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diff --git a/3671-h/3671-h.htm b/3671-h/3671-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b893a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/3671-h/3671-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9712 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Christie Johnstone, by Charles Reade + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Christie Johnstone, by Charles Reade + +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: Christie Johnstone + +Author: Charles Reade + +Release Date: December 8, 2009 [EBook #3671] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE + </h1> + <h3> + A NOVEL + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Charles Reade + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> I dedicate all that is good in this work to my mother.—C. + R., <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> NOTE. + </p> + <p> + THIS story was written three years ago, and one or two topics in it are + not treated exactly as they would be if written by the same hand to-day. + But if the author had retouched those pages with his colors of 1853, he + would (he thinks) have destroyed the only merit they have, viz., that of + containing genuine contemporaneous verdicts upon a cant that was + flourishing like a peony, and a truth that was struggling for bare life, + in the year of truth 1850. + </p> + <p> + He prefers to deal fairly with the public, and, with this explanation and + apology, to lay at its feet a faulty but genuine piece of work. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + VISCOUNT IPSDEN, aged twenty-five, income eighteen thousand pounds per + year, constitution equine, was unhappy! This might surprise some people; + but there are certain blessings, the non-possession of which makes more + people discontented than their possession renders happy. + </p> + <p> + Foremost among these are “Wealth and Rank.” Were I to add “Beauty” to the + list, such men and women as go by fact, not by conjecture, would hardly + contradict me. + </p> + <p> + The fortunate man is he who, born poor, or nobody, works gradually up to + wealth and consideration, and, having got them, dies before he finds they + were not worth so much trouble. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden started with nothing to win; and naturally lived for + amusement. Now nothing is so sure to cease to please as pleasure—to + amuse, as amusement. Unfortunately for himself he could not at this period + of his life warm to politics; so, having exhausted his London clique, he + rolled through the cities of Europe in his carriage, and cruised its + shores in his yacht. But he was not happy! + </p> + <p> + He was a man of taste, and sipped the arts and other knowledge, as he + sauntered Europe round. + </p> + <p> + But he was not happy. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do?” said <i>l'ennuye'.</i> + </p> + <p> + “Distinguish yourself,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + No immediate answer. + </p> + <p> + “Take a <i>prima donna</i> over,” said another. + </p> + <p> + Well, the man took a <i>prima donna</i> over, which scolded its maid from + the Alps to Dover in the <i>lingua Toscana</i> without the <i>bocca + Romana,</i> and sang in London without applause; because what goes down at + La Scala does not generally go down at Il Teatro della Regina, Haymarket. + </p> + <p> + So then my lord strolled into Russia; there he drove a pair of horses, one + of whom put his head down and did the work; the other pranced and + capricoled alongside, all unconscious of the trace. He seemed happier than + his working brother; but the biped whose career corresponded with this + playful animal's was not happy! + </p> + <p> + At length an event occurred that promised to play an adagio upon Lord + Ipsden 's mind. He fell in love with Lady Barbara Sinclair; and he had no + sooner done this than he felt, as we are all apt to do on similar + occasions, how wise a thing he had done! + </p> + <p> + Besides a lovely person, Lady Barbara Sinclair had a character that he saw + would make him; and, in fact, Lady Barbara Sinclair was, to an + inexperienced eye, the exact opposite of Lord Ipsden. + </p> + <p> + Her mental impulse was as plethoric as his was languid. + </p> + <p> + She was as enthusiastic as he was cool. + </p> + <p> + She took a warm interest in everything. She believed that government is a + science, and one that goes with <i>copia verborum.</i> + </p> + <p> + She believed that, in England, government is administered, not by a set of + men whose salaries range from eighty to five hundred pounds a year, and + whose names are never heard, but by the First Lord of the Treasury, and + other great men. + </p> + <p> + Hence she inferred, that it matters very much to all of us in whose hand + is the rudder of that state vessel which goes down the wind of public + opinion, without veering a point, let who will be at the helm. + </p> + <p> + She also cared very much who was the new bishop. Religion—if not + religion, theology—would be affected thereby. + </p> + <p> + She was enthusiastic about poets; imagined their verse to be some sort of + clew to their characters, and so on. + </p> + <p> + She had other theories, which will be indicated by and by; at present it + is enough to say that her mind was young, healthy, somewhat original, full + of fire and faith, and empty of experience. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden loved her! it was easy to love her. + </p> + <p> + First, there was not, in the whole range of her mind and body, one grain + of affectation of any sort. + </p> + <p> + She was always, in point of fact, under the influence of some male mind or + other, generally some writer. What young woman is not, more or less, a + mirror? But she never imitated or affected; she was always herself, by + whomsoever colored. + </p> + <p> + Then she was beautiful and eloquent; much too high-bred to put a restraint + upon her natural manner, she was often more <i>naive,</i> and even brusk, + than your would-be aristocrats dare to be; but what a charming abruptness + hers was! + </p> + <p> + I do not excel in descriptions, and yet I want to give you some carnal + idea of a certain peculiarity and charm this lady possessed; permit me to + call a sister art to my aid. + </p> + <p> + There has lately stepped upon the French stage a charming personage, whose + manner is quite free from the affectation that soils nearly all French + actresses—Mademoiselle Madeleine Brohan! When you see this young + lady play Mademoiselle La Segli'ere, you see high-bred sensibility + personified, and you see something like Lady Barbara Sinclair. + </p> + <p> + She was a connection of Lord Ipsden's, but they had not met for two years, + when they encountered each other in Paris just before the commencement of + this “Dramatic Story,” “Novel” by courtesy. + </p> + <p> + The month he spent in Paris, near her, was a bright month to Lord Ipsden. + A bystander would not have gathered, from his manner, that he was warmly + in love with this lady; but, for all that, his lordship was gradually + uncoiling himself, and gracefully, quietly basking in the rays of Barbara + Sinclair. + </p> + <p> + He was also just beginning to take an interest in subjects of the day—ministries, + flat paintings, controversial novels, Cromwell's spotless integrity, etc.—why + not? They interested her. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the lady and her family returned to England. Lord Ipsden, who was + going to Rome, came to England instead. + </p> + <p> + She had not been five days in London, before she made her preparations to + spend six months in Perthshire. + </p> + <p> + This brought matters to a climax. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden proposed in form. + </p> + <p> + Lady Barbara was surprised; she had not viewed his graceful attentions in + that light at all. However, she answered by letter his proposal which had + been made by letter. + </p> + <p> + After a few of those courteous words a lady always bestows on a gentleman + who has offered her the highest compliment any man has it in his power to + offer any woman, she came to the point in the following characteristic + manner: + </p> + <p> + “The man I marry must have two things, virtues and vices—you have + neither. You do nothing, and never will do anything but sketch and hum + tunes, and dance and dangle. Forget this folly the day after to-morrow, my + dear Ipsden, and, if I may ask a favor of one to whom I refuse that which + would not be a kindness, be still good friends with her who will always be + </p> + <p> + “Your affectionate <i>Cousin,</i> + </p> + <p> + “BARBARA SINCLAIR.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after this effusion she vanished into Perthshire, leaving her cousin + stunned by a blow which she thought would be only a scratch to one of his + character. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden relapsed into greater listlessness than before he had + cherished these crushed hopes. The world now became really dark and blank + to him. He was too languid to go anywhere or do anything; a republican + might have compared the settled expression of his handsome, hopeless face + with that of most day-laborers of the same age, and moderated his envy of + the rich and titled. + </p> + <p> + At last he became so pale as well as languid that Mr. Saunders interfered. + </p> + <p> + Saunders was a model valet and factotum; who had been with his master ever + since he left Eton, and had made himself necessary to him in their + journeys. + </p> + <p> + The said Saunders was really an invaluable servant, and, with a world of + obsequiousness, contrived to have his own way on most occasions. He had, I + believe, only one great weakness, that of imagining a beau-ideal of + aristocracy and then outdoing it in the person of John Saunders. + </p> + <p> + Now this Saunders was human, and could not be eight years with this young + gentleman and not take some little interest in him. He was flunky, and + took a great interest in him, as stepping-stone to his own greatness. So + when he saw him turning pale and thin, and reading one letter fifty times, + he speculated and inquired what was the matter. He brought the intellect + of Mr. Saunders to bear on the question at the following angle: + </p> + <p> + “Now, if I was a young lord with 20,000 pounds a year, and all the world + at my feet, what would make me in this way? Why, the liver! Nothing else. + </p> + <p> + “And that is what is wrong with him, you may depend.” + </p> + <p> + This conclusion arrived at, Mr. Saunders coolly wrote his convictions to + Dr. Aberford, and desired that gentleman's immediate attention to the + case. An hour or two later, he glided into his lord's room, not without + some secret trepidation, no trace of which appeared on his face. He pulled + a long histrionic countenance. “My lord,” said he, in soft, melancholy + tones, “your lordship's melancholy state of health gives me great anxiety; + and, with many apologies to your lordship, the doctor is sent for, my + lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Saunders, you are mad; there is nothing the matter with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your lordship's pardon, your lordship is very ill, and Dr. Aberford + sent for.” + </p> + <p> + “You may go, Saunders.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord. I couldn't help it; I've outstepped my duty, my lord, but I + could not stand quiet and see your lordship dying by inches.” Here Mr. S. + put a cambric handkerchief artistically to his eyes, and glided out, + having disarmed censure. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden fell into a reverie. + </p> + <p> + “Is my mind or my body disordered? Dr. Aberford!—absurd!—Saunders + is getting too pragmatical. The doctor shall prescribe for him instead of + me; by Jove, that would serve him right.” And my lord faintly chuckled. + “No! this is what I am ill of”—and he read the fatal note again. “I + do nothing!—cruel, unjust,” sighed he. “I could have done, would + have done, anything to please her. Do nothing! nobody does anything now—things + don't come in your way to be done as they used centuries ago, or we should + do them just the same; it is their fault, not ours,” argued his lordship, + somewhat confusedly; then, leaning his brow upon the sofa, he wished to + die. For, at that dark moment life seemed to this fortunate man an aching + void; a weary, stale, flat, unprofitable tale; a faded flower; a ball-room + after daylight has crept in, and music, motion and beauty are fled away. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Aberford, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + This announcement, made by Mr. Saunders, checked his lordship's reverie. + </p> + <p> + “Insults everybody, does he not, Saunders?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord,” said Saunders, monotonously. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he will me; that might amuse me,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + A moment later the doctor bowled into the apartment, tugging at his + gloves, as he ran. + </p> + <p> + The contrast between him and our poor rich friend is almost beyond human + language. + </p> + <p> + Here lay on a sofa Ipsden, one of the most distinguished young gentlemen + in Europe; a creature incapable, by nature, of a rugged tone or a coarse + gesture; a being without the slightest apparent pretension, but refined + beyond the wildest dream of dandies. To him, enter Aberford, perspiring + and shouting. He was one of those globules of human quicksilver one sees + now and then for two seconds; they are, in fact, two globules; their head + is one, invariably bald, round, and glittering; the body is another in + activity and shape, <i>totus teres atque rotundus;</i> and in fifty years + they live five centuries. <i>Horum Rex Aberford</i>—of these our + doctor was the chief. He had hardly torn off one glove, and rolled as far + as the third flower from the door on his lordship's carpet, before he + shouted: + </p> + <p> + “This is my patient, lolloping in pursuit of health. Your hand,” added he. + For he was at the sofa long before his lordship could glide off it. + </p> + <p> + “Tongue. Pulse is good. Breathe in my face.” + </p> + <p> + “Breathe in your face, sir! how can I do that?” (with an air of mild + doubt.) + </p> + <p> + “By first inhaling, and then exhaling in the direction required, or how + can I make acquaintance with your bowels?” + </p> + <p> + “My bowels?” + </p> + <p> + “The abdomen, and the greater and lesser intestines. Well, never mind, I + can get at them another way; give your heart a slap, so. That's your + liver. And that's your diaphragm.” + </p> + <p> + His lordship having found the required spot (some people that I know could + not) and slapped it, the Aberford made a circular spring and listened + eagerly at his shoulder-blade; the result of this scientific pantomime + seemed to be satisfactory, for he exclaimed, not to say bawled: + </p> + <p> + “Halo! here is a viscount as sound as a roach! Now, young gentleman,” + added he, “your organs are superb, yet you are really out of sorts; it + follows you have the maladies of idle minds, love, perhaps, among the + rest; you blush, a diagnostic of that disorder; make your mind easy, + cutaneous disorders, such as love, etc., shall never kill a patient of + mine with a stomach like yours. So, now to cure you!” And away went the + spherical doctor, with his hands behind him, not up and down the room, but + slanting and tacking, like a knight on a chess-board. He had not made many + steps before, turning his upper globule, without affecting his lower, he + hurled back, in a cold business-like tone, the following interrogatory: + </p> + <p> + “What are your vices?” + </p> + <p> + “Saunders,” inquired the patient, “which are my vices?” + </p> + <p> + “M'lord, lordship hasn't any vices,” replied Saunders, with dull, + matter-of-fact solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Barbara makes the same complaint,” thought Lord Ipsden. + </p> + <p> + “It seems I have not any vices, Dr. Aberford,” said he, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “That is bad; nothing to get hold of. What interests you, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't remember.” + </p> + <p> + “What amuses you?” + </p> + <p> + “I forget.” + </p> + <p> + “What! no winning horse to gallop away your rents?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “No opera girl to run her foot and ankle through your purse?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir! and I think their ankles are not what they were.” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff! just the same, from their ankles up to their ears, and down again + to their morals; it is your eyes that are sunk deeper into your head. Hum! + no horses, no vices, no dancers, no yacht; you confound one's notions of + nobility, and I ought to know them, for I have to patch them all up a bit + just before they go to the deuce.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have, Doctor Aberford.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “A yacht! and a clipper she is, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!—(Now I've got him.)” + </p> + <p> + “In the Bay of Biscay she lay half a point nearer the wind than Lord + Heavyjib.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! bother Lord Heavyjib, and his Bay of Biscay.” + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart, they have often bothered me.” + </p> + <p> + “Send her round to Granton Pier, in the Firth of Forth.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And write down this prescription.” And away he walked again, thinking the + prescription. + </p> + <p> + “Saunders,” appealed his master. + </p> + <p> + “Saunders be hanged.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” said Saunders, with dignity, “I thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't thank me, thank your own deserts,” replied the modern Chesterfield. + “Oblige me by writing it yourself, my lord, it is all the bodily exercise + you will have had to-day, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + The young viscount bowed, seated himself at a desk, and wrote from + dictation: + </p> + <p> + “DR. ABERFORD'S PRESCRIPTION.” + </p> + <p> + “Make acquaintance with all the people of low estate who have time to be + bothered with you; learn their ways, their minds, and, above all, their + troubles.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't all this bore me?” suggested the writer. + </p> + <p> + “You will see. Relieve one fellow-creature every day, and let Mr. Saunders + book the circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall like this part,” said the patient, laying down his pen. “How + clever of you to think of such things; may not I do two sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; one pill per day. Write, Fish the herring! (that beats + deer-stalking.) Run your nose into adventures at sea; live on tenpence, + and earn it. Is it down?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is down, but Saunders would have written it better.” + </p> + <p> + “If he hadn't he ought to be hanged,” said the Aberford, inspecting the + work. “I'm off, where's my hat? oh, there; where's my money? oh, here. Now + look here, follow my prescription, and You will soon have Mens sana in + corpore sano; And not care whether the girls say yes or say no; neglect + it, and—my gloves; oh, in my pocket—you will be <i>blase''</i> + and <i>ennuye',</i> and (an English participle, that means something as + bad); God bless you!” + </p> + <p> + And out he scuttled, glided after by Saunders, for whom he opened and shut + the street door. + </p> + <p> + Never was a greater effect produced by a doctor's visit; patient and + physician were made for each other. Dr. Aberford was the specific for Lord + Ipsden. He came to him like a shower to a fainting strawberry. + </p> + <p> + Saunders, on his return, found his lord pacing the apartment. + </p> + <p> + “Saunders,” said he, smartly, “send down to Gravesend and order the yacht + to this place—what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Granton Pier. Yes, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “And, Saunders, take clothes, and books, and violins, and telescopes, and + things—and me—to Euston Square, in an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,' my lord,” cried Saunders, in dismay. “And there is no train + for hours.” + </p> + <p> + His master replied with a hundred-pound note, and a quiet, but wickedish + look; and the prince of gentlemen's gentleman had all the required items + with him, in a special train, within the specified time, and away they + flashed, northward. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + IT is said that opposite characters make a union happiest; and perhaps + Lord Ipsden, diffident of himself, felt the value to him of a creature so + different as Lady Barbara Sinclair; but the lady, for her part, was not so + diffident of herself, nor was she in search of her opposite. On the + contrary, she was waiting patiently to find just such a man as she was, or + fancied herself, a woman. + </p> + <p> + Accustomed to measure men by their characters alone, and to treat with + sublime contempt the accidents of birth and fortune, she had been a little + staggered by the assurance of this butterfly that had proposed to settle + upon her hand—for life. + </p> + <p> + In a word, the beautiful writer of the fatal note was honestly romantic, + according to the romance of 1848, and of good society; of course she was + not affected by hair tumbling back or plastered down forward, and a + rolling eye went no further with her than a squinting one. + </p> + <p> + Her romance was stern, not sickly. She was on the lookout for iron + virtues; she had sworn to be wooed with great deeds, or never won; on this + subject she had thought much, though not enough to ask herself whether + great deeds are always to be got at, however disposed a lover may be. + </p> + <p> + No matter; she kept herself in reserve for some earnest man, who was not + to come flattering and fooling to her, but look another way and do + exploits. + </p> + <p> + She liked Lord Ipsden, her cousin once removed, but despised him for being + agreeable, handsome, clever, and nobody. + </p> + <p> + She was also a little bitten with what she and others called the Middle + Ages, in fact with that picture of them which Grub Street, imposing on the + simplicity of youth, had got up for sale by arraying painted glass, gilt + rags, and fancy, against fact. + </p> + <p> + With these vague and sketchy notices we are compelled to part, for the + present, with Lady Barbara. But it serves her right; she has gone to + establish her court in Perthshire, and left her rejected lover on our + hands. + </p> + <p> + Journeys of a few hundred miles are no longer described. + </p> + <p> + You exchange a dead chair for a living chair, Saunders puts in your hand a + new tale like this; you mourn the superstition of booksellers, which still + inflicts uncut leaves upon humanity, though tailors do not send home coats + with the sleeves stitched up, nor chambermaids put travelers into + apple-pie beds as well as damp sheets. You rend and read, and are at + Edinburgh, fatigued more or less, but not by the journey. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden was, therefore, soon installed by the Firth side, full of the + Aberford. + </p> + <p> + The young nobleman not only venerated the doctor's sagacity, but half + admired his brusquerie and bustle; things of which he was himself never + guilty. + </p> + <p> + As for the prescription, that was a Delphic Oracle. Worlds could not have + tempted him to deviate from a letter in it. + </p> + <p> + He waited with impatience for the yacht; and, meantime, it struck him that + the first part of the prescription could be attacked at once. + </p> + <p> + It was the afternoon of the day succeeding his arrival. The Fifeshire + hills, seen across the Firth from his windows, were beginning to take + their charming violet tinge, a light breeze ruffled the blue water into a + sparkling smile, the shore was tranquil, and the sea full of noiseless + life, with the craft of all sizes gliding and dancing and courtesying on + their trackless roads. + </p> + <p> + The air was tepid, pure and sweet as heaven; this bright afternoon, Nature + had grudged nothing that could give fresh life and hope to such dwellers + in dust and smoke and vice as were there to look awhile on her clean face + and drink her honeyed breath. + </p> + <p> + This young gentleman was not insensible to the beauty of the scene. He was + a little lazy by nature, and made lazier by the misfortune of wealth, but + he had sensibilities; he was an artist of great natural talent; had he + only been without a penny, how he would have handled the brush! And then + he was a mighty sailor; if he had sailed for biscuit a few years, how he + would have handled a ship! + </p> + <p> + As he was, he had the eye of a hawk for Nature's beauties, and the sea + always came back to him like a friend after an absence. + </p> + <p> + This scene, then, curled round his heart a little, and he felt the good + physician was wiser than the tribe that go by that name, and strive to + build health on the sandy foundation of drugs. + </p> + <p> + “Saunders! do you know what Dr. Aberford means by the lower classes?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there any about here?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to say they are everywhere, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Get me some”—<i>(cigarette).</i> + </p> + <p> + Out went Saunders, with his usual graceful <i>empressement,</i> but an + internal shrug of his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + He was absent an hour and a half; he then returned with a double + expression on his face—pride at his success in diving to the very + bottom of society, and contempt of what he had fished up thence. + </p> + <p> + He approached his lord mysteriously, and said, <i>sotto voce,</i> but + impressively, “This is low enough, my lord.” Then glided back, and ushered + in, with polite disdain, two lovelier women than he had ever opened a door + to in the whole course of his perfumed existence. + </p> + <p> + On their heads they wore caps of Dutch or Flemish origin, with a broad + lace border, stiffened and arched over the forehead, about three inches + high, leaving the brow and cheeks unencumbered. + </p> + <p> + They had cotton jackets, bright red and yellow, mixed in patterns, + confined at the waist by the apron-strings, but bobtailed below the waist; + short woolen petticoats, with broad vertical stripes, red and white, most + vivid in color; white worsted stockings, and neat, though high-quartered + shoes. Under their jackets they wore a thick spotted cotton handkerchief, + about one inch of which was visible round the lower part of the throat. Of + their petticoats, the outer one was kilted, or gathered up toward the + front, and the second, of the same color, hung in the usual way. + </p> + <p> + Of these young women, one had an olive complexion, with the red blood + mantling under it, and black hair, and glorious black eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + The other was fair, with a massive but shapely throat, as white as milk; + glossy brown hair, the loose threads of which glittered like gold, and a + blue eye, which, being contrasted with dark eyebrows and lashes, took the + luminous effect peculiar to that rare beauty. + </p> + <p> + Their short petticoats revealed a neat ankle, and a leg with a noble + swell; for Nature, when she is in earnest, builds beauty on the ideas of + ancient sculptors and poets, not of modern poetasters, who, with their + airy-like sylphs and their smoke-like verses, fight for want of flesh in + woman and want of fact in poetry as parallel beauties. + </p> + <p> + <i>They are,</i> my lads.—<i>Continuez!</i> + </p> + <p> + These women had a grand corporeal trait; they had never known a corset! so + they were straight as javelins; they could lift their hands above their + heads!—actually! Their supple persons moved as Nature intended; + every gesture was ease, grace and freedom. + </p> + <p> + What with their own radiance, and the snowy cleanliness and brightness of + their costume, they came like meteors into the apartment. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden, rising gently from his seat, with the same quiet politeness + with which he would have received two princes of the blood, said, “How do + you do?” and smiled a welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Fine! hoow's yoursel?” answered the dark lass, whose name was Jean + Carnie, and whose voice was not so sweet as her face. + </p> + <p> + “What'n lord are ye?” continued she; “are you a juke? I wad like fine to + hae a crack wi' a juke.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders, who knew himself the cause of this question, replied, <i>sotto + voce,</i> “His lordship is a viscount.” + </p> + <p> + “I didna ken't,” was Jean's remark. “But it has a bonny soond.” + </p> + <p> + “What mair would ye hae?” said the fair beauty, whose name was Christie + Johnstone. Then, appealing to his lordship as the likeliest to know, she + added, “Nobeelity is jist a soond itsel, I'm tauld.” + </p> + <p> + The viscount, finding himself expected to say something on a topic he had + not attended much to, answered dryly: “We must ask the republicans, they + are the people that give their minds to such subjects.” + </p> + <p> + “And yon man,” asked Jean Carnie, “is he a lord, too?” + </p> + <p> + “I am his lordship's servant,” replied Saunders, gravely, not without a + secret misgiving whether fate had been just. + </p> + <p> + “Na!” replied she, not to be imposed upon, “ye are statelier and prooder + than this ane.” + </p> + <p> + “I will explain,” said his master. “Saunders knows his value; a servant + like Saunders is rarer than an idle viscount.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, my lord!” remonstrated Saunders, with a shocked and most + disclamatory tone. “Rather!” was his inward reflection. + </p> + <p> + “Jean,” said Christie, “ye hae muckle to laern. Are ye for herrin' the + day, vile count?” + </p> + <p> + “No! are you for this sort of thing?” + </p> + <p> + At this, Saunders, with a world of <i>empressement,</i> offered the Carnie + some cake that was on the table. + </p> + <p> + She took a piece, instantly spat it out into her hand, and with more + energy than delicacy flung it into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Augh!” cried she, “just a sugar and saut butter thegither; buy nae mair + at yon shoep, vile count.” + </p> + <p> + “Try this, out of Nature's shop,” laughed their entertainer; and he + offered them, himself, some peaches and things. + </p> + <p> + “Hech! a medi—cine!” said Christie. + </p> + <p> + “Nature, my lad,” said Miss Carnie, making her ivory teeth meet in their + first nectarine, “I didna ken whaur ye stoep, but ye beat the other + confectioners, that div ye.” + </p> + <p> + The fair lass, who had watched the viscount all this time as demurely as a + cat cream, now approached him. + </p> + <p> + This young woman was the thinker; her voice was also rich, full, and + melodious, and her manner very engaging; it was half advancing, half + retiring, not easy to resist or to describe. + </p> + <p> + “Noo,” said she, with a very slight blush stealing across her face, “ye + maun let me catecheeze ye, wull ye?” + </p> + <p> + The last two words were said in a way that would have induced a bear to + reveal his winter residence. + </p> + <p> + He smiled assent. Saunders retired to the door, and, excluding every shade + of curiosity from his face, took an attitude, half majesty, half + obsequiousness. + </p> + <p> + Christie stood by Lord Ipsden, with one hand on her hip (the knuckles + downward), but graceful as Antinous, and began. + </p> + <p> + “Hoo muckle is the queen greater than y' are?” + </p> + <p> + His lordship was obliged to reflect. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see—as is the moon to a wax taper, so is her majesty the + queen to you and me, and the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “An' whaur does the Juke* come in?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Buceleuch. +</pre> + <p> + “On this particular occasion, the Duke** makes one of us, my pretty maid.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + **Wellington +</pre> + <p> + “I see! Are na yeawfu' prood o' being a lorrd?” + </p> + <p> + “What an idea!” + </p> + <p> + “His lordship did not go to bed a spinning-jenny, and rise up a lord, like + some of them,” put in Saunders. + </p> + <p> + “Saunders,” said the peer, doubtfully, “eloquence rather bores people.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I mustn't speak again, my lord,” said Saunders, respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “Noo,” said the fair inquisitor, “ye shall tell me how ye came to be + lorrds, your faemily?” + </p> + <p> + “Saunders!” + </p> + <p> + “Na! ye manna flee to Sandy for a thing, ye are no a bairn, are ye?” + </p> + <p> + Here was a dilemma, the Saunders prop knocked rudely away, and obliged to + think for ourselves. + </p> + <p> + But Saunders would come to his distressed master's assistance. He + furtively conveyed to him a plump book—this was Saunders's manual of + faith; the author was Mr. Burke, not Edmund. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden ran hastily over the page, closed the book, and said, “Here is + the story. + </p> + <p> + “Five hundred years ago—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Jean,” said Christie; “we're gaun to get a boeny story. 'Five + hundre' years ago,'” added she, with interest and awe. + </p> + <p> + “Was a great battle,” resumed the narrator, in cheerful tones, as one + larking with history, “between a king of England and his rebels. He was in + the thick of the fight—” + </p> + <p> + “That's the king, Jean, he was in the thick o't.” + </p> + <p> + “My ancestor killed a fellow who was sneaking behind him, but the next + moment a man-at-arms prepared a thrust at his majesty, who had his hands + full with three assailants.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! that's no fair,” said Christie, “as sure as deeth.” + </p> + <p> + “My ancestor dashed forward, and, as the king's sword passed through one + of them, he clove another to the waist with a blow.” + </p> + <p> + “Weel done! weel done!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden looked at the speaker, her eyes were glittering, and her cheek + flushing. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!” thought he; “she believes it!” So he began to take more + pains with his legend. + </p> + <p> + “But for the spearsman,” continued he, “he had nothing but his body; he + gave it, it was his duty, and received the death leveled at his + sovereign.” + </p> + <p> + “Hech! puir mon.” And the glowing eyes began to glisten. + </p> + <p> + “The battle flowed another way, and God gave victory to the right; but the + king came back to look for him, for it was no common service.” + </p> + <p> + “Deed no!” + </p> + <p> + Here Lord Ipsden began to turn his eye inward, and call up the scene. He + lowered his voice. + </p> + <p> + “They found him lying on his back, looking death in the face. + </p> + <p> + “The nobles, by the king's side, uncovered as soon as he was found, for + they were brave men, too. There was a moment's silence; eyes met eyes, and + said, this is a stout soldier's last battle. + </p> + <p> + “The king could not bid him live.” + </p> + <p> + “Na! lad, King Deeth has ower strong a grrip.” + </p> + <p> + “But he did what kings can do, he gave him two blows with his royal + sword.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the robber, and him a deeing mon.” + </p> + <p> + “Two words from his royal mouth, and he and we were Barons of Ipsden and + Hawthorn Glen from that day to this.” + </p> + <p> + “But the puir dying creature?” + </p> + <p> + “What poor dying creature?” + </p> + <p> + “Your forbear, lad.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know why you call him poor, madam; all the men of that day are + dust; they are the gold dust who died with honor. + </p> + <p> + “He looked round, uneasily, for his son—for he had but one—and + when that son knelt, unwounded, by him, he said, 'Goodnight, Baron + Ipsden;' and so he died, fire in his eye, a smile on his lip, and honor on + his name forever. I meant to tell you a lie, and I've told you the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Laddie,” said Christie, half admiringly, half reproachfully, “ye gar the + tear come in my een. Hech! look at yon lassie! how could you think t'eat + plums through siccan a bonny story?” + </p> + <p> + “Hets,” answered Jean, who had, in fact, cleared the plate, “I aye listen + best when my ain mooth's stappit.” + </p> + <p> + “But see, now,” pondered Christie, “twa words fra a king—thir titles + are just breeth.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” was the answer. “All titles are. What is popularity? ask + Aristides and Lamartine—the breath of a mob—smells of its + source—and is gone before the sun can set on it. Now the royal + breath does smell of the Rose and Crown, and stays by us from age to age.” + </p> + <p> + The story had warmed our marble acquaintance. Saunders opened his eyes, + and thought, “We shall wake up the House of Lords some evening—<i>we</i> + shall.” + </p> + <p> + His lordship then added, less warmly, looking at the girls: + </p> + <p> + “I think I should like to be a fisherman.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, my lord yawned slightly. + </p> + <p> + To this aspiration the young fishwives deigned no attention, doubting, + perhaps, its sincerity; and Christie, with a shade of severity, inquired + of him how he came to be a vile count. + </p> + <p> + “A baron's no' a vile count, I'm sure,” said she; “sae tell me how ye came + to be a vile count.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said he, “that is by no means a pretty story like the other; you + will not like it, I am sure. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, will I—ay, will I; I'm aye seeking knoewledge.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is soon told. One of us sat twenty years on one seat, in the + same house, so one day he got up a—viscount.” + </p> + <p> + “Ower muckle pay for ower little wark.” + </p> + <p> + “Now don't say that; I wouldn't do it to be Emperor of Russia.” + </p> + <p> + “Aweel, I hae gotten a heap out o' ye; sae noow I'll gang, since ye are no + for herrin'; come away, Jean.” + </p> + <p> + At this their host remonstrated, and inquired why bores are at one's + service night and day, and bright people are always in a hurry; he was + informed in reply, “Labor is the lot o' man. Div ye no ken that muckle? + And abune a' o' women.” * + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * A local idea, I suspect.—C. R. +</pre> + <p> + “Why, what can two such pretty creatures have to do except to be admired?” + </p> + <p> + This question coming within the dark beauty's scope, she hastened to + reply. + </p> + <p> + “To sell our herrin'—we hae three hundre' left in the creel.