house whingeing; &ldquo;ye see what a kettle of fish ye have made
o&rsquo;t?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel, weel,&rdquo; answered Nanse, a wee startled by my
strong, decisive way of managing, &ldquo;ye ken best, and, I 
fancy, maun tak&rsquo; the matter your ain way.&nbsp; But ye can 
have no earthly objection to making him a lawer&rsquo;s 
advocatt?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I wad see him hanged first,&rdquo; answered I.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;What! do you imagine I would set a son of mine to be a 
sherry-offisher, ganging about rampauging through the country, 
taking up fiefs and robbers, and suspicious characters with wauf 
looks and waur claes; exposed to all manner of evil communication
from bad company, in the way of business; and rouping out puir 
creatures that cannot find wherewithal to pay their lawful debts,
at the Cross, by warrant of the Sherry, with an auld chair in ae 
hand and an eevery hammer in the ither?&nbsp; Siccan a sight wad 
be the death o&rsquo; me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What think ye then of the preaching line?&rdquo; asked 
Nanse.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The preaching line!&rdquo; quo&rsquo; 
I&mdash;&ldquo;No, no, that&rsquo;ll never do.&nbsp; Not that I 
want respect for ministers, who are the servants of the Most 
High; but the truth is, that unless ye have great friends and 
patronage of the like of the Duke down by, or the Marquis of 
Lothian up by, or suchlike, ye may preach yoursell as hoarse as a
corbie, from June to January, before ony body will say, 
&lsquo;Hae, puir man, there&rsquo;s a kirk.&rsquo;&nbsp; And if 
no kirk casts up&mdash;which is more nor likely&mdash;what can a 
young probationer turn his hand to?&nbsp; He has learned no 
trade, so he can neither work nor want.&nbsp; He daurna dig nor 
delve, even though he were able, or he would be hauled by the 
cuff of the neck before his betters in the General Assembly, for 
having the impudence to go for to be so bold as dishonour the 
cloth; and though he may get his bit orra half-a-guinea whiles, 
for holding forth in some bit country kirk, to a wheen shepherds 
and their dogs, when the minister himself, staring with the fat 
of good living and little work, is lying ill of a bile fever, or 
has the gout in his <!-- page 213--><a name="page213"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 213</span>muckle toe, yet he has aye the 
miseries of uncertainty to encounter; his coat grows bare in the 
cuffs, greasy in the neck, and brown between the shouthers; his 
jawbones get long and lank, his een sunk, and his head grey 
wi&rsquo; vexation, and what the wise Solomon calls &lsquo;hope 
deferred;&rsquo; so at long and last, friendless and penniless, 
he takes the incurable complaint of a broken heart, and is buried
out of the gate, in some bit strange corner of the 
kirkyard.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Stop, stop, gudeman,&rdquo; cried Nanse, half greeting,
&ldquo;that&rsquo;s an awfu&rsquo; business; but I daresay 
it&rsquo;s owre true.&nbsp; But mightna we breed him a 
doctor?&nbsp; It seems they have unco profits; and, as he&rsquo;s
sae clever, he might come to be a graduit.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Doctor!&rdquo; answered I&mdash;&ldquo;Keh, keh, let 
that flee stick i&rsquo; the wa&rsquo;; it&rsquo;s a&rsquo; ye 
ken about it.&nbsp; If ye was only aware of what doctors had to 
do and see, between dwining weans and crying wives, ye would have
thought twice before ye let that out.&nbsp; How do ye think our 
callant has a heart within him to look at folk blooding like 
sheep, or to sew up cutted throats with a silver needle and silk 
thread, as I would stitch a pair of trowsers; or to trepan out 
pieces of cloured skulls, filling up the hole with an iron plate;
and pull teeth, maybe the only ones left, out of auld 
women&rsquo;s heads, and so on, to say nothing of rampauging with
dark lanterns and double-tweel dreadnoughts, about gousty 
kirkyards, among humlock and long nettles, the haill night over, 
like spunkie&mdash;shoving the dead corpses, winding-sheets and 
all, into corn-sacks, and boiling their bones, after they have 
dissected all the red flesh off them, into a big caudron, to get 
out the marrow to make drogs of?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Eh, stop, stop, Mansie!&rdquo; cried Nanse holding up 
her hands.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Na,&rdquo; continued I, &ldquo;but it&rsquo;s a true 
bill&mdash;it&rsquo;s as true as ye are sitting there.&nbsp; And 
do ye think that any earthly compensation, either gowpins of gowd
by way of fees, or yellow chariots to ride in, with a black 
servant sticking up behind, like a sign over a 
tobacconist&rsquo;s door, can ever make up for the loss of a 
man&rsquo;s having all his feelings seared to iron, and his soul 
made into whinstone, yea, into the nether-millstone, by being art
and part in sic dark and devilish abominations?&nbsp; Go away 
wi&rsquo; siccan <!-- page 214--><a name="page214"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 214</span>downright nonsense.&nbsp; Hearken to
my words, Nanse, my dear.&nbsp; The happiest man is he that can 
live quietly and soberly on the earnings of his industry, pays 
his day and way, works not only to win the bread of life for his 
wife and weans, but because he kens that idle-set is sinful; 
keeps a pure heart towards God and man; and, caring not for the 
fashion of this world, departs from it in the hope of going, 
through the merits of his Redeemer, to a better.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye are right, after a&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Nanse, giving
me a pat on the shouther; and finding who was her master as well 
as spouse&mdash;&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wad it become me to gang for to
gie advice to my betters.&nbsp; Tak&rsquo; your will of the 
business, gudeman; and if ye dinna mak&rsquo; him an admiral, 
just mak&rsquo; him what ye like.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Now is the time, thought I to myself, to carry my point, 
finding the drappikie I had taken with Donald M&lsquo;Naughton, 
in settling his account for the green jacket, still working in my
noddle, and giving me a power of words equal to Mr Blouster, the 
Cameronian preacher,&mdash;now is the time, for I still saw the 
unleavened pride of womankind wambling within her, like a serpent
that has got a knock on the pow, and been cast down but not 
destroyed; so, taking a hearty snuff out of my box, and drawing 
it up first one nostril, then another, syne dighting my finger 
and thumb on my breek-knees, &ldquo;What think ye,&rdquo; said I,
&ldquo;of a sweep?&nbsp; Were it not for getting their faces 
blacked like savages, a sweep is not such a bad trade after 
a&rsquo;; though, to be sure, going down lums six stories high, 
head-foremost, and landing upon the soles of their feet upon the 
hearth-stone, like a kittlin, is no just so 
pleasant.&rdquo;&nbsp; Ye observe, it was only to throw cold 
water on the unthrifty flame of a mother&rsquo;s pride that I 
said this, and to pull down uppishness from its heathenish temple
in the heart, head-foremost.&nbsp; So I looked to her, to hear 
how she would come on.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Haivers, haivers,&rdquo; said Nanse, birsing up like a 
cat before a colley.&nbsp; &ldquo;Sweep, say ye?&nbsp; I would 
sooner send him up wi&rsquo; Lunardi to the man of the moon; or 
see him banished, shackled neck and heels, to Botany 