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the price?” + </p> + <p> + At this question the poetry died out of Christie Johnstone's face, she + gave her companion a rapid look, indiscernible by male eye, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “Three a penny, sirr; they are no plenty the day,” added she, in smooth + tones that carried conviction. + </p> + <p> + (Little liar; they were selling six a penny everywhere.) + </p> + <p> + “Saunders, buy them all, and be ever so long about it; count them, or some + nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “He's daft! he's daft! Oh, ye ken, Jean, an Ennglishman and a lorrd, twa + daft things thegither, he could na' miss the road. Coont them, lassie.” + </p> + <p> + “Come away, Sandy, till I count them till ye,” said Jean. + </p> + <p> + Saunders and Jean disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Business being out of sight, curiosity revived. + </p> + <p> + “An' what brings ye here from London, if ye please?” recommenced the fair + inquisitor. + </p> + <p> + “You have a good countenance; there is something in your face. I could + find it in my heart to tell you, but I should bore you.” + </p> + <p> + “De'el a fear! Bore me, bore me! wheat's thaat, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “What is your name, madam? Mine is Ipsden.” + </p> + <p> + “They ca' me Christie Johnstone.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Christie Johnstone, I am under the doctor's hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Puir lad. What's the trouble?” (solemnly and tenderly.) + </p> + <p> + “Ennui!” (rather piteously.) + </p> + <p> + “Yawn-we? I never heerd tell o't.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you lucky girl,” burst out he; “but the doctor has undertaken to cure + me; in one thing you could assist me, if I am not presuming too far on our + short acquaintance. I am to relieve one poor distressed person every day, + but I mustn't do two. Is not that a bore?” + </p> + <p> + “Gie's your hand, gie's your hand. I'm vexed for ca'ing you daft. Hech! + what a saft hand ye hae. Jean, I'm saying, come here, feel this.” + </p> + <p> + Jean, who had run in, took the viscount's hand from Christie. + </p> + <p> + “It never wroucht any,” explained Jean. “And he has bonny hair,” said + Christie, just touching his locks on the other side. + </p> + <p> + “He's a bonny lad,” said Jean, inspecting him scientifically, and + pointblank. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, is he,” said the other. “Aweel, there's Jess Rutherford, a widdy, wi' + four bairns, ye meicht do waur than ware your siller on her.” + </p> + <p> + “Five pounds to begin?” inquired his lordship. + </p> + <p> + “Five pund! Are ye made o' siller? Ten schell'n!” + </p> + <p> + Saunders was rung for, and produced a one-pound note. + </p> + <p> + “The herrin' is five and saxpence; it's four and saxpence I'm awin ye,” + said the young fishwife, “and Jess will be a glad woman the neicht.” + </p> + <p> + The settlement was effected, and away went the two friends, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Good-boye, vile count.” + </p> + <p> + Their host fell into thought. + </p> + <p> + “When have I talked so much?” asked he of himself. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Aberford, you are a wonderful man; I like your lower classes + amazingly.” + </p> + <p> + “Me'fiez vous, Monsieur Ipsden!” should some mentor have said. + </p> + <p> + As the Devil puts into a beginner's hands ace, queen, five trumps, to give + him a taste for whist, so these lower classes have perhaps put forward one + of their best cards to lead you into a false estimate of the strength of + their hand. + </p> + <p> + Instead, however, of this, who should return, to disturb the equilibrium + of truth, but this Christina Johnstone? She came thoughtfully in, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “I've been taking a thoucht, and this is no what yon gude physeecian + meaned; ye are no to fling your chaerity like a bane till a doeg; ye'll + gang yoursel to Jess Rutherford; Flucker Johnstone, that's my brother, + will convoy ye.” + </p> + <p> + “But how is your brother to know me?” + </p> + <p> + “How? Because I'll gie him a sair sair hiding, if he lets ye gang by.” + </p> + <p> + Then she returned the one-pound note, a fresh settlement was effected, and + she left him. At the door she said: “And I am muckle obleeged to ye for + your story and your goodness.” + </p> + <p> + While uttering these words, she half kissed her hand to him, with a lofty + and disengaged gesture, such as one might expect from a queen, if queens + did not wear stays; and was gone. + </p> + <p> + When his lordship, a few minutes after, sauntered out for a stroll, the + first object he beheld was an exact human square, a handsome boy, with a + body swelled out apparently to the size of a man's, with blue flannel, and + blue cloth above it, leaning against a wall, with his hands in his pockets—a + statuette of <i>insouciance.</i> + </p> + <p> + This marine puff-ball was Flucker Johnstone, aged fourteen. + </p> + <p> + Stain his sister's face with diluted walnut-juice, as they make the stage + gypsy and Red Indian (two animals imagined by actors to be one), and you + have Flucker's face. + </p> + <p> + A slight moral distinction remains, not to be so easily got over. + </p> + <p> + She was the best girl in the place, and he a baddish boy. + </p> + <p> + He was, however, as sharp in his way as she was intelligent in hers. + </p> + <p> + This youthful mariner allowed his lordship to pass him, and take twenty + steps, but watched him all the time, and compared him with a description + furnished him by his sister. + </p> + <p> + He then followed, and brought him to, as he called it. + </p> + <p> + “I daur say it's you I'm to convoy to yon auld faggitt!” said this baddish + boy. + </p> + <p> + On they went, Flucker rolling and pitching and yawing to keep up with the + lordly galley, for a fisherman's natural waddle is two miles an hour. + </p> + <p> + At the very entrance of Newhaven, the new pilot suddenly sung out, + “Starboard!” + </p> + <p> + Starboard it was, and they ascended a filthy “close,” or alley they + mounted a staircase which was out of doors, and, without knocking, Flucker + introduced himself into Jess Rutherford's house. + </p> + <p> + “Here a gentleman to speak till ye, wife.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <h3> + THE widow was weather-beaten and rough. She sat mending an old net. + </h3> + <p> + “The gentleman's welcome,” said she; but there was no gratification in her + tone, and but little surprise. + </p> + <p> + His lordship then explained that, understanding there were worthy people + in distress, he was in hopes he might be permitted to assist them, and + that she must blame a neighbor of hers if he had broken in upon her too + abruptly with this object. He then, with a blush, hinted at ten shillings, + which he begged she would consider as merely an installment, until he + could learn the precise nature of her embarrassments, and the best way of + placing means at her disposal. + </p> + <p> + The widow heard all this with a lackluster mind. + </p> + <p> + For many years her life had been unsuccessful labor; if anything had ever + come to her, it had always been a misfortune; her incidents had been + thorns—her events, daggers. + </p> + <p> + She could not realize a human angel coming to her relief, and she did not + realize it, and she worked away at her net. + </p> + <p> + At this, Flucker, to whom his lordship's speech appeared monstrously weak + and pointless, drew nigh, and gave the widow, in her ear, his version, + namely, his sister's embellished. It was briefly this: That the gentleman + was a daft lord from England, who had come with the bank in his breeks, to + remove poverty from Scotland, beginning with her. “Sae speak loud aneuch, + and ye'll no want siller,” was his polite corollary. + </p> + <p> + His lordship rose, laid a card on a chair, begged her to make use of him, + et cetera; he then, recalling the oracular prescription, said, “Do me the + favor to apply to me for any little sum you have a use for, and, in + return, I will beg of you (if it does not bore you too much) to make me + acquainted with any little troubles you may have encountered in the course + of your life.” + </p> + <p> + His lordship, receiving no answer, was about to go, after bowing to her, + and smiling gracefully upon her. + </p> + <p> + His hand was on the latch, when Jess Rutherford burst into a passion of + tears. + </p> + <p> + He turned with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “My <i>troubles,</i> laddie,” cried she, trembling all over. “The sun wad + set, and rise, and set again, ere I could tell ye a' the trouble I hae + come through. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ye need na vex yourself for an auld wife's tears; tears are a + blessin', lad, I shall assure ye. Mony's the time I hae prayed for them, + and could na hae them Sit ye doon! sit ye doon! I'll no let ye gang fra my + door till I hae thankit ye—but gie me time, gie me time. I canna + greet a' the days of the week.” + </p> + <p> + Flucker, <i>aetat.</i> 14, opened his eyes, unable to connect ten + shillings and tears. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden sat down, and felt very sorry for her. + </p> + <p> + And she cried at her ease. + </p> + <p> + If one touch of nature make the whole world kin, methinks that sweet and + wonderful thing, sympathy, is not less powerful. What frozen barriers, + what ice of centuries, it can melt in a moment! + </p> + <p> + His bare mention of her troubles had surprised the widowed woman's heart, + and now she looked up and examined his countenance; it was soon done. + </p> + <p> + A woman, young or old, high or low, can discern and appreciate sensibility + in a man's face, at a single glance. + </p> + <p> + What she saw there was enough. She was sure of sympathy. She recalled her + resolve, and the tale of her sorrows burst from her like a flood. + </p> + <p> + Then the old fishwife told the young aristocrat how she had borne twelve + children, and buried six as bairns; how her man was always unlucky; how a + mast fell on him, and disabled him a whole season; how they could but just + keep the pot boiling by the deep-sea fishing, and he was not allowed to + dredge for oysters, because his father was not a Newhaven man. How, when + the herring fishing came, to make all right, he never had another man's + luck; how his boat's crew would draw empty nets, and a boat alongside him + would be gunwale down in the water with the fish. How, at last, one + morning, the 20th day of November, his boat came in to Newhaven Pier + without him, and when he was inquired for, his crew said, “He had stayed + at home, like a lazy loon, and not sailed with them the night before.” How + she was anxious, and had all the public houses searched. “For he took a + drop now and then, nae wonder, and him aye in the weather.” Poor thing! + when he was alive she used to call him a drunken scoundrel to his face. + How, when the tide went down, a mad wife, whose husband had been drowned + twenty years ago, pointed out something under the pier that the rest took + for sea-weed floating—how it was the hair of her man's head, washed + about by the water, and he was there, drowned without a cry or a struggle, + by his enormous boots, that kept him in an upright position, though he was + dead; there he stood—dead—drowned by slipping from the + slippery pier, close to his comrades' hands, in a dark and gusty night; + how her daughter married, and was well to do, and assisted her; how she + fell into a rapid decline, and died, a picture of health to inexperienced + eyes. How she, the mother, saw and knew, and watched the treacherous + advance of disease and death; how others said gayly, “Her daughter was + better,” and she was obliged to say, “Yes.” How she had worked, eighteen + hours a day, at making nets; how, when she let out her nets to the other + men at the herring fishing, they always cheated her, because her man was + gone. How she had many times had to choose between begging her meal and + going to bed without it, but, thank Heaven! she had always chosen the + latter. + </p> + <p> + She told him of hunger, cold, and anguish. As she spoke they became real + things to him; up to that moment they had been things in a story-book. And + as she spoke she rocked herself from side to side. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, she was a woman “acquainted with grief.” She might have said, + “Here I and sorrow sit. This is my throne, bid kings come and bow to it!” + </p> + <p> + Her hearer felt this, and therefore this woman, poor, old, and ugly, + became sacred in his eye; it was with a strange sort of respect that he + tried to console her. He spoke to her in tones gentle and sweet as the + south wind on a summer evening. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” said he, “let me be so happy as to bring you some comfort. The + sorrows of the heart I cannot heal; they are for a mightier hand; but a + part of your distress appears to have been positive need; that we can at + least dispose of, and I entreat you to believe that from this hour want + shall never enter that door again. Never! upon my honor!” + </p> + <p> + The Scotch are icebergs, with volcanoes underneath; thaw the Scotch ice, + which is very cold, and you shall get to the Scotch fire, warmer than any + sun of Italy or Spain. + </p> + <p> + His lordship had risen to go. The old wife had seemed absorbed in her own + grief; she now dried her tears. + </p> + <p> + “Bide ye, sirr,” said she, “till I thank ye.” + </p> + <p> + So she began to thank him, rather coldly and stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “He says ye are a lord,” said she; “I dinna ken, an' I dinna care; but + ye're a gentleman, I daur say, and a kind heart ye hae.” + </p> + <p> + Then she began to warm. + </p> + <p> + “And ye'll never be a grain the poorer for the siller ye hae gien me; for + he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + Then she began to glow. + </p> + <p> + “But it's no your siller; dinna think it—na, lad, na! Oh, fine! I + ken there's mony a supper for the bairns and me in yon bits metal; but I + canna feel your siller as I feel your winsome smile—the drop in your + young een—an' the sweet words ye gied me, in the sweet music o' your + Soothern tongue, Gude bless ye!” (Where was her ice by this time?) “Gude + bless ye! and I bless ye!” + </p> + <p> + And she did bless him; and what a blessing it was; not a melodious + generality, like a stage parent's, or papa's in a damsel's novel. It was + like the son of Barak on Zophim. + </p> + <p> + She blessed him, as one who had the power and the right to bless or curse. + </p> + <p> + She stood on the high ground of her low estate, and her afflictions—and + demanded of their Creator to bless the fellow-creature that had come to + her aid and consolation. + </p> + <p> + This woman had suffered to the limits of endurance; yesterday she had + said, “Surely the Almighty does na <i>see</i> me a' these years!” + </p> + <p> + So now she blessed him, and her heart's blood seemed to gush into words. + </p> + <p> + She blessed him by land and water. + </p> + <p> + She knew most mortal griefs; for she had felt them. + </p> + <p> + She warned them away from him one by one. + </p> + <p> + She knew the joys of life; for she had felt their want. + </p> + <p> + She summoned them one by one to his side. + </p> + <p> + “And a fair wind to your ship,” cried she, “and the storms aye ten miles + to leeward o' her.” + </p> + <p> + Many happy days, “an' weel spent,” she wished him. + </p> + <p> + “His love should love him dearly, or a better take her place.” + </p> + <p> + “Health to his side by day; sleep to his pillow by night.” + </p> + <p> + A thousand good wishes came, like a torrent of fire, from her lips, with a + power that eclipsed his dreams of human eloquence; and then, changing in a + moment from the thunder of a Pythoness to the tender music of some poetess + mother, she ended: + </p> + <p> + “An' oh, my boenny, boenny lad, may ye be wi' the rich upon the airth a' + your days—AND WI' THE PUIR IN THE WARLD TO COME!” + </p> + <p> + His lordship's tongue refused him the thin phrases of society. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell for the present,” said he, and he went quietly away. + </p> + <p> + He paced thoughtfully home. + </p> + <p> + He had drunk a fact with every sentence; and an idea with every fact. + </p> + <p> + For the knowledge we have never realized is not knowledge to us—only + knowledge's shadow. + </p> + <p> + With the banished duke, he now began to feel, “we are not alone unhappy.” + This universal world contains other guess sorrows than yours, viscount—<i>scilicet</i> + than unvarying health, unbroken leisure, and incalculable income. + </p> + <p> + Then this woman's eloquence! bless me! he had seen folk murmur politely in + the Upper House, and drone or hammer away at the Speaker down below, with + more heat than warmth. + </p> + <p> + He had seen nine hundred wild beasts fed with peppered tongue, in a + menagerie called <i>L'Assemble' Nationale.</i> + </p> + <p> + His ears had rung often enough, for that matter. This time his heart beat. + </p> + <p> + He had been in the principal courts of Europe; knew what a handful of + gentlefolks call “the World”; had experienced the honeyed words of + courtiers, the misty nothings of diplomatists, and the innocent prattle of + mighty kings. + </p> + <p> + But hitherto he seemed to have undergone gibberish and jargon: + </p> + <p> + Gibberish and jargon—Political! + </p> + <p> + Gibberish and jargon—Social! + </p> + <p> + Gibberish and jargon—Theological! + </p> + <p> + Gibberish and jargon—Positive! + </p> + <p> + People had been prating—Jess had spoken. + </p> + <p> + But, it is to be observed, he was under the double effect of eloquence and + novelty; and, so situated, we overrate things, you know. + </p> + <p> + That night he made a provision for this poor woman, in case he should die + before next week. + </p> + <p> + “Who knows?” said he, “she is such an unlucky woman.” Then he went to bed, + and whether from the widow's blessing, or the air of the place, he slept + like a plowboy. + </p> + <p> + Leaving Richard, Lord Ipsden, to work out the Aberford problem—to + relieve poor people, one or two of whom, like the Rutherford, were + grateful, the rest acted it to the life—to receive now and then a + visit from Christina Johnstone, who borrowed every mortal book in his + house, who sold him fish, invariably cheated him by the indelible force of + habit, and then remorsefully undid the bargain, with a peevish entreaty + that “he would not be so green, for there was no doing business with him”—to + be fastened upon by Flucker, who, with admirable smoothness and cunning, + wormed himself into a cabin-boy on board the yacht, and man-at-arms + ashore. + </p> + <p> + To cruise in search of adventures, and meet nothing but disappointments; + to acquire a browner tint, a lighter step, and a jacket, our story moves + for a while toward humbler personages. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + JESS RUTHERFORD, widow of Alexander Johnstone—for Newhaven wives, + like great artists, change their conditions without changing their names—was + known in the town only as a dour wife, a sour old carline. Whose fault? + </p> + <p> + Do wooden faces and iron tongues tempt sorrow to put out its snails' + horns? + </p> + <p> + She hardly spoke to any one, or any one to her, but four days after the + visit we have described people began to bend looks of sympathy on her, to + step out of their way to give her a kindly good-morrow; after a bit, fish + and meal used to be placed on her table by one neighbor or another, when + she was out, and so on. She was at first behindhand in responding to all + this, but by degrees she thawed to those who were thawing to her. Next, + Saunders called on her, and showed her a settlement, made for her benefit, + on certain lands in Lanarkshire. She was at ease for life. + </p> + <p> + The Almighty had seen her all these years. + </p> + <p> + But how came her neighbors to melt? + </p> + <p> + Because a nobleman had visited her. + </p> + <p> + Not exactly, dear novel-reader. + </p> + <p> + This was it. + </p> + <p> + That same night, by a bright fire lighting up snowy walls, burnished + copper, gleaming candlesticks, and a dinner-table floor, sat the mistress + of the house, Christie Johnstone, and her brother, Flucker. + </p> + <p> + She with a book, he with his reflections opposite her. + </p> + <p> + “Lassie, hae ye ony siller past ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, lad; an' I mean to keep it!” The baddish boy had registered a vow to + the contrary, and proceeded to bleed his flint (for to do Christie justice + the process was not very dissimilar). Flucker had a versatile genius for + making money; he had made it in forty different ways, by land and sea, + tenpence at a time. + </p> + <p> + “I hae gotten the life o' Jess Rutherford till ye,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Giest then.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm seeking half a crown for 't,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Now, he knew he should never get half a crown, but he also knew that if he + asked a shilling, he should be beaten down to fourpence. + </p> + <p> + So half a crown was his first bode. + </p> + <p> + The enemy, with anger at her heart, called up a humorous smile, and + saying, “An' ye'll get saxpence,” went about some household matter; in + reality, to let her proposal rankle in Flucker. + </p> + <p> + Flucker lighted his pipe slowly, as one who would not do a sister the + injustice to notice so trivial a proposition. + </p> + <p> + He waited fresh overtures. + </p> + <p> + They did not come. + </p> + <p> + Christie resumed her book. + </p> + <p> + Then the baddish boy fixed his eye on the fire, and said softly and + thoughtfully to the fire, “Hech, what a heap o' troubles yon woman has + come through.” + </p> + <p> + This stroke of art was not lost. Christie looked up from her book; + pretended he had spoken to her, gave a fictitious yawn, and renewed the + negotiation with the air of one disposed to kill time. + </p> + <p> + She was dying for the story. + </p> + <p> + Commerce was twice broken off and renewed by each power in turn. + </p> + <p> + At last the bargain was struck at fourteen-pence. + </p> + <p> + Then Flucker came out, the honest merchant. + </p> + <p> + He had listened intently, with mercantile views. + </p> + <p> + He had the widow's sorrows all off pat. + </p> + <p> + He was not a bit affected himself, but by pure memory he remembered where + she had been most agitated or overcome. + </p> + <p> + He gave it Christie, word for word, and even threw in what dramatists call + “the business,” thus: + </p> + <p> + “Here ye suld greet—” + </p> + <p> + “Here ye'll play your hand like a geraffe.” + </p> + <p> + “Geraffe? That's a beast, I'm thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “Na; it's the thing on the hill that makes signals.” + </p> + <p> + “Telegraph, ye fulish goloshen!” + </p> + <p> + “Oo ay, telegraph! Geraffe 's sunest said for a'.” + </p> + <p> + Thus Jess Rutherford's life came into Christie Johnstone's hands. + </p> + <p> + She told it to a knot of natives next day; it lost nothing, for she was a + woman of feeling, and by intuition an artist of the tongue. She was the + best <i>raconteur</i> in a place where there are a hundred, male and + female, who attempt that art. + </p> + <p> + The next day she told it again, and then inferior narrators got hold of + it, and it soon circulated through the town. + </p> + <p> + And this was the cause of the sudden sympathy with Jess Rutherford. + </p> + <p> + As our prigs would say: + </p> + <p> + “Art had adopted her cause and adorned her tale.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + THE fishing village of Newhaven is an unique place; it is a colony that + retains distinct features; the people seldom intermarry with their Scotch + neighbors. + </p> + <p> + Some say the colony is Dutch, some Danish, some Flemish. The character and + cleanliness of their female costume points rather to the latter. + </p> + <p> + Fish, like horse-flesh, corrupts the mind and manners. + </p> + <p> + After a certain age, the Newhaven fishwife is always a blackguard, and + ugly; but among the younger specimens, who have not traded too much, or + come into much contact with larger towns, a charming modesty, or else + slyness (such as no man can distinguish from it, so it answers every + purpose), is to be found, combined with rare grace and beauty. + </p> + <p> + It is a race of women that the northern sun peachifies instead of + rosewoodizing. + </p> + <p> + On Sundays the majority sacrifice appearance to fashion; these turn out + rainbows of silk, satin and lace. In the week they were all grace, and no + stays; now they seem all stays and no grace. They never look so ill as + when they change their “costume” for “dress.” + </p> + <p> + The men are smart fishermen, distinguished from the other fishermen of the + Firth chiefly by their “dredging song.” + </p> + <p> + This old song is money to them; thus: + </p> + <p> + Dredging is practically very stiff rowing for ten hours. + </p> + <p> + Now both the Newhaven men and their rivals are agreed that this song lifts + them through more work than untuned fishermen can manage. + </p> + <p> + I have heard the song, and seen the work done to it; and incline to think + it helps the oar, not only by keeping the time true, and the spirit alive, + but also by its favorable action on the lungs. It is sung in a peculiar + way; the sound is, as it were, expelled from the chest in a sort of + musical ejaculations; and the like, we know, was done by the ancient + gymnasts; and is done by the French bakers, in lifting their enormous + dough, and by our paviors. + </p> + <p> + The song, in itself, does not contain above seventy stock verses, but + these perennial lines are a nucleus, round which the men improvise the + topics of the day, giving, I know not for what reason, the preference to + such as verge upon indelicacy. + </p> + <p> + The men and women are musical and narrative; three out of four can sing a + song or tell a story, and they omit few opportunities. + </p> + <p> + Males and females suck whisky like milk, and are quarrelsome in + proportion. The men fight (round-handed), the women fleicht or scold, in + the form of a teapot—the handle fixed and the spout sawing the air. + </p> + <p> + A singular custom prevails here. + </p> + <p> + The maidens have only one sweetheart apiece!!! + </p> + <p> + So the whole town is in pairs. + </p> + <p> + The courting is all done on Saturday night, by the lady's fire. It is hard + to keep out of a groove in which all the town is running; and the + Johnstone had possessed, as mere property—a lad! + </p> + <p> + She was so wealthy that few of them could pretend to aspire to her, so she + selected for her chattel a young man called Willy Liston; a youth of an + unhappy turn—he contributed nothing to hilarity, his face was a + kill-joy—nobody liked him; for this female reason Christie + distinguished him. + </p> + <p> + He found a divine supper every Saturday night in her house; he ate, and + sighed! Christie fed him, and laughed at him. + </p> + <p> + Flucker ditto. + </p> + <p> + As she neither fed nor laughed at any other man, some twenty were bitterly + jealous of Willy Liston, and this gave the blighted youth a cheerful + moment or two. + </p> + <p> + But the bright alliance received a check some months before our tale. + </p> + <p> + Christie was <i>heluo librorum!</i> and like others who have that taste, + and can only gratify it in the interval of manual exercise, she read very + intensely in her hours of study. A book absorbed her. She was like a leech + on these occasions, <i>non missura cutem.</i> Even Jean Carnie, her + co-adjutor or “neebor,” as they call it, found it best to keep out of her + way till the book was sucked. + </p> + <p> + One Saturday night Willy Liston's evil star ordained that a gentleman of + French origin and Spanish dress, called Gil Blas, should be the + Johnstone's companion. + </p> + <p> + Willy Liston arrived. + </p> + <p> + Christie, who had bolted the door, told him from the window, civilly + enough, but decidedly, “She would excuse his company that night.” + </p> + <p> + “Vara weel,” said Willy, and departed. + </p> + <p> + Next Saturday—no Willy came. + </p> + <p> + Ditto the next. Willy was waiting the <i>amende.</i> + </p> + <p> + Christie forgot to make it. + </p> + <p> + One day she was passing the boats, Willy beckoned her mysteriously; he led + her to his boat, which was called “The Christie Johnstone”; by the boat's + side was a paint pot and brush. + </p> + <p> + They had not supped together for five Saturdays. + </p> + <p> + Ergo, Mr. Liston had painted out the first four letters of “Christie,” he + now proceeded to paint out the fifth, giving her to understand, that, if + she allowed the whole name to go, a letter every blank Saturday, her image + would be gradually, but effectually, obliterated from the heart Listonian. + </p> + <p> + My reader has done what Liston did not, anticipate her answer. She + recommended him, while his hand was in, to paint out the entire name, and, + with white paint and a smaller brush, to substitute some other female + appellation. So saying, she tripped off. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Liston on this was guilty of the following inconsistency; he pressed + the paint carefully out of the brush into the pot. Having thus economized + his material, he hurled the pot which contained his economy at “the + Johnstone,” he then adjourned to the “Peacock,” and “away at once with + love and reason.” + </p> + <p> + Thenceforth, when men asked who was Christie Johnstone's lad, the answer + used to be, “She's seeking ane.” <i>Quelle horreur!!</i> + </p> + <p> + Newhaven doesn't know everything, but my intelligent reader suspects, and, + if confirming his suspicions can reconcile him to our facts, it will soon + be done. + </p> + <p> + But he must come with us to Edinburgh; it's only three miles. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + A LITTLE band of painters came into Edinburgh from a professional walk. + Three were of Edinburgh—Groove, aged fifty; Jones and Hyacinth, + young; the latter long-haired. + </p> + <p> + With them was a young Englishman, the leader of the expedition, Charles + Gatty. + </p> + <p> + His step was elastic, and his manner wonderfully animated, without + loudness. + </p> + <p> + “A bright day,” said he. “The sun forgot where he was, and shone; + everything was in favor of art.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, no,” replied old Groove, “not where I was” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what was the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “The flies kept buzzing and biting, and sticking in the work. That's the + worst of out o' doors!” + </p> + <p> + “The flies! is that all? Swear the spiders in special constables next + time,” cried Gatty. “We shall win the day;” and light shone into his hazel + eye. + </p> + <p> + “The world will not always put up with the humbugs of the brush, who, to + imitate Nature, turn their back on her. Paint an out o' door scene + indoors! I swear by the sun it's a lie! the one stupid, impudent lie that + glitters among the lies of vulgar art, like Satan among Belial, Mammon and + all those beggars. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here; the barren outlines of a scene must be looked at, to be + done; hence the sketching system slop-sellers of the Academy! but the + million delicacies of light, shade, and color can be trusted to memory, + can they? + </p> + <p> + “It's a lie big enough to shake the earth out of her course; if any part + of the work could be trusted to memory or imagination, it happens to be + the bare outlines, and they can't. The million subtleties of light and + color; learn them by heart, and say them off on canvas! the highest angel + in the sky must have his eye upon them, and look devilish sharp, too, or + he shan't paint them. I give him Charles Gatty's word for that.” + </p> + <p> + “That's very eloquent, I call it,” said Jones. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said poor old Groove, “the lad will never make a painter.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall, Groove; at least I hope so, but it must be a long time + first.” + </p> + <p> + “I never knew a painter who could talk and paint both,” explained Mr. + Groove. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Gatty. “Then I'll say but one word more, and it is this. + The artifice of painting is old enough to die; it is time the art was + born. Whenever it does come into the world, you will see no more dead + corpses of trees, grass and water, robbed of their life, the sunlight, and + flung upon canvas in a studio, by the light of a cigar, and a lie—and—” + </p> + <p> + “How much do you expect for your picture?” interrupted Jones. + </p> + <p> + “What has that to do with it? With these little swords” (waving his + brush), “we'll fight for nature-light, truth light, and sunlight against a + world in arms—no, worse, in swaddling clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “With these little swerrds,” replied poor old Groove, “we shall cut our + own throats if we go against people's prejudices.” + </p> + <p> + The young artist laughed the old daubster a merry defiance, and then + separated from the party, for his lodgings were down the street. + </p> + <p> + He had not left them long, before a most musical voice was heard, crying: + </p> + <p> + “A caallerr owoo!” + </p> + <p> + And two young fishwives hove in sight. The boys recognized one of them as + Gatty's sweetheart. + </p> + <p> + “Is he in love with her?” inquired Jones. + </p> + <p> + Hyacinth the long-haired undertook to reply. + </p> + <p> + “He loves her better than anything in the world except Art. Love and Art + are two beautiful things,” whined Hyacinth. + </p> + <p> + “She, too, is beautiful. I have done her,” added he, with a simper. + </p> + <p> + “In oil?” asked Groove. + </p> + <p> + “In oil? no, in verse, here;” and he took out a paper. + </p> + <p> + “Then hadn't we better cut? you might propose reading them,” said poor old + Groove. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any oysters?” inquired Jones of the Carnie and the Johnstone, + who were now alongside. + </p> + <p> + “Plenty,” answered Jean. “Hae ye ony siller?” + </p> + <p> + The artists looked at one another, and didn't all speak at once. + </p> + <p> + “I, madam,” said old Groove, insinuatingly, to Christie, “am a friend of + Mr. Gatty's; perhaps, on that account, you would <i>lend</i> me an oyster + or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Na,” said Jean, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Hyacinth,” said Jones, sarcastically, “give them your verses, perhaps + that will soften them.” + </p> + <p> + Hyacinth gave his verses, descriptive of herself, to Christie. This + youngster was one of those who mind other people's business. + </p> + <p> + <i>Alienis studiis delectatus contempsit suum.</i> + </p> + <p> + His destiny was to be a bad painter, so he wanted to be an execrable poet. + </p> + <p> + All this morning he had been doggreling, when he ought to have been + daubing; and now he will have to sup off a colored print, if he sups at + all. + </p> + <p> + Christie read, blushed, and put the verses in her bosom. + </p> + <p> + “Come awa, Custy,” said Jean. + </p> + <p> + “Hets,” said Christie, “gie the puir lads twarree oysters, what the waur + will we be?” + </p> + <p> + So they opened the oysters for them; and Hyacinth the long-haired looked + down on the others with sarcastico-benignant superiority. He had conducted + a sister art to the aid of his brother brushes. + </p> + <p> + “The poet's empire, all our hearts allow; But doggrel's power was never + known till now.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + AT the commencement of the last chapter, Charles Gatty, artist, was going + to usher in a new state of things, true art, etc. Wales was to be painted + in Wales, not Poland Street. + </p> + <p> + He and five or six more youngsters were to be in the foremost files of + truth, and take the world by storm. + </p> + <p> + This was at two o'clock; it is now five; whereupon the posture of affairs, + the prospects of art, the face of the world, the nature of things, are + quite the reverse. + </p> + <p> + In the artist's room, on the floor, was a small child, whose movements, + and they were many, were viewed with huge dissatisfaction by Charles + Gatty, Esq. This personage, pencil in hand, sat slouching and morose, + looking gloomily at his intractable model. + </p> + <p> + Things were going on very badly; he had been waiting two hours for an + infantine pose as common as dirt, and the little viper would die first. + </p> + <p> + Out of doors everything was nothing, for the sun was obscured, and to all + appearance extinguished forever. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Mr. Groove,” cried he, to that worthy, who peeped in at that moment; + “you are right, it is better to plow away upon canvas blindfold, as our + grandfathers—no, grandmothers—used, than to kill ourselves + toiling after such coy ladies as Nature and Truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Aweel, I dinna ken, sirr,” replied Groove, in smooth tones. “I didna like + to express my warm approbation of you before the lads, for fear of making + them jealous.” + </p> + <p> + “They be—No!” + </p> + <p> + “I ken what ye wad say, sirr, an it wad hae been a vara just an' sprightly + observation. Aweel, between oursels, I look upon ye as a young gentleman + of amazing talent and moedesty. Man, ye dinna do yoursel justice; ye + should be in th' Academy, at the hede o' 't.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Groove, I am a poor fainting pilgrim on the road, where stronger + spirits have marched erect before me.” + </p> + <p> + “A faintin' pelgrim! Deil a frights o' ye, ye're a brisk and bonny lad. + Ah, sirr, in my juvenile days, we didna fash wi nature, and truth, an the + like.” + </p> + <p> + “The like! What is like nature and truth, except themselves?” + </p> + <p> + “Vara true, sirr; vara true, and sae I doot I will never attain the height + o' profeeciency ye hae reached. An' at this vara moment, sir,” continued + Groove, with delicious solemnity and mystery, “ye see before ye, sir, a + man wha is in maist dismal want—o' ten shellen!” (A pause.) “If your + superior talent has put ye in possession of that sum, ye would obleege me + infinitely by a temporary accommodation, Mr. Gaattie.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not come to the point at once?” cried Gatty, bruskly, + “instead of humbling me with undeserved praise. There.” Groove held out + his hand, but made a wry face when, instead of money, Gatty put a sketch + into his hand. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Gatty, “that is a lie!” + </p> + <p> + “How can it be a lee?” said the other, with sour inadvertence. “How can it + be a lee, when I hae na spoken?” + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand me. That sketch is a libel on a poor cow and an + unfortunate oak-tree. I did them at the Academy. They had never done me + any wrong, poor things; they suffered unjustly. You take them to a shop, + swear they are a tree and a cow, and some fool, that never really looked + into a cow or a tree, will give you ten shillings for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Are ye sure, lad?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure. Mr. Groove, sir, if you can not sell a lie for ten shillings + you are not fit to live in this world; where is the lie that will not sell + for ten shillings?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall think the better o' lees all my days; sir, your words are + inspeeriting.” And away went Groove with the sketch. + </p> + <p> + Gatty reflected and stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “On second thoughts, Groove, you must not ask ten shillings; you must ask + twenty pounds for that rubbish.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty pund! What for will I seek twenty pund?” + </p> + <p> + “Simply because people that would not give you ten shillings for it will + offer you eleven pounds for it if you ask twenty pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “The fules,” roared Groove. “Twenty pund! hem!” He looked closer into it. + “For a',” said he, “I begin to obsairve it is a work of great merit. I'll + seek twenty pund, an' I'll no tak less than fifteen schell'n, at present.” + </p> + <p> + The visit of this routine painter did not cheer our artist. + </p> + <p> + The small child got a coal and pounded the floor with it like a machine + incapable of fatigue. So the wished-for pose seemed more remote than ever. + </p> + <p> + The day waxed darker instead of lighter; Mr. Gatty's reflections took also + a still more somber hue. + </p> + <p> + “Even Nature spites us,” thought he, “because we love her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then cant, tradition, numbers, slang and money are against us; the least + of these is singly a match for truth; we shall die of despair or paint + cobwebs in Bedlam; and I am faint, weary of a hopeless struggle; and one + man's brush is truer than mine, another's is bolder—my hand and eye + are not in tune. Ah! no! I shall never, never, never be a painter.” + </p> + <p> + These last words broke audibly from him as his head went down almost to + his knees. + </p> + <p> + A hand was placed on his shoulder as a flake of snow falls on the water. + It was Christie Johnstone, radiant, who had glided in unobserved. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrang wi' ye, my lad?” + </p> + <p> + “The sun is gone to the Devil, for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Hech! hech! ye'll no be long ahint him; div ye no think shame.” + </p> + <p> + “And I want that little brute just to do so, and he'd die first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ye villain, to ca' a bairn a brute; there's but ae brute here, an' + it's no you, Jamie, nor me—is it, my lamb?” + </p> + <p> + She then stepped to the window. + </p> + <p> + “It's clear to windward; in ten minutes ye'll hae plenty sun. Tak your + tools noo.” And at the word she knelt on the floor, whipped out a paper of + sugar-plums and said to him she had christened “Jamie.” “Heb! Here's + sweeties till ye.” Out went Jamie's arms, as if he had been a machine and + she had pulled the right string. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that will do,” said Gatty, and sketched away. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, Jamie was quickly arrested on the way to immortality by his + mother, who came in, saying: + </p> + <p> + “I maun hae my bairn—he canna be aye wasting his time here.” + </p> + <p> + This sally awakened the satire that ever lies ready in piscatory bosoms. + </p> + <p> + “Wasting his time! ye're no blate. Oh, ye'll be for taking him to the + college to laern pheesick—and teach maenners.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye need na begin on me,” said the woman. “I'm no match for Newhaven.” + </p> + <p> + So saying she cut short the dispute by carrying off the gristle of + contention. + </p> + <p> + “Another enemy to art,” said Gatty, hurling away his pencil. + </p> + <p> + The young fishwife inquired if there were any more griefs. What she had + heard had not accounted, to her reason, for her companion's depression. + </p> + <p> + “Are ye sick, laddy?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “No, Christie, not sick, but quite, quite down in the mouth.” + </p> + <p> + She scanned him thirty seconds. + </p> + <p> + “What had ye till your dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “I forget.” + </p> + <p> + “A choep, likely?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Or maybe it was a steak?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say it was a steak.” + </p> + <p> + “Taste my girdle cake, that I've brought for ye.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him a piece; he ate it rapidly, and looked gratefully at her. + </p> + <p> + “Noo, div ye no think shame to look me in the face? Ye hae na dined ava.” + And she wore an injured look. + </p> + <p> + “Sit ye there; it's ower late for dinner, but ye'll get a cup tea. Doon i' + the mooth, nae wonder, when naething gangs doon your—” + </p> + <p> + In a minute she placed a tea-tray, and ran into the kitchen with a teapot. + </p> + <p> + The next moment a yell was heard, and she returned laughing, with another + teapot. + </p> + <p> + “The wife had maskit tea till hersel',” said this lawless forager. + </p> + <p> + Tea and cake on the table—beauty seated by his side—all in + less than a minute. + </p> + <p> + He offered her a piece of cake. + </p> + <p> + “Na! I am no for any.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I then,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Hets! eat, I tell ye.” + </p> + <p> + He replied by putting a bit to her heavenly mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Ye're awfu' opinionated,” said she, with a countenance that said nothing + should induce her, and eating it almost contemporaneously. + </p> + <p> + “Put plenty sugar,” added she, referring to the Chinese infusion; “mind, I + hae a sweet tooth.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a sweet set,” said he, approaching another morsel. + </p> + <p> + They showed themselves by way of smile, and confirmed the accusation. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! lad,” answered she; “they've been the death o' mony a herrin'!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, what does that mean in English, Christie?” + </p> + <p> + “My grinders—(a full stop.) + </p> + <p> + “Which you approve—(a full stop.) + </p> + <p> + “Have been fatal—(a full stop.) + </p> + <p> + “To many fishes!” + </p> + <p> + Christie prided herself on her English, which she had culled from books. + </p> + <p> + Then he made her drink from the cup, and was ostentatious in putting his + lips to the same part of the brim. + </p> + <p> + Then she left the table, and inspected all things. + </p> + <p> + She came to his drawers, opened one, and was horror-struck. + </p> + <p> + There were coats and trousers, with their limbs interchangeably + intertwined, waistcoats, shirts, and cigars, hurled into chaos. + </p> + <p> + She instantly took the drawer bodily out, brought it, leaned it against + the tea-table, pointed silently into it, with an air of majestic reproach, + and awaited the result. + </p> + <p> + “I can find whatever I want,” said the unblushing bachelor, “except + money.” + </p> + <p> + “Siller does na bide wi' slovens! hae ye often siccan a gale o' wind in + your drawer?” + </p> + <p> + “Every day! Speak English!” + </p> + <p> + “Aweel! How <i>do</i> you <i>do?</i> that's Ennglish! I daur say.” + </p> + <p> + “Jolly!” cried he, with his mouth full. Christie was now folding up and + neatly arranging his clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Will you ever, ever be a painter?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a painter! I could paint the Devil pea-green!” + </p> + <p> + “Dinna speak o' yon lad, Chairles, it's no canny.” + </p> + <p> + “No! I am going to paint an angel; the prettiest, cleverest girl in + Scotland, 'The Snowdrop of the North.'” + </p> + <p> + And he dashed into his bedroom to find a canvas. + </p> + <p> + “Hech!” reflected Christie. “Thir Ennglish hae flattering tongues, as sure + as Dethe; 'The Snawdrap o' the Norrth!'” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + GATTY'S back was hardly turned when a visitor arrived, and inquired, “Is + Mr. Gatty at home?” + </p> + <p> + “What's your will wi' him?” was the Scottish reply. + </p> + <p> + “Will you give him this?” + </p> + <p> + “What est?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you fond of asking questions?” inquired the man. + </p> + <p> + “Ay! and fules canna answer them,” retorted Christie. + </p> + <p> + The little document which the man, in retiring, left with Christie + Johnstone purported to come from one Victoria, who seemed, at first sight, + disposed to show Charles Gatty civilities. “Victoria—to Charles + Gatty, greeting! (salutem).” Christie was much struck with this instance + of royal affability; she read no further, but began to think, “Victoree! + that's the queen hersel. A letter fra the queen to a painter lad! Picters + will rise i' the mairket—it will be an order to paint the bairns. I + hae brought him luck; I am real pleased.” And on Gatty's return, canvas in + hand, she whipped the document behind her, and said archly, “I hae + something for ye, a tecket fra a leddy, ye'll no want siller fra this + day.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay! indeed, fra a great leddy; it's vara gude o' me to gie ye it; heh! + tak it.” + </p> + <p> + He did take it, looked stupefied, looked again, sunk into a chair, and + glared at it. + </p> + <p> + “Laddy!” said Christie. + </p> + <p> + “This is a new step on the downward path,” said the poor painter. + </p> + <p> + “Is it no an orrder to paint the young prence?” said Christie, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “No!” almost shrieked the victim. “It's a writ! I owe a lot of money. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Chairles!” + </p> + <p> + “See! I borrowed sixty pounds six months ago of a friend, so now I owe + eighty!” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” giggled the unfriendly visitor at the door, whose departure + had been more or less fictitious. + </p> + <p> + Christie, by an impulse, not justifiable, but natural, drew her + oyster-knife out, and this time the man really went away. + </p> + <p> + “Hairtless mon!” cried she, “could he no do his am dirrty work, and no gar + me gie the puir lad th' action, and he likeit me sae weel!” and she began + to whimper. + </p> + <p> + “And love you more now,” said he; “don't you cry, dear, to add to my + vexation.” + </p> + <p> + “Na! I'll no add to your vexation,” and she gulped down her tears. + </p> + <p> + “Besides, I have pictures painted worth two hundred pounds; this is only + for eighty. To be sure you can't sell them for two hundred pence when you + want. So I shall go to jail, but they won't keep me long.” + </p> + <p> + Then he took a turn, and began to fall into the artistic, or true view of + matters, which, indeed, was never long absent from him. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Christie,” said he, “I am sick of conventional assassins, + humbugging models, with dirty beards, that knit their brows, and try to + look murder; they never murdered so much as a tom-cat. I always go in for + the real thing, and here I shall find it.” + </p> + <p> + “Dinna gang in there, lad, for ony favor.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall find the accessories of a picture I have in my head—chains + with genuine rust and ancient mouldering stones with the stains of time.” + His eye brightened at the prospect. + </p> + <p> + “You among fiefs, and chains, and stanes! Ye'll break my hairt, laddy, + ye'll no be easy till you break my hairt.” And this time the tears would + not be denied. + </p> + <p> + “I love you for crying; don't cry;” and he fished from the chaotic drawer + a cambric handkerchief, with which he dried her tears as they fell. + </p> + <p> + It is my firm belief she cried nearly twice as much as she really wanted + to; she contrived to make the grief hers, the sympathy his. Suddenly she + stopped, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I'm daft; ye'll accept a lane o' the siller fra me, will ye no?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said he. “And where could you find eighty pound?” + </p> + <p> + “Auchty pund,” cried she, “it's no auchty pund that will ding Christie + Johnstone, laddy. I hae boats and nets worth twa auchtys; and I hae forty + pund laid by; and I hae seven hundred pund at London, but that I canna + meddle. My feyther lent it the king or the queen, I dinna justly mind; she + pays me the interest twice the year. Sac ye ken I could na be sae dirty as + seek my siller, when she pays me th' interest. To the very day, ye ken. + She's just the only one o' a' my debtors that's hoenest, but never heed, + ye'll no gang to jail.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll hold my tongue, and sacrifice my pictures,” thought Charles. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up!” said Christie, mistaking the nature of his thoughts, “for it + did na come fra Victoree hersel'. It wad smell o' the musk, ye ken. Na, + it's just a wheen blackguards at London that makes use o' her name to + torment puir folk. Wad she pairsecute a puir lad? No likely.” + </p> + <p> + She then asked questions, some of which were embarrassing. One thing he + could never succeed in making her understand, how, since it was sixty + pounds he borrowed, it could be eighty pounds he owed. + </p> + <p> + Then once more she promised him her protection, bade him be of good cheer, + and left him. + </p> + <p> + At the door she turned, and said: “Chairles, here's an auld wife seeking + ye,” and vanished. + </p> + <p> + These two young people had fallen acquainted at a Newhaven wedding. + Christie, belonging to no one, had danced with him all the night, they had + walked under the stars to cool themselves, for dancing reels, with heart + and soul, is not quadrilling. + </p> + <p> + Then he had seen his beautiful partner in Edinburgh, and made a sketch of + her, which he gave her; and by and by he used to run down to Newhaven, and + stroll up and down a certain green lane near the town. + </p> + <p> + Next, on Sunday evenings, a long walk together, and then it came to visits + at his place now and then. + </p> + <p> + And here. Raphael and Fornarina were inverted, our artist used to work, + and Christie tell him stories the while. + </p> + <p> + And, as her voice curled round his heart, he used to smile and look, and + lay inspired touches on his subject. + </p> + <p> + And she, an artist of the tongue (without knowing herself one), used to + make him grave, or gay, or sad, at will, and watch the effect of her art + upon his countenance; and a very pretty art it is—the <i>viva voce</i> + story-teller's—and a rare one among the nations of Europe. + </p> + <p> + Christie had not learned it in a day; when she began, she used to tell + them like the other Newhaven people, with a noble impartiality of detail, + wearisome to the hearer. + </p> + <p> + But latterly she had learned to seize the salient parts of a narrative; + her voice had compass, and, like all fine speakers, she traveled over a + great many notes in speaking; her low tones were gorgeously rich, her + upper tones full and sweet; all this, and her beauty, made the hours she + gave him very sweet to our poor artist. + </p> + <p> + He was wont to bask in her music, and tell her in return how he loved her, + and how happy they were both to be as soon as he had acquired a name, for + a name was wealth, he told her. And although Christie Johnstone did not + let him see how much she took all this to heart and believed it, it was as + sweet music to her as her own honeysuckle breath to him. + </p> + <p> + She improved him. + </p> + <p> + He dropped cigars, and medical students, and similar abominations. + </p> + <p> + Christie's cool, fresh breath, as she hung over him while painting, + suggested to him that smoking might, peradventure, be a sin against nature + as well as against cleanliness. + </p> + <p> + And he improved her; she learned from art to look into nature (the usual + process of mind). + </p> + <p> + She had noticed too little the flickering gold of the leaves at evening, + the purple hills, and the shifting stories and glories of the sky; but + now, whatever she saw him try to imitate, she learned to examine. She was + a woman, and admired sunset, etc., for this boy's sake, and her whole + heart expanded with a new sensation that softened her manner to all the + world, and brightened her personal rays. + </p> + <p> + This charming picture of mutual affection had hitherto been admired only + by those who figured in it. + </p> + <p> + But a visitor had now arrived on purpose to inspect it, etc., attracted by + report. + </p> + <p> + A friend had considerately informed Mrs. Gatty, the artist's mother, and + she had instantly started from Newcastle. + </p> + <p> + This was the old lady Christie discovered on the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Her sudden appearance took her son's breath away. + </p> + <p> + No human event was less likely than that she should be there, yet there + she was. + </p> + <p> + After the first surprise and affectionate greetings, a misgiving crossed + him, “she must know about the writ”—it was impossible; but our minds + are so constituted—when we are guilty, we fear that others know what + we know. Now Gatty was particularly anxious she should not know about this + writ, for he had incurred the debt by acting against her advice. + </p> + <p> + Last year he commenced a picture in which was Durham Cathedral; his mother + bade him stay quietly at home, and paint the cathedral and its banks from + a print, “as any other painter would,” observed she. + </p> + <p> + But this was not the lad's system; he spent five months on the spot, and + painted his picture, but he had to borrow sixty pounds to do this; the + condition of this loan was, that in six months he should either pay eighty + pounds, or finish and hand over a certain half-finished picture. + </p> + <p> + He did neither; his new subject thrust aside his old one, and he had no + money, ergo, his friend, a picture-dealer, who had found artists slippery + in money matters, followed him up sharp, as we see. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing the matter, I hope, mother. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm tired, Charles.” He brought her a seat; she sat down. + </p> + <p> + “I did not come from Newcastle, at my age, for nothing; you have formed an + improper acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “I, who? Is it Jack Adams?” + </p> + <p> + “Worse than any Jack Adams!” + </p> + <p> + “Who can that be? Jenkyns, mother, because he does the same things as + Jack, and pretends to be religious.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a female—a fishwife. Oh, my son!” + </p> + <p> + “Christie Johnstone an improper acquaintance,” said he; “why! I was good + for nothing till I knew her; she has made me so good, mother; so steady, + so industrious; you will never have to find fault with me again.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense—a woman that sells fish in the streets!” + </p> + <p> + “But you have not seen her. She is beautiful, her mind is not in fish; her + mind grasps the beautiful and the good—she is a companion for + princes! What am I that she wastes a thought or a ray of music on me? + Heaven bless her. She reads our best authors, and never forgets a word; + and she tells me beautiful stories—sometimes they make me cry, for + her voice is a music that goes straight to my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman that does not even wear the clothes of a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the only genuine costume in these islands not beneath a painter's + notice.” + </p> + <p> + “Look at me, Charles; at your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother,” said he, nervously. + </p> + <p> + “You must part with her, or kill me.” + </p> + <p> + He started from his seat and began to flutter up and down the room; poor + excitable creature. “Part with her!” cried he; “I shall never be a painter + if I do; what is to keep my heart warm when the sun is hid, when the birds + are silent, when difficulty looks a mountain and success a molehill? What + is an artist without love? How is he to bear up against his + disappointments from within, his mortification from without? the great + ideas he has and cannot grasp, and all the forms of ignorance that sting + him, from stupid insensibility down to clever, shallow criticism?” + </p> + <p> + “Come back to common sense,” said the old lady, coldly and grimly. + </p> + <p> + He looked uneasy. Common sense had often been quoted against him, and + common sense had always proved right. + </p> + <p> + “Come back to common sense. She shall not be your mistress, and she cannot + bear your name; you must part some day, because you cannot come together, + and now is the best time.” + </p> + <p> + “Not be together? all our lives, all our lives, ay,” cried he, rising into + enthusiasm, “hundreds of years to come will we two be together before + men's eyes—I will be an immortal painter, that the world and time + may cherish the features I have loved. I love her, mother,” added he, with + a tearful tenderness that ought to have reached a woman's heart; then + flushing, trembling, and inspired, he burst out, “And I wish I was a + sculptor and a poet too, that Christie might live in stone and verse, as + well as colors, and all who love an art might say, 'This woman cannot die, + Charles Gatty loved her.'” + </p> + <p> + He looked in her face; he could not believe any creature could be + insensible to his love, and persist to rob him of it. + </p> + <p> + The old woman paused, to let his eloquence evaporate. + </p> + <p> + The pause chilled him; then gently and slowly, but emphatically, she spoke + to him thus: + </p> + <p> + “Who has kept you on her small means ever since you were ten years and + seven months old?” + </p> + <p> + “You should know, mother, dear mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer me, Charles.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Who has pinched herself, in every earthly thing, to make you an immortal + painter, and, above all, a gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + “My mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Who forgave you the little faults of youth, before you could ask pardon?” + </p> + <p> + “My mother! Oh, mother, I ask pardon now for all the trouble I ever gave + the best, the dearest, the tenderest of mothers.” + </p> + <p> + “Who will go home to Newcastle, a broken-hearted woman, with the one hope + gone that has kept her up in poverty and sorrow so many weary years, if + this goes on?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Charles; your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother; you have been always my best friend.” + </p> + <p> + “And am this day.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be my worst enemy now. It is for me to obey you; but it is for you + to think well before you drive me to despair.” + </p> + <p> + And the poor womanish heart leaned his head on the table, and began to + sorrow over his hard fate. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gatty soothed him. “It need not be done all in a moment. It must be + done kindly, but firmly. I will give you as much time as you like.” + </p> + <p> + This bait took; the weak love to temporize. + </p> + <p> + It is doubtful whether he honestly intended to part with Christie + Johnstone; but to pacify his mother he promised to begin and gradually + untie the knot. + </p> + <p> + “My mother will go,” whispered his deceitful heart, “and, when she is + away, perhaps I shall find out that in spite of every effort I cannot + resign my treasure.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a sort of half-promise for the sake of peace. + </p> + <p> + His mother instantly sent to the inn for her boxes. + </p> + <p> + “There is a room in this same house,” said she, “I will take it; I will + not hurry you, but until it is done, I stay here, if it is a twelvemonth + about.” + </p> + <p> + He turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “And now hear the good news I have brought you from Newcastle.” + </p> + <p> + Oh! these little iron wills, how is a great artist to fight three hundred + and sixty-five days against such an antagonist? + </p> + <p> + Every day saw a repetition of these dialogues, in which genius made + gallant bursts into the air, and strong, hard sense caught him on his + descent, and dabbed glue on his gauzy wings. + </p> + <p> + Old age and youth see life so differently. To youth, it is a story-book, + in which we are to command the incidents, and be the bright exceptions to + one rule after another. + </p> + <p> + To age it is an almanac, in which everything will happen just as it has + happened so many times. + </p> + <p> + To youth, it is a path through a sunny meadow. + </p> + <p> + To age, a hard turnpike: + </p> + <p> + Whose travelers must be all sweat and dust, when they are not in mud and + drenched: + </p> + <p> + Which wants mending in many places, and is mended with sharp stones. + </p> + <p> + Gatty would not yield to go down to Newhaven and take a step against his + love, but he yielded so far as to remain passive, and see whether this + creature was necessary to his existence or not. Mrs. G. scouted the idea. + “He was to work, and he would soon forget her.” Poor boy! he wanted to + work; his debt weighed on him; a week's resolute labor might finish his + first picture and satisfy his creditor. The subject was an interior. He + set to work, he stuck to work, he glued to work, his body—but his + heart? + </p> + <p> + Ah, my poor fellow, a much slower horse than Gatty will go by you, ridden + as you are by a leaden heart. + </p> + <p> + Tu nihil invita facies pingesve Minerva. + </p> + <p> + It would not lower a mechanical dog's efforts, but it must yours. + </p> + <p> + He was unhappy. He heard only one side for days; that side was recommended + by his duty, filial affection, and diffidence of his own good sense. + </p> + <p> + He was brought to see his proceedings were eccentric, and that it is + destruction to be eccentric. + </p> + <p> + He was made a little ashamed of what he had been proud of. + </p> + <p> + He was confused and perplexed; he hardly knew what to think or do; he + collapsed, and all his spirit was fast leaving him, and then he felt + inclined to lean on the first thing he could find, and nothing came to + hand but his mother. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, Christie Johnstone was also thinking of him, but her single + anxiety was to find this eighty pounds for him. + </p> + <p> + It is a Newhaven idea that the female is the natural protector of the + male, and this idea was strengthened in her case. + </p> + <p> + She did not fully comprehend his character and temperament, but she saw, + by instinct, that she was to be the protector. Besides, as she was + twenty-one, and he only twenty-two, she felt the difference between + herself, a woman, and him, a boy, and to leave him to struggle unaided out + of his difficulties seemed to her heartless. + </p> + <p> + Twice she opened her lips to engage the charitable “vile count” in his + cause, but shame closed them again; this would be asking a personal favor, + and one on so large a scale. + </p> + <p> + Several days passed thus; she had determined not to visit him without good + news. + </p> + <p> + She then began to be surprised, she heard nothing from him. + </p> + <p> + And now she felt something that prevented her calling on him. + </p> + <p> + But Jean Carnie was to be married, and the next day the wedding party were + to spend in festivity upon the island of Inch Coombe. + </p> + <p> + She bade Jean call on him, and, without mentioning her, invite him to this + party, from which, he must know, she would not be absent. + </p> + <p> + Jean Carnie entered his apartment, and at her entrance his mother, who + took for granted this was his sweetheart, whispered in his ear that he + should now take the first step, and left him. + </p> + <p> + What passed between Jean Carnie and Charles Gatty is for another chapter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + A YOUNG viscount with income and person cannot lie <i>perdu</i> three + miles from Edinburgh. + </p> + <p> + First one discovers him, then another, then twenty, then all the world, as + the whole clique is modestly called. + </p> + <p> + Before, however, Lord Ipsden was caught, he had acquired a browner tint, a + more elastic step, and a stouter heart. + </p> + <p> + The Aberford prescription had done wonders for him. + </p> + <p> + He caught himself passing one whole day without thinking of Lady Barbara + Sinclair. + </p> + <p> + But even Aberford had misled him; there were no adventures to be found in + the Firth of Forth; most of the days there was no wind to speak of; twice + it blew great guns, and the men were surprised at his lordship going out, + but nobody was in any danger except himself; the fishermen had all slipped + into port before matters were serious. + </p> + <p> + He found the merchantmen that could sail creeping on with three reefs in + their mainsail; and the Dutchmen lying to and breasting it, like ducks in + a pond, and with no more chance of harm. + </p> + <p> + On one of these occasions he did observe a little steam-tug, going about a + knot an hour, and rolling like a washing-tub. He ran down to her, and + asked if he could assist her; she answered, through the medium of a sooty + animal at her helm, that she was (like our universities) “satisfied with + her own progress”; she added, being under intoxication, “that, if any + danger existed, her scheme was to drown it in the bo-o-owl;” and two days + afterward he saw her puffing and panting, and fiercely dragging a gigantic + three-decker out into deep water, like an industrious flea pulling his + phaeton. + </p> + <p> + And now it is my office to relate how Mr. Flucker Johnstone comported + himself on one occasion. + </p> + <p> + As the yacht worked alongside Granton Pier, before running out, the said + Flucker calmly and scientifically drew his lordship's attention to three + points: + </p> + <p> + The direction of the wind—the force of the wind—and his + opinion, as a person experienced in the Firth, that it was going to be + worse instead of better; in reply, he received an order to step forward to + his place in the cutter—the immediate vicinity of the jib-boom. On + this, Mr. Flucker instantly burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + His lordship, or, as Flucker called him ever since the yacht came down, + “the skipper,” deeming that the higher appellation, inquired, with some + surprise, what was the matter with the boy. + </p> + <p> + One of the crew, who, by the by, squinted, suggested, “It was a slight + illustration of the passion of fear.” + </p> + <p> + Flucker confirmed the theory by gulping out: “We'll never see Newhaven + again.” + </p> + <p> + On this the skipper smiled, and ordered him ashore, somewhat peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + Straightway he began to howl, and, saying, “It was better to be drowned + than be the laughing-stock of the place,” went forward to his place; on + his safe return to port, this young gentleman was very severe on open + boats, which, he said “bred womanish notions in hearts naturally + dauntless. Give me a lid to the pot,” added he, “and I'll sail with Old + Nick, let the wind blow high or low.” + </p> + <p> + The Aberford was wrong when he called love a cutaneous disorder. + </p> + <p> + There are cutaneous disorders that take that name, but they are no more + love than verse is poetry; + </p> + <p> + Than patriotism is love of country; + </p> + <p> + Than theology is religion; + </p> + <p> + Than science is philosophy; + </p> + <p> + Than paintings are pictures; + </p> + <p> + Than reciting on the boards is acting; + </p> + <p> + Than physic is medicine + </p> + <p> + Than bread is bread, or gold gold—in shops. + </p> + <p> + Love is a state of being; the beloved object is our center; and our + thoughts, affections, schemes and selves move but round it. + </p> + <p> + We may diverge hither or thither, but the golden thread still holds us. + </p> + <p> + Is fair or dark beauty the fairest? The world cannot decide; but love + shall decide in a moment. + </p> + <p> + A halo surrounds her we love, and makes beautiful to us her movements, her + looks, her virtues, her faults, her nonsense, her affectation and herself; + and that's love, doctor! + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden was capable of loving like this; but, to do Lady Barbara + justice, she had done much to freeze the germ of noble passion; she had + not killed, but she had benumbed it. + </p> + <p> + “Saunders,” said Lord Ipsden, one morning after breakfast, “have you + entered everything in your diary?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “All these good people's misfortunes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you have spelled their names right?” + </p> + <p> + “Where it was impossible, my lord, I substituted an English appellation, + hidentical in meaning.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you entered and described my first interview with Christie + Johnstone, and somebody something?” + </p> + <p> + “Most minutely, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “How I turned Mr. Burke into poetry—how she listened with her eyes + all glistening—how they made me talk—how she dropped a tear, + he! he! he! at the death of the first baron—how shocked she was at + the king striking him when he was dying, to make a knight-banneret of the + poor old fellow?” + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship will find all the particulars exactly related,” said + Saunders, with dry pomp. + </p> + <p> + “How she found out that titles are but breath—how I answered—some + nonsense?” + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship will find all the topics included.” + </p> + <p> + “How she took me for a madman? And you for a prig?” + </p> + <p> + “The latter circumstance eluded my memory, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “But when I told her I must relieve only one poor person by day, she took + my hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Your lordship will find all the items realized in this book, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “What a beautiful book!” + </p> + <p> + “Alba are considerably ameliorated, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Alba?” + </p> + <p> + “Plural of album, my lord,” explained the refined factotum, “more + delicate, I conceive, than the vulgar reading.” + </p> + <p> + Viscount Ipsden read from + </p> + <p> + “MR. SAUNDERS'S ALBUM. + </p> + <p> + “To illustrate the inelegance of the inferior classes, two juvenile + venders of the piscatory tribe were this day ushered in, and + instantaneously, without the accustomed preliminaries, plunged into a + familiar conversation with Lord Viscount Ipsden. + </p> + <p> + “Their vulgarity, shocking and repulsive to myself, appeared to afford his + lordship a satisfaction greater than he derives from the graceful + amenities of fashionable association—” + </p> + <p> + “Saunders, I suspect you of something.” + </p> + <p> + “Me, my lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Writing in an annual.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, my lord,” said he, with benignant <i>hauteur.</i> “It appears every + month—<i>The Polytechnic.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “I thought so! you are polysyllabic, Saunders; <i>en route!”</i> + </p> + <p> + “In this hallucination I find it difficult to participate; associated from + infancy with the aristocracy, I shrink, like the sensitive plant, from + contact with anything vulgar.” + </p> + <p> + “I see! I begin to understand you, Saunders. Order the dog-cart, and + Wordsworth's mare for leader; we'll give her a trial. You are an ass, + Saunders.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord; I will order Robert to tell James to come for your + lordship's commands about your lordship's vehicles. (What could he intend + by a recent observation of a discourteous character?)” + </p> + <p> + His lordship soliloquized. + </p> + <p> + “I never observed it before, but Saunders is an ass! La Johnstone is one + of Nature's duchesses, and she has made me know some poor people that will + be richer than the rich one day; and she has taught me that honey is to be + got from bank-notes—by merely giving them away.” + </p> + <p> + Among the objects of charity Lord Ipsden discovered was one Thomas Harvey, + a maker and player of the violin. This man was a person of great + intellect; he mastered every subject he attacked. By a careful examination + of all the points that various fine-toned instruments had in common, he + had arrived at a theory of sound; he made violins to correspond, and was + remarkably successful in insuring that which had been too hastily ascribed + to accident—a fine tone. + </p> + <p> + This man, who was in needy circumstances, demonstrated to his lordship + that ten pounds would make his fortune; because with ten pounds he could + set up a shop, instead of working out of the world's sight in a room. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden gave him ten pounds! + </p> + <p> + A week after, he met Harvey, more ragged and dirty than before. + </p> + <p> + Harvey had been robbed by a friend whom he had assisted. Poor Harvey! Lord + Ipsden gave him ten pounds more! + </p> + <p> + Next week, Saunders, entering Harvey's house, found him in bed at noon, + because he had no clothes to wear. + </p> + <p> + Saunders suggested that it would be better to give his wife the next + money, with strict orders to apply it usefully. + </p> + <p> + This was done! + </p> + <p> + The next day, Harvey, finding his clothes upon a chair, his tools redeemed + from pawn, and a beefsteak ready for his dinner, accused his wife of + having money, and meanly refusing him the benefit of it. She acknowledged + she had a little, and appealed to the improved state of things as a proof + that she knew better than he the use of money. He demanded the said money. + She refused—he leathered her—she put him in prison. + </p> + <p> + This was the best place for him. The man was a drunkard, and all the + riches of Egypt would never have made him better off. + </p> + <p> + And here, gentlemen of the lower classes, a word with you. How can you, + with your small incomes, hope to be well off, if you are more extravagant + than those who have large ones? + </p> + <p> + “Us extravagant?” you reply. + </p> + <p> + Yes! your income is ten shillings a week; out of that you spend three + shillings in drink; ay! you, the sober ones. You can't afford it, my boys. + Find me a man whose income is a thousand a year; well, if he imitates you, + and spends three hundred upon sensuality, I bet you the odd seven hundred + he does not make both ends meet; the proportion is too great. And <i>two-thirds + of the distress of the lower orders is owing to this—that they are + more madly prodigal than the rich; in the worst, lowest and most dangerous + item of all human prodigality!