Bay.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A weel, a weel,&rdquo; answered I, &ldquo;what notion 
have ye of the packman line?&nbsp; We could fill his box with 
needles, and prins, <!-- page 215--><a name="page215"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 215</span>and tape, and hanks of worsted, and 
penny thimbles, at a small expense; and, putting a stick in his 
hand, send him abroad into the wide world to push his 
fortune.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The wife looked dumfoundered.&nbsp; Howsoever&mdash;&ldquo;Or 
breed him a rowley-powley man,&rdquo; continued I, &ldquo;to 
trail about the country frequenting fairs; and dozing thro&rsquo;
the streets selling penny cakes to weans, out of a basket slung 
round the neck with a leather strap; and parliaments, and 
quality, brown and white, and snaps well peppered, and 
gingerbread nits, and so on.&nbsp; The trade is no a bad ane, if 
creatures would only learn to be careful.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Mansie Wauch, Mansie Wauch, hae ye gane out o&rsquo; 
yere wuts?&rdquo; cried Nanse&mdash;&ldquo;are ye really 
serious?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I saw what I was about, so went on without pretending to mind 
her.&nbsp; &ldquo;Or what say ye to a penny-pie-man?&nbsp; 
I&rsquo;fegs, it&rsquo;s a cozy birth, and ane that gars the 
cappers birl down.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s the expense of a bit daigh,
half an ounce weight, pirled round wi&rsquo; the knuckles into a 
case, and filled half full o&rsquo; salt and water, wi&rsquo; twa
or three nips o&rsquo; braxy floating about in&rsquo;t?&nbsp; 
Just naething ava;&mdash;and consider on a winter night, when 
iceshockles are hinging from the tiles, and stomachs relish what 
is warm and tasty, what a sale they can get, if they go about 
jingling their little bell, and keep the genuine article!&nbsp; 
Then ye ken in the afternoon, he can show that he has two strings
to his bow; and have a wheen cookies, either new baked for 
ladies&rsquo; tea-parties, or the yesterday&rsquo;s auld 
shopkeepers&rsquo; het up i&rsquo; the oven again&mdash;which is 
all to ae purpose.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Are ye really in your seven natural senses&mdash;or can
I believe my ain een?&nbsp; I could almost believe some warlock 
had thrown glamour into them,&rdquo; said Nanse staring me broad 
in the face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Take a good look, gudewife, for seeing&rsquo;s 
believing,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; I; and then continued, without 
drawing breath or bridle, at full birr&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Or if the baking line does not please ye, what say ye 
to binding him regularly to a man-cook?&nbsp; There he&rsquo;ll 
see life in all its variorums.&nbsp; Losh keep us a&rsquo;, what 
an insight into the secrets of roasting, brandering, frying, 
boiling, baking, and brewing&mdash;nicking of geese&rsquo;s 
craigs&mdash;hacking the necks of dead <!-- page 216--><a 
name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>chickens, 
and cutting out the tongues of leeving turkeys!&nbsp; Then what a
steaming o&rsquo; fat soup in the nostrils; and siccan a 
collection o&rsquo; fine smells, as would persuade a man that he 
could fill his stomach through his nose!&nbsp; No weather can 
reach such cattle: it may be a storm of snow twenty feet deep, or
an even-down pour of rain, washing the very cats off the house 
tops; when a weaver is shivering at his loom, with not a drop of 
blood at his finger nails, and a tailor like myself, so numb with
cauld, that instead of driving the needle through the claith, he 
brogs it through his ain thumb&mdash;then, fient a hair care 
they; but, standing beside a ranting, roaring, parrot-coal fire, 
in a white apron and a gingham jacket, they pour sauce out of ae 
pan into another, to suit the taste of my Lord this, and my Lady 
that, turning, by their legerdemain, fish into fowl, and fowl 
into flesh; till, in the long run, man, woman, and wean, a&rsquo;
chew and champ away, without kenning more what they are eating 
than ye ken the day ye&rsquo;ll dee, or whether the Witch of 
Endor wore a demity falderal, or a manco petticoat.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Weel,&rdquo; cried Nanse, half rising to go ben the 
house, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll sit nae langer to hear ye gabbling 
nonsense like a magpie.&nbsp; Mak&rsquo; Benjie what ye like; but
ye&rsquo;ll mak&rsquo; me greet the een out o&rsquo; my 
head.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hooly and fairly,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;Nanse, sit 
still like a woman, and hear me out;&rdquo; so, giving her a pat 
on the shouther, she sat her ways down, and I resumed my 
discourse.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ve heard, gudewife, from Benjie&rsquo;s own 
mouth, that he has made up his mind to follow out the trade of a 
gentleman;&mdash;who has put such outrageous notions in his head 
I&rsquo;m sure I&rsquo;ll not pretend to guess at.&nbsp; Having 
never myself been above daily bread, and constant work&mdash;when
I could get it&mdash;I dare not presume to speak from experience;
but this I can say, from having some acquaintances in the line, 
that, of all easy lives, commend me to that of a 
gentleman&rsquo;s gentleman.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s true he&rsquo;s 
caa&rsquo;d a flunky, which does not sound quite the thing; but 
what of that? what&rsquo;s in a name? pugh! it does not signify a
bawbee&mdash;no, nor that pinch of snuff: for, if we descend to 
particulars, we&rsquo;re all flunkies together, except his 
Majesty on the throne.&mdash;Then William Pitt is his 
flunky&mdash;and half the house of Commons <!-- page 217--><a 
name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>are his 
flunkies, doing what he bids them, right or wrong, and no daring 
to disobey orders, not for the hair in their heads&mdash;then the
Earl waits on my Lord Duke&mdash;Sir Something waits on my Lord 
Somebody&mdash;and his tenant, Mr So-and-so, waits on 
him&mdash;and Mr So-and-so has his butler&mdash;and the butler 
has his flunky&mdash;and the shoeblack brushes the flunky&rsquo;s
jacket&mdash;and so on.&nbsp; We all hang at one another&rsquo;s 
tails like a rope of ingans&mdash;so ye observe, that any such 
objection in the sight of a philosopher like our Benjie, would 
not weigh a straw&rsquo;s weight.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Then consider, for a moment&mdash;just consider, 
gudewife&mdash;what company a flunky is every day taken up with, 
standing behind the chairs, and helping to clean plates and 
porter; and the manners he cannot help learning, if he is in the 
smallest gleg in the uptake, so that, when out of livery, it is 
the toss up of a halfpenny whether ye find out the difference 
between the man and the master.&nbsp; He learns, in fact, every 
thing.&nbsp; He learns French&mdash;he learns dancing in all its 
branches&mdash;he learns how to give boots the finishing 
polish&mdash;he learns how to play at cards, as if he had been 
born and bred an Earl&mdash;he learns, from pouring the bottles, 
the names of every wine brewed abroad&mdash;he learns how to 
brush a coat, so that, after six months&rsquo; tear and wear, one
without spectacles would imagine it had only gotten the finishing
stitch on the Saturday night before; and he learns to play on the
flute, and the spinnet, and the piano, and the fiddle, and the 