</i> + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden went to see Mrs. Harvey; it cost him much to go; she lived in + the Old Town, and he hated disagreeable smells; he also knew from Saunders + that she had two black eyes, and he hated women with black eyes of that + sort. But this good creature did go; did relieve Mrs. Harvey; and, + bare-headed, suffered himself to be bedewed ten minutes by her tearful + twaddle. + </p> + <p> + For once Virtue was rewarded. Returning over the North Bridge, he met + somebody whom but for his charity he would not have met. + </p> + <p> + He came in one bright moment plump upon—Lady Barbara Sinclair. She + flushed, he trembled, and in two minutes he had forgotten every human + event that had passed since he was by her side. + </p> + <p> + She seemed pleased to see him, too; she ignored entirely his obnoxious + proposal; he wisely took her cue, and so, on this secret understanding, + they were friends. He made his arrangements, and dined with her family. It + was a family party. In the evening Lady Barbara allowed it to transpire + that she had made inquiries about him. + </p> + <p> + (He was highly flattered.) And she had discovered he was lying hid + somewhere in the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + “Studying the guitar?” inquired she. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, “studying a new class of the community. Do you know any of + what they call the 'lower classes'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Monstrous agreeable people, are they not?” + </p> + <p> + “No, very stupid! I only know two old women—except the servants, who + have no characters. They imitate us, I suspect, which does not say much + for their taste.” + </p> + <p> + “But some of my friends are young women; that makes all the difference.” + </p> + <p> + “It does! and you ought to be ashamed. If you want a low order of mind, + why desert our own circle?” + </p> + <p> + “My friends are only low in station; they have rather lofty minds, some of + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, amuse yourself with these lofty minds. Amusement is the end of + being, you know, and the aim of all the men of this day.” + </p> + <p> + “We imitate the ladies,” said he, slyly. + </p> + <p> + “You do,” answered she, very dryly; and so the dialogue went on, and Lord + Ipsden found the pleasure of being with his cousin compensate him fully + for the difference of their opinions; in fact, he found it simply amusing + that so keen a wit as his cousins s could be entrapped into the humor of + decrying the time one happens to live in, and admiring any epoch one knows + next to nothing about, and entrapped by the notion of its originality, + above all things; the idea being the stale commonplace of asses in every + age, and the manner of conveying the idea being a mere imitation of the + German writers, not the good ones, <i>bien entendu,</i> but the + quill-drivers, the snobs of the Teutonic pen. + </p> + <p> + But he was to learn that follies are not always laughable, that <i>eadem + sentire</i> is a bond, and that, when a clever and pretty woman chooses to + be a fool, her lover, if he is wise, will be a greater—if he can. + </p> + <p> + The next time they met, Lord Ipsden found Lady Barbara occupied with a + gentleman whose first sentence proclaimed him a pupil of Mr. Thomas + Carlyle, and he had the mortification to find that she had neither an ear + nor an eye for him. + </p> + <p> + Human opinion has so many shades that it is rare to find two people agree. + </p> + <p> + But two people may agree wonderfully, if they will but let a third think + for them both. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that these two ran so smoothly in couples. + </p> + <p> + Antiquity, they agreed, was the time when the world was old, its hair + gray, its head wise. Every one that said, “Lord, Lord!” two hundred years + ago was a Christian. There were no earnest men now; Williams, the + missionary, who lived and died for the Gospel, was not earnest in + religion; but Cromwell, who packed a jury, and so murdered his prisoner—Cromwell, + in whose mouth was heaven, and in his heart temporal sovereignty—was + the pattern of earnest religion, or, at all events, second in sincerity to + Mahomet alone, in the absence of details respecting Satan, of whom we know + only that his mouth is a Scripture concordance, and his hands the hands of + Mr. Carlyle's saints. + </p> + <p> + Then they went back a century or two, and were eloquent about the great + antique heart, and the beauty of an age whose samples were Abbot Sampson + and Joan of Arc. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden hated argument; but jealousy is a brass spur, it made even + this man fluent for once. + </p> + <p> + He suggested “that five hundred years added to a world's life made it just + five hundred years older, not younger—and if older, grayer—and + if grayer, wiser. + </p> + <p> + “Of Abbot Sampson,” said he, “whom I confess both a great and a good man, + his author, who with all his talent belongs to the class muddle-head, + tells us that when he had been two years in authority his red hair had + turned gray, fighting against the spirit of his age; how the deuce, then, + could he be a sample of the spirit of his age? + </p> + <p> + “Joan of Arc was burned by acclamation of her age, and is admired by our + age. Which fact identifies an age most with a heroine, to give her your + heart, or to give her a blazing fagot and death?” + </p> + <p> + “Abbot Sampson and Joan of Arc,” concluded he, “prove no more in favor of + their age, and no less against it, than Lot does for or against Sodom. Lot + was in Sodom, but not of it; and so were Sampson and Joan in, but not of, + the villainous times they lived in. + </p> + <p> + “The very best text-book of true religion is the New Testament, and I + gather from it, that the man who forgives his enemies while their ax + descends on his head, however poor a creature he may be in other respects, + is a better Christian than the man who has the God of Mercy forever on his + lips, and whose hands are swift to shed blood. + </p> + <p> + “The earnest men of former ages are not extinct in this,” added he. + “Whenever a scaffold is erected outside a prison-door, if you are earnest + in pursuit of truth, and can put up with disgusting objects, you shall see + a relic of ancient manners hanged. + </p> + <p> + “There still exist, in parts of America, rivers on whose banks are earnest + men who shall take your scalp, the wife's of your bosom, and the innocent + child's of her bosom. + </p> + <p> + “In England we are as earnest as ever in pursuit of heaven, and of + innocent worldly advantages. If, when the consideration of life and death + interposes, we appear less earnest in pursuit of comparative trifles such + as kingdoms or dogmas, it is because cooler in action we are more earnest + in thought—because reason, experience, and conscience are things + that check the unscrupulousness or beastly earnestness of man. + </p> + <p> + “Moreover, he who has the sense to see that questions have three sides is + no longer so intellectually as well as morally degraded as to be able to + cut every throat that utters an opinion contrary to his own. + </p> + <p> + “If the phrase 'earnest man' means man imitating the beasts that are deaf + to reason, it is to be hoped that civilization and Christianity will + really extinguish the whole race for the benefit of the earth.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden succeeded in annoying the fair theorist, but not in convincing + her. + </p> + <p> + The mediaeval enthusiasts looked on him as some rough animal that had + burst into sacred grounds unconsciously, and gradually edged away from + him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + LORD IPSDEN had soon the mortification of discovering that this Mr. + —— was a constant visitor at the house; and, although his + cousin gave him her ear in this man's absence, on the arrival of her + fellow-enthusiast he had ever the mortification of finding himself <i>de + trop.</i> + </p> + <p> + Once or twice he demolished this personage in argument, and was rewarded + by finding himself more <i>de trop.</i> + </p> + <p> + But one day Lady Barbara, being in a cousinly humor, expressed a wish to + sail in his lordship's yacht, and this hint soon led to a party being + organized, and a sort of picnic on the island of Inch Coombe; his + lordship's cutter being the mode of conveyance to and from that spot. + </p> + <p> + Now it happened on that very day Jean Carnie's marriage was celebrated on + that very island by her relations and friends. + </p> + <p> + So that we shall introduce our readers to + </p> + <p> + THE RIVAL PICNICS. + </p> + <p> + We begin with <i>Les gens comme il faut.</i> + </p> + <p> + PICNIC NO. 1. + </p> + <p> + The servants were employed in putting away dishes into hampers. + </p> + <p> + There was a calm silence. “Hem!” observed Sir Henry Talbot. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” replied the Honorable Tom Hitherington. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma,” said Miss Vere, “have you brought any work?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “At a picnic,” said Mr. Hitherington, “isn't it the thing for somebody—aw—to + do something?” + </p> + <p> + “Ipsden,” said Lady Barbara, “there is an understanding <i>between</i> you + and Mr. Hitherington. I condemn you to turn him into English.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Lady Barbara; I'll tell you, he means—-do you mean anything, + Tom?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Hitherington.</i> “Can't anybody guess what I mean?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Barbara.</i> “Guess first yourself, you can't be suspected of + being in the secret.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Hither.</i> “What I mean is, that people sing a song, or run races, or + preach a sermon, or do something funny at a picnic—aw—somebody + gets up and does something.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “Then perhaps Miss Vere, whose singing is famous, will + have the complaisance to sing to us.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Miss Vere.</i> “I should be happy, Lady Barbara, but I have not brought + my music.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “Oh, we are not critical; the simplest air, or even a + fragment of melody; the sea and the sky will be a better accompaniment + than Broadwood ever made.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Miss V.</i> “I can't sing a note without book.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Sir H. Talbot.</i> “Your music is in your soul—not at your + fingers' ends.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lord Ipsden, to Lady Bar.</i> “It is in her book, and not in her soul.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar., to Lord Ips.</i> “Then it has chosen the better situation of + the two.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “Miss Vere is to the fine art of music what the engrossers are + to the black art of law; it all filters through them without leaving any + sediment; and so the music of the day passes through Miss Vere's mind, but + none remains—to stain its virgin snow.” + </p> + <p> + He bows, she smiles. + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar., to herself.</i> “Insolent. And the little dunce thinks he is + complimenting her.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “Perhaps Talbot will come to our rescue—he is a + fiddler.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “An amateur of the violin.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “It is all the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “I wish it may prove so.” + </p> + <p> + [Note: original has music notation here] + </p> + <p> + <i>Miss V.</i> “Beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. Vere.</i> “Charming.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Hither.</i> “Superb!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “You are aware that good music is a thing to be wedded to + immortal verse, shall I recite a bit of poetry to match Talbot's strain?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Miss V.</i> “Oh, yes! how nice.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips. (rhetorically).</i> “A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L. M. N. O. + P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z. Y. X. W. V. U. T. S. O. N. M. L. K. J. I. + H. G. F. A. M. little p. little t.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “Beautiful! Superb! Ipsden has been taking lessons on the + thinking instrument.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Hither.</i> “He has been <i>perdu</i> among vulgar people.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “And expects a pupil of Herz to play him tunes!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “What are tunes, Sir Henry?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “Something I don't play, Lady Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “I understand you; something we ought to like.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “I have a Stradivarius violin at home. It is yours, Talbot, if + you can define a tune.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “A tune is—everybody knows what.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “A tune is a tune, that is what you meant to say.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “Of course it is.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “Be reasonable, Ipsden; no man can do two things at once; + how can the pupil of Herz condemn a thing and know what it means + contemporaneously?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “Is the drinking-song in 'Der Freischutz' a tune?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “It is.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “And the melodies of Handel, are they tunes?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar. (pathetically).</i> “They are! They are!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “And the 'Russian Anthem,' and the 'Marseillaise,' and 'Ah, + Perdona'?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “And 'Yankee Doodle'?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “So that Sir Henry, who prided himself on his ignorance, + has a wide field for its dominion.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “All good violin players do like me; they prelude, not play + tunes.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “Then Heaven be thanked for our blind fiddlers. You like + syllables of sound in unmeaning rotation, and you despise its words, its + purposes, its narrative feats; carry out your principle, it will show you + where you are. Buy a dirty palette for a picture, and dream the alphabet + is a poem.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar., to herself.</i> “Is this my cousin Richard?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Hither.</i> “Mind, Ipsden, you are a man of property, and there are + such things as commissions <i>de lunatico.”</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “His defense will be that his friends pronounced him + insane.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “No; I shall subpoena Talbot's fiddle, cross-examination will + get nothing out of that but, do, re, mi, fa.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “Yes, it will; fa, mi, re, do.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “Violin, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “Ask Fiddle's pardon, directly.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Sound of fiddles is heard in the distance.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “How lucky for you, there are fiddles and tunes, and the + natives you are said to favor, why not join them?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips. (shaking his head solemnly).</i> “I dread to encounter another + prelude.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Hither.</i> “Come, I know you would like it; it is a wedding-party—two + sea monsters have been united. The sailors and fishermen are all blue + cloth and wash-leather gloves.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Miss V.</i> “He! he!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tal.</i> “The fishwives unite the colors of the rainbow—” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “(And we all know how hideous they are)—to vulgar, + blooming cheeks, staring white teeth, and sky-blue eyes.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Mrs. V.</i> “How satirical you are, especially you, Lady Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + Here Lord Ipsden, after a word to Lady Barbara, the answer to which did + not appear to be favorable, rose, gave a little yawn, looked steadily at + his companions without seeing them, and departed without seeming aware + that he was leaving anybody behind him. + </p> + <p> + <i>Hither.</i> “Let us go somewhere where we can quiz the natives without + being too near them.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Bar.</i> “I am tired of this unbroken solitude, I must go and + think to the sea,” added she, in a mock soliloquy; and out she glided with + the same unconscious air as his lordship had worn. + </p> + <p> + The others moved off slowly together. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma,” said Miss Vere, “I can't understand half Barbara Sinclair says.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not necessary, my love,” replied mamma; “she is rather eccentric, + and I fear she is spoiling Lord Ipsden.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Lord Ipsden,” murmured the lovely Vere, “he used to be so nice, and + do like everybody else. Mamma, I shall bring some work the next time.” + </p> + <p> + “Do, my love.” + </p> + <p> + PICNIC NO. 2. + </p> + <p> + In a house, two hundred yards from this scene, a merry dance, succeeding a + merry song, had ended, and they were in the midst of an interesting story; + Christie Johnstone was the narrator. She had found the tale in one of the + viscount's books—it had made a great impression on her. + </p> + <p> + The rest were listening intently. In a room which had lately been all + noise, not a sound was now to be heard but the narrator's voice. + </p> + <p> + “Aweel, lasses, here are the three wee kists set, the lads are to chuse—the + ane that chuses reicht is to get Porsha, an' the lave to get the bag, and + dee baitchelars—Flucker Johnstone, you that's sae clever—are + ye for gowd, or siller, or leed?” + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Fishwife.</i> “Gowd for me!” + </p> + <p> + <i>2d ditto.</i> “The white siller's my taste.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Na! there's aye some deevelish trick in thir lassie's + stories. I shall ha to, till the ither lads hae chused; the mair part will + put themsels oot, ane will hit it off reicht maybe, then I shall gie him a + hidin' an' carry off the lass. You-hoo!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean Carnie.</i> “That's you, Flucker.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie Johnstone.</i> “And div ye really think we are gawn to let you + see a' the world chuse? Na, lad, ye are putten oot o' the room, like + witnesses.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Then I'd toss a penny; for gien ye trust to luck, she + whiles favors ye, but gien ye commence to reason and argefy—ye're + done!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “The suitors had na your wit, my manny, or maybe they had + na a penny to toss, sae ane chused the gowd, ane the siller; but they got + an awfu' affront. The gold kist had just a skull intil't, and the siller a + deed cuddy's head!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Chorus of Females.</i> “He! he! he!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ditto of Males.</i> “Haw! haw! haw! haw! Ho!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “An' Porsha puttit the pair of gowks to the door. Then + came Bassanio, the lad fra Veeneece, that Porsha loed in secret. Veeneece, + lasses, is a wonderful city; the streets o' 't are water, and the + carriages are boats—that's in Chambers'.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Wha are ye making a fool o'?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “What's wrang?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Yon's just as big a lee as ever I heerd.” + </p> + <p> + The words were scarcely out of his mouth ere he had reason to regret them; + a severe box on the ear was administered by his indignant sister. Nobody + pitied him. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “I'll laern yet' affront me before a' the company.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean Carnie.</i> “Suppose it's a lee, there's nae silver to pay for it, + Flucker.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Jean, I never telt a lee in a' my days.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean.</i> “There's ane to begin wi' then. Go ahead, Custy.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “She bade the music play for him, for music brightens + thoucht; ony way, he chose the leed kist. Open'st and wasn't there + Porsha's pictur, and a posy, that said: + </p> + <p> + 'If you be well pleased with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss; + Turn you where your leddy iss, And greet her wi' a loving—'” <i>(Pause).</i> + </p> + <p> + “Kess,” roared the company. + </p> + <p> + <i>Chorus, led by Flucker.</i> “Hurraih!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie (pathetically).</i> “Flucker, behave!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Sandy Liston (drunk).</i> “Hur-raih!” He then solemnly reflected. “Na! + but it's na hurraih, decency requires amen first an' hurraih afterward; + here's kissin plenty, but I hear nae word o' the minister. Ye'll obsairve, + young woman, that kissin's the prologue to sin, and I'm a decent mon, an' + a gray-headed mon, an' your licht stories are no for me; sae if the + minister's no expeckit I shall retire—an' tak my quiet gill my + lane.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean Carnie.</i> “And div ye really think a decent cummer like Custy + wad let the lad and lass misbehave thirsels? Na! lad, the minister's at + the door, but” (sinking her voice to a confidential whisper) “I daurna let + him in, for fear he'd see ye hae putten the enemy in your mooth sae aerly. + (That's Custy's word.)” + </p> + <p> + “Jemmy Drysel,” replied Sandy, addressing vacancy, for Jemmy was + mysteriously at work in the kitchen, “ye hae gotten a thoughtfu' wife.” + (Then, with a strong revulsion of feeling.) “Dinna let the blackguard* in + here,” cried he, “to spoil the young folk's sporrt.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * At present this is a spondee in England—a trochee in + Scotland The pronunciation of this important word ought to + be fixed, representing, as it does, so large a portion of + the community in both countries. +</pre> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Aweel, lassies, comes a letter to Bassanio; he reads it, + and turns as pale as deeth.” + </p> + <p> + <i>A Fishwife.</i> “Gude help us.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Poorsha behooved to ken his grief, wha had a better + reicht? 'Here's a letter, leddy,' says he, 'the paper's the boedy of my + freend, like, and every word in it a gaping wound.'” + </p> + <p> + <i>A Fisherman.</i> “Maircy on us.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Lad, it was fra puir Antonio, ye mind o' him, Lasses. + Hech! the ill luck o' yon man, no a ship come hame; ane foundered at sea, + coming fra Tri-po-lis; the pirates scuttled another, an' ane ran ashore on + the Goodwins, near Bright-helm-stane, that's in England itsel', I daur + say. Sae he could na pay the three thoosand ducats, an' Shylock had + grippit him, an' sought the pund o' flesh aff the breest o' him, puir + body.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Sandy Liston.</i> “He would na be the waur o' a wee bit hiding, yon + thundering urang-utang; let the man alane, ye cursed old cannibal.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Poorsha keepit her man but ae hoor till they were + united, an' then sent him wi' a puckle o' her ain siller to Veeneece, and + Antonio—think o' that, lassies—pairted on their wedding-day.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lizzy Johnstone, a Fishwife, aged 12.</i> “Hech! hech! it's + lamentable.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean Carnie.</i> “I'm saying, mairriage is quick wark, in some pairts—here + there's an awfu' trouble to get a man.” + </p> + <p> + <i>A young Fishwife.</i> “Ay, is there.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Omnes.</i> “Haw! haw! haw!” (The fish-wife hides.) + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Fill your taupsels, lads and lasses, and awa to + Veneece.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Sandy Liston (sturdily).</i> “I'll no gang to sea this day.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Noo, we are in the hall o' judgment. Here are set the + judges, awfu' to behold; there, on his throne, presides the Juke.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “She's awa to her Ennglish.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lizzy Johnstone.</i> “Did we come to Veeneece to speak Scoetch, ye + useless fule?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Here, pale and hopeless, but resigned, stands the broken + mairchant, Antonio; there, wi scales and knives, and revenge in his + murderin' eye, stands the crewel Jew Shylock.” + </p> + <p> + “Aweel,” muttered Sandy, considerately, “I'll no mak a disturbance on a + wedding day.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “They wait for Bell—I dinna mind his mind—a + laerned lawyer, ony way; he's sick, but sends ane mair laerned still, and, + when this ane comes, he looks not older nor wiser than mysel.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “No possible!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Ye needna be sae sarcy, Flucker, for when he comes to + his wark he soon lets 'em ken—runs his een like lightening ower the + boend. 'This bond's forfeit. Is Antonio not able to dischairge the money?' + 'Ay!' cries Bassanio, 'here's the sum thrice told.' Says the young judge + in a bit whisper to Shylock, 'Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered + thee. Be mairceful,' says he, out loud. 'Wha'll mak me?' says the Jew + body. 'Mak ye!' says he; 'maircy is no a thing ye strain through a sieve, + mon; it droppeth like the gentle dew fra' heaven upon the place beneath; + it blesses him that gives and him that taks; it becomes the king better + than his throne, and airthly power is maist like God's power when maircy + seasons justice.'” + </p> + <p> + <i>Robert Haw, Fisherman.</i> “Dinna speak like that to me, onybody, or I + shall gie ye my boat, and fling my nets intil it, as ye sail awa wi' her.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean Carnie.</i> “Sae he let the puir deevil go. Oh! ye ken wha could + stand up against siccan a shower o' Ennglish as thaat.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “He just said, 'My deeds upon my heed. I claim the law,' + says he; 'there is no power in the tongue o' man to alter me. I stay here + on my boend.'” + </p> + <p> + <i>Sandy Liston.</i> “I hae sat quiet!—quiet I hae sat against my + will, no to disturb Jamie Drysel's weddin'; but ye carry the game ower + far, Shylock, my lad. I'll just give yon bluidy-minded urang-utang a + hidin', and bring Tony off, the gude, puir-spirited creature. And him, an' + me, an' Bassanee, an' Porshee, we'll all hae a gill thegither.” + </p> + <p> + He rose, and was instantly seized by two of the company, from whom he + burst furiously, after a struggle, and the next moment was heard to fall + clean from the top to the bottom of the stairs. Flucker and Jean ran out; + the rest appealed against the interruption. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Hech! he's killed. Sandy Liston's brake his neck.” + </p> + <p> + “What aboot it, lassy?” said a young fisherman; “it's Antonio I'm feared + for; save him, lassy, if poessible; but I doot ye'll no get him clear o' + yon deevelich heathen. + </p> + <p> + “Auld Sandy's cheap sairved,” added he, with all the indifference a human + tone could convey. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cursty,” said Lizzie Johnstone, with a peevish accent, “dinna break + the bonny yarn for naething.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker (returning).</i> “He's a' reicht.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Is he no dead?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Him deed? he's sober—that's a' the change I see.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Can he speak? I'm asking ye.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Yes, he can speak.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “What does he say, puir body?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “He sat up, an' sought a gill fra' the wife—puir + body!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Hech! hech! he was my pupil in the airt o' sobriety!—aweel, + the young judge rises to deliver the sentence of the coort. Silence!” + thundered Christie. A lad and a lass that were slightly flirting were + discountenanced. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “'A pund o' that same mairchant's flesh is thine! the + coort awards it, and the law does give it.'” + </p> + <p> + <i>A young Fishwife.</i> “There, I thoucht sae; he's gaun to cut him, he's + gaun to cut him; I'll no can bide.” <i>(Exibat.)</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “There's a fulish goloshen. 'Have by a doctor to stop the + blood.'—'I see nae doctor in the boend,' says the Jew body.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Bait your hook wi' a boend, and ye shall catch yon + carle's saul, Satin, my lad.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie (with dismal pathos).</i> “Oh, Flucker, dinna speak evil o' + deegneties—that's maybe fishing for yoursel' the noo!—-'An' ye + shall cut the flesh frae off his breest.'—'A sentence,' says + Shylock, 'come, prepare.'” + </p> + <p> + Christie made a dash <i>en Shylock,</i> and the company trembled. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “'Bide a wee,' says the judge, 'this boend gies ye na a + drap o' bluid; the words expressly are, a pund o' flesh!'” + </p> + <p> + <i>(A Dramatic Pause.)</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean Carnie (drawing her breath).</i> “That's into your mutton, + Shylock” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie (with dismal pathos).</i> “Oh, Jean! yon's an awfu' voolgar + exprassion to come fra' a woman's mooth.” + </p> + <p> + “Could ye no hae said, 'intil his bacon'?” said Lizzie Johnstone, + confirming the remonstrance. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “'Then tak your boend, an' your pund o' flesh, but in + cutting o' 't, if thou dost shed one drop of Christian bluid, thou + diest!'” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean Carnie.</i> “Hech!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “'Thy goods are by the laws Veneece con-fis-cate, + confiscate!'” + </p> + <p> + Then, like an artful narrator, she began to wind up the story more + rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “Sae Shylock got to be no sae saucy. 'Pay the boend thrice,' says he, 'and + let the puir deevil go.'—'Here it's,' says Bassanio.—Na! the + young judge wadna let him.—'He has refused it in open coort; no a + bawbee for Shylock but just the forfeiture; an' he daur na tak it.'—'I'm + awa',' says he. 'The deivil tak ye a'.'—Na! he wasna to win clear + sae; ance they'd gotten the Jew on the hep, they worried him, like good + Christians, that's a fact. The judge fand a law that fitted him, for + conspiring against the life of a citizen; an' he behooved to give up hoose + an' lands, and be a Christian; yon was a soor drap—he tarned no + weel, puir auld villain, an' scairtit; an' the lawyers sent ane o' their + weary parchments till his hoose, and the puir auld heathen signed awa' his + siller, an' Abraham, an' Isaac, an' Jacob, on the heed o' 't. I pity him, + an auld, auld man; and his dochter had rin off wi' a Christian lad—they + ca' her Jessica, and didn't she steal his very diamond ring that his ain + lass gied him when he was young, an' maybe no sae hard-hairted?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean Carnie.</i> “Oh, the jaud! suppose he was a Jew, it was na her + business to clean him oot.” + </p> + <p> + <i>A young Fishwife.</i> “Aweel, it was only a Jew body, that's my + comfort.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Ye speak as a Jew was na a man; has not a Jew eyes, if + ye please?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lizzy Johnstone.</i> “Ay, has he!—and the awfuest lang neb atween + 'em.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Has not a Jew affections, paassions, organs?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean.</i> “Na! Christie; thir lads comes fr' Italy!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “If you prick him, does he not bleed? if you tickle him, + does na he lauch?” + </p> + <p> + <i>A young Fishwife (pertly).</i> “I never kittlet a Jew, for my pairt—sae + I'll no can tell ye.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “If you poison him, does he not die? and if you wrang + him” (with fury) “shall he not revenge?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lizzie Johnstone.</i> “Oh! but ye're a fearsome lass.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Wha'll give me a sang for my bonny yarn?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden, who had been an unobserved auditor of the latter part of the + tale, here inquired whether she had brought her book. + </p> + <p> + “What'n buik?” + </p> + <p> + “Your music-book!” + </p> + <p> + “Here's my music-book,” said Jean, roughly tapping her head. + </p> + <p> + “And here's mines,” said Christie, birdly, touching her bosom. + </p> + <p> + “Richard,” said she, thoughtfully, “I wish ye may no hae been getting in + voolgar company. Div ye think we hae minds like rinning water?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker (avec malice).</i> “And tongues like the mill-clack abune it? + Because if ye think sae, captain—ye're no far wrang!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Na! we hae na muckle gowd maybe; but our minds are + gowden vessels.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean.</i> “Aha! lad.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “They are not saxpenny sieves, to let music an' meter + through, and leave us none the wiser or better. Dinna gang in low voolgar + company, or you a lost laddy.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “Vulgar, again! everybody has a different sense for that + word, I think. What is vulgar?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Voolgar folk sit on an chair, ane, twa, whiles three + hours, eatin' an' abune drinkin', as still as hoegs, or gruntin' puir + every-day clashes, goessip, rubbich; when ye are aside them, ye might as + weel be aside a cuddy; they canna gie ye a sang, they canna gie ye a + story, they canna think ye a thoucht, to save their useless lives; that's + voolgar folk.” + </p> + <p> + She sings. “A caaller herrin'!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Jean.</i> “A caaller herrin'!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Omnes.</i> + </p> + <p> + “Come buy my bonny caaller herrin', Six a penny caaller from the sea,” + etc. + </p> + <p> + The music chimed in, and the moment the song was done, without pause, or + anything to separate or chill the succession of the arts, the fiddles + diverged with a gallant plunge into “The Dusty Miller.” The dancers found + their feet by an instinct as rapid, and a rattling reel shook the floor + like thunder. Jean Carnie assumed the privilege of a bride, and seized his + lordship; Christie, who had a mind to dance with him too, took Flucker + captive, and these four were one reel! There were seven others. + </p> + <p> + The principle of reel dancing is articulation; the foot strikes the ground + for every <i>accented</i> note (and, by the by, it is their weakness of + accent which makes all English reel and hornpipe players such failures). + </p> + <p> + And in the best steps of all, which it has in common with the hornpipe, + such as the quick “heel and toe,” “the sailor's fling,” and the “double + shuffle,” the foot strikes the ground for every <i>single</i> note of the + instrument. + </p> + <p> + All good dancing is beautiful. + </p> + <p> + But this articulate dancing, compared with the loose, lawless diffluence + of motion that goes by that name, gives me (I must confess it) as much + more pleasure as articulate singing is superior to tunes played on the + voice by a young lady: + </p> + <p> + Or the clean playing of my mother to the piano-forte splashing of my + daughter; though the latter does attack the instrument as a washerwoman + her soapsuds, and the former works like a lady. + </p> + <p> + Or skating to sliding: + </p> + <p> + Or English verse to dactyls in English: + </p> + <p> + Or painting to daubing: + </p> + <p> + Or preserved strawberries to strawberry jam. + </p> + <p> + What says Goldsmith of the two styles? “They swam, sprawled, frisked, and + languished; but Olivia's foot was as pat to the music as its echo.”—<i>Vicar + of Wakefield.</i> + </p> + <p> + Newhaven dancing aims also at fun; laughter mingles with agility; + grotesque yet graceful gestures are flung in, and little inspiring cries + flung out. + </p> + <p> + His lordship soon entered into the spirit of it. Deep in the mystery of + the hornpipe, he danced one or two steps Jean and Christie had never seen, + but their eyes were instantly on his feet, and they caught in a minute and + executed these same steps. + </p> + <p> + To see Christie Johnstone do the double-shuffle with her arms so saucily + akimbo, and her quick elastic foot at an angle of forty-five, was a treat. + </p> + <p> + The dance became inspiriting, inspiring, intoxicating; and, when the + fiddles at last left off, the feet went on another seven bars by the + enthusiastic impulse. + </p> + <p> + And so, alternately spinning yarns, singing songs, dancing, and making + fun, and mingling something of heart and brain in all, these benighted + creatures made themselves happy instead of peevish, and with a day of + stout, vigorous, healthy pleasure, refreshed, indemnified, and warmed + themselves for many a day of toil. + </p> + <p> + Such were the two picnics of Inch Coombe, and these rival cliques, + agreeing in nothing else, would have agreed in this: each, if allowed (but + we won't allow either) to judge the other, would have pronounced the same + verdict: + </p> + <p> + <i>“Ils ne savent pas vivre ces gens-l'a.”</i> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + Two of our personages left Inch Coombe less happy than when they came to + it. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden encountered Lady Barbara with Mr.——, who had + joined her upon the island. + </p> + <p> + He found them discoursing, as usual, about the shams of the present day, + and the sincerity of Cromwell and Mahomet, and he found himself <i>de + trop.</i> + </p> + <p> + They made him, for the first time, regret the loss of those earnest times + when, “to avoid the inconvenience of both addressing the same lady,” you + could cut a rival's throat at once, and be smiled on by the fair and + society. + </p> + <p> + That a book-maker should blaspheme high civilization, by which alone he + exists, and one of whose diseases and flying pains he is, neither + surprised nor moved him; but that any human being's actions should be + affected by such tempestuous twaddle was ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + And that the witty Lady Barbara should be caught by this chaff was + intolerable; he began to feel bitter. + </p> + <p> + He had the blessings of the poor, the good opinion of the world; every + living creature was prepossessed in his favor but one, and that one + despised him; it was a diabolical prejudice; it was the spiteful caprice + of his fate. + </p> + <p> + His heart, for a moment, was in danger of deteriorating. He was miserable; + the Devil suggested to him, “make others miserable too;” and he listened + to the advice. + </p> + <p> + There was a fine breeze, but instead of sailing on a wind, as he might + have done, he made a series of tacks, and all were ill. + </p> + <p> + The earnest man first; and Flucker announced the skipper's insanity to the + whole town of Newhaven, for, of course, these tacks were all marine + solecisms. + </p> + <p> + The other discontented Picnician was Christie Johnstone. Gatty never came; + and this, coupled with five or six days' previous neglect, could no longer + pass unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + Her gayety failed her before the afternoon was ended; and the last two + hours were spent by her alone, watching the water on all sides for him. + </p> + <p> + At last, long after the departure of his lordship's yacht, the Newhaven + boat sailed from Inch Coombe with the wedding party. There was now a + strong breeze, and the water every now and then came on board. So the men + set the foresail with two reefs, and drew the mainsail over the women; and + there, as they huddled together in the dark, Jean Carnie discovered that + our gay story-teller's eyes were wet with tears. + </p> + <p> + Jean said nothing; she embraced her; and made them flow faster. + </p> + <p> + But, when they came alongside the pier, Jean, who was the first to get her + head from under the sail, whipped it back again and said to Christie: + </p> + <p> + “Here he is, Christie; dinna speak till him.” + </p> + <p> + And sure enough there was, in the twilight, with a pale face and an uneasy + look—Mr. Charles Gatty! + </p> + <p> + He peered timidly into the boat, and, when he saw Christie, an “Ah!” that + seemed to mean twenty different things at once, burst from his bosom. He + held out his arm to assist her. + </p> + <p> + She cast on him one glance of mute reproach, and, placing her foot on the + boat's gunwale, sprang like an antelope upon the pier, without accepting + his assistance. + </p> + <p> + Before going further, we must go back for this boy, and conduct him from + where we left him up to the present point. + </p> + <p> + The moment he found himself alone with Jean Carnie, in his own house, he + began to tell her what trouble he was in; how his mother had convinced him + of his imprudence in falling in love with Christie Johnstone; and how she + insisted on a connection being broken off which had given him his first + glimpse of heaven upon earth, and was contrary to common sense. + </p> + <p> + Jean heard him out, and then, with the air of a lunatic-asylum keeper to a + rhodomontading patient, told him “he was one fool, and his mother was + another.” First she took him up on the score of prudence. + </p> + <p> + “You,” said she, “are a beggarly painter, without a rap; Christie has + houses, boats, nets, and money; you are in debt; she lays by money every + week. It is not prudent on her part to take up with you—the better + your bargain, my lad.” + </p> + <p> + Under the head of common sense, which she maintained was all on the same + side of the question, she calmly inquired: + </p> + <p> + “How could an old woman of sixty be competent to judge how far human + happiness depends on love, when she has no experience of that passion, and + the reminiscences of her youth have become dim and dark? You might as well + set a judge in court, that has forgotten the law—common sense,” said + she, “the old wife is sixty, and you are twenty—what can she do for + you the forty years you may reckon to outlive her? Who is to keep you + through those weary years but the wife of your own choice, not your + mother's? You English does na read the Bible, or ye'd ken that a lad is to + 'leave his father and mother, and cleave until his wife,'” added she; then + with great contempt she repeated, “common sense, indeed! ye're fou wi' + your common sense; ye hae the name o' 't pat eneuch—but there's na + muckle o' that mairchandise in your harns.” + </p> + <p> + Gatty was astonished. What! was there really common sense on the side of + bliss? and when Jean told him to join her party at Inch Coombe, or never + look her in the face again, scales seemed to fall from his eyes; and, with + a heart that turned in a moment from lead to a feather, he vowed he would + be at Inch Coombe. + </p> + <p> + He then begged Jean on no account to tell Christie the struggle he had + been subjected to, since his scruples were now entirely conquered. + </p> + <p> + Jean acquiesced at once, and said: “Indeed, she would be very sorry to + give the lass that muckle pain.” + </p> + <p> + She hinted, moreover, that her neebor's spirit was so high, she was quite + capable of breaking with him at once upon such an intimation; and she, + Jean, was “nae mischief-maker.” + </p> + <p> + In the energy of his gratitude, he kissed this dark-browed beauty, + professing to see in her a sister. + </p> + <p> + And she made no resistance to this way of showing gratitude, but muttered + between her teeth, “He's just a bairn!” + </p> + <p> + And so she went about her business. + </p> + <p> + On her retreat, his mother returned to him, and, with a sad air, hoped + nothing that that rude girl had said had weakened his filial duty. + </p> + <p> + “No, mother,” said he. + </p> + <p> + She then, without explaining how she came acquainted with Jean's + arguments, proceeded to demolish them one by one. + </p> + <p> + “If your mother is old and experienced,” said she, “benefit by her age and + experience. She has not forgotten love, nor the ills it leads to, when not + fortified by prudence. Scripture says a man shall cleave to his wife when + he has left his parents; but in making that, the most important step of + life, where do you read that he is to break the fifth commandment? But I + do you wrong, Charles, you never could have listened to that vulgar girl + when she told you your mother was not your best friend.” + </p> + <p> + “N—no, mother, of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will not go to that place to break my heart, and undo all you + have done this week.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You will break my heart if you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Christie will feel herself slighted, and she has not deserved this + treatment from me.” + </p> + <p> + “The other will explain to her, and if she is as good a girl as you say—” + </p> + <p> + “She is an angel!” + </p> + <p> + “How can a fishwife be an angel? Well, then, she will not set a son to + disobey his mother.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think she would! but is all the goodness to be on her side?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Charles, you do your part; deny yourself, be an obedient child, and + your mother's blessing and the blessing of Heaven will rest upon you.” + </p> + <p> + In short, he was not to go to Inch Coombe. + </p> + <p> + He stayed at home, his mother set him to work; he made a poor hand of it, + he was so wretched. She at last took compassion on him, and in the + evening, when it was now too late for a sail to Inch Coombe, she herself + recommended a walk to him. + </p> + <p> + The poor boy's feet took him toward Newhaven, not that he meant to go to + his love, but he could not forbear from looking at the place which held + her. + </p> + <p> + He was about to return, when a spacious blue jacket hailed him. Somewhere + inside this jacket was Master Flucker, who had returned in the yacht, + leaving his sister on the island. + </p> + <p> + Gatty instantly poured out a flood of questions. + </p> + <p> + The baddish boy reciprocated fluency. He informed him “that his sister had + been the star of a goodly company, and that, her own lad having stayed + away, she had condescended to make a conquest of the skipper himself. + </p> + <p> + “He had come in quite at the tag-end of one of her stories, but it had + been sufficient to do his business—he had danced with her, had even + whistled while she sung. (Hech, it was bonny!) + </p> + <p> + “And when the cutter sailed, he, Flucker, had seen her perched on a rock, + like a mermaid, watching their progress, which had been slow, because the + skipper, infatuated with so sudden a passion, had made a series of + ungrammatical tacks.” + </p> + <p> + “For his part he was glad,” said the gracious Flucker; “the lass was a + prideful hussy, that had given some twenty lads a sore heart and him many + a sore back; and he hoped his skipper, with whom he naturally identified + himself rather than with his sister, would avenge the male sex upon her.” + </p> + <p> + In short, he went upon this tack till he drove poor Gatty nearly mad. + </p> + <p> + Here was a new feeling superadded; at first he felt injured, but on + reflection what cause of complaint had he? + </p> + <p> + He had neglected her; he might have been her partner—he had left her + to find one where she could. + </p> + <p> + Fool, to suppose that so beautiful a creature would ever be neglected—except + by him! + </p> + <p> + It was more than he could bear. + </p> + <p> + He determined to see her, to ask her forgiveness, to tell her everything, + to beg her to decide, and, for his part, he would abide by her decision. + </p> + <p> + Christie Johnstone, as we have already related, declined his arm, sprang + like a deer upon the pier, and walked toward her home, a quarter of a mile + distant. + </p> + <p> + Gatty followed her, disconsolately, hardly knowing what to do. + </p> + <p> + At last, observing that she drew near enough to the wall to allow room for + another on the causeway, he had just nous enough to creep alongside and + pull her sleeve somewhat timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Christie, I want to speak to you:” + </p> + <p> + “What can ye hae to say till me?” + </p> + <p> + “Christie, I am very unhappy; and I want to tell you why, but I have + hardly the strength or the courage.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye shall come ben my hoose if ye are unhappy, and we'll hear your story; + come away.” + </p> + <p> + He had never been admitted into her house before. + </p> + <p> + They found it clean as a snowdrift. + </p> + <p> + They found a bright fire, and Flucker frying innumerable steaks. + </p> + <p> + The baddish boy had obtained them in his sister's name and at her expense, + at the flesher's, and claimed credit for his affection. + </p> + <p> + Potatoes he had boiled in their jackets, and so skillfully, that those + jackets hung by a thread. + </p> + <p> + Christie laid an unbleached table-cloth, that somehow looked sweeter than + a white one, as brown bread is sweeter than white. + </p> + <p> + But lo! Gatty could not eat; so then Christie would not, because he + refused her cheer. + </p> + <p> + The baddish boy chuckled, and addressed himself to the nice brown steaks + with their rich gravy. + </p> + <p> + On such occasions a solo on the knife and fork seemed better than a trio + to the gracious Flucker. + </p> + <p> + Christie moved about the room, doing little household matters; Gatty's eye + followed her. + </p> + <p> + Her beauty lost nothing in this small apartment; she was here, like a + brilliant in some quaint, rough setting, which all earth's jewelers should + despise, and all its poets admire, and it should show off the stone and + not itself. + </p> + <p> + Her beauty filled the room, and almost made the spectators ill. + </p> + <p> + Gatty asked himself whether he could really have been such a fool as to + think of giving up so peerless a creature. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly an idea occurred to him, a bright one, and not inconsistent with + a true artist's character—he would decline to act in so doubtful a + case. He would float passively down the tide of events—he would + neither desert her, nor disobey his mother; he would take everything as it + came, and to begin, as he was there, he would for the present say nothing + but what he felt, and what he felt was that he loved her. + </p> + <p> + He told her so accordingly. + </p> + <p> + She replied, concealing her satisfaction, “that, if he liked her, he would + not have refused to eat when she asked him.” + </p> + <p> + But our hero's appetite had returned with his change of purpose, and he + instantly volunteered to give the required proof of affection. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly two pound of steaks fell before him. Poor boy, he had hardly + eaten a genuine meal for a week past. + </p> + <p> + Christie sat opposite him, and every time he looked off his plate he saw + her rich blue eyes dwelling on him. + </p> + <p> + Everything contributed to warm his heart, he yielded to the spell, he + became contented, happy, gay. + </p> + <p> + Flucker ginger-cordialed him, his sister bewitched him. + </p> + <p> + She related the day's events in a merry mood. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gatty burst forth into singing. + </p> + <p> + He sung two light and somber trifles, such as in the present day are + deemed generally encouraging to spirits, and particularly in accordance + with the sentiment of supper—they were about Death and Ivy Green. + </p> + <p> + The dog's voice was not very powerful, but sweet and round as honey + dropping from the comb. + </p> + <p> + His two hearers were entranced, for the creature sang with an inspiration + good singers dare not indulge. + </p> + <p> + He concluded by informing Christie that the ivy was symbolical of her, and + the oak prefigured Charles Gatty, Esq. + </p> + <p> + He might have inverted the simile with more truth. + </p> + <p> + In short, he never said a word to Christie about parting with her, but + several about being buried in the same grave with her, sixty years hence, + for which the spot he selected was Westminster Abbey. + </p> + <p> + And away he went, leaving golden opinions behind him. + </p> + <p> + The next day Christie was so affected with his conduct, coming as it did + after an apparent coolness, that she conquered her bashfulness and called + on the “vile count,” and with some blushes and hesitation inquired, + “Whether a painter lad was a fit subject of charity.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said his lordship. + </p> + <p> + She told him Gatty's case, and he instantly promised to see that artist's + pictures, particularly an “awfu' bonny ane;” the hero of which she + described as an English minister blessing the bairns with one hand, and + giving orders to kill the puir Scoetch with the other. + </p> + <p> + “C'est e'gal,” said Christie in Scotch, “it's awfu' bonny.” + </p> + <p> + Gatty reached home late; his mother had retired to rest. + </p> + <p> + But the next morning she drew from him what had happened, and then ensued + another of those dialogues which I am ashamed again to give the reader. + </p> + <p> + Suffice it to say, that she once more prevailed, though with far greater + difficulty; time was to be given him to unsew a connection which he could + not cut asunder, and he, with tearful eyes and a heavy heart, agreed to + take some step the very first opportunity. + </p> + <p> + This concession was hardly out of his mouth, ere his mother made him kneel + down and bestowed her blessing upon him. + </p> + <p> + He received it coldly and dully, and expressed a languid hope it might + prove a charm to save him from despair; and sad, bitter, and dejected, + forced himself to sit down and work on the picture that was to meet his + unrelenting creditor's demand. + </p> + <p> + He was working on his picture, and his mother, with her needle, at the + table, when a knock was heard, and gay as a lark, and fresh as the dew on + the shamrock, Christie Johnstone stood in person in the apartment. + </p> + <p> + She was evidently the bearer of good tidings; but, before she could + express them, Mrs. Gatty beckoned her son aside, and announcing, “she + should be within hearing,” bade him take the occasion that so happily + presented itself, and make the first step. + </p> + <p> + At another time, Christie, who had learned from Jean the arrival of Mrs. + Gatty, would have been struck with the old lady's silence; but she came to + tell the depressed painter that the charitable viscount was about to visit + him and his picture; and she was so full of the good fortune likely to + ensue, that she was neglectful of minor considerations. + </p> + <p> + It so happened, however, that certain interruptions prevented her from + ever delivering herself of the news in question. + </p> + <p> + First, Gatty himself came to her, and, casting uneasy glances at the door + by which his mother had just gone out, said: + </p> + <p> + “Christie!” + </p> + <p> + “My lad!” + </p> + <p> + “I want to paint your likeness.” + </p> + <p> + This was for a <i>souvenir,</i> poor fellow! + </p> + <p> + “Hech! I wad like fine to be painted.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be exactly the same size as yourself, and so like you, that, + should we be parted, I may seem not to be quite alone in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Here he was obliged to turn his head away. + </p> + <p> + “But we'll no pairt,” replied Christie, cheerfully. “Suppose ye're puir, + I'm rich, and it's a' one; dinna be so cast down for auchty pund.” + </p> + <p> + At this, a slipshod servant entered, and said: “There's a fisher lad, + inquiring for Christie Johnstone.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be Flucker,” said Christie; “show him ben. What's wrang the noo I + wonder!” + </p> + <p> + The baddish boy entered, took up a position and remained apparently + passive, hands in pockets. + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Aweel, what est?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Custy.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “What's your will, my manny?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Custy, I was at Inch Keith the day.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “And hae ye really come to Edinbro' to tell me thaat?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker (dryly).</i> “Oh! ye ken the lasses are a hantle wiser than we + are—will ye hear me? South Inch Keith, I played a bowl i' the water, + just for divairsion—and I catched twarree fish!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Floonders, I bet.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Does floonders swim high? I'll let you see his gills, and + if ye are a reicht fishwife ye'll smell bluid.” + </p> + <p> + Here he opened his jacket, and showed a bright little fish. + </p> + <p> + In a moment all Christie's nonchalance gave way to a fiery animation. She + darted to Flucker's side. + </p> + <p> + “Ye hae na been sae daft as tell?” asked she. + </p> + <p> + Flucker shook his head contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Ony birds at the island, Flucker?” + </p> + <p> + “Sea-maws, plenty, and a bird I dinna ken; he moonted sae high, then doon + like thunder intil the sea, and gart the water flee as high as Haman, and + porpoises as big as my boat.” + </p> + <p> + “Porr-poises, fulish laddy—ye hae seen the herrin whale at his wark, + and the solant guse ye hae seen her at wark; and beneath the sea, Flucker, + every coedflsh and doegfish, and fish that has teeth, is after them; and + half Scotland wad be at Inch Keith Island if they kenned what ye hae + tell't me—dinna speak to me.” + </p> + <p> + During this, Gatty, who did not comprehend this sudden excitement, or + thought it childish, had tried in vain to win her attention. + </p> + <p> + At last he said, a little peevishly, “Will you not attend to me, and tell + me at least when you will sit to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Set!” cried she. “When there's nae wark to be done stanning.” + </p> + <p> + And with this she was gone. + </p> + <p> + At the foot of the stairs, she said to her brother: + </p> + <p> + “Puir lad! I'll sune draw auchty punds fra' the sea for him, with my + feyther's nets.” + </p> + <p> + As she disappeared, Mrs. Gatty appeared. “And this is the woman whose mind + was not in her dirty business,” cried she. “Does not that open your eyes, + Charles?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Charles,” added she, tenderly, “there's no friend like a mother.” + </p> + <p> + And off she carried the prize—his vanity had been mortified. + </p> + <p> + And so that happened to Christie Johnstone which has befallen many a woman—the + greatness of her love made that love appear small to her lover. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! mother,” cried he, “I must live for you and my art; I am not so dear + to her as I thought.” + </p> + <p> + And so, with a sad heart, he turned away from her; while she, with a light + heart, darted away to think and act for him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + IT was some two hours after this that a gentleman, plainly dressed, but + whose clothes seemed a part of himself (whereas mine I have observed hang + upon me; and the Rev. Josiah Splitall's stick to him)—glided into + the painter's room, with an inquiry whether he had not a picture or two + disposable. + </p> + <p> + “I have one finished picture, sir,” said the poor boy; “but the price is + high!” + </p> + <p> + He brought it, in a faint-hearted way; for he had shown it to five + picture-dealers, and all five agreed it was hard. + </p> + <p> + He had painted a lime-tree, distant fifty yards, and so painted it that it + looked something like a lime-tree fifty yards off. + </p> + <p> + “That was <i>mesquin,”</i> said his judges; “the poetry of painting + required abstract trees, at metaphysical distance, not the various trees + of nature, as they appear under positive accidents.” + </p> + <p> + On this Mr. Gatty had deluged them with words. + </p> + <p> + “When it is art, truth, or sense to fuse a cow, a horse, and a critic into + one undistinguishable quadruped, with six legs, then it will be art to + melt an ash, an elm, and a lime, things that differ more than quadrupeds, + into what you call abstract trees, that any man who has seen a tree, as + well as looked at one, would call drunken stinging-nettles. You, who never + look at nature, how can you judge the arts, which are all but copies of + nature? At two hundred yards' distance, full-grown trees are more + distinguishable than the animal tribe. Paint me an abstract human being, + neither man nor a woman,” said he, “and then I will agree to paint a tree + that shall be no tree; and, if no man will buy it, perhaps the father of + lies will take it off my hands, and hang it in the only place it would not + disgrace.” + </p> + <p> + In short, he never left off till he had crushed the non-buyers with + eloquence and satire; but he could not crush them into buyers—they + beat him at the passive retort. + </p> + <p> + Poor Gatty, when the momentary excitement of argument had subsided, drank + the bitter cup all must drink awhile, whose bark is alive and strong + enough to stem the current down which the dead, weak things of the world + are drifting, many of them into safe harbors. + </p> + <p> + And now he brought out his picture with a heavy heart. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said he to himself, “this gentleman will talk me dead, and leave me + no richer in coin, and poorer in time and patience.” + </p> + <p> + The picture was placed in a light, the visitor sat down before it. + </p> + <p> + A long pause ensued. + </p> + <p> + “Has he fainted?” thought Gatty, ironically; “he doesn't gabble.” + </p> + <p> + “If you do not mind painting before me,” said the visitor, “I should be + glad if you would continue while I look into this picture.” + </p> + <p> + Gatty painted. + </p> + <p> + The visitor held his tongue. + </p> + <p> + At first the silence made the artist uneasy, but by degrees it began to + give him pleasure; whoever this was, it was not one of the flies that had + hitherto stung him, nor the jackdaws that had chattered him dead. + </p> + <p> + Glorious silence! he began to paint under its influence like one inspired. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour passed thus. + </p> + <p> + “What is the price of this work of art?” + </p> + <p> + “Eighty pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “I take it,” said his visitor, quietly. + </p> + <p> + What, no more difficulty than that? He felt almost disappointed at gaining + his object so easily. + </p> + <p> + “I am obliged to you, sir; much obliged to you,” he added, for he + reflected what eighty pounds were to him just then. + </p> + <p> + “It is my descendants who are obliged to you,” replied the gentleman; “the + picture is immortal!” + </p> + <p> + These words were an epoch in the painter's life. + </p> + <p> + The grave, silent inspection that had preceded them, the cool, deliberate, + masterly tone in which they were said, made them oracular to him. + </p> + <p> + Words of such import took him by surprise. + </p> + <p> + He had thirsted for average praise in vain. + </p> + <p> + A hand had taken him, and placed him at the top of the tree. + </p> + <p> + He retired abruptly, or he would have burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + He ran to his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said he, “I am a painter; I always thought so at bottom, but I + suppose it is the height of my ideas makes me discontented with my work.” + </p> + <p> + “What has happened?' + </p> + <p> + “There is a critic in my room. I had no idea there was a critic in the + creation, and there is one in my room. + </p> + <p> + “Has he bought your picture, my poor boy?” said Mrs. Gatty, distrustfully. + </p> + <p> + To her surprise he replied: + </p> + <p> + “Yes! he has got it; only eighty pounds for an immortal picture.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gatty was overjoyed, Gatty was a little sad; but, reviving, he + professed himself glad; the picture was going to a judge. + </p> + <p> + “It is not much money,” said he, “but the man has spoken words that are + ten thousand pounds to me.” + </p> + <p> + He returned to the room; his visitor, hat in hand, was about to go; a few + words were spoken about the art of painting, this led to a conversation, + and then to a short discussion. + </p> + <p> + The newcomer soon showed Mr. Charles Gatty his ignorance of facts. + </p> + <p> + This man had sat quietly before a multitude of great pictures, new and + old, in England. + </p> + <p> + He cooled down Charles Gatty, Esq., monopolist of nature and truth. + </p> + <p> + He quoted to him thirty painters in Germany, who paint every stroke of a + landscape in the open air, and forty in various nations who had done it in + times past. + </p> + <p> + “You, sir,” he went on, “appear to hang on the skirts of a certain clique, + who handle the brush well, but draw ill, and look at nature through the + spectacles of certain ignorant painters who spoiled canvas four hundred + years ago. + </p> + <p> + “Go no further in that direction. + </p> + <p> + “Those boys, like all quacks, have one great truth which they disfigure + with more than one falsehood. + </p> + <p> + “Hold fast their truth, which is a truth the world has always possessed, + though its practice has been confined to the honest and laborious few. + </p> + <p> + “Eschew their want of mind and taste. + </p> + <p> + “Shrink with horror from that profane <i>culte de laideur,</i> that 'love + of the lopsided,' they have recovered from the foul receptacles of decayed + art.” + </p> + <p> + He reminded him further, that “Art is not imitation, but illusion; that a + plumber and glazier of our day and a medieval painter are more alike than + any two representatives of general styles that can be found; and for the + same reason, namely, that with each of these art is in its infancy; these + two sets of bunglers have not learned how to produce the illusions of + art.” + </p> + <p> + To all this he added a few words of compliment on the mind, as well as + mechanical dexterity, of the purchased picture, bade him good morning, and + glided away like a passing sunbeam. + </p> + <p> + “A mother's blessing is a great thing to have, and to deserve,” said Mrs. + Gatty, who had rejoined her son. + </p> + <p> + “It is, indeed,” said Charles. He could not help being struck by the + coincidence. + </p> + <p> + He had made a sacrifice to his mother, and in a few hours one of his + troubles had melted away. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of these reflections arrived Mr. Saunders with a note. + </p> + <p> + The note contained a check for one hundred and fifty pounds, with these + lines, in which the writer excused himself for the amendment: “I am a + painter myself,” said he, “and it is impossible that eighty pounds can + remunerate the time expended on this picture, to say nothing of the + skill.” + </p> + <p> + We have treated this poor boy's picture hitherto with just contempt, but + now that it is gone into a famous collection, mind, we always admired it; + we always said so, we take our oath we did; if we have hitherto deferred + framing it, that was merely because it was not sold. + </p> + <p> + MR. GATTY'S PICTURE, AT PRESENT IN THE COLLECTION OF LORD IPSDEN! + </p> + <p> + There was, hundreds of years ago, a certain Bishop of Durham, who used to + fight in person against the Scotch, and defeat them. When he was not with + his flock, the northern wolves sometimes scattered it; but when the holy + father was there with his prayers and his battle-ax, England won the day! + </p> + <p> + This nettled the Scottish king, so he penetrated one day, with a large + band, as far as Durham itself, and for a short time blocked the prelate up + in his stronghold. This was the period of Mr. Gatty's picture. + </p> + <p> + Whose title was: + </p> + <p> + <i>“Half Church of God, half Tower against the Scot.”</i> + </p> + <p> + In the background was the cathedral, on the towers of which paced to and + fro men in armor, with the western sun glittering thereon. In the center, + a horse and cart, led by a boy, were carrying a sheaf of arrows, tied with + a straw band. In part of the foreground was the prelate, in a half suit of + armor, but bareheaded; he was turning away from the boy to whom his + sinking hand had indicated his way into the holy castle, and his benignant + glance rested on a child, whom its mother was holding up for his + benediction. In the foreground the afternoon beams sprinkled gold on a + long grassy slope, corresponding to the elevation on which the cathedral + stood, separated by the river Wear from the group; and these calm beauties + of Nature, with the mother and child, were the peaceful side of this + twofold story. + </p> + <p> + Such are the dry details. But the soul of its charm no pen can fling on + paper. For the stately cathedral stood and lived; the little leaves + slumbered yet lived; and the story floated and lived, in the potable gold + of summer afternoon. + </p> + <p> + To look at this painted poem was to feel a thrill of pleasure in bare + existence; it went through the eyes, where paintings stop, and warmed the + depths and recesses of the heart with its sunshine and its glorious air. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + “WHAT is in the wind this dark night? Six Newhaven boats and twenty boys + and hobbledehoys, hired by the Johnstones at half a crown each for a + night's job.” + </p> + <p> + “Secret service!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it for?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is a smuggling lay,” suggested Flucker, “but we shall know all + in good time.” + </p> + <p> + “Smuggling!” Their countenances fell; they had hoped for something more + nearly approaching the illegal. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe she has fand the herrin',” said a ten-year-old. + </p> + <p> + “Haw! haw! haw!” went the others. “She find the herrin', when there's five + hundred fishermen after them baith sides the Firrth.” + </p> + <p> + The youngster was discomfited. + </p> + <p> + In fact the expedition bore no signs of fishing. + </p> + <p> + The six boats sailed at sundown, led by Flucker. He brought to on the + south side of Inch Keith, and nothing happened for about an hour. + </p> + <p> + Then such boys as were awake saw two great eyes of light coming up from + Granton; rattle went the chain cable, and Lord Ipsden's cutter swung at + anchor in four fathom water. + </p> + <p> + A thousand questions to Flucker. + </p> + <p> + A single puff of tobacco-smoke was his answer. + </p> + <p> + And now crept up a single eye of light from Leith; she came among the + boats; the boys recognized a crazy old cutter from Leith harbor, with + Christie Johnstone on board. + </p> + <p> + “What is that brown heap on her deck?” + </p> + <p> + “A mountain of nets—fifty stout herring-nets.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Tunc manifesta fides.</i> + </p> + <p> + A yell burst from all the boys. + </p> + <p> + “He's gaun to tak us to Dunbar.” + </p> + <p> + “Half a crown! ye're no blate.” + </p> + <p> + Christie ordered the boats alongside her cutter, and five nets were + dropped into each boat, six into Flucker's. + </p> + <p> + The depth of the water was given them, and they were instructed to shoot + their nets so as to keep a fathom and a half above the rocky bottom. + </p> + <p> + A herring net is simply a wall of meshes twelve feet deep, fifty feet + long; it sinks to a vertical position by the weight of net twine, and is + kept from sinking to the bottom of the sea by bladders or corks. These + nets are tied to one another, and paid out at the stern of the boat. Boat + and nets drift with the tide; if, therefore, the nets touched the rocks + they would be torn to pieces, and the fisherman ruined. + </p> + <p> + And this saves the herring—that fish lies hours and hours at the + very bottom of the sea like a stone, and the poor fisherman shall drive + with his nets a yard or two over a square mile of fish, and not catch a + herring tail; on the other hand, if they rise to play for five minutes, in + that five minutes they shall fill seven hundred boats. + </p> + <p> + At nine o'clock all the boats had shot their nets, and Christie went + alongside his lordship's cutter; he asked her many questions about herring + fishery, to which she gave clear answers, derived from her father, who had + always been what the fishermen call a lucky fisherman; that is, he had + opened his eyes and judged for himself. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden then gave her blue lights to distribute among the boats, that + the first which caught herring might signal all hands. + </p> + <p> + This was done, and all was expectation. Eleven o'clock came—no + signal from any boat. + </p> + <p> + Christie became anxious. At last she went round to the boats; found the + boys all asleep except the baddish boy; waked them up, and made them all + haul in their first net. The nets came in as black as ink, no sign of a + herring. + </p> + <p> + There was but one opinion; there was no herring at Inch Keith; they had + not been there this seven years. + </p> + <p> + At last, Flucker, to whom she came in turn, told her he was going into two + fathom water, where he would let out the bladders and drop the nets on + their cursed backs. + </p> + <p> + A strong remonstrance was made by Christie, but the baddish boy insisted + that he had an equal right in all her nets, and, setting his sail, he ran + into shoal water. + </p> + <p> + Christie began to be sorrowful; instead of making money, she was going to + throw it away, and the ne'er-do-weel Flucker would tear six nets from the + ropes. + </p> + <p> + Flucker hauled down his sail, and unstepped his mast in two fathom water; + but he was not such a fool as to risk his six nets; he devoted one to his + experiment, and did it well; he let out his bladder line a fathom, so that + one half his net would literally be higgledy-piggledy with the rocks, + unless the fish were there <i>en masse.</i> + </p> + <p> + No long time was required. + </p> + <p> + In five minutes he began to haul in the net; first, the boys hauled in the + rope, and then the net began to approach the surface. Flucker looked + anxiously down, the other lads incredulously; suddenly they all gave a + yell of triumph—an appearance of silver and lightning mixed had + glanced up from the bottom; in came the first two yards of the net—there + were three herrings in it. These three proved Flucker's point as well as + three million. + </p> + <p> + They hauled in the net. Before they had a quarter of it in, the net came + up to the surface, and the sea was alive with molten silver. The upper + half of the net was empty, but the lower half was one solid mass of fish. + </p> + <p> + The boys could not find a mesh, they had nothing to handle but fish. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the easternmost boat showed a blue light. + </p> + <p> + “The fish are rising,” said Flucker, “we'll na risk nae mair nets.