bagpipes; and to sing all manner of songs, and to skirl, full 
gallop, with such a pith and birr, that though he was to lose his
precious eyesight with the small-pox, or a flash of forked 
lightning, or fall down a three-story stair dead drunk, smash his
legs to such a degree that both of them required to be cut off, 
above the knees, half an hour after, so far all right and 
well&mdash;for he could just tear off his shoulder-knot, and make
a perfect fortune&mdash;in the one case, in being led from door 
to door by a ragged laddie, with a string at the button-hole, 
playing &lsquo;Ower the Border,&rsquo; &lsquo;The Hen&rsquo;s 
March,&rsquo; &lsquo;Donald M&lsquo;Donald,&rsquo; &lsquo;Jenny 
Nettles,&rsquo; and such like grand tunes, on the clarinet; or in
the other case, being drawn from town to town, and from door to 
door, on a hurdle, like a lord, harnessed to four dogs of <!-- 
page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
218</span>all colours, at the rate of two miles in the hour, 
exclusive of stoppages&mdash;What say ye, gudewife?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Nanse gave a mournful look, as if she was frighted I had grown
demented, and only said, &ldquo;Tak&rsquo; your ain way, gudeman;
ye&rsquo;se get your ain way for me, I fancy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Seeing her in this Christian state of resignation, I 
determined at once to hit the nail on the head, and put an end to
the whole business as I intended.&nbsp; &ldquo;Now, Nanse,&rdquo;
quo&rsquo; I, &ldquo;to come to close quarters with ye, tell me 
candidly and seriously what ye think of a barber?&nbsp; Every one
must allow it&rsquo;s a canny and cozy trade.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;A barber that shaves beards!&rdquo; said Nanse.&nbsp; 
&ldquo;&rsquo;Od, Mansie, ye&rsquo;re surely gaun gyte.&nbsp; 
Ye&rsquo;re surely joking me all the time?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Joking!&rdquo; answered I, smoothing down my chin, 
which was gey an&rsquo; rough&mdash;&ldquo;Joking here or joking 
there, I should not think the settling of an only bairn in an 
honourable way of doing for all the days of his natural life, is 
any joking business.&nbsp; Ye dinna ken what ye&rsquo;re saying, 
woman.&nbsp; Barbers! i&rsquo;fegs, to turn up your nose at 
barbers! did ever living hear such nonsense!&nbsp; But to be 
sure, one can blame nobody if they speak to the best of their 
experience.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve heard tell of barbers, woman, about 
London, that rode up this street, and down that other street, in 
coaches and four, jumping out to every one that hallooed to them,
sharping razors both on stone and strap, at the ransom of a penny
the pair; and shaving off men&rsquo;s beards, whiskers and all, 
stoop and roop, for a three-ha&rsquo;pence.&nbsp; Speak of 
barbers! it&rsquo;s all ye ken about it.&nbsp; Commend me to a 
safe employment, and a profitable.&nbsp; They may give others a 
nick, and draw blood, but catch them hurting themselves.&nbsp; 
They are not exposed to colds and rheumatics, from east winds and
rainy weather; for they sit, in white aprons, plaiting hair into 
wigs for auld folks that have bell-pows, or making false curls 
for ladies that would fain like to look smart in the course of 
nature.&nbsp; And then they go from house to house, like 
gentlemen in the morning; cracking with Maister this or Madam 
that, as they soap their chins with scented-soap, or put their 
hair up in marching order either for kirk or playhouse.&nbsp; 
Then at their leisure, when <!-- page 219--><a 
name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
219</span>they&rsquo;re not thraug at home, they can pare corns 
to the gentry, or give ploughmen&rsquo;s heads the bicker-cut for
a penny, and the hair into the bargain for stuffing chairs with; 
and between us, who knows&mdash;many rottener ship has come to 
land&mdash;but that some genty Miss, fond of plays, poems, and 
novels, may fancy our Benjie when he is giving her red hair a 
twist with the torturing irons, and run away with him, almost 
whether he will or not, in a stound of unbearable 
love!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Here making an end of my discourse, and halting to draw 
breath, I looked Nanse broad in the face, as much as to say, 
&ldquo;Contradict me if ye daur,&rdquo; and, &ldquo;What think ye
of that now?&rdquo;&mdash;The man is not worth his lugs, that 
allows his wife to be maister; and being by all laws, divine and 
human, the head of the house, I aye made a rule of keeping my 
putt good.&nbsp; To be candid, howsoever, I must take leave to 
confess, that Nanse, being a reasonable woman, gave me but few 
opportunities of exerting my authority in this way.&nbsp; As in 
other matters, she soon came, on reflection, to see the propriety
of what I had been saying and setting forth.&nbsp; Besides, she 
had such a motherly affection towards our bit callant, that 
sending him abroad would have been the death of her.</p>
<p>To be sure, since these days&mdash;which, alas, and 
woe&rsquo;s me! are not yesterday now, as my grey hair and 
wrinkled brow but too visibly remind me&mdash;such ups and downs 
have taken place in the commercial world, that the barber line 
has been clipped of its profits and shaved close, from a 
patriotic competition among its members, like all the rest.&nbsp;
Among other things, hair-powder, which was used from the sweep on
the lum-head to the king on the throne, is only now in fashion 
with the Lords of Session and valy-deshambles; and pig-tails have
been cut off from the face of the earth, root and branch.&nbsp; 
Nevertheless, as I have taken occasion to make observation, the 
foundations of the cutting and shaving line are as sure as that 
of the everlasting rocks; beards being likely to roughen, and 
heads to require polling, as long as wood grows and water 
runs.</p>
<h2><!-- page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 220</span>CHAPTER XXVII.&mdash;&ldquo;PUGGIE, 
PUGGIE,&rdquo;&mdash;A STORY WITHOUT A TAIL.</h2>
<blockquote><p>Saw ye Johnie coming? quo&rsquo; she,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Saw ye Johnie coming?<br />
Wi&rsquo; his blue bonnet on his head,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And his doggie running.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><i>Old Ballad</i>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The welfare of the human race and the improvement of society 
being my chief aim, in this record of my sayings and doings 
through the pilgrimage of life, I make bold at the instigation of
Nanse, my worthy wife, to record in black and white a remarkably 
curious thing, to which I was an eyewitness in the course of 
nature.&nbsp; I have little reluctance to consent, not only 
because the affair was not a little striking in itself&mdash;as 
the reader will soon see&mdash;but because, like 
&AElig;sop&rsquo;s Fables, it bears a good moral at the end of 
it.</p>
<p>Many a time have I thought of the business alluded to, which 
happened to take place in our fore-shop one bonny summer 
afternoon, when I was selling a coallier wife, from the Marquis 
of Lothian&rsquo;s upper hill, a yard of serge at our 
counter-side.&nbsp; At the time she came in, although busied in 
reading an account of one of Buonaparte&rsquo;s battles in the 
Courant newspaper, I observed at her foot a bonny wee doggie, 
with a bushy black tail, of the dancing breed&mdash;that could 
sit on its hind-legs like a squirrel, cast biscuit from its nose,
and play a thousand other most diverting tricks.&nbsp; Well, as I