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after this a sort of song was heard from the boat that had showed a + light. Flucker, who had got his net in, ran down to her, and found, as he + suspected, that the boys had not power to draw the weight of fish over the + gunwale. + </p> + <p> + They were singing, as sailors do, that they might all pull together; he + gave them two of his crew, and ran down to his own skipper. + </p> + <p> + The said skipper gave him four men. + </p> + <p> + Another blue light! + </p> + <p> + Christie and her crew came a little nearer the boats, and shot twelve + nets. + </p> + <p> + The yachtsmen entered the sport with zeal, so did his lordship. + </p> + <p> + The boats were all full in a few minutes, and nets still out. + </p> + <p> + Then Flucker began to fear some of these nets would sink with the weight + of fish; for the herring die after a while in a net, and a dead herring + sinks. + </p> + <p> + What was to be done? + </p> + <p> + They got two boats alongside the cutter, and unloaded them into her as + well as they could; but before they could half do this the other boats + hailed them. + </p> + <p> + They came to one of them; the boys were struggling with a thing which no + stranger would have dreamed was a net. + </p> + <p> + Imagine a white sheet, fifty feet long, varnished with red-hot silver. + There were twenty barrels in this single net. By dint of fresh hands they + got half of her in, and then the meshes began to break; the men leaned + over the gunwale, and put their arms round blocks and masses of fish, and + so flung them on board; and the codfish and dogfish snapped them almost + out of the men's hands like tigers. + </p> + <p> + At last they came to a net which was a double wall of herring; it had been + some time in the water, and many of the fish were dead; they tried their + best, but it was impracticable; they laid hold of the solid herring, and + when they lifted up a hundred-weight clear of the water, away it all tore, + and sank back again. + </p> + <p> + They were obliged to cut away this net, with twenty pounds sterling in + her. They cut away the twine from the head-ropes, and net and fish went to + the bottom. + </p> + <p> + All hands were now about the cutter; Christie's nets were all strong and + new; they had been some time in the water; in hauling them up her side, + quantities of fish fell out of the net into the water, but there were + enough left. + </p> + <p> + She averaged twelve barrels a net. + </p> + <p> + Such of the yawls as were not quite full crept between the cutter and the + nets, and caught all they wanted. + </p> + <p> + The projector of this fortunate speculation suddenly announced that she + was very sleepy. + </p> + <p> + Flucker rolled her up in a sail, and she slept the sleep of infancy on + board her cutter. + </p> + <p> + When she awoke it was seven o'clock in the morning, and her cutter was + creeping with a smart breeze about two miles an hour, a mile from Newhaven + pier. + </p> + <p> + The yacht had returned to Granton, and the yawls, very low in the water, + were creeping along like snails, with both sails set. + </p> + <p> + The news was in Edinburgh long before they landed. They had been discerned + under Inch Keith at the dawn. + </p> + <p> + And the manner of their creeping along, when there was such a breeze, told + the tale at once to the keen, experienced eyes that are sure to be + scanning the sea. + </p> + <p> + Donkey-carts came rattling down from the capital. + </p> + <p> + Merchants came pelting down to Newhaven pier. + </p> + <p> + The whole story began to be put together by bits, and comprehended. Old + Johnstone's cleverness was recalled to mind. + </p> + <p> + The few fishermen left at Newhaven were ready to kill themselves. + </p> + <p> + Their wives were ready to do the same good office for La Johnstone. + </p> + <p> + Four Irish merchants agreed to work together, and to make a show of + competition, the better to keep the price down within bounds. + </p> + <p> + It was hardly fair, four men against one innocent unguarded female. + </p> + <p> + But this is a wicked world. + </p> + <p> + Christie landed, and proceeded to her own house; on the way she was met by + Jean Carnie, who debarrassed her of certain wrappers, and a handkerchief + she had tied round her head, and informed her she was the pride of + Newhaven. + </p> + <p> + She next met these four little merchants, one after another. + </p> + <p> + And since we ought to dwell as little as possible upon scenes in which + unguarded innocence is exposed to artful conspiracies, we will put a page + or two into the brute form of dramatic dialogue, and so sail through it + quicker. + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Merchant.</i> “Where are ye going, Meggie?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie Johnstone.</i> “If onybody asks ye, say ye dinna ken.” + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Mer.</i> “Will ye sell your fish?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Suner than gie them.” + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Mer.</i> “You will be asking fifteen shillin' the cran.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “And ten to that.” + </p> + <p> + <i>1st Mer.</i> “Good-morning.” + </p> + <p> + <i>2d Mer.</i> “Would he not go over fifteen shillings? Oh, the thief o' + the world!—I'll give sixteen.” + </p> + <p> + <i>3d Mer.</i> “But I'll give eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + <i>2d Mer.</i> “More fool you! Take him up, my girl.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Twenty-five is my price the day.” + </p> + <p> + <i>3d Mer.</i> “You will keep them till Sunday week and sell their bones.” + </p> + <p> + <i>[Exeunt the three Merchants. Enter 4th Merchant.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>4th Mer.</i> “Are your fish sold? I'll give sixteen shillings.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “I'm seeking twenty-five, an' I'm offered eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + <i>4th Mer.</i> “Take it.” <i>[Exit.</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “They hae putten their heads thegither.” + </p> + <p> + Here Flucker came up to her, and told her there was a Leith merchant + looking for her. “And, Custy,” said he, “there's plenty wind getting up, + your fish will be sair hashed; put them off your hands, I rede ye.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Ay, lad! Flucker, hide, an' when I play my hand sae, + ye'll run in an cry, 'Cirsty, the Irishman will gie ye twenty-two schellin + the cran.'” + </p> + <p> + <i>Flucker.</i> “Ye ken mair than's in the catecheesm, for as releegious + as ye are.” + </p> + <p> + The Leith merchant was Mr. Miller, and this is the way he worked. + </p> + <p> + <i>Miller (in a mellifluous voice).</i> “Are ye no fatigued, my deear?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie (affecting fatigue).</i> “Indeed, sir, and I am.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Miller.</i> “Shall I have the pleasure to deal wi' ye?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “If it's your pleasure, sir. I'm seekin' twenty-five + schellin.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Miller (pretending not to hear).</i> “As you are a beginner, I must + offer fair; twenty schellin you shall have, and that's three shillings + above Dunbar.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Wad ye even carted herrin with my fish caller fra' the + sea? and Dunbar—oh, fine! ye ken there's nae herrin at Dunbar the + morn; this is the Dunbar schule that slipped westward. I'm the matirket, + ye'll hae to buy o' me or gang to your bed” <i>(here she signaled to + Flucker).</i> “I'll no be oot o' mine lang.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Enter Flucker hastily, crying:</i> “Cirsty, the Irishman will gie ye + twenty-two schellin.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll no tak it,” said Christie. + </p> + <p> + “They are keen to hae them,” said Flucker; and hastily retired, as if to + treat further with the small merchants. + </p> + <p> + On this, Mr. Miller, pretending to make for Leith, said, carelessly, + “Twenty-three shillings, or they are not for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Tak the cutter's freight at a hundre' cran, an' I'm no caring,” said + Christie. + </p> + <p> + “They are mine!” said Mr. Miller, very sharply. “How much shall I give you + the day?” + </p> + <p> + “Auchty pund, sir, if you please—the lave when you like; I ken ye, + Mr. Miller.” + </p> + <p> + While counting her the notes, the purchaser said slyly to her: + </p> + <p> + “There's more than a hundred cran in the cutter, my woman.” + </p> + <p> + “A little, sir,” replied the vender; “but, ere I could count them till ye + by baskets, they would lose seven or eight cran in book,* your gain, my + loss.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *Bulk. +</pre> + <p> + “You are a vara intelligent young person,” said Mr. Miller, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Ye had measured them wi' your walking-stick, sir; there's just ae scale + ye didna wipe off, though ye are a carefu' mon, Mr. Miller; sae I laid the + bait for ye an' fine ye took it.” + </p> + <p> + Miller took out his snuff-box, and tapping it said: + </p> + <p> + “Will ye go into partnership with me, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, sir!” was the reply. “When I'm aulder an' ye're younger.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the four merchants, believing it useless to disguise their + co-operation, returned to see what could be done. + </p> + <p> + “We shall give you a guinea a barrel.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, ye offered her twenty-two shillings before.” + </p> + <p> + “That we never did, Mr. Miller.” + </p> + <p> + “Haw! haw!” went Flucker. + </p> + <p> + Christie looked down and blushed. + </p> + <p> + Eyes met eyes, and without a word spoken all was comprehended and silently + approved. There was no nonsense uttered about morality in connection with + dealing. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Miller took an enormous pinch of snuff, and drew for the benefit of + all present the following inference: + </p> + <p> + MR. MILLER'S APOTHEGM. + </p> + <p> + “Friends and neighbors! when a man's heed is gray with age and thoucht <i>(pause)</i> + he's just fit to go to schule to a young lass o' twenty.” + </p> + <p> + There was a certain middle-aged fishwife, called Beeny Liston, a tenant of + Christie Johnstone's; she had not paid her rent for some time, and she had + not been pressed for it; whether this, or the whisky she was in the habit + of taking, rankled in her mind, certain it is she had always an ill word + for her landlady. + </p> + <p> + She now met her, envied her success, and called out in a coarse tone: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ye're a gallant quean; ye'll be waur than ever the noo.” + </p> + <p> + “What's wrang, if ye please?” said the Johnstone, sharply. + </p> + <p> + Reader, did you ever see two fallow bucks commence a duel? + </p> + <p> + They strut round, eight yards apart, tails up, look carefully another way + to make the other think it all means nothing, and, being both equally sly, + their horns come together as if by concert. + </p> + <p> + Even so commenced this duel of tongues between these two heroines. + </p> + <p> + Beeny Liston, looking at everybody but Christie, addressed the natives who + were congregating thus: + </p> + <p> + “Did ever ye hear o' a decent lass taking the herrin' oot o' the men's + mooths?—is yon a woman's pairt, I'm asking ye?” + </p> + <p> + On this, Christie, looking carefully at all the others except Beeny, + inquired with an air of simple curiosity: + </p> + <p> + “Can onybody tell me wha Liston Carnie's drunken wife is speakin' till? no + to ony decent lass, though. Na! ye ken she wad na hae th' impudence!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ye ken fine I'm speakin' till yoursel'.” + </p> + <p> + Here the horns clashed together. + </p> + <p> + “To me, woman?” <i>(with admirably acted surprise.)</i> “Oo, ay! it will + be for the twa years' rent you're awin me. Giest!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Beeny Liston.</i> “Ye're just the impudentest girrl i' the toon, an' ye + hae proved it the day” (her arms akimbo). + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie (arms akimbo).</i> “Me, impudent? how daur ye speak against my + charackter, that's kenned for decency o' baith sides the Firrth.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Beeny (contemptuously).</i> “Oh, ye're sly enough to beguile the men, + but we ken ye.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “I'm no sly, and” <i>(drawing near and hissing the words)</i> + “I'm no like the woman Jean an' I saw in Rose Street, dead drunk on the + causeway, while her mon was working for her at sea. If ye're no ben your + hoose in ae minute, I'll say that will gar Liston Carnie fling ye ower the + pier-head, ye fool-moothed drunken leear—Scairt!”* + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *A local word; a corruption from the French <i>Sortez.</i> +</pre> + <p> + If my reader has seen and heard Mademoiselle Rachel utter her famous <i>Sortez,</i> + in “Virginie,” he knows exactly with what a gesture and tone the Johnstone + uttered this word. + </p> + <p> + <i>Beeny (in a voice of whining surprise).</i> “Hech! what a spite Flucker + Johnstone's dochter has taen against us.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Scairt!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Beeny (in a coaxing voice, and moving a step).</i> “Aweel! what's a' + your paession, my boenny woman?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Christie.</i> “Scairt!” + </p> + <p> + Beeny retired before the thunder and lightning of indignant virtue. + </p> + <p> + Then all the fishboys struck up a dismal chant of victory. + </p> + <p> + “Yoo-hoo—Custy's won the day—Beeny's scair<i>tit,”</i> going + up on the last syllable. + </p> + <p> + Christie moved slowly away toward her own house, but before she could + reach the door she began to whimper—little fool. + </p> + <p> + Thereat chorus of young Athenians chanted: + </p> + <p> + “Yu-hoo! come back, Beeny, ye'll maybe win yet. Custy's away gree<i>tin”</i> + <i>(going up on the last syllable).</i> + </p> + <p> + “I'm no greetin, ye rude bairns,” said Christie, bursting into tears, and + retiring as soon as she had effected that proof of her philosophy. + </p> + <p> + It was about four hours later; Christie had snatched some repose. The + wind, as Flucker prognosticated, had grown into a very heavy gale, and the + Firth was brown and boiling. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a clamor was heard on the shore, and soon after a fishwife made + her appearance, with rather a singular burden. + </p> + <p> + Her husband, ladies; <i>rien que cela.</i> + </p> + <p> + She had him by the scruff of the neck; he was <i>dos-'a-dos,</i> with his + booted legs kicking in the air, and his fists making warlike but idle + demonstrations and his mouth uttering ineffectual bad language. + </p> + <p> + This worthy had been called a coward by Sandy Liston, and being about to + fight with him, and get thrashed, his wife had whipped him up and carried + him away; she now flung him down, at some risk of his equilibrium. + </p> + <p> + “Ye are not fit to feicht wi' Sandy Liston,” said she; “if ye are for + feichtin, here's for ye.” + </p> + <p> + As a comment to this proposal, she tucked up the sleeves of her short + gown. He tried to run by her; she caught him by the bosom, and gave him a + violent push, that sent him several paces backward; he looked half fierce, + half astounded; ere he could quite recover himself, his little servant + forced a pipe into his hand, and he smoked contented and peaceable. + </p> + <p> + Before tobacco the evil passions fall, they tell me. + </p> + <p> + The cause of this quarrel soon explained itself; up came Sandy Liston, + cursing and swearing. + </p> + <p> + “What! ye hae gotten till your wife's; that's the place for ye; to say + there's a brig in distress, and ye'll let her go on the rocks under your + noses. But what are ye afraid o'? there's na danger?” + </p> + <p> + “Nae danger!” said one of the reproached, “are ye fou?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye are fou wi' fear yoursel'; of a' the beasts that crawl the airth, a + cooward is the ugliest, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “The wifes will no let us,” said one, sulkily. + </p> + <p> + “It's the woman in your hairts that keeps ye,” roared Sandy hoarsely; + “curse ye, ye are sure to dee ane day, and ye are sure to be——!” + (a past participle) “soon or late, what signifies when? Oh! curse the hour + ever I was born amang sic a cooardly crew.” <i>(Gun at sea.)</i> + </p> + <p> + “There!” + </p> + <p> + “She speaks till ye, hersel'; she cries for maircy; to think that, of a' + that hear ye cry, Alexander Liston is the only mon mon enough to answer.” + <i>(Gun.)</i> + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken, Mr. Alexander Liston,” said a clear, smart voice, whose + owner had mingled unobserved with the throng; “there are always men to + answer such occasions; now, my lads, your boats have plenty of beam, and, + well handled, should live in any sea; who volunteers with Alexander Liston + and me?” + </p> + <p> + The speaker was Lord Ipsden. + </p> + <p> + The fishwives of Newhaven, more accustomed to measure men than poor little + Lady Barbara Sinclair, saw in this man what in point of fact he was—a + cool, daring devil, than whom none more likely to lead men into mortal + danger, or pull them through it, for that matter. + </p> + <p> + They recognized their natural enemy, and collected together against him, + like hens at the sight of a hawk. + </p> + <p> + “And would you really entice our men till their death?” + </p> + <p> + “My life's worth as much as theirs, I suppose. + </p> + <p> + “Nae! your life! it's na worth a button; when you dee, your next kin will + dance, and wha'll greet? but our men hae wife and bairns to look till.” <i>(Gun + at sea.)</i> + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I didn't look at it in that light,” said Lord Ipsden. He then + demanded paper and ink; Christie Johnstone, who had come out of her house, + supplied it from her treasures, and this cool hand actually began to + convey a hundred and fifty thousand pounds away, upon a sheet of paper + blowing in the wind; when he had named his residuary legatee, and disposed + of certain large bequests, he came to the point— + </p> + <p> + “Christie Johnstone, what can these people live on? two hundred a year? + living is cheap here—confound the wind!” + </p> + <p> + “Twahundred? Fifty! Vile count.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't call me vile count. I am Ipsden, and my name's Richard. Now, then, + be smart with your names.” + </p> + <p> + Three men stepped forward, gave their names, had their widows provided + for, and went for their sou'westers, etc. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” said Lord Ipsden, writing. “To Christina Johnstone, out of respect + for her character, one thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Richard! dinna gang,” cried Christie, “oh, dinna gang, dinna gang, dinna + gang; it's no your business.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you lend me your papa's Flushing jacket and sou'wester, my dear? If + I was sure to be drowned, I'd go!” + </p> + <p> + Christie ran in for them. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, discomposed by the wind, and by feelings whose existence + neither he, nor I, nor any one suspected, Saunders, after a sore struggle + between the frail man and the perfect domestic, blurted out: + </p> + <p> + “My lord, I beg your lordship's pardon, but it blows tempestuous.” + </p> + <p> + “That is why the brig wants us,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + “My lord, I beg your lordship's pardon,” whimpered Saunders. “But, oh! my + lord, don't go; it's all very well for fishermen to be drowned; it is + their business, but not yours, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Saunders, help me on with this coat.” + </p> + <p> + Christie had brought it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord,” said Saunders, briskly, his second nature reviving. + </p> + <p> + His lordship, while putting on the coat and hat, undertook to cool Mr. + Saunders's aristocratic prejudices. + </p> + <p> + “Should Alexander Liston and I be drowned,” said he, coolly, “when our + bones come ashore, you will not know which are the fisherman's and which + the viscount's.” So saying, he joined the enterprise. + </p> + <p> + “I shall pray for ye, lad,” said Christie Johnstone, and she retired for + that purpose. + </p> + <p> + Saunders, with a heavy heart, to the nearest tavern, to prepare an account + of what he called “Heroism in High Life,” large letters, and the usual + signs of great astonishment!!!!! for the <i>Polytechnic Magazine.</i> + </p> + <p> + The commander of the distressed vessel had been penny-wise. He had + declined a pilot off the Isle of May, trusting to fall in with one close + to the port of Leith; but a heavy gale and fog had come on; he knew + himself in the vicinity of dangerous rocks; and, to make matters worse, + his ship, old and sore battered by a long and stormy voyage, was leaky; + and unless a pilot came alongside, his fate would be, either to founder, + or run upon the rocks, where he must expect to go to pieces in a quarter + of an hour. + </p> + <p> + The Newhaven boat lay in comparatively smooth water, on the lee side of + the pier. + </p> + <p> + Our adventurers got into her, stepped the mast, set a small sail, and ran + out! Sandy Liston held the sheet, passed once round the belaying-pin, and + whenever a larger wave than usual came at them, he slacked the sheet, and + the boat, losing her way, rose gently, like a cork, upon seas that had + seemed about to swallow her. + </p> + <p> + But seen from the shore it was enough to make the most experienced wince; + so completely was this wooden shell lost to sight, as she descended from a + wave, that each time her reappearance seemed a return from the dead. + </p> + <p> + The weather was misty—the boat was soon lost sight of; the story + remains ashore. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + IT was an hour later; the natives of the New Town had left the pier, and + were about their own doors, when three Buckhaven fishermen came slowly up + from the pier; these men had arrived in one of their large fishing-boats, + which defy all weather. + </p> + <p> + The men came slowly up; their petticoat trousers were drenched, and their + neck-handkerchiefs and hair were wet with spray. + </p> + <p> + At the foot of the New Town they stood still and whispered to each other. + </p> + <p> + There was something about these men that drew the eye of Newhaven upon + them. + </p> + <p> + In the first place a Buckhaven man rarely communicates with natives of + Newhaven, except at the pier, where he brings in his cod and ling from the + deep sea, flings them out like stones, and sells them to the fishwives; + then up sail and away for Fifeshire. + </p> + <p> + But these men evidently came ashore to speak to some one in the town. + </p> + <p> + They whispered together; something appeared to be proposed and demurred + to; but at last two went slowly back toward the pier, and the eldest + remained, with a fisherman's long mackintosh coat in his hand which the + others had given him as they left him. + </p> + <p> + With this in his hand, the Buckhaven fisherman stood in an irresolute + posture; he looked down, and seemed to ask himself what course he should + take. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrang?” said Jean Carnie, who, with her neighbors, had observed + the men; “I wish yon man may na hae ill news.” + </p> + <p> + “What ill news wad he hae?” replied another. + </p> + <p> + “Are ony freends of Liston Carnie here?” said the fisherman. + </p> + <p> + “The wife's awa' to Granton, Beeny Liston they ca' her—there's his + house,” added Jean, pointing up the row. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said the fisherman, “I ken he lived there.” + </p> + <p> + “Lived there!” cried Christie Johnstone. “Oh, what's this?” + </p> + <p> + “Freends,” said the man, gravely, “his boat is driving keel uppermost in + Kircauldy Bay. We passed her near enough to read the name upon her.” + </p> + <p> + “But the men will have won to shore, please God?” + </p> + <p> + The fisherman shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “She'll hae coupit a mile wast Inch Keith, an' the tide rinning aff the + island an' a heavy sea gaun. This is a' Newhaven we'll see of them” <i>(holding + up the coat)</i> “till they rise to the top in three weeks' time.” + </p> + <p> + The man then took the coat, which was now seen to be drenched with water, + and hung it up on a line not very far from its unfortunate owner's house. + Then, in the same grave and subdued tone in which he had spoken all along, + he said, “We are sorry to bring siccan a tale into your toon,” and slowly + moved off to rejoin his comrades, who had waited for him at no great + distance. They then passed through the Old Town, and in five minutes the + calamity was known to the whole place. + </p> + <p> + After the first stupor, the people in the New Town collected into knots, + and lamented their hazardous calling, and feared for the lives of those + that had just put to sea in this fatal gale for the rescue of strangers, + and the older ones failed not to match this present sorrow with others + within their recollection. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of this, Flucker Johnstone came hastily in from the Old Town + and told them he had seen the wife, Beeny Liston, coming through from + Granton. + </p> + <p> + The sympathy of all was instantly turned in this direction. + </p> + <p> + “She would hear the news.” + </p> + <p> + “It would fall on her like a thunderclap.” + </p> + <p> + “What would become of her?” + </p> + <p> + Every eye was strained toward the Old Town, and soon the poor woman was + seen about to emerge from it; but she was walking in her usual way, and + they felt she could not carry her person so if she knew. + </p> + <p> + At the last house she was seen to stop and speak to a fisherman and his + wife that stood at their own door. + </p> + <p> + “They are telling her,” was then the cry. + </p> + <p> + Beeny Liston then proceeded on her way. + </p> + <p> + Every eye was strained. + </p> + <p> + No! they had not told her. + </p> + <p> + She came gayly on, the unconscious object of every eye and every heart. + </p> + <p> + The hands of this people were hard, and their tongues rude, but they + shrunk from telling this poor woman of her bereavement—they thought + it kinder she should know it under her own roof, from her friends or + neighbors, than from comparative strangers. + </p> + <p> + She drew near her own door. + </p> + <p> + And now a knot collected round Christie Johnstone, and urged her to + undertake the sad task. + </p> + <p> + “You that speak sa learned, Christie, ye should tell her; we daur na.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell her?” said Christie, turning pale. “How will I tell her? + I'se try.” + </p> + <p> + She took one trembling step to meet the woman. + </p> + <p> + Beeny's eye fell upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Ay! here's the Queen o' Newhaven,” cried she, in a loud and rather coarse + voice. “The men will hae ta leave the place now y' are turned fisherman, I + daur say.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dinna fieicht on me! dinna fieicht on me!” cried Christie, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Maircy on us,” said the other, “auld Flucker Johnstone's dochter turned + humble. What next?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm vexed for speaking back till ye the morn,” faltered Christie. + </p> + <p> + “Hett,” said the woman carelessly, “let yon flea stick i' the wa'. I fancy + I began on ye. Aweel, Cirsty,” said she, falling into a friendlier tone; + “it's the place we live in spoils us—Newhaven's an impudent toon, as + sure as deeth. + </p> + <p> + “I passed through the Auld Toon the noo—a place I never speak in; + an' if they did na glower at me as I had been a strange beast. + </p> + <p> + “They cam' to their very doors to glower at me; if ye'll believe me, I + thoucht shame. + </p> + <p> + “At the hinder end my paassion got up, and I faced a wife East-by, and I + said, 'What gars ye glower at me that way, ye ignorant woman?' ye would na + think it, she answered like honey itsel'. 'I'm askin' your paarrdon,' says + she; and her mon by her side said, 'Gang hame to your ain hoose, my woman, + and Gude help ye, and help us a' at our need,' the decent mon. 'It's just + there I'm for,' said I, 'to get my mon his breakfast.'” + </p> + <p> + All who heard her drew their breath with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + The woman then made for her own house, but in going up the street she + passed the wet coat hanging on the line. + </p> + <p> + She stopped directly. + </p> + <p> + They all trembled—they had forgotten the coat—it was all over; + the coat would tell the tale. + </p> + <p> + “Aweel,” said she, “I could sweer that's Liston Carnie's coat, a droukit + wi' the rain;” then she looked again at it, and added, slowly, “if I did + na ken he has his away wi' him at the piloting.” And in another moment she + was in her own house, leaving them all standing there half stupefied. + </p> + <p> + Christie had indeed endeavored to speak, but her tongue had cloven to her + mouth. + </p> + <p> + While they stood looking at one another, and at Beeny Liston's door, a + voice that seemed incredibly rough, loud and harsh, jarred upon them; it + was Sandy Liston, who came in from Leith, shouting: + </p> + <p> + “Fifty pounds for salvage, lasses! is na thaat better than staying + cooard-like aside the women?” + </p> + <p> + “Whisht! whisht!” cried Christie. + </p> + <p> + “We are in heavy sorrow; puir Liston Cairnie and his son Willy lie deed at + the bottom o' the Firrth.” + </p> + <p> + “Gude help us!” said Sandy, and his voice sank. + </p> + <p> + “An', oh, Sandy, the wife does na ken, and it's hairt-breaking to see her, + and hear her; we canna get her tell't; ye're the auldest mon here; ye'll + tell her, will ye no, Sandy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, me, that' I will not!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; ye are kenned for your stoot heart, an' courage; ye come fra' + facing the sea an' wind in a bit yawl.” + </p> + <p> + “The sea and the wind,” cried he, contemptuously; “they be ——, + I'm used wi' them; but to look a woman i' the face, an' tell her her mon + and her son are drowned since yestreen, I hae na coorage for that.” + </p> + <p> + All further debate was cut short by the entrance of one who came expressly + to discharge the sad duty all had found so difficult. It was the + Presbyterian clergyman of the place; he waved them back. “I know, I know,” + said he, solemnly. “Where is the wife?” + </p> + <p> + She came out of her house at this moment, as it happened, to purchase + something at Drysale's shop, which was opposite. + </p> + <p> + “Beeny,” said the clergyman, “I have sorrowful tidings.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me them, sir,” said she, unmoved. “Is it a deeth?” added she, + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “It is!—death, sudden and terrible; in your own house I must tell it + you—(and may God show me how to break it to her).” + </p> + <p> + He entered her house. + </p> + <p> + “Aweel,” said the woman to the others, “it maun be some far-awa cousin, or + the like, for Liston an' me hae nae near freends. Meg, ye idle fuzzy,” + screamed she to her servant, who was one of the spectators, “your pat is + no on yet; div ye think the men will no be hungry when they come in fra' + the sea?” + </p> + <p> + “They will never hunger nor thirst ony mair,” said Jean, solemnly, as the + bereaved woman entered her own door. + </p> + <p> + There ensued a listless and fearful silence. + </p> + <p> + Every moment some sign of bitter sorrow was expected to break forth from + the house, but none came; and amid the expectation and silence the waves + dashed louder and louder, as it seemed, against the dike, conscious of + what they had done. + </p> + <p> + At last, in a moment, a cry of agony arose, so terrible that all who heard + it trembled, and more than one woman shrieked in return, and fled from the + door, at which, the next moment, the clergyman stood alone, collected, but + pale, and beckoned. Several women advanced. + </p> + <p> + “One woman,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Jean Carnie was admitted; and after a while returned. + </p> + <p> + “She is come to hersel',” whispered she; “I am no weel mysel'.” And she + passed into her own house. + </p> + <p> + Then Flucker crept to the door to see. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dinna spy on her,” cried Christie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Flucker,” said many voices. + </p> + <p> + “He is kneelin',” said Flucker. “He has her hand, to gar her kneel tae—she + winna—she does na see him, nor hear him; he will hae her. He has won + her to kneel—he is prayin, an' greetin aside her. I canna see noo, + my een's blinded.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a gude mon,” said Christie. “Oh, what wad we do without the + ministers?” + </p> + <p> + Sandy Liston had been leaning sorrowfully against the wall of the next + house; he now broke out: + </p> + <p> + “An auld shipmate at the whale-fishing!!! an' noow we'll never lift the + dredging sang thegither again, in yon dirty detch that's droowned him; I + maun hae whisky, an' forget it a'.” + </p> + <p> + He made for the spirit-shop like a madman; but ere he could reach the door + a hand was laid on him like a vise. Christie Johnstone had literally + sprung on him. She hated this horrible vice—had often checked him; + and now it seemed so awful a moment for such a sin, that she forgot the + wild and savage nature of the man, who had struck his own sister, and + seriously hurt her, a month before—she saw nothing but the vice and + its victim, and she seized him by the collar, with a grasp from which he + in vain attempted to shake himself loose. + </p> + <p> + “No! ye'll no gang there at siccan a time.” + </p> + <p> + “Hands off, ye daft jaud,” roared he, “or there'll be another deeth i' the + toon.” + </p> + <p> + At the noise Jean Carnie ran in. + </p> + <p> + “Let the ruffian go,” cried she, in dismay. “Oh, Christie, dinna put your + hand on a lion's mane.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'll put my hand on his mane, ere I'll let him mak a beast o' + himsel'.” + </p> + <p> + “Sandy, if ye hurt her, I'll find twenty lads that will lay ye deed at her + feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Haud your whisht,” said Christie, very sharply, “he's no to be + threetened.” + </p> + <p> + Sandy Liston, black and white with rage, ground his teeth together, and + said, lifting his hand, “Wull ye let me go, or must I tak my hand till + ye?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Christie, “I'll no let ye go, <i>sae look me i' the face; + Flucker's dochter, your auld comrade, that saved your life at Holy Isle, + think o' his face—an' look in mines—an' strike me!!!”</i> + </p> + <p> + They glared on one another—he fiercely and unsteadily; she firmly + and proudly. + </p> + <p> + Jean Carnie said afterward, “Her eyes were like coals of fire.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye are doing what nae mon i' the toon daur; ye are a bauld, unwise + lassy.” + </p> + <p> + “It's you mak me bauld,” was the instant reply. “I saw ye face the mad + sea, to save a ship fra' the rocks, an' will I fear a mon's hand, when I + can save” <i>(rising to double her height)</i> “my feyther's auld freend + fra' the puir mon's enemy, the enemy o' mankind, the cursed, cursed drink? + Oh, Sandy Liston, hoow could ye think to put an enemy in your mooth to + steal awa your brains!” + </p> + <p> + “This 's no Newhaven chat; wha lairns ye sic words o' power?” + </p> + <p> + “A deed mon!” + </p> + <p> + “I would na wonder, y' are no canny; she's ta'en a' the poower oot o' my + body, I think.” Then suddenly descending to a tone of abject submission, + “What's your pleesure, Flucker Johnstone's dochter?” + </p> + <p> + She instantly withdrew the offending grasp, and, leaning affectionately on + his shoulder, she melted into her rich Ionic tones. + </p> + <p> + “It's no a time for sin; ye'll sit by my fire, an' get your dinner; a + bonny haggis hae I for you an' Flucker, an' we'll improve this sorrowfu' + judgment; an' ye'll tell me o' auld times—o' my feyther dear, that + likeit ye weel, Sandy—o' the storrms ye hae weathered, side by side—o' + the muckle whales ye killed Greenland way—an' abune a', o' the lives + ye hae saved at sea, by your daurin an' your skell; an', oh, Sandy, will + na that be better as sit an' poor leequid damnation doown your throat, an' + gie awa the sense an' feeling o' a mon for a sair heed and an ill name?” + </p> + <p> + “I'se gang, my lamb,” said the rough man, quite subdued; “I daur say + whisky will no pass my teeth the day.” + </p> + <p> + And so he went quietly away, and sat by Christie's fireside. + </p> + <p> + Jean and Christie went toward the boats. + </p> + <p> + Jean, after taking it philosophically for half a minute, began to whimper. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrang?” said Christie. + </p> + <p> + “Div ye think my hairt's no in my mooth wi' you gripping yon fierce + robber?” + </p> + <p> + Here a young fishwife, with a box in her hand, who had followed them, + pulled Jean by the coats. + </p> + <p> + “Hets,” said Jean, pulling herself free. + </p> + <p> + The child then, with a pertinacity these little animals have, pulled + Christie's coats. + </p> + <p> + “Hets,” said Christie, freeing herself more gently. + </p> + <p> + “Ye suld mairry Van Amburgh,” continued Jean; “ye are just such a lass as + he is a lad.” + </p> + <p> + Christie smiled proudly, was silent, but did not disown the comparison. + </p> + <p> + The little fishwife, unable to attract attention by pulling, opened her + box, and saying, “Lasses, I'll let ye see my presoner. Hech! he's boenny!” + pulled out a mouse by a string fastened to his tail and set him in the + midst for friendly admiration. + </p> + <p> + “I dinna like it—I dinna like it!” screamed Christie. “Jean, put it + away—it fears me, Jean!” This she uttered (her eyes almost starting + from her head with unaffected terror) at the distance of about eight + yards, whither she had arrived in two bounds that would have done no + discredit to an antelope. + </p> + <p> + “Het,” said Jean, uneasily, “hae ye coowed you savage, to be scared at the + wee beastie?” + </p> + <p> + Christie, looking askant at the animal, explained: “A moose is an awesome + beast—it's no like a mon!” and still her eye was fixed by + fascination upon the four-footed danger. + </p> + <p> + Jean, who had not been herself in genuine tranquillity, now turned + savagely on the little Wombwelless. “An' div ye really think ye are to + come here wi' a' the beasts i' the Airk? Come, awa ye go, the pair o' ye.” + </p> + <p> + These severe words, and a smart push, sent the poor little biped off + roaring, with the string over her shoulder, recklessly dragging the + terrific quadruped, which made fruitless grabs at the shingle.—<i>Moral.