was saying, I saw the woman had a pride in the bit 
creature&mdash;it was just a curiosity like&mdash;and had 
belonged to a neighbour&rsquo;s son that volunteered out of the 
Berwickshire militia, (the Birses, as they were called,) into a 
regiment that was draughted away into Egypt, Malta, or the East 
Indies, I believe&mdash;so, it seems, the lad&rsquo;s father and 
mother thought much more about it, for the sake of him that was 
off and away&mdash;being to their fond eyes a remembrancer, and 
to their parental hearts a sort of living keepsake.</p>
<p>After bargaining about the serge&mdash;and taking two or three
other things, such as a leather-cap edged with rabbit-fur for her
little nevoy&mdash;a dozen of plated buttons for her 
goodman&rsquo;s <!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 221</span>new waistcoat, which was making up 
at Bonnyrig by Nicky Sharpshears, my old apprentice&mdash;and a 
spotted silk napkin for her own Sunday neck wear&mdash;I tied up 
the soft articles with grey paper and skinie, and was handing 
over the odd bawbees of change, when, just as she was lifting the
leather-cap from the counter, she said with a terrible face, 
looking down to the ground as if she was 
short-sighted&mdash;&ldquo;Pity me! what&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I could not imagine, gleg as I generally am, what had 
happened; so came round about the far end of the counter, with my
spectacles on, to see what it was, when, lo and behold! I 
perceived a dribbling of blood all along the clean sanded floor, 
up and down, as if somebody had been walking about with a cut 
finger; but, after looking around us for a little, we soon found 
out the thief&mdash;and that we did.</p>
<p>The bit doggie was sitting cowering and shivering, and 
pressing its back against the counter, giving every now and then 
a mournful whine, so we plainly saw that every thing was not 
right.&nbsp; On the which, the wife, slipping a little back, 
snapped her finger and thumb before its nose, and cried 
out&mdash;&ldquo;Hiskie, poor fellow!&rdquo; but no&mdash;it 
would not do.&nbsp; She then tried it by its own name, and bade 
it rise, saying, &ldquo;Puggie, Puggie!&rdquo; when&mdash;would 
ever mortal man of woman born believe it?&mdash;its bit black, 
bushy, curly tail, was off by the rump&mdash;docked and away, as 
if it had been for a wager.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Eh, megstie!&rdquo; cried the woman, laying down the 
leather-cap and the tied-up parcel, and holding out both her 
hands in astonishment.&nbsp; &ldquo;Eh, my goodness, what&rsquo;s
come o&rsquo; the brute&rsquo;s tail?&nbsp; Lovy ding! just see, 
it&rsquo;s clean gane!&nbsp; Losh keep me! that&rsquo;s 
awfu&rsquo;!&nbsp; Div ye keep rotten-fa&rsquo;s about your 
premises, Maister Wauch?&nbsp; See, a bonny business as ever 
happened in the days of ane&rsquo;s lifetime!&rdquo;</p>
<p>As a furnishing tailor, as a Christian, and as an inhabitant 
of Dalkeith, my corruption was raised&mdash;was up like a flash 
of lightning, or a cat&rsquo;s back.&nbsp; Such doings in an 
enlightened age and a civilized country!&mdash;in a town where we
have three kirks, a grammar school, a subscription library, a 
ladies&rsquo; benevolent society, a mechanics&rsquo; institution,
and a debating club!&nbsp; My heart burned within me like dry 
tow; and I could mostly have <!-- page 222--><a 
name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>jumped up 
to the ceiling with vexation and anger&mdash;seeing as plain as a
pikestaff, though the simple woman did not, that it was the 
handiwork of none other than our neighbour Reuben Cursecowl, the 
butcher.&nbsp; Dog on it, it was too bad&mdash;it was a rascally 
transaction; so, come of it what would, I could not find it in my
heart to screen him.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wager, 
however,&rdquo; said I, in a kind of off-hand way, not wishing 
exactly, ye observe, to be seen in the business, &ldquo;that it 
will have been running away with beef-steaks, mutton-chops, sheep
feet, or something else out of the booth; and some of his 
prentice laddies may have come across its hind-quarters 
accidentally with the cleaver.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Mistake here, or mistake there,&rdquo; said the woman, 
her face growing as red as the sleeve of a soldier&rsquo;s 
jacket, and her two eyes burning like live 
coals&mdash;&ldquo;&rsquo;Od the butcher, but I&rsquo;ll butcher 
him, the nasty, ugly, ill-faured vagabond; the thief-like, cruel,
malicious, ill-hearted, down-looking blackguard!&nbsp; He would 
go for to offer for to presume for to dare to lay hands on an 
honest man&rsquo;s son&rsquo;s doug!&nbsp; It sets him weel, the 
bloodthirsty Gehazi, the halinshaker ne&rsquo;er-do-weel!&nbsp; 
I&rsquo;ll gie him sic a redding up as he never had since the day
his mother boor him!&rdquo;&nbsp; Then looting down to the poor 
bit beast, that was bleeding like a sheep&mdash;&ldquo;Ay, 
Puggie, man,&rdquo; she said in a doleful voice, 
&ldquo;they&rsquo;ve made ye an unco fright; but I&rsquo;ll gie 
them up their fit for&rsquo;t; I&rsquo;ll show them, in a couple 
of hurries, that they have catched a Tartar!&rdquo;&mdash;and 
with that out went the woman, paper parcel, leather-cap and all, 
randying like a tinkler from Yetholm; the wee wretchie cowering 
behind her, with the mouse-wabs sticking on the place I had put 
them to stop the bleeding; and looking, by all the world, like a 
sight I once saw, when I was a boy, on a visit to my 
father&rsquo;s half-cousin, Aunt Heatherwig, on the Castle-hill 
of Edinburgh&mdash;to wit, a thief going down Leith Walk, on his 
road to be shipped for transportation to Botany Bay, after having
been pelted for a couple of hours with rotten eggs in the 
pillory.</p>
<p>Knowing the nature of the parties concerned, and that 
intimately on both sides, I jealoused directly that there would 
be a stramash; so not liking, for sundry reasons, to have my neb 
seen in the business, I shut to the door, and drew the long bolt;
while <!-- page 223--><a name="page223"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 223</span>I hastened ben to the room, and, 
softly pulling up a jink of the window, clapped the side of my 
head to it; that, unobserved, I might have an opportunity of 
overhearing the conversation between Reuben Cursecowl and the 
coallier wife; which, weel-a-wat, was likely to become public 
property.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hollo! you man, do ye ken onything about that?&rdquo; 
cried the randy woman;&mdash;but wait a moment, till I give a 
skiff of description of our neighbour Reuben.</p>
<p>By this time&mdash;it was ten years after James Batter&rsquo;s
tragedy&mdash;Mr Cursecowl was an oldish man&mdash;he is gathered
to his fathers now&mdash;and was considerably past his best, as 
his wife, douce, honest woman, used to observe.&nbsp; His dress 
was a little in the Pagan style, and rendered him kenspeckle to 
the eye of observation.&nbsp; Instead of a hat, he generally wore
a long red Kilmarnock nightcap, with a cherry on the top of it, 
through foul weather and fair; and having a kind of trot in his 
walk, from a bink forward in his knees, it dang-dangled behind 
him, like the cap of Mr Merryman with the painted face, the 
show-folks&rsquo; fool.&nbsp; On the afternoon alluded to, he was
in full killing-dress, having on an auld blue short coatie, once 
long, but now docked in the tails, so that the pocket-flaps and 
the hainch-buttons were not above three inches from the place 
where his wife had snibbed it across by; and, from long use in 
his bloodthirsty occupation, his sleeves flashed in the daylight 
as if they had been double japanned.&nbsp; Tied round his 
beer-barrel-like waist was a stripped apron, blue and white; and 
at his left side hung a bloody gaping leather pouch, as if he had
been an Israelite returned from the slaughter of the Philistines,
filled with steels and knives, straight and crooked, that had 
done ample execution in their day, I&rsquo;ll warrant them.&nbsp;
Up his thighs were rolled his coarse rig-and-fur stockings, as if
it were to gird him for the battle, and his feet were slipped 
into a pair of bauchles&mdash;that is, the under part of old 
boots cut from the legs.&nbsp; As to his face, lo and behold! the
moon shining in the Nor-west&mdash;yea, the sun blazing in all 
his glory&mdash;had not a more crimson aspect than Reuben.&nbsp; 
Like the pig-eyed Chinese folk on tea-cups, his peepers were 
diminutive and twinkling; but his nose made up for them&mdash;and
that it did&mdash;being portly in all its dimensions <!-- page 
224--><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
224</span>broad and long, and as to colour, liker a radish than 
any other production in nature.&nbsp; In short, he was as bonny a
figure as ever man of woman born clapped eye on; and was cleaving
away, most devoutly, at a side of black-faced mutton, when the 
woman, as I said before, cried out, &ldquo;Hollo! you man, do ye 
ken onything about that?&rdquo; pointing to the dumb animal that 
crawled and crouched behind her.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Aweel, what o&rsquo;t?&rdquo; cried Cursecowl, still 
hacking and cleaving away at the meat.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What o&rsquo;t? i&rsquo; faith, billy, that&rsquo;s a 
gude ane,&rdquo; answered the wife.&nbsp; &ldquo;But ye&rsquo;ll 
no get aff that way; catch me, my man.&nbsp; My name&rsquo;s no 
Jenny Mathieson an I haena ye afore your betters.&nbsp; 
I&rsquo;ll learn ye what soommenses are.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Looking at her with a look of lightning for a couple of 
seconds&mdash;&ldquo;Aff wi&rsquo; ye, gin you&rsquo;re 
wise,&rdquo; quo&rsquo; Cursecowl, still cleaving 
away&mdash;&ldquo;or I&rsquo;ll maybe bring ye in for the 
sheep&rsquo;s-head it was trying to make off with in its 
teeth.&nbsp; Do ye understand that?&rdquo;&nbsp; And he gave a 
girn, that stretched his mouth from ear to ear.</p>
<p>This was too much for the subterranean daughter of Eve; it was
like putting a red-hot poker among the coals of her own 
pit.&nbsp; &ldquo;Oh, ye incarnate cannibal!&rdquo; she bawled 
out, doubling her nieve, and shaking it in Reuben&rsquo;s face; 
&ldquo;If ye have a conscience at a&rsquo;, think black-burning 
shame o&rsquo; yoursell!&nbsp; Just look, ye bluidy salvage; just
take a look there, my bonny man, o&rsquo; your handiwark 
now.&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t that very pretty?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Aff 
wi&rsquo; ye,&rdquo; continued Cursecowl, still cleaving away 
with the chopping-axe, and muttering a volley of curses through 
the knife, which he held between his teeth&mdash;&ldquo;Aff 
wi&rsquo; ye; and keep a calm sough.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The dog&rsquo;s no mine, or I wadna have cared sae 
muckle.&nbsp; Siccan a like beast!&nbsp; Siccan a fright to be 
seen!!!&nbsp; I&rsquo;faith I think shame to tak&rsquo; it hame 
again!!&nbsp; Ay, man, ye&rsquo;re a pretty fellow!&nbsp; 
Ye&rsquo;ve run fast when the noses were dealing; ye&rsquo;re a 
bonny man to hack off a poor dumb animal&rsquo;s tail.&nbsp; If 
it had been a Christian like yoursell, it wad have mattered 
less&mdash;but a puir bit dumb, harmless animal!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Aff wi&rsquo; ye there, and nane o&rsquo; your 
chatter,&rdquo; thundered <!-- page 225--><a 
name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span>Reuben, 
stopping in his cleaving, and turning the side of his red face 
round to the woman.&nbsp; &ldquo;Flee&mdash;vanish&mdash;and be 
cursed to ye&mdash;baith you and your doug thegither, ye infernal
limmer!&nbsp; It&rsquo;s weel for&rsquo;t, luckie, it was not its
head instead of its tail.&nbsp; Ye had better steik your 
gab&mdash;cut your stick&mdash;and pack off, gin ye be 
wise.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Think shame&mdash;think shame&mdash;think black-burning
shame o&rsquo; yoursell, ye born and bred ruffian!&rdquo; roared 
out the wife at the top story of her voice&mdash;shaking her 
doubled nieve before him&mdash;stamping her heels on the 
causey&mdash;then, drawing herself up, and holding her hands on 
her hainches&mdash;&ldquo;Just look, I tell ye, you unhanged 
blackguard, at your precious handywark!&nbsp; Just look, what 
think ye of that, now?&nbsp; Tak&rsquo; another look now, ower 
that fief-like fiery nose o&rsquo; yours, ye regardless 
Pagan!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Flesh and blood could stand this no longer; and I saw 
Cursecowl&rsquo;s anger boiling up within him, as in a red-hot 
fiery furnace.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wait a wee, my woman,&rdquo; muttered Cursecowl to 
himself, as, swearing between his teeth, he hurried into the 
killing-booth.</p>
<p>Furious as the woman, however, was, she had yet enough of 
common sense remaining within her to dread skaith; so, 
apprehending the bursting storm, she had just taken to her heels,
when out he came, rampauging after her like a Greenland bear, 
with a large liver in each hand;&mdash;the one of which, after 
describing a circle round his head, flashed after her like 
lightning, and hearted her between the shoulders like a clap of 
thunder; while the other, as he was repeating the volley, 
slipping sideways from his fingers while he was driving it with 
all his force, played drive directly through the window where I 
was standing, and gave me such a yerk on the side of the head, 
that it could be compared to nothing else but the lines written 
on the stucco image of Shakspeare, the great playactor, on our 
parlour chimneypiece,</p>
<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The great globe itself,<br />
Yea, all that it inherits, shall dissolve;&rdquo;</p>
</blockquote>
<p>and I lay speechless on the floor for goodness knows the 
length <!-- page 226--><a name="page226"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 226</span>of time.&nbsp; Even when I came to 
my recollection, it was partly to a sense of torment; for Nanse, 
coming into the room, and not knowing the cause of my disastrous 
overthrow, attributed it all to a fit of the apoplexy; and, in 
her frenzy of affliction, had blistered all my nose with her 
Sunday scent-bottle of aromatic vinegar.</p>
<p>For some weeks after there was a bumming in my ears, as if all
the bee-skeps on the banks of the Esk had been pent up within my 
head; and though Reuben Cursecowl paid, like a gentleman, for the
four panes he had broken, he drove into me, I can assure him, in 
a most forcible and striking manner, the truth of the old 
proverb&mdash;which is the moral of this chapter&mdash;that 
&ldquo;listeners seldom hear any thing to their own 
advantage.&rdquo;</p>
<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.&mdash;SERIOUS MUSINGS.</h2>
<blockquote><p>My eyes are dim with childish tears,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; My heart is idly stirr&rsquo;d,<br />
For the same sound is in mine ears,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Which in those days I heard.<br />