</i> + Don't terrify bigger folk than yourself. + </p> + <p> + Christie had intended to go up to Edinburgh with her eighty pounds, but + there was more trouble in store this eventful day. + </p> + <p> + Flucker went out after dinner, and left her with Sandy Liston, who was in + the middle of a yarn, when some one came running in and told her Flucker + was at the pier crying for her. She inquired what was the matter. “Come, + an' ye'll see,” was all the answer. She ran down to the pier. There was + poor Flucker lying on his back; he had slipped from the pier into a boat + that lay alongside; the fall was considerable; for a minute he had been + insensible, then he had been dreadfully sick, and now he was beginning to + feel his hurt; he was in great anguish; nobody knew the extent of his + injuries; he would let nobody touch him; all his cry was for his sister. + At last she came; they all made way for her; he was crying for her as she + came up. + </p> + <p> + “My bairn! my bairn!” cried she, and the poor little fellow smiled, and + tried to raise himself toward her. + </p> + <p> + She lifted him gently in her arms—she was powerful, and affection + made her stronger; she carried him in her arms all the way home, and laid + him on her own bed. Willy Liston, her discarded suitor, ran for the + surgeon. There were no bones broken, but his ankle was severely sprained, + and he had a terrible bruise on the loins; his dark, ruddy face was + streaked and pale; but he never complained after he found himself at home. + </p> + <p> + Christie hovered round him, a ministering angel, applying to him with a + light and loving hand whatever could ease his pain; and he watched her + with an expression she had never noticed in his eye before. + </p> + <p> + At last, after two hours' silence, he made her sit in full view, and then + he spoke to her; and what think you was the subject of his discourse? + </p> + <p> + He turned to and told her, one after another, without preface, all the + loving things she had done to him ever since he was five years old. Poor + boy, he had never shown much gratitude, but he had forgotten nothing, + literally nothing. + </p> + <p> + Christie was quite overcome with this unexpected trait; she drew him + gently to her bosom, and wept over him; and it was sweet to see a brother + and sister treat each other almost like lovers, as these two began to do—they + watched each other's eye so tenderly. + </p> + <p> + This new care kept the sister in her own house all the next day; but + toward the evening Jean, who knew her other anxiety, slipped in and + offered to take her place for an hour by Flucker's side; at the same time + she looked one of those signals which are too subtle for any but woman to + understand. + </p> + <p> + Christie drew her aside, and learned that Gatty and his mother were just + coming through from Leith; Christie ran for her eighty pounds, placed them + in her bosom, cast a hasty glance at a looking-glass, little larger than + an oyster-shell, and ran out. + </p> + <p> + “Hech! What pleased the auld wife will be to see he has a lass that can + mak auchty pund in a morning.” + </p> + <p> + This was Christie's notion. + </p> + <p> + At sight of them she took out the banknotes, and with eyes glistening and + cheeks flushing she cried: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Chairles, ye'll no gang to jail—I hae the siller!” and she + offered him the money with both hands, and a look of tenderness and + modesty that embellished human nature. + </p> + <p> + Ere he could speak, his mother put out her hand, and not rudely, but very + coldly, repelling Christie's arm, said in a freezing manner: + </p> + <p> + “We are much obliged to you, but my son's own talents have rescued him + from his little embarrassment.” + </p> + <p> + “A nobleman has bought my picture,” said Gatty, proudly. + </p> + <p> + “For one hundred and fifty pounds,” said the old lady, meaning to mark the + contrast between that sum and what Christie had in her hand. + </p> + <p> + Christie remained like a statue, with her arms extended, and the + bank-notes in her hand; her features worked—she had much ado not to + cry; and any one that had known the whole story, and seen this unmerited + repulse, would have felt for her; but her love came to her aid, she put + the notes in her bosom, sighed and said: + </p> + <p> + “I would hae likeit to hae been the first, ye ken, but I'm real pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “But, mother,” said Gatty, “it was very kind of Christie all the same. Oh, + Christie!” said he, in a tone of despair. + </p> + <p> + At this kind word Christie's fortitude was sore tried; she turned away her + head; she was far too delicate to let them know who had sent Lord Ipsden + to buy the picture. + </p> + <p> + While she turned away, Mrs. Gatty said in her son's ear: + </p> + <p> + “Now, I have your solemn promise to do it here, and at once; you will find + me on the beach behind these boats—do it.” + </p> + <p> + The reader will understand that during the last few days Mrs. Gatty had + improved her advantage, and that Charles had positively consented to obey + her; the poor boy was worn out with the struggle—he felt he must + have peace or die; he was thin and pale, and sudden twitches came over + him; his temperament was not fit for such a battle; and, it is to be + observed, nearly all the talk was on one side. He had made one expiring + struggle—he described to his mother an artist's nature; his + strength, his weakness—he besought her not to be a slave to general + rules, but to inquire what sort of a companion the individual Gatty + needed; he lashed with true but brilliant satire the sort of wife his + mother was ready to see him saddled with—a stupid, unsympathizing + creature, whose ten children would, by nature's law, be also stupid, and + so be a weight on him till his dying day. He painted Christie Johnstone, + mind and body, in words as true and bright as his colors; he showed his + own weak points, her strong ones, and how the latter would fortify the + former. + </p> + <p> + He displayed, in short, in one minute, more intellect than his mother had + exhibited in sixty years; and that done, with all his understanding, wit + and eloquence, he succumbed like a child to her stronger will—he + promised to break with Christie Johnstone. + </p> + <p> + When Christie had recovered her composure and turned round to her + companions, she found herself alone with Charles. + </p> + <p> + “Chairles,” said she, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Christie,” said he, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother does na like me. Oh, ye need na deny it; and we are na + together as we used to be, my lad.” + </p> + <p> + “She is prejudiced; but she has been the best of mothers to me, Christie.” + </p> + <p> + “Aweel.” + </p> + <p> + “Circumstances compel me to return to England.” + </p> + <p> + (Ah, coward! anything but the real truth!) + </p> + <p> + “Aweel, Chairles, it will no be for lang.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; you will not be so unhappy as I shall—at least I hope + not.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoow do ye ken that?” + </p> + <p> + “Christie, do you remember the first night we danced together?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay.” + </p> + <p> + “And we walked in the cool by the seaside, and I told you the names of the + stars, and you said those were not their real names, but nicknames we give + them here on earth. I loved you that first night.” + </p> + <p> + “And I fancied you the first time I set eyes on you.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I leave you, Christie? What shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + “I ken what I shall do,” answered Christie coolly; then, bursting into + tears, she added, “I shall dee! I shall dee!” + </p> + <p> + “No! you must not say so; at least I will never love any one but you.” + </p> + <p> + “An' I'll live as I am a' my days for your sake. Oh, England! I hae likeit + ye sae weel, ye suld na rob me o' my lad—he's a' the joy I hae!” + </p> + <p> + “I love you,” said Gatty. “Do you love me?” + </p> + <p> + All the answer was, her head upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I can't do it,” thought Gatty, “and I won't! Christie,” said he, “stay + here, don't move from here.” And he dashed among the boats in great + agitation. + </p> + <p> + He found his mother rather near the scene of the late conference. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said he, fiercely, like a coward as he was, “ask me no more, my + mind is made up forever; I will not do this scoundrelly, heartless, + beastly, ungrateful action you have been pushing me to so long.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Charles, take care,” said the old woman, trembling with + passion, for this was a new tone for her son to take with her. “You had my + blessing the other day, and you saw what followed it; do not tempt me to + curse an undutiful, disobedient, ungrateful son.” + </p> + <p> + “I must take my chance,” said he, desperately, “for I am under a curse any + way! I placed my ring on her finger, and held up my hand to God and swore + she should be my wife; she has my ring and my oath, and I will not perjure + myself even for my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Your ring! Not the ruby ring I gave you from your dead father's finger—not + that! not that!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! yes! I tell you yes! and if he was alive, and saw her, and knew her + goodness, he would have pity on me, but I have no friend; you see how ill + you have made me, but you have no pity; I could not have believed it; but, + since you have no mercy on me, I will have the more mercy on myself; I + marry her to-morrow, and put an end to all this shuffling and maneuvering + against an angel! I am not worthy of her, but I'll marry her to-morrow. + Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay!” said the old woman, in a terrible voice; “before you destroy me + and all I have lived for, and suffered, and pinched for, hear me; if that + ring is not off the hussy's finger in half an hour, and you my son again, + I fall on this sand and—” + </p> + <p> + “Then God have mercy upon me, for I'll see the whole creation lost + eternally ere I'll wrong the only creature that is an ornament to the + world.” + </p> + <p> + He was desperate; and the weak, driven to desperation, are more furious + than the strong. + </p> + <p> + It was by Heaven's mercy that neither mother nor son had time to speak + again. + </p> + <p> + As they faced each other, with flaming eyes and faces, all self-command + gone, about to utter hasty words, and lay up regret, perhaps for all their + lives to come, in a moment, as if she had started from the earth, Christie + Johnstone stood between them! + </p> + <p> + Gatty's words, and, still more, his hesitation, had made her quick + intelligence suspect. She had resolved to know the truth; the boats + offered every facility for listening—she had heard every word. + </p> + <p> + She stood between the mother and son. + </p> + <p> + They were confused, abashed, and the hot blood began to leave their faces. + </p> + <p> + She stood erect like a statue, her cheek pale as ashes, her eyes + glittering like basilisks, she looked at neither of them. + </p> + <p> + She slowly raised her left hand, she withdrew a ruby ring from it, and + dropped the ring on the sand between the two. + </p> + <p> + She turned on her heel, and was gone as she had come, without a word + spoken. + </p> + <p> + They looked at one another, stupefied at first; after a considerable pause + the stern old woman stooped, picked up the ring, and, in spite of a + certain chill that the young woman's majestic sorrow had given her, said, + placing it on her own finger, “This is for your wife!!!” + </p> + <p> + “It will be for my coffin, then,” said her son, so coldly, so bitterly and + so solemnly that the mother's heart began to quake. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said he calmly, “forgive me, and accept your son's arm. + </p> + <p> + “I will, my son!” + </p> + <p> + “We are alone in the world now, mother.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gatty had triumphed, but she felt the price of her triumph more than + her victory. It had been done in one moment, that for which she had so + labored, and it seemed that had she spoken long ago to Christie, instead + of Charles, it could have been done at any moment. + </p> + <p> + Strange to say, for some minutes the mother felt more uneasy than her son; + she was a woman, after all, and could measure a woman's heart, and she saw + how deep the wound she had given one she was now compelled to respect. + </p> + <p> + Charles, on the other hand, had been so harassed backward and forward, + that to him certainty was relief; it was a great matter to be no longer + called upon to decide. His mother had said, “Part,” and now Christie had + said, “Part”; at least the affair was taken out of his hands, and his + first feeling was a heavenly calm. + </p> + <p> + In this state he continued for about a mile, and he spoke to his mother + about his art, sole object now; but after the first mile he became silent, + <i>distrait;</i> Christie's pale face, her mortified air, when her + generous offer was coldly repulsed, filled him with remorse. Finally, + unable to bear it, yet not daring to speak, he broke suddenly from his + mother without a word, and ran wildly back to Newhaven; he looked back + only once, and there stood his mother, pale, with her hands piteously + lifted toward heaven. + </p> + <p> + By the time he got to Newhaven he was as sorry for her as for Christie. He + ran to the house of the latter; Flucker and Jean told him she was on the + beach. He ran to the beach! he did not see her at first, but, presently + looking back, he saw her, at the edge of the boats, in company with a + gentleman in a boating-dress. He looked—could he believe his eyes? + he saw Christie Johnstone kiss this man's hand, who then, taking her head + gently in his two hands, placed a kiss upon her brow, while she seemed to + yield lovingly to the caress. + </p> + <p> + Gatty turned faint, sick; for a moment everything swam before his eyes; he + recovered himself, they were gone. + </p> + <p> + He darted round to intercept them; Christie had slipped away somewhere; he + encountered the man alone! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + CHRISTIE'S situation requires to be explained. + </p> + <p> + On leaving Gatty and his mother, she went to her own house. Flucker—who + after looking upon her for years as an inconvenient appendage, except at + dinnertime, had fallen in love with her in a manner that was half + pathetic, half laughable, all things considered—saw by her face she + had received a blow, and raising himself in the bed, inquired anxiously, + “What ailed her?” + </p> + <p> + At these kind words, Christie Johnstone laid her cheek upon the pillow + beside Flucker's and said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my laamb, be kind to your puir sister fra' this hoor, for she has + naething i' the warld noo but yoursel'.” + </p> + <p> + Flucker began to sob at this. + </p> + <p> + Christie could not cry; her heart was like a lump of lead in her bosom; + but she put her arm round his neck, and at the sight of his sympathy she + panted heavily, but could not shed a tear—she was sore stricken. + </p> + <p> + Presently Jean came in, and, as the poor girl's head ached as well as her + heart, they forced her to go and sit in the air. She took her creepie and + sat, and looked on the sea; but, whether she looked seaward or landward, + all seemed unreal; not things, but hard pictures of things, some moving, + some still. Life seemed ended—she had lost her love. + </p> + <p> + An hour she sat in this miserable trance; she was diverted into a better, + because a somewhat less dangerous form of grief, by one of those trifling + circumstances that often penetrate to the human heart when inaccessible to + greater things. + </p> + <p> + Willy the fiddler and his brother came through the town, playing as they + went, according to custom; their music floated past Christie's ears like + some drowsy chime, until, all of a sudden, they struck up the old English + air, “Speed the Plow.” + </p> + <p> + Now it was to this tune Charles Gatty had danced with her their first + dance the night they made acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + Christie listened, lifted up her hands, and crying: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what will I do? what will I do?” burst into a passion of grief. + </p> + <p> + She put her apron over her head, and rocked herself, and sobbed bitterly. + </p> + <p> + She was in this situation when Lord Ipsden, who was prowling about, + examining the proportions of the boats, discovered her. + </p> + <p> + “Some one in distress—that was all in his way.” + </p> + <p> + “Madam!” said he. + </p> + <p> + She lifted up her head. + </p> + <p> + “It is Christie Johnstone. I'm so glad; that is, I'm sorry you are crying, + but I'm glad I shall have the pleasure of relieving you;” and his lordship + began to feel for a check-book. + </p> + <p> + “And div ye really think siller's a cure for every grief!” said Christie, + bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said his lordship; “it has cured them all as yet.” + </p> + <p> + “It will na cure me, then!” and she covered her head with her apron again. + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry,” said he; “tell me” <i>(whispering),</i> “what is it? + poor little Christie!” + </p> + <p> + “Dinna speak to me; I think shame; ask Jean. Oh, Richard, I'll no be lang + in this warld!!!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said he, “I know too well what it is now; I know, by sad experience. + But, Christie, money will cure it in your case, and it shall, too; only, + instead of five pounds, we must put a thousand pounds or two to your + banker's account, and then they will all see your beauty, and run after + you.” + </p> + <p> + “How daur ye even to me that I'm seekin a lad?” cried she, rising from her + stool; “I would na care suppose there was na a lad in Britain.” And off + she flounced. + </p> + <p> + “Offended her by my gross want of tact,” thought the viscount. + </p> + <p> + She crept back, and two velvet lips touched his hand. That was because she + had spoken harshly to a friend. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Richard,” said she, despairingly, “I'll no be lang in this warld.” + </p> + <p> + He was touched; and it was then he took her head and kissed her brow, and + said: “This will never do. My child, go home and have a nice cry, and I + will speak to Jean; and, rely upon me, I will not leave the neighborhood + till I have arranged it all to your satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + And so she went—a little, a very little, comforted by his tone and + words. + </p> + <p> + Now this was all very pretty; but then seen at a distance of fifty yards + it looked very ugly; and Gatty, who had never before known jealousy, the + strongest and worst of human passions, was ripe for anything. + </p> + <p> + He met Lord Ipsden, and said at once, in his wise, temperate way: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you are a villain!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden. “Plait-il?”</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “You are a villain!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “How do you make that out?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “But, of course, you are not a coward, too.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden (ironically).</i> “You surprise me with your moderation, sir.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “Then you will waive your rank—you are a lord, I + believe-and give me satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “My rank, sir, such as it is, engages me to give a proper + answer to proposals of this sort; I am at your orders.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “A man of your character must often have been called to an + account by your victims, so—so—” (hesitating) “perhaps you + will tell me the proper course.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden. “I</i> shall send a note to the castle, and the colonel will + send me down somebody with a mustache; I shall pretend to remember + mustache, mustache will pretend he remembers me; he will then communicate + with your friend, and they will arrange it all for us.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “And, perhaps, through your licentiousness, one or both of + us will be killed.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “Yes! but we need not trouble our heads about that—the + seconds undertake everything.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “I have no pistols.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “If you will do me the honor to use one of mine, it shall + be at your service.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “To-morrow morning?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “No. I have four days' painting to do on my picture, I can't + die till it is finished; Friday morning.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “(He is mad.) I wish to ask you a question, you will excuse + my curiosity. Have you any idea what we are agreeing to differ about?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Gatty.</i> “The question does you little credit, my lord; that is to + add insult to wrong.” + </p> + <p> + He went off hurriedly, leaving Lord Ipsden mystified. + </p> + <p> + He thought Christie Johnstone was somehow connected with it; but, + conscious of no wrong, he felt little disposed to put up with any insult, + especially from this boy, to whom he had been kind, he thought. + </p> + <p> + His lordship was, besides, one of those good, simple-minded creatures, + educated abroad, who, when invited to fight, simply bow, and load two + pistols, and get themselves called at six; instead of taking down tomes of + casuistry and puzzling their poor brains to find out whether they are + gamecocks or capons, and why. + </p> + <p> + As for Gatty, he hurried home in a fever of passion, begged his mother's + pardon, and reproached himself for ever having disobeyed her on account of + such a perfidious creature as Christie Johnstone. + </p> + <p> + He then told her what he had seen, as distance and imagination had + presented it to him; to his surprise the old lady cut him short. + </p> + <p> + “Charles,” said she, “there is no need to take the girl's character away; + she has but one fault—she is not in the same class of life as you, + and such marriages always lead to misery; but in other respects she is a + worthy young woman—don't speak against her character, or you will + make my flesh creep; you don't know what her character is to a woman, high + or low.” + </p> + <p> + By this moderation, perhaps she held him still faster. + </p> + <p> + Friday morning arrived. Gatty had, by hard work, finished his picture, + collected his sketches from nature, which were numerous, left by + memorandum everything to his mother, and was, or rather felt, as ready to + die as live. + </p> + <p> + He had hardly spoken a word or eaten a meal these four days; his mother + was in anxiety about him. He rose early, and went down to Leith; an hour + later, his mother, finding him gone out, rose and went to seek him at + Newhaven. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Flucker had entirely recovered, but his sister's color had left + her cheeks. The boy swore vengeance against the cause of her distress. + </p> + <p> + On Friday morning, then, there paced on Leith Sands two figures. + </p> + <p> + One was Lord Ipsden. + </p> + <p> + The other seemed a military gentleman, who having swallowed the mess-room + poker, and found it insufficient, had added the ramrods of his company. + </p> + <p> + The more his lordship reflected on Gatty, the less inclined he had felt to + invite a satirical young dog from barracks to criticise such a <i>rencontre;</i> + he had therefore ordered Saunders to get up as a field-marshal, or some + such trifle, and what Saunders would have called incomparable verticality + was the result. + </p> + <p> + The painter was also in sight. + </p> + <p> + While he was coming up, Lord Ipsden was lecturing Marshal Saunders on a + point on which that worthy had always thought himself very superior to his + master—“Gentlemanly deportment.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Saunders, mind and behave like a gentleman, or we shall be found + out.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust, my lord, my conduct—” + </p> + <p> + “What I mean is, you must not be so overpoweringly gentleman-like as you + are apt to be; no gentleman is so gentleman as all that; it could not be + borne, <i>c'est suffoquant;</i> and a white handkerchief is + unsoldier-like, and nobody ties a white handkerchief so well as that; of + all the vices, perfection is the most intolerable.” His lordship then + touched with his cane the generalissimo's tie, whose countenance + straightway fell, as though he had lost three successive battles. + </p> + <p> + Gatty came up. + </p> + <p> + They saluted. + </p> + <p> + “Where is your second, sir?” said the mare'chal. + </p> + <p> + “My second?” said Gatty. “Ah! I forgot to wake him—does it matter?” + </p> + <p> + “It is merely a custom,” said Lord Ipsden, with a very slightly satirical + manner. “Savanadero,” said he, “do us the honor to measure the ground, and + be everybody's second.” + </p> + <p> + Savanadero measured the ground, and handed a pistol to each combatant, and + struck an imposing attitude apart. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ready, gentlemen?” said this Jack-o'-both-sides. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” said both. + </p> + <p> + Just as the signal was about to be given, an interruption occurred. “I beg + your pardon, sir,” said Lord Ipsden to his antagonist; “I am going to take + a <i>liberty—a great liberty</i> with you, but I think you will find + your pistol is only at half cock.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my lord; what am I to do with the thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Draw back the cock so, and be ready to fire?” + </p> + <p> + “So?” <i>Bang!</i> + </p> + <p> + He had touched the trigger as well as the cock, so off went the barker; + and after a considerable pause the field-marshal sprang yelling into the + air. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” cried Mr. Gatty. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! oh! I'm a dead man,” whined the general. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Ipsden, after a moment of anxiety. “Give yourself no + concern, sir,” said he, soothingly, to his antagonist—“a mere + accident. Mare'chal, reload Mr. Gatty's pistol.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, my lord—” + </p> + <p> + “Load his pistol directly,” said his lordship, sternly; “and behave like a + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord! my lord! but where shall I stand to be safe?” + </p> + <p> + “Behind me!” + </p> + <p> + The commander of division advanced reluctantly for Gatty's pistol. + </p> + <p> + “No, my lord!” said Gatty, “it is plain I am not a fit antagonist; I shall + but expose myself—and my mother has separated us; I have lost her—if + you do not win her some worse man may; but, oh! if you are a man, use her + tenderly.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Christie Johnstone! Oh, sir, do not make her regret me too much! She was + my treasure, my consolation—she was to be my wife, she would have + cheered the road of life—it is a desert now. I loved her—I—I—” + </p> + <p> + Here the poor fellow choked. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden turned round, and threw his pistol to Saunders, saying, “Catch + that, Saunders.” + </p> + <p> + Saunders, on the contrary, by a single motion changed his person from a + vertical straight line to a horizontal line exactly parallel with the + earth's surface, and the weapon sang innoxious over him. + </p> + <p> + His lordship then, with a noble defiance of etiquette, walked up to his + antagonist and gave him his hand, with a motion no one could resist; for + he felt for the poor fellow. + </p> + <p> + “It is all a mistake,” said he. “There is no sentiment between La + Johnstone and me but mutual esteem. I will explain the whole thing. <i>I</i> + admire <i>her</i> for her virtue, her wit, her innocence, her goodness and + all that sort of thing; and <i>she,</i> what <i>she</i> sees in <i>me,</i> + I am sure I don't know,” added he, slightly shrugging his aristocratic + shoulders. “Do me the honor to breakfast with me at Newhaven.” + </p> + <p> + “I have ordered twelve sorts of fish at the 'Peacock,' my lord,” said + Saunders. + </p> + <p> + “Divine! (I hate fish) I told Saunders all would be hungry and none shot; + by the by, you are winged, I think you said, Saunders?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lord! but look at my trousers.” + </p> + <p> + The bullet had cut his pantaloons. + </p> + <p> + “I see—only barked; so go and see about our breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord” <i>(faintly).</i> + </p> + <p> + “And draw on me for fifty pounds' worth of—new trousers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord” <i>(sonorously).</i> + </p> + <p> + The duelists separated, Gatty taking the short cut to Newhaven; he + proposed to take his favorite swim there, to refresh himself before + breakfast; and he went from his lordship a little cheered by remarks which + fell from him, and which, though vague, sounded friendly—poor + fellow, except when he had a brush in hand he was a dreamer. + </p> + <p> + This viscount, who did not seem to trouble his head about class dignity, + was to convert his mother from her aristocratic tendencies or something. + </p> + <p> + <i>Que sais-je?</i> what will not a dreamer hope? + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden strolled along the sands, and judge his surprise, when, + attended by two footmen, he met at that time in the morning Lady Barbara + Sinclair. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden had been so disheartened and piqued by this lady's conduct + that for a whole week he had not been near her. This line of behavior + sometimes answers. + </p> + <p> + She met him with a grand display of cordiality. + </p> + <p> + She inquired, “Whether he had heard of a most gallant action, that, + coupled with another circumstance” <i>(here she smiled),</i> “had in part + reconciled her to the age we live in?” + </p> + <p> + He asked for further particulars. + </p> + <p> + She then informed him “that a ship had been ashore on the rocks, that no + fisherman dared venture out, that a young gentleman had given them his + whole fortune, and so bribed them to accompany him; that he had saved the + ship and the men's lives, paid away his fortune, and lighted an odious + cigar and gone home, never minding, amid the blessings and acclamations of + a maritime population.” + </p> + <p> + A beautiful story she told him; so beautiful, in fact, that until she had + discoursed ten minutes he hardly recognized his own feat; but when he did + he blushed inside as well as out with pleasure. Oh! music of music—praise + from eloquent lips, and those lips the lips we love. + </p> + <p> + The next moment he felt ashamed; ashamed that Lady Barbara should praise + him beyond his merits, as he conceived. + </p> + <p> + He made a faint hypocritical endeavor to moderate her eulogium; this gave + matters an unexpected turn, Lady Barbara's eyes flashed defiance. + </p> + <p> + “I say it was a noble action, that one nursed in effeminacy (as you all + are) should teach the hardy seamen to mock at peril—noble fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “He did a man's duty, Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + “Ipsden, take care, you will make me hate you, if you detract from a deed + you cannot emulate. This gentleman risked his own life to save others—he + is a hero! I should know him by his face the moment I saw him. Oh, that I + were such a man, or knew where to find such a creature!” + </p> + <p> + The water came into Lord Ipsden's eyes; he did not know what to say or do; + he turned away his head. Lady Barbara was surprised; her conscience smote + her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear,” said she, “there now, I have given you pain—forgive me; + we can't all be heroes; dear Ipsden, don't think I despise you now as I + used. Oh, no! I have heard of your goodness to the poor, and I have more + experience now. There is nobody I esteem more than you, Richard, so you + need not look so.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, dearest Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and if you were to be such a goose as to write me another letter + proposing absurdities to me—” + </p> + <p> + “Would the answer be different?” + </p> + <p> + “Very different.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Barbara, would you accept?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not; but I would refuse civilly!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “There, don't sigh; I hate a sighing man. I'll tell you something that I + know will make you laugh.” She then smiled saucily in his face, and said, + “Do you remember Mr.——?” + </p> + <p> + <i>L'effronte'e!</i> this was the earnest man. But Ipsden was a match for + her this time. “I think I do,” said he; “a gentleman who wants to make + John Bull little again into John Calf; but it won't do.” + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship laughed. “Why did you not tell us that on Inch Coombe?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I had not read <i>The Catspaw</i> then.” + </p> + <p> + <i>“The Catspaw?</i> Ah! I thought it could not be you. Whose is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Jerrold's.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Mr. Jerrold is cleverer than you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is possible.” + </p> + <p> + “It is certain! Well, Mr. Jerrold and Lord Ipsden, you will both be glad + to hear that it was, in point of fact, a bull that confuted the advocate + of the Middle Ages; we were walking; he was telling me manhood was extinct + except in a few earnest men who lived upon the past, its associations, its + truth; when a horrid bull gave—oh—such a bellow! and came + trotting up. I screamed and ran—I remember nothing but arriving at + the stile, and lo, on the other side, offering me his arm with <i>empressment</i> + across the wooden barrier was—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well! don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “No—oh—yes, I see!—fancy—ah! Shall I tell you how + he came to get first over? He ran more earnestly than you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not Mr. Jerrold this time, I presume,” said her satirical ladyship. + </p> + <p> + “No! you cannot always have him. I venture to predict your ladyship on + your return home gave this mediaeval personage his <i>conge'.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave it him at the stile! Let us be serious, if you please; I have a + confidence to make you, Ipsden. Frankly, I owe you some apology for my + conduct of late; I meant to be reserved—I have been rude—but + you shall judge me. A year ago you made me some proposals; I rejected them + because, though I like you—” + </p> + <p> + “You like me?” + </p> + <p> + “I detest your character. Since then, my West India estate has been turned + into specie; that specie, the bulk of my fortune, placed on board a + vessel; that vessel lost, at least we think so—she has not been + heard of.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you comprehend that now I am cooler than ever to all young gentlemen + who have large incomes, and” (holding out her hand like an angel) “I must + trouble you to forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her lovely hand. + </p> + <p> + “I esteem you more and more,” said he. “You ought, for it has been a hard + struggle to me not to adore you, because you are so improved, <i>mon + cousin.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible? In what respect?” + </p> + <p> + “You are browner and charitabler; and I should have been very kind to you—mawkishly + kind, I fear, my sweet cousin, if this wretched money had not gone down in + the <i>Tisbe.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” cried the viscount. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” squeaked Lady Barbara, unused to such interjections. + </p> + <p> + “Gone down in what?” said Ipsden, in a loud voice. + </p> + <p> + “Don't bellow in people's ears. The <i>Tisbe,</i> stupid,” cried she, + screaming at the top of her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ri tum, ti turn, ti tum, tum, tum, tiddy, iddy,” went Lord Ipsden—he + whistled a polka. + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Barbara (inspecting him gravely).</i> “I have heard it at a + distance, but I never saw how it was done before. <i>It is very, very + pretty!!!!”</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden. “Polkez-vous, madame?”</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Barb. “Si, je polke, Monsieur le Vicomte.”</i> + </p> + <p> + They polked for a second or two. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I dare say I am wrong,” cried Lady Barbara, “but I like you better + now you are a downright—ahem!—than when you were only an + insipid non-intellectual—you are greatly improved.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ips.</i> “In what respects?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Barb.</i> “Did I not tell you? browner and more impudent; but tell + me,” said she, resuming her sly, satirical tone, “how is it that you, who + used to be the pink of courtesy, dance and sing over the wreck of my + fortunes?” + </p> + <p> + “Because they are not wrecked.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I told you my specie is gone down in the <i>Tisbe.”</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “But the <i>Tisbe</i> has not gone down.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Barb.</i> “I tell you it is.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “I assure you it is not.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Barb.</i> “It is not?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “Barbara! I am too happy, I begin to nourish such sweet + hopes once more. Oh, I could fall on my knees and bless you for something + you said just now.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Barbara blushed to the temples. + </p> + <p> + “Then why don't you?” said she. “All you want is a little enthusiasm.” + Then recovering herself, she said: + </p> + <p> + “You kneel on wet sand, with black trousers on; that will never be!!!” + </p> + <p> + These two were so occupied that they did not observe the approach of a + stranger until he broke in upon their dialogue. + </p> + <p> + An Ancient Mariner had been for some minutes standing off and on, + reconnoitering Lord Ipsden; he now bore down, and with great rough, + roaring cordiality, that made Lady Barbara start, cried out: + </p> + <p> + “Give me your hand, sir—give me your hand, if you were twice a lord. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't speak to you till the brig was safe in port, and you slipped + away, but I've brought you up at last; and—give me your hand again, + sir. I say, isn't it a pity you are a lord instead of a sailor?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “But I am a sailor.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ancient Mariner.</i> “That ye are, and as smart a one as ever tied a + true-lover's knot in the top; but tell the truth—you were never + nearer losing the number of your mess than that day in the old <i>Tisbe.”</i> + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Barb.</i> “The old <i>Tisbe!</i> Oh!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “Do you remember that nice little lurch she gave to leeward + as we brought her round?” + </p> + <p> + <i>Lady Barb.</i> “Oh, Richard!” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ancient Mariner.</i> “And that reel the old wench gave under our feet, + north the pier-head. I wouldn't have given a washing-tub for her at that + moment.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ipsden.</i> “Past danger becomes pleasure, sir. <i>Olim et hoec + meminisse</i>—I beg your pardon, sir.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Ancient Mariner (taking off his hat with feeling).</i> “God bless ye, + sir, and send ye many happy days, and well spent, with the pretty lady I + see alongside; asking your pardon, miss, for parting pleasanter company—so + I'll sheer off.” + </p> + <p> + And away went the skipper of the <i>Tisbe,</i> rolling fearfully. In the + heat of this reminiscence, the skipper of the yacht (they are all alike, + blue water once fairly tasted) had lost sight of Lady Barbara; he now + looked round. Imagine his surprise! + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship was in tears. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Barbara,” said Lord Ipsden, “do not distress yourself on my + account.