Thus fares it still in our decay;<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; And yet the wiser mind<br />
Mourns less for what age takes away,<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; Than what it leaves behind.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Wordsworth</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>After consultation with friends, and much serious 
consideration on such a momentous subject, it having been finally
settled on between the wife and myself to educate Benjie to the 
barber and haircutting line, we looked round about us in the 
world for a suitable master to whom we might entrust our dear 
laddie, he having now finished his education, and reached his 
fourteenth year.</p>
<p>It was visible in a twinkling to us both, that his 
apprenticeship could not be gone through with at home in that 
first-rate <!-- page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 227</span>style which would enable him to 
reach the top of the tree in his profession; yet it gave us a 
sore heart to think of sending away, at so tender an age, one who
was so dear to his mother and me, and whom we had, as it were, in
a manner made a pet of; so we reckoned it best to article him for
a twelvemonth with Ebenezer Packwood at the corner, before 
finally sending him off to Edinburgh, to get his finishing in the
wig, false-curl, and hair-baking department, under Urquhart, 
Maclachlan, or Connal.&nbsp; Accordingly, I sent for Eben to come
and eat an egg with me&mdash;matters were entered upon and 
arranged&mdash;Benjie was sent on trial; and though at first he 
funked and fought refractory, he came, to the astonishment of his
master and the old apprentice, in less than no time to cut hair 
without many visible shear-marks; and, within the first quarter, 
succeeded, without so much as drawing blood, to unbristle, for a 
wager of his master&rsquo;s, the Saturday night&rsquo;s 
countenance of Daniel Shoebrush himself, who was as rough as a 
badger.</p>
<p>Having thus done for Benjie, it now behoved me to have an eye 
towards myself; for, having turned the corner of manhood, I found
that I was beginning to be wearing away down the hillside of 
life.&nbsp; Customers, who had as much faith in me as almost in 
their Bible with regard to every thing connected with my own 
department, and who could depend on their cloth being cut 
according to the newest and most approved fashions, began now and
then to return a coat upon my hand for alteration, as being quite
out of date; while my daily work, to which in the days of other 
years I had got up blithe as the lark, instead of being a 
pleasure, came to be looked forward to with trouble and anxiety, 
weighing on my heart as a care, and on my shoulders as a 
burden.</p>
<p>Finding but too severely that such was the case, and that 
there is no contending with the course of nature, I took sweet 
counsel together with James Batter over a cup of tea and a 
cookie, concerning what it was best for a man placed in my 
circumstances to betake myself to.</p>
<p>As industry ever has its own reward, let me without brag or 
boasting be allowed to state, that, in my own case, it did not 
disappoint my exertions.&nbsp; I had sat down a tenant, and I was
<!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
228</span>now not only the landlord of my own house and shop, but
of all the back tenements to the head of the garden, as also of 
the row of one-story houses behind, facing to the loan, in the 
centre of which Lucky Thamson keeps up the sign of the Tankard 
and Tappit Hen.&nbsp; It was also a relief to my mind, as the 
head of my family, that we had cut Benjie loose from his 
mother&rsquo;s apron-string, poor fellow, and set him adrift in 
an honest way of doing to buffet the stormy ocean of life; so, 
every thing considered, it was found that enough and to spare had
been laid past by Nanse and me to spend the evening of our days 
by the lound dykeside of domestic comfort.</p>
<p>In Tammie Bodkin, to whom I trust I had been a dutiful, as I 
know I was an honoured master, I found a faithful journeyman, he 
having served me in that capacity for nine years; so, it is not 
miraculous, being constantly, during that period, under my 
attentive eye, that he was now quite a deacon in all the 
departments of the business.&nbsp; As an eident scholar he had 
his reward; for customers, especially during the latter years, 
when my sight was scarcely so good, came at length to be not very
scrupulous as to whether their cloth was cut by the man or his 
master.&nbsp; Never let filial piety be overlooked:&mdash;when I 
first patronized Tammie, and promoted him to the dignity of 
sitting crosslegged along with me on the working-board, he was a 
hatless and shoeless ragamuffin, the orphan lad of a widowed 
mother, whose husband had been killed by a chain-shot, which 
carried off his head, at the bloody battle of the Nile, under 
Lord Nelson.&nbsp; Tammie was the oldest of four, and the other 
three were lasses, that knew not in the morning where the 
day&rsquo;s providing was to come from, except by trust in Him 
who sent the ravens to Elijah.&nbsp; By allowing Tammie a trifle 
for board-wages, I was enabled to add my mite to the comforts of 
the family; for he was kind, frugal, and dutiful, and would 
willingly share with them to the last morsel.&nbsp; In the course
of a few years he became his mother&rsquo;s bread-winner, the 
lasses being sent to service&mdash;I myself having recommended 
one of them to Deacon Burlings, and another to Springheel the 
dancing-master; retaining Katie, the youngest, for ourselves, to 
manage the kitchen, and go messages when required.</p>
<p><!-- page 229--><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
229</span>Providence having thus blessed Tammie&rsquo;s efforts 
in the paths of industrious sobriety, what could I do 
better&mdash;James Batter being exactly of the same 
opinion&mdash;than make him my successor; giving him the shop at 
a cheap rent, the stock in trade at a moderate valuation, and the
good-will of the business as a gratis gift.</p>
<p>Having recommended Tammie to public patronage and support, he 
is now, as all the world knows, a thriving man; nor, from Berwick
Bridge to Johnny Groat&rsquo;s, is it in the power of any 
gentleman to have his coat cut in a more fashionable way, or on 
more moderate terms, than at the sign of the Goose and the Pair 
of Shears rampant.</p>
<p>Leaving Tammie to take care of his own matters, as he is well 
able to do, allow me to observe, that it is curious how habit 
becomes a second nature, and how the breaking in upon the ways we
have been long and long accustomed to, through the days of the 
years that are past, is as the cutting asunder of the joints and 
marrow.&nbsp; This I found bitterly, even though I had the 
prospect before me of spending my old age in peace and 
plenty.&nbsp; I could not think of leaving my auld 
house&mdash;every room, every nook in it was familiar to my 
heart.&nbsp; The garden trees seemed to wave their branches 
sorrowfully over my head, as bidding me a farewell; and when I 
saw all the scraighing hens catched out of the hen-house I had 
twenty years before built and tiled with my own hands, and 
tumbled into a sack, to be carried on limping Jock 
Dalgleish&rsquo;s back up to our new abode at Lugton, my heart 
swelled to my mouth, and the mist of gushing tears bedimmed my 
eyesight.&nbsp; Four of Thomas Burlings&rsquo; flour carts stood 
laden before the door with our furniture, on the top of which 
were three of Nanse&rsquo;s grand geraniums in flower-pots, with 
five of my walking-sticks tied together with a string; and as I 
paced through the empty rooms, where I had passed so many 
pleasant and happy hours, the sound of my feet on the bare floor 
seemed in my ears like an echo from the grave.&nbsp; On our road 
to Lugton I could scarcely muster common sense to answer a person
who wished us a good-day; and Nanse, as we daundered on 
arm-in-arm, never <!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 230</span>once took her napkin from her 
een.&nbsp; Oh, but it was a weary business!</p>
<p>Being in this sober frame of mind, allow me to wind up this 
chapter&mdash;the last catastrophe of my eventful life that I 
mean at present to make public&mdash;with a few serious 
reflections; as it fears me, that, in much of what I have set 
down, ill-natured people may see a good deal scarcely consistent 
with my character for douceness and circumspection; but if many 
wonderfuls have befallen to my share, it would be well to 
remember that a man&rsquo;s lot is not of his own making.</p>
<p>Musing within myself on the chances and changes of time, the 
uncertainties of life, the frail thread by which we are tacked to
this world, and how the place that now knows us shall soon know 
us no more, I could not help, for two or three days previous to 
my quitting my dear old house and shop, taking my stick into my 
hand, and wandering about all my old haunts and houffs&mdash;and 
need I mention that among these were the road down to the 
Duke&rsquo;s south gate with the deers on it, the waterside by 
Woodburn, the Cow-brigg, up the back street, through the 
flesh-market, and over to the auld kirk in among the 
headstones?&nbsp; For three walks, on three different days, I set
out in different directions; yet, strange to say! I aye landed in
the kirkyard:&mdash;and where is the man of woman born proud 
enough to brag, that it shall not be his fate to land there at 
last?</p>
<p>Headstones and headstones around me! some newly put up, and 
others mossy and grey; it was a humbling yet an edifying sight, 
preaching, as forcibly as ever Maister Wiggie did in his best 
days, of the vanity and the passingness of all human 
enjoyments.&nbsp; Mouldered to dust beneath the turfs lay the 
blithe laddies with whom I have a hundred times played merry 
games on moonlight nights; some were soon cut off; others grew up
to their full estate; and there stood I, a greyhaired man, among 
the weeds and nettles, mourning over times never to return!</p>
<p>The reader will no doubt be anxious to hear a few words 
regarding my son Benjie, who has turned out just as his friends 
and the world expected.&nbsp; After his time with Ebenezer <!-- 
page 231--><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 
231</span>Packwood in Dalkeith, he served for four years in 
Edinburgh, where he cut a distinguished figure, having shaved and
shorn lots of the nobility and gentry; among whom was a French 
Duchess, and many other foreigners of distinction.&nbsp; In 
short, nothing went down at the principal hotels but the 
expertness of Mr Benjamin Wauch; and, had he been so disposed, he
could have commenced on his own footing with every chance of 
success; but knowing himself fully young, and being anxious to 
see more of the world before settling, he took out a passage in 
one of the Leith smacks, and set sail for London, where he 
arrived, after a safe and prosperous voyage, without a hair of 
his head injured.&nbsp; The only thing that I am ashamed to let 
out about him is, that he is now, and has been for some time 
past, principal shopman in a Wallflower Hair-powder and Genuine 
Macassar Oil Warehouse, kept by three Frenchmen, called Moosies 
Peroukey.</p>
<p>But, though our natural enemies, he writes me that he has 
found them agreeable and chatty masters, full of good manners and
pleasant discourse, first-rate in their articles, and, except in 
their language, almost Christians.</p>
<p>I aye thought Benjie was a genius; and he is beginning to show
himself his father&rsquo;s son, being in thoughts of taking out a
patent for making hair-oil from rancid butter.&nbsp; If he 
succeeds it will make the callant&rsquo;s fortune.&nbsp; But he 
must not marry Madamoselle Peroukey without my especial consent, 
as Nanse says, that her having a Frenchwoman for her 
daughter-in-law would be the death of her.</p>
<h2><!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 232</span>CONCLUSION.</h2>
<blockquote><p>He prayeth well, who loveth well<br />
Both man, and bird, and beast&mdash;<br />
He prayeth best, who loveth best<br />
All things both great and small;<br />
For the dear God who loveth us,<br />
He made and loveth all.</p>
<p style="text-align: right"><span 
class="smcap">Coleridge</span>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>On first commencing this memoir of my life, I put pen to paper
with the laudable view of handing down to posterity&mdash;to our 
children, and to their children&rsquo;s children&mdash;the 
accidents, adventures, and mischances that may fall to the lot of
a man placed by Providence even in the loundest situation of 
life, where he seemed to lie sheltered in the bield of piece and 
privacy;&mdash;and, at that time, it was my intention to have 
carried down my various transactions to this dividual day and 
date.&nbsp; My materials, however, have swelled on my hand like 
summer corn under sunny showers; one thing has brought another to
remembrance; sowds of bypast marvels have come before my 
mind&rsquo;s eye in the silent watches of the night, concerning 
the days when I sat working crosslegged on the board; and if I do
not stop at this critical juncture&mdash;to wit, my retiring from
trade, and the settlement of my dear and only son Benjie in an 
honourable way of doing; as who dares to deny that the barber and
haircutting line is a safe and honourable employment?&mdash;I do 
not know when I might get to the end of my tether; and the 
interest which every reasonable man must take in the 
extraordinary adventures of my early years, might be grievously 
marred and broken in upon through the garrulity of old age.</p>
<p>Perhaps I am going a little too far when I say, that the whole
world cannot fail to be interested in the occurrences of my life;
for since its creation, which was not yesterday, I do not 
believe&mdash;and James Batter is exactly of the same 
mind&mdash;that there ever was a subject concerning which the 
bulk of <!-- page 233--><a name="page233"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 233</span>mankind have not had two 
opinions.&nbsp; Knowing this to be the case, I would be a great 
gomeril to expect that I should be the only white swan that ever 
appeared; and that all parties in church and state, who are for 
cutting each other&rsquo;s throats on every other great question,
should be unanimous only in what regards me.&nbsp; Englishmen, 
for instance, will say that I am a bad speller, and that my 
language is kittle; and such of the Irishers as can read, will be
threaping that I have abused their precious country; but, my 
certie, instead of blaming me for letting out what I could not 
deny, they must just learn to behave themselves better when they 
come to see us, or bide at home.</p>
<p>Being by nature a Scotsman&mdash;being, I say, of the blood of
Robert Bruce and Sir William Wallace&mdash;and having in my day 
and generation buckled on my sword to keep the battle from our 
gates in the hour of danger, ill would it become me to speak but 
the plain truth, the whole truth, and any thing but the 
truth.&nbsp; No; although bred to a peaceable occupation, I am 
the subject of a free king and constitution, and, if I have 