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not your fe-feelings I care about; at least, I h-h-hope not; but I + have been so unjust, and I prided myself so on my j-ju-justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! if you don't, I don't. I hate myself, so it is no wonder you h-hate + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I love you more than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are a good soul! Of course you know I always—<i>I</i>—esteemed + you, Richard.” + </p> + <p> + “No! I had an idea you despised me!” + </p> + <p> + “How silly you are! Can't you see? When I thought you were not perfection, + which you are now, it vexed me to death; you never saw me affront any one + but you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I never did! What does that prove?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends upon the wit of him that reasons thereon.” (Coming to + herself.) + </p> + <p> + “I love you, Barbara! Will you honor me with your hand?” + </p> + <p> + “No! I am not so base, so selfish. You are worth a hundred of me, and here + have I been treating you <i>de haut en bas.</i> Dear Richard, poor + Richard. Oh! oh! oh!” (A perfect flood of tears.) + </p> + <p> + “Barbara! I regret nothing; this moment pays for all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I will! since you keep pressing me. There, let me go; I must + be alone; I must tell the sea how unjust I was, and how happy I am, and + when you see me again you shall see the better side of your cousin + Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + She was peremptory. “She had her folly and his merits to think over,” she + said; but she promised to pass through Newhaven, and he should put her + into her pony-phaeton, which would meet her there. + </p> + <p> + Lady Barbara was only a fool by the excess of her wit over her experience; + and Lord Ipsden's love was not misplaced, for she had a great heart which + she hid from little people. I forgive her! + </p> + <p> + The resolutions she formed in company with the sea, having dismissed + Ipsden, and ordered her flunky into the horizon, will probably give our + viscount just half a century of conjugal bliss. + </p> + <p> + As he was going she stopped him and said: “Your friend had browner hands + than I have hitherto conceived possible. <i>To tell the truth,</i> I took + them for the claws of a mahogany table when he grappled you—is that + the term? <i>C'est e'gal</i>—I like him—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped him again. “Ipsden, in the midst of all this that poor man's + ship is broken. I feel it is! You will buy him another, if you really love + me—for I like him.” + </p> + <p> + And so these lovers parted for a time; and Lord Ipsden with a bounding + heart returned to Newhaven. He went to entertain his late <i>vis-'a-vis</i> + at the “Peacock.” + </p> + <p> + Meantime a shorter and less pleasant <i>rencontre</i> had taken place + between Leith and that village. + </p> + <p> + Gatty felt he should meet his lost sweetheart; and sure enough, at a turn + of the road Christie and Jean came suddenly upon him. + </p> + <p> + Jean nodded, but Christie took no notice of him; they passed him; he + turned and followed them, and said, “Christie!” + </p> + <p> + “What is your will wi' me?” said she, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “I—I—How pale you are!” + </p> + <p> + “I am no very weel.” + </p> + <p> + “She has been watching over muckle wi' Flucker,” said Jean. + </p> + <p> + Christie thanked her with a look. + </p> + <p> + “I hope it is not—not—” + </p> + <p> + “Nae fears, lad,” said she, briskly; “I dinna think that muckle o' ye.” + </p> + <p> + “And I think of nothing but you,” said he. + </p> + <p> + A deep flush crimsoned the young woman's brow, but she restrained herself, + and said icily: “Thaat's very gude o' ye, I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + Gatty felt all the contempt her manners and words expressed. He bit his + lips. The tear started to his eye. “You will forget me,” said he. “I do + not deserve to be remembered, but I shall never forget you. I leave for + England. I leave Newhaven forever, where I have been so happy. I am going + at three o'clock by the steamboat. Won't you bid me good-by?” He + approached her timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Ay! that wull do,” cried she; “Gude be wi' ye, lad; I wish ye nae ill.” + She gave a commanding gesture of dismissal; he turned away, and went sadly + from her. She watched every motion when his back was turned. + </p> + <p> + “That is you, Christie,” said Jean; “use the lads like dirt, an' they + think a' the mair o' ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jean, my hairt's broken. I'm just deeing for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me speak till him then,” said Jean; “I'll sune bring him till his + marrow-banes;” and she took a hasty step to follow him. + </p> + <p> + Christie held her fast. “I'd dee ere I'd give in till them. Oh, Jean! I'm + a lassie clean flung awa; he has neither hairt nor spunk ava, yon lad!” + </p> + <p> + Jean began to make excuses for him. Christie inveighed against him. Jean + spoke up for him with more earnestness. + </p> + <p> + Now observe, Jean despised the poor boy. + </p> + <p> + Christie adored him. + </p> + <p> + So Jean spoke for him, because women of every degree are often one solid + mass of tact; and Christie abused him, because she wanted to hear him + defended. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + RICHARD, LORD VISCOUNT IPSDEN, having dotted the seashore with sentinels, + to tell him of Lady Barbara's approach, awaited his guest in the + “Peacock”; but, as Gatty was a little behind time, he placed Saunders + sentinel over the “Peacock,” and strolled eastward; as he came out of the + “Peacock,” Mrs. Gatty came down the little hill in front, and also + proceeded eastward; meantime Lady Barbara and her escort were not far from + the New Town of Newhaven, on their way from Leith. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gatty came down, merely with a vague fear. She had no reason to + suppose her son's alliance with Christie either would or could be renewed, + but she was a careful player and would not give a chance away; she found + he was gone out unusually early, so she came straight to the only place + she dreaded; it was her son's last day in Scotland. She had packed his + clothes, and he had inspired her with confidence by arranging pictures, + etc., himself; she had no idea he was packing for his departure from this + life, not Edinburgh only. + </p> + <p> + She came then to Newhaven with no serious misgivings, for, even if her son + had again vacillated, she saw that, with Christie's pride and her own + firmness, the game must be hers in the end; but, as I said before, she was + one who played her cards closely, and such seldom lose. + </p> + <p> + But my story is with the two young fishwives, who, on their return from + Leith, found themselves at the foot of the New Town, Newhaven, some + minutes before any of the other persons who, it is to be observed, were + approaching it from different points; they came slowly in, Christie in + particular, with a listlessness she had never, known till this last week; + for some days her strength had failed her—it was Jean that carried + the creel now—before, Christie, in the pride of her strength, would + always do more than her share of their joint labor. Then she could hardly + be forced to eat, and what she did eat was quite tasteless to her, and + sleep left her, and in its stead came uneasy slumbers, from which she + awoke quivering from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + Oh! perilous venture of those who love one object with the whole heart. + </p> + <p> + This great but tender heart was breaking day by day. + </p> + <p> + Well, Christie and Jean, strolling slowly into the New Town of Newhaven, + found an assemblage of the natives all looking seaward; the fishermen, + except Sandy Liston, were away at the herring fishery, but all the boys + and women of the New Town were collected; the girls felt a momentary + curiosity; it proved, however, to be only an individual swimming in toward + shore from a greater distance than usual. + </p> + <p> + A little matter excites curiosity in such places. + </p> + <p> + The man's head looked like a spot of ink. + </p> + <p> + Sandy Liston was minding his own business, lazily mending a skait-net, + which he had attached to a crazy old herring-boat hauled up to rot. + </p> + <p> + Christie sat down, pale and languid, by him, on a creepie that a lass who + had been baiting a line with mussels had just vacated; suddenly she seized + Jean's arm with a convulsive motion; Jean looked up—it was the + London steamboat running out from Leith to Granton Pier to take up her + passengers for London. Charles Gatty was going by that boat; the look of + mute despair the poor girl gave went to Jean's heart; she ran hastily from + the group, and cried out of sight for poor Christie. + </p> + <p> + A fishwife, looking through a telescope at the swimmer, remarked: “He's + coming in fast; he's a gallant swimmer, yon— + </p> + <p> + “Can he dee't?” inquired Christie of Sandy Liston. + </p> + <p> + “Fine thaat,” was the reply; “he does it aye o' Sundays when ye are at the + kirk.” + </p> + <p> + “It's no oot o' the kirk window ye'll hae seen him, Sandy, my mon,” said a + young fishwife. + </p> + <p> + “Rin for my glass ony way, Flucker,” said Christie, forcing herself to + take some little interest. + </p> + <p> + Flucker brought it to her, she put her hand on his shoulder, got slowly + up, and stood on the creepie and adjusted the focus of her glass; after a + short view, she said to Flucker: + </p> + <p> + “Rin and see the nook.” She then leveled her glass again at the swimmer. + </p> + <p> + Flucker informed her the nook said “half eleven”—Scotch for “half + past ten.” + </p> + <p> + Christie whipped out a well-thumbed almanac. + </p> + <p> + “Yon nook's aye ahint,” said she. She swept the sea once more with her + glass, then brought it together with a click, and jumped off the stool. + Her quick intelligence viewed the matter differently from all the others. + </p> + <p> + “Noow,” cried she, smartly, “wha'll lend me his yawl?” + </p> + <p> + “Hets! dinna be sae interferin', lassie,” said a fishwife. + </p> + <p> + “Hae nane o' ye ony spunk?” said Christie, taking no notice of the woman. + “Speak, laddies!” + </p> + <p> + “M' uncle's yawl is at the pier-head; ye'll get her, my woman,” said a + boy. + </p> + <p> + “A schell'n for wha's first on board,” said Christie, holding up the coin. + </p> + <p> + “Come awa', Flucker, we'll hae her schell'n;” and these two worthies + instantly effected a false start. + </p> + <p> + “It's no under your jackets,” said Christie, as she dashed after them like + the wind. + </p> + <p> + “Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “What's her business picking up a mon against his will?” said a woman. + </p> + <p> + “She's an awfu' lassie,” whined another. The examination of the swimmer + was then continued, and the crowd increased; some would have it he was + rapidly approaching, others that he made little or no way. + </p> + <p> + “Wha est?” said another. + </p> + <p> + “It's a lummy,” said a girl. + </p> + <p> + “Na! it's no a lummy,” said another. + </p> + <p> + Christie's boat was now seen standing out from the pier. Sandy Liston, + casting a contemptuous look on all the rest, lifted himself lazily into + the herring-boat and looked seaward. His manner changed in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “The Deevil!” cried he; “the tide's turned! You wi' your glass, could you + no see yon man's drifting oot to sea?” + </p> + <p> + “Hech!” cried the women, “he'll be drooned—he'll be drooned!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he'll be drooned!” cried Sandy, “if yon lassie does na come + alongside him deevelich quick—he's sair spent, I doot.” + </p> + <p> + Two spectators were now added to the scene, Mrs. Gatty and Lord Ipsden. + Mrs. Gatty inquired what was the matter. + </p> + <p> + “It's a mon drooning,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + The poor fellow, whom Sandy, by aid of his glass, now discovered to be in + a wornout condition, was about half a mile east of Newhaven pier-head, and + unfortunately the wind was nearly due east. Christie was standing + north-northeast, her boat-hook jammed against the sail, which stood as + flat as a knife. + </p> + <p> + The natives of the Old Town were now seen pouring down to the pier and the + beach, and strangers were collecting like bees. + </p> + <p> + “After wit is everybody's wit!!!”—<i>Old Proverb.</i> + </p> + <p> + The affair was in the Johnstone's hands. + </p> + <p> + “That boat is not going to the poor man,” said Mrs. Gatty, “it is turning + its back upon him.” + </p> + <p> + “She canna lie in the wind's eye, for as clever as she is,” answered a + fishwife. + </p> + <p> + “I ken wha it is,” suddenly squeaked a little fishwife; “it's Christie + Johnstone's lad; it's yon daft painter fr' England. Hech!” cried she, + suddenly, observing Mrs. Gatty, “it's your son, woman.” + </p> + <p> + The unfortunate woman gave a fearful scream, and, flying like a tiger on + Liston, commanded him “to go straight out to sea and save her son.” + </p> + <p> + Jean Carnie seized her arm. “Div ye see yon boat?” cried she; “and div ye + mind Christie, the lass wha's hairt ye hae broken? aweel, woman—<i>it's + just a race between deeth and Cirsty Johnstone for your son.</i>” + </p> + <p> + The poor old woman swooned dead away; they carried her into Christie + Johnstone's house and laid her down, then hurried back—the greater + terror absorbed the less. + </p> + <p> + Lady Barbara Sinclair was there from Leith; and, seeing Lord Ipsden + standing in the boat with a fisherman, she asked him to tell her what it + was; neither he nor any one answered her. + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn't she come about, Liston?” cried Lord Ipsden, stamping with + anxiety and impatience. + </p> + <p> + “She'll no be lang,” said Sandy; “but they'll mak a mess o' 't wi' ne'er a + man i' the boat.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye're sure o' thaat?” put in a woman. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, about she comes,” said Liston, as the sail came down on the first + tack. He was mistaken; they dipped the lug as cleverly as any man in the + town could. + </p> + <p> + “Hech! look at her hauling on the rope like a mon,” cried a woman. The + sail flew up on the other tack. + </p> + <p> + “She's an awfu' lassie,”. whined another. + </p> + <p> + “He's awa,” groaned Liston, “he's doon!” + </p> + <p> + “No! he's up again,” cried Lord Ipsden; “but I fear he can't live till the + boat comes to him.” + </p> + <p> + The fisherman and the viscount held on by each other. + </p> + <p> + “He does na see her, or maybe he'd tak hairt.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd give ten thousand pounds if only he could see her. My God, the man + will be drowned under our eyes. If he but saw her!!!” + </p> + <p> + The words had hardly left Lord Ipsden's lips, when the sound of a woman's + voice came like an AEolian note across the water. + </p> + <p> + “Hurraih!” roared Liston, and every creature joined the cheer. + </p> + <p> + “She'll no let him dee. Ah! she's in the bows, hailing him an' waving the + lad's bonnet ower her head to gie him coorage. Gude bless ye, lass; Gude + bless ye!” + </p> + <p> + Christie knew it was no use hailing him against the wind, but the moment + she got the wind she darted into the bows, and pitched in its highest key + her full and brilliant voice; after a moment of suspense she received + proof that she must be heard by him, for on the pier now hung men and + women, clustered like bees, breathless with anxiety, and the moment after + she hailed the drowning man, she saw and heard a wild yell of applause + burst from the pier, and the pier was more distant than the man. She + snatched Flucker's cap, planted her foot on the gunwale, held on by a + rope, hailed the poor fellow again, and waved the cap round and round her + head, to give him courage; and in a moment, at the sight of this, + thousands of voices thundered back their cheers to her across the water. + Blow, wind—spring, boat—and you, Christie, still ring life + toward those despairing ears and wave hope to those sinking eyes; cheer + the boat on, you thousands that look upon this action; hurrah! from the + pier; hurrah! from the town; hurrah! from the shore; hurrah! now, from the + very ships in the roads, whose crews are swarming on the yards to look; + five minutes ago they laughed at you; three thousand eyes and hearts hang + upon you now; ay, these are the moments we live for! + </p> + <p> + And now dead silence. The boat is within fifty yards, they are all three + consulting together round the mast; an error now is death; his forehead + only seems above water. + </p> + <p> + “If they miss him on that tack?” said Lord Ipsden, significantly, to + Liston. + </p> + <p> + “He'll never see London Brigg again,” was the whispered reply. + </p> + <p> + They carried on till all on shore thought they would run over him, or past + him; but no, at ten yards distant they were all at the sail, and had it + down like lightning; and then Flucker sprang to the bows, the other boy to + the helm. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, there were but two Johnstones in the boat; and this boy, in + his hurry, actually put the helm to port, instead of to starboard. + Christie, who stood amidships, saw the error; she sprang aft, flung the + boy from the helm and jammed it hard-a-starboard with her foot. The boat + answered the helm, but too late for Flucker; the man was four yards from + him as the boat drifted by. + </p> + <p> + “He's a deed mon!” cried Liston, on shore. + </p> + <p> + The boat's length gave one more little chance; the after-part must drift + nearer him—thanks to Christie. Flucker flew aft; flung himself on + his back, and seized his sister's petticoats. + </p> + <p> + “Fling yourself ower the gunwale,” screamed he. “Ye'll no hurt; I'se haud + ye.” + </p> + <p> + She flung herself boldly over the gunwale; the man was sinking, her nails + touched his hair, her fingers entangled themselves in it, she gave him a + powerful wrench and brought him alongside; the boys pinned him like + wild-cats. + </p> + <p> + Christie darted away forward to the mast, passed a rope round it, threw it + the boys, in a moment it was under his shoulders. Christie hauled on it + from the fore thwart, the boys lifted him, and they tumbled him, gasping + and gurgling like a dying salmon, into the bottom of the boat, and flung + net and jackets and sail over him to keep the life in him. + </p> + <p> + Ah! draw your breath all hands at sea and ashore, and don't try it again, + young gentleman, for there was nothing to spare; when you were missed at + the bow two stout hearts quivered for you; Lord Ipsden hid his face in his + two hands, Sandy Liston gave a groan, and, when you were grabbed astern, + jumped out of his boat and cried: + </p> + <p> + “A gill o' whisky for ony favor, for it's turned me as seeck as a doeg.” + He added: “He may bless yon lassie's fowr banes, for she's ta'en him oot + o' Death's maw, as sure as Gude's in heaven!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Barbara, who had all her life been longing to see perilous + adventures, prayed and trembled and cried most piteously; and Lord + Ipsden's back was to her, and he paid no attention to her voice; but when + the battle was won, and Lord Ipsden turned and saw her, she clung to his + arm and dried her tears; and then the Old Town cheered the boat, and the + New Town cheered the boat, and the towns cheered each other; and the + Johnstones, lad and lass, set their sail, and swept back in triumph to the + pier; so then Lady Barbara's blood mounted and tingled in her veins like + fire. “Oh, how noble!” cried she. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dearest,” said Ipsden. “You have seen something great done at last; + and by a woman, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Barbara, “how beautiful! oh! how beautiful it all is; only the + next one I see I should like the danger to be over first, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + The boys and Christie, the moment they had saved Gatty, up sail again for + Newhaven; they landed in about three minutes at the pier. + </p> + <p> + TIME. From Newhaven town to pier on foot: 1 m. 30 sec. First tack: 5 m. 30 + sec. Second tack, and getting him on board: 4 m. 0 sec. Back to the pier, + going free: 3 m. 30 sec. + </p> + <p> + Total: 14 m. 30 sec. + </p> + <p> + They came in to the pier, Christie sitting quietly on the thwart after her + work, the boy steering, and Flucker standing against the mast, hands in + his pockets; the deportment this young gentleman thought fit to assume on + this occasion was “complete apathy”; he came into port with the air of one + bringing home the ordinary results of his day's fishing; this was, I + suppose, to impress the spectators with the notion that saving lives was + an every-day affair with La Famille Johnstone; as for Gatty, he came to + himself under his heap of nets and jackets and spoke once between Death's + jaw and the pier. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” murmured he, and was silent. The meaning of this observation + never transpired, and never will in this world. Six months afterward, + being subjected to a searching interrogatory, he stated that he had + alluded to the majesty and freedom of a certain <i>pose</i> Christie had + adopted while hailing him from the boat; but, reader, if he had wanted you + and me to believe it was this, he should not have been half a year finding + it out—<i>increduli odimus!</i> They landed, and Christie sprang on + shore; while she was wending her way through the crowd, impeded by + greetings and acclamations, with every now and then a lass waving her + kerchief or a lad his bonnet over the heroine's head, poor Mrs. Gatty was + receiving the attention of the New Town; they brought her to, they told + her the good news—she thanked God. + </p> + <p> + The whole story had spread like wildfire; they expostulated with her, they + told her now was the time to show she had a heart, and bless the young + people. + </p> + <p> + She rewarded them with a valuable precept. + </p> + <p> + “Mind your own business!” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Hech! y' are a dour wife!” cried Newhaven. + </p> + <p> + The dour wife bent her eyes on the ground. + </p> + <p> + The people were still collected at the foot of the street, but they were + now in knots, when in dashed Flucker, arriving by a short cut, and crying: + “She does na ken, she does na ken, she was ower moedest to look, I daur + say, and ye'll no tell her, for he's a blackguard, an' he's just making a + fule o' the puir lass, and if she kens what she has done for him, she'll + be fonder o' him than a coow o' her cauf.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Flucker! we maun tell her, it's her lad, her ain lad, she saved,” + expostulated a woman. + </p> + <p> + “Did ever my feyther do a good turn till ye?” cried Flucker. “Awel, then, + ye'll no tell the lassie, she's weel as she is; he's gaun t' Enngland the + day. I cannie gie ye a' a hidin',” said he, with an eye that flashed + volumes of good intention on a hundred and fifty people; “but I am + feytherless and motherless, an' I can fa' on my knees an' curse ye a' if + ye do us sic an ill turn, an' then ye'll see whether ye'll thrive.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll no tell, Flucker, ye need na curse us ony way.” + </p> + <p> + His lordship, with all the sharp authority of a skipper, ordered Master + Flucker to the pier, with a message to the yacht; Flucker <i>qua</i> + yachtsman was a machine, and went as a matter of course. “I am determined + to tell her,” said Lord Ipsden to Lady Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “But,” remonstrated Lady Barbara, “the poor boy says he will curse us if + we do.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't curse me.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the little blackguard's grog would be stopped on board the yacht + if he did.” + </p> + <p> + Flucker had not been gone many minutes before loud cheering was heard, and + Christie Johnstone appeared convoyed by a large detachment of the Old + Town; she had tried to slip away, but they would not let her. They + convoyed her in triumph till they saw the New Town people, and then they + turned and left her. + </p> + <p> + She came in among the groups, a changed woman—her pallor and her + listlessness were gone—the old light was in her eye, and the bright + color in her cheek, and she seemed hardly to touch the earth. + </p> + <p> + “I'm just droukit, lasses,” cried she, gayly, wringing her sleeve. Every + eye was upon her; did she know, or did she not know, what she had done? + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden stepped forward; the people tacitly accepted him as the + vehicle of their curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Who was it, Christie?” + </p> + <p> + “I dinna ken, for my pairt!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gatty came out of the house. + </p> + <p> + “A handsome young fellow, I hope, Christie?” resumed Lord Ipsden. + </p> + <p> + “Ye maun ask Flucker,” was the reply. “I could no tak muckle notice, ye + ken,” putting her hand before her eye, and half smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Well! I hear he is very good-looking; and I hear you think so, too.” + </p> + <p> + She glided to him and looked in his face. He gave a meaning smile. The + poor girl looked quite perplexed. Suddenly she gave a violent start. + </p> + <p> + “Christie! where is Christie?” had cried a well-known voice. He had + learned on the pier who had saved him—he had slipped up among the + boats to find her—he could not find his hat—he could not wait + for it—his dripping hair showed where he had been—it was her + love whom she had just saved out of Death's very jaws. + </p> + <p> + She gave a cry of love that went through every heart, high or low, young + or old, that heard it. And she went to him, through the air it seemed; + but, quick as she was, another was as quick; the mother had seen him + first, and she was there. Christie saw nothing. With another cry, the very + keynote of her great and loving heart, she flung her arms round—Mrs. + Gatty, who was on the same errand as herself. + </p> + <p> + “Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent; Hearts are not flint, and flint + is rent.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman felt Christie touch her. She turned from her son in a moment + and wept upon her neck. Her lover took her hand and kissed it, and pressed + it to his bosom, and tried to speak to her; but all he could do was to sob + and choke—and kiss her hand again. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter!” sobbed the old woman. + </p> + <p> + At that word Christie clasped her quickly; and then Christie began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a stone,” cried Mrs. Gatty. + </p> + <p> + “I gave him life; but you have saved him from death. Oh, Charles, never + make her repent what she has done for you.” + </p> + <p> + She was a woman, after all; and prudence and prejudice melted like snow + before her heart. + </p> + <p> + There were not many dry eyes—least of all the heroic Lady Barbara's. + </p> + <p> + The three whom a moment had made one were becoming calmer, and taking one + another's hands for life, when a diabolical sound arose—and what was + it but Sandy Liston, who, after furious resistance, was blubbering with + explosive but short-lived violence? Having done it, he was the first to + draw everybody's attention to the phenomenon; and affecting to consider it + a purely physical attack, like a <i>coup de soleil,</i> or so on, he + proceeded instantly to Drysel's for his panacea. + </p> + <p> + Lady Barbara enjoined Lord Ipsden to watch these people, and not to lose a + word they said; and, after she had insisted upon kissing Christie, she + went off to her carriage. And she too was so happy, she cried three + distinct times on her way to Edinburgh. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden, having reminded Gatty of his engagement, begged him to add + his mother and Christie to the party, and escorted Lady Barbara to her + phaeton. + </p> + <p> + So then the people dispersed by degrees. + </p> + <p> + “That old lady's face seems familiar to me,” said Lord Ipsden, as he stood + on the little natural platform by the “Peacock.” “Do you know who she is, + Saunders?” + </p> + <p> + “It is Peggy, that was cook in your lordship's uncle's time, my lord. She + married a green-grocer,” added Saunders, with an injured air. + </p> + <p> + “Hech! hech!” cried Flucker, “Christie has ta'en up her head wi' a cook's + son.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gatty was ushered into the “Peacock” with mock civility by Mr. + Saunders. No recognition took place, each being ashamed of the other as an + acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + The next arrival was a beautiful young lady in a black silk gown, a plain + but duck-like plaid shawl, who proved to be Christie Johnstone, in her + Sunday attire. + </p> + <p> + When they met, Mrs. Gatty gave a little scream of joy, and said: “Oh, my + child; if I had seen you in that dress, I should never have said a word + against you.” + </p> + <p> + “Pars minima est ipsa puella sui!” + </p> + <p> + His lordship stepped up to her, took off his hat, and said: “Will Mrs. + Gatty take from me a commission for two pictures, as big as herself, and + as bonny?” added he, doing a little Scotch. He handed her a check; and, + turning to Gatty, added, “At your convenience, sir, <i>bien entendu.”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Hech! it's for five hundred pund, Chairles.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gear gangs in little book,” * said Jean. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *Bulk. +</pre> + <p> + “Ay, does it,” replied Flucker, assuming the compliment. + </p> + <p> + “My lord!” said the artist, “you treat Art like a prince; and she shall + treat you like a queen. When the sun comes out again, I will work for you + and fame. You shall have two things painted, every stroke loyally in the + sunlight. In spite of gloomy winter and gloomier London, I will try if I + can't hang nature and summer on your walls forever. As for me, you know I + must go to Gerard Dow and Cuyp, and Pierre de Hoogh, when my little sand + is run; but my handwriting shall warm your children's children's hearts, + sir, when this hand is dust.” His eye turned inward, he walked to and fro, + and his companions died out of his sight—he was in the kingdom of + art. + </p> + <p> + His lordship and Jean entered the “Peacock,” followed by Flucker, who + merely lingered at the door to moralize as follows: + </p> + <p> + “Hech! hech! isna thaat lamentable? Christie's mon's as daft as a drunk + weaver.” + </p> + <p> + But one stayed quietly behind, and assumed that moment the office of her + life. + </p> + <p> + “Ay!” he burst out again, “the resources of our art are still unfathomed! + Pictures are yet to be painted that shall refresh men's inner souls, and + help their hearts against the artificial world; and charm the fiend away, + like David's harp!! The world, after centuries of lies, will give nature + and truth a trial. What a paradise art will be, when truths, instead of + lies, shall be told on paper, on marble, on canvas, and on the boards!!!” + </p> + <p> + “Dinner's on the boarrd,” murmured Christie, alluding to Lord Ipsden's + breakfast; “and I hae the charge o' ye,” pulling his sleeve hard enough to + destroy the equilibrium of a flea. + </p> + <p> + “Then don't let us waste our time here. Oh, Christie!” + </p> + <p> + “What est, my laddy?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so preciously hungry!!!!” + </p> + <p> + “C-way* then!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Come away. +</pre> + <p> + Off they ran, hand in hand, sparks of beauty, love and happiness flying + all about them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> + <p> + “THERE is nothing but meeting and parting in this world!” and you may be + sure the incongruous personages of our tale could not long be together. + Their separate paths had met for an instant in one focus, furnished then + and there the matter of an eccentric story, and then diverged forever. + </p> + <p> + Our lives have a general current, and also an episode or two; and the + episodes of a commonplace life are often rather startling; in like manner + this tale is not a specimen, but an episode of Lord Ipsden and Lady + Barbara, who soon after this married and lived like the rest of the <i>beau + monde.</i> In so doing, they passed out of my hands; such as wish to know + how viscounts and viscountesses feed and sleep, and do the domestic (so + called), and the social (so called), are referred to the fashionable + novel. To Mr. Saunders, for instance, who has in the press one of those + cerberus-leviathans of fiction, so common now; incredible as folio to + future ages. Saunders will take you by the hand, and lead you over carpets + two inches thick—under rosy curtains—to dinner-tables. He will + <i>fete</i> you, and opera you, and dazzle your young imagination with <i>e'p'ergnes,</i> + and salvers, and buhl and ormolu. No fishwives or painters shall intrude + upon his polished scenes; all shall be as genteel as himself. Saunders is + a good authority; he is more in the society, and far more in the + confidence of the great, than most fashionable novelists. Mr. Saunders's + work will be in three volumes; nine hundred and ninety pages!!!!!! + </p> + <p> + In other words, this single work of this ingenious writer will equal in + bulk the aggregate of all the writings extant by Moses, David, Solomon, + Isaiah, and St. Paul!!! + </p> + <p> + I shall not venture into competition with this behemoth of the <i>salon;</i> + I will evaporate in thin generalities. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ipsden then lived very happily with Lady Barbara, whose hero he + straightway became, and who nobly and poetically dotes upon him. He has + gone into political life to please her, and will remain there—to + please himself. They were both very grateful to Newhaven; when they + married they vowed to visit it twice a year, and mingle a fortnight's + simple life with its simple scenes; but four years have passed, and they + have never been there again, and I dare say never will; but when Viscount + Ipsden falls in with a brother aristocrat who is crushed by the fiend <i>ennui,</i> + he remembers Aberford, and condenses his famous recipe into a two-edged + hexameter, which will make my learned reader laugh, for it is full of + wisdom: + </p> + <p> + “Diluculo surgas! miseris succurrere discas!!” + </p> + <p> + Flucker Johnstone meditated during breakfast upon the five hundred pounds, + and regretted he had not years ago adopted Mr. Gatty's profession; some + days afterward he invited his sister to a conference. Chairs being set, + Mr. Flucker laid down this observation, that near relations should be + deuced careful not to cast discredit upon one another; that now his sister + was to be a lady, it was repugnant to his sense of right to be a fisherman + and make her ladyship blush for him; on the contrary, he felt it his duty + to rise to such high consideration that she should be proud of him. + </p> + <p> + Christie acquiesced at once in this position, but professed herself + embarrassed to know how such a “ne'er-do-weel” was to be made a source of + pride; then she kissed Flucker, and said, in a tone somewhat inconsistent + with the above, “Tell me, my laamb!” + </p> + <p> + Her lamb informed her that the sea has many paths; some of them + disgraceful, such as line or net fishing, and the periodical laying down, + on rocky shoals, and taking up again, of lobster-creels; others, superior + to anything the dry land can offer in importance and dignity and general + estimation, such as the command of a merchant vessel trading to the East + or West Indies. Her lamb then suggested that if she would be so good as to + launch him in the merchant-service, with a good rig of clothes and money + in his pocket, there was that in his head which would enable him to work + to windward of most of his contemporaries. He bade her calculate upon the + following results: In a year or two he would be second mate, and next year + first mate, and in a few years more skipper! Think of that, lass! Skipper + of a vessel, whose rig he generously left his sister free to determine; + premising that two masts were, in his theory of navigation, indispensable, + and that three were a great deal more like Cocker than two. This led to a + general consultation; Flucker's ambition was discussed and praised. That + modest young gentleman, in spite of many injunctions to the contrary, + communicated his sister's plans for him to Lord Ipsden, and affected to + doubt their prudence. The bait took; Lord Ipsden wrote to his man of + business, and an unexpected blow fell upon the ingenious Flucker. He was + sent to school; there to learn a little astronomy, a little navigation, a + little seamanship, a little manners, etc.; in the mysteries of reading and + writing his sister had already perfected him by dint of “the taws.” This + school was a blow; but Flucker was no fool; he saw there was no way of + getting from school to sea without working. So he literally worked out to + sea. His first voyage was distinguished by the following peculiarities: + Attempts to put tricks upon this particular novice generally ended in the + laugh turning against the experimenters; and instead of drinking his grog, + which he hates, he secreted it, and sold it for various advantages. He has + been now four voyages. When he comes ashore, instead of going to haunts of + folly and vice, he instantly bears up for his sister's house—Kensington + Gravel-pits—which he makes in the following manner: He goes up the + river—Heaven knows where all—this he calls running down the + longitude; then he lands, and bears down upon the Gravel-pits; in + particular knowledge of the names of streets he is deficient, but he knows + the exact bearings of Christie's dwelling. He tacks and wears according as + masonry compels him, and he arrives at the gate. He hails the house, in a + voice that brings all the inhabitants of the row to their windows, + including Christie; he is fallen upon and dragged into the house. The + first thing is, he draws out from his boots, and his back, and other + hiding-places, China crape and marvelous silk handkerchiefs for Christie; + and she takes from his pocket a mass of Oriental sugar-plums, with which, + but for this precaution, she knows by experience he would poison young + Charley; and soon he is to be seen sitting with his hand in his sister's, + and she lookng like a mother upon his handsome, weather-beaten face, and + Gatty opposite, adoring him as a specimen of male beauty, and sometimes + making furtive sketches of him. And then the tales he always brings with + him; the house is never very dull, but it is livelier than ever when this + inexhaustible sailor casts anchor in it. + </p> + <p> + The friends (chiefly artists) who used to leave at 9:30, stay till eleven; + for an intelligent sailor is better company than two lawyers, two bishops, + three soldiers, and four writers of plays and tales, all rolled together. + And still he tells Christie he shall command a vessel some day, and leads + her to the most cheering inferences from the fact of his prudence and his + general width-awake; in particular he bids her contrast with him the + general fate of sailors, eaten up by