written as I speak, I have just spoken as I thought.&nbsp; The 
man of learning, that kens no language saving Greek, and Gaelic, 
and Hebrew, will doubtless laugh at the curiosity of my dialect; 
but I would just recommend him, as he is a philosopher, to 
consider for a wee, that there are other things, in mortal life 
and in human nature, worth a moment&rsquo;s consideration besides
old Pagan heathens&mdash;pot-hooks and hangers&mdash;the 
asses&rsquo; bridge and the weary walls of Troy; which last city,
for all that has been said and sung about it, would be found, I 
would stake my life upon it, could it be seen at this moment, not
worth half a thought when compared with the New Town of 
Edinburgh.&nbsp; Of all towns in the world, however, Dalkeith for
my money.&nbsp; If the ignorant are dumfoundered at one of their 
own kidney&mdash;a tailor laddie, that got the feck of his small 
education leathered into him at Dominie Threshem&rsquo;s 
school&mdash;thinking himself an author, I would just remind them
that seeing is believing; and that they should keep up a good 
heart, as it is impossible to say what may yet be their own 
fortune before they die.&nbsp; The rich man&rsquo;s apology I 
would beg; if, in this humble narrative, in this detail of 
manners <!-- page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 234</span>almost hidden from the sphere of his
observation, I have in any instance tramped on the tender toes of
good breeding, or given just offence in breadth of expression, or
vulgarity of language.&nbsp; Let this, however, be my apology, 
that the only value of my wonderful history consists in its being
as true as death&mdash;a circumstance which it could have slender
pretensions to, had I coined stories, or coloured them so as to 
please my own fancy and that of the world.&nbsp; In that case it 
would have been very easy for me to have made a Sinbad the 
Sailor&rsquo;s tale out of if&mdash;to have shown myself up a man
such as the world has never seen except on paper&mdash;to have 
made Cursecowl behave like a gentleman, and the Frenchman from 
Penicuik crack like a Christian.&nbsp; And to the poor man, him 
whom the wise Disposer of all events has seen fit to place in a 
situation similar to that in which I have been placed, ordaining 
him to earn daily bread by the labour of his hands and the sweat 
of his brow, if my adventures shall afford an hour or two&rsquo;s
pleasant amusement, when, after working hours, he sits by his 
bleezing ingle with a bairn on each knee, while his oldest 
daughter is sewing her seam, and his goodwife with her right foot
birls round the spinning-wheel, then my purpose is gained, and 
more than gained; for it is my firm belief that no man, who has 
by head or hand in any way lightened an ounce weight of the load 
of human misery, can be truly said to have been unprofitable in 
his day, or disappointed the purpose of his creation.&nbsp; For 
what more can we do here below?&nbsp; The God who formed us, 
breathing into our nostrils the breath of life, is, in his 
Almighty power and wisdom, far removed beyond the sphere of our 
poor and paltry offices.&nbsp; We are of the clay; and return to 
the elements from which we are formed.&nbsp; He is a Spirit, 
without beginning of days or end of years.&nbsp; The extent of 
our limited exertions reaches no further than our belief in, and 
our duty towards Him; which, in my humble opinion, can be best 
shown by us in our love and charity towards our 
fellow-creatures&mdash;the master-work of his hands.</p>
<p>I would not willingly close this record of my life, without 
expressing a few words of heartfelt gratitude towards the 
multitude from whom, in the intercourse of the world, I have 
experienced <!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span 
class="pagenum">p. 235</span>good offices; and towards the few 
who, in the hour of my trials and adversities, remained with 
faces towards me steadfast and unalterable, scorning the fickle 
who scoffed, and the Levite who passed by on the other 
side.&nbsp; Of old hath it been said, that a true friend is the 
medicine of life; and in the day of darkness, when my heart was 
breaking, and the world with all its concerns seemed shaded in a 
gloom never to pass away, how deeply have I acknowledged the 
truth of the maxim!&nbsp; How shall I repay such kindness?&nbsp; 
Alas! it is out of my power.&nbsp; But all I can do, I do.&nbsp; 
I think of it on my pillow at the silent hour of midnight; my 
heart burns with the gratitude it hath not&mdash;may never have 
an opportunity of showing to the world; and I put up my prayer in
faith to Him who seeth in secret, that he may bless and reward 
them openly.</p>
<p>Sorrows and pleasures are inseparably mixed up in the cup set 
for man&rsquo;s drinking; and the sunniest day hath its 
cloud.&nbsp; But I have made this observation, that if true 
happiness, or any thing like true happiness, is to be found in 
this world, it is only to be purchased by the practice of 
virtue.&nbsp; Things will fall out&mdash;so it hath been ordained
in this scene of trial&mdash;even to the best and purest of 
heart, which must carry sorrow to the bosom, and bring tears to 
the eyelids; and then to the wayward and the wicked, bitter is 
their misery as the waters of Marah.&nbsp; But never can the good
man be wholly unhappy; he has that within which passeth show; the
anchor of his faith is fixed on the Rock of Ages; and when the 
dark cloud hath glided over&mdash;and it will glide&mdash;it 
leaves behind it the blue and unclouded heaven.</p>
<p>If, concerning religious matters, a tone of levity at any time
seems to infect these pages, I cry ye mercy; for nothing was 
further from my intention; yet, though acknowledging this, I 
maintain that it is a vain thing to look on religion as on a 
winter night, full of terror, and darkness, and storms.&nbsp; No 
one, it strikes me, errs more widely than he who supposes that 
man was made to mourn&mdash;that the sanctity of the heart is 
shown by the length of the face&mdash;and that mirth, the 
pleasant mirth of innocent hearts, is sinful in the sight of 
Heaven.&nbsp; I will never believe that.&nbsp; The very sun may 
appear dim to such folks as choose only to look at him through 
green spectacles; as by the <!-- page 236--><a 
name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>poor wretch
who is dwining in the jaundice, the driven snow could be sworn to
as a bright yellow.&nbsp; Such opinions, however, lie between man
and his Maker, and are not for the like of us to judge of.&nbsp; 
For myself, I have enjoyed a pleasant run of good health through 
life, reading my Bible more in hope than fear; our salvation, and
not our destruction, being I should suppose its purpose.&nbsp; 
So, when I behold bright suns and blue skies, the trees in 
blossom, and birds on the wing, the waters singing to the woods, 
and earth looking like the abode of them who were at first formed
but a little lower than the angels, I trust that the overflowing 
of a grateful heart will not be reckoned against me for 
unrighteousness.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the 
end</span>.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span 
class="smcap">edinburgh</span>: <span class="smcap">printed by 
ballantyne and hughes</span><br />
<span class="smcap">paul&rsquo;s work</span>, <span 
class="smcap">canongate</span>.</p>
<p>Footnotes:</p>
<p><a name="footnote120"></a><a href="#citation120" 
class="footnote">[120]</a>&nbsp; See Dr Jamieson.&mdash;P. D.</p>
<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF MANSIE WAUCH***</p>
<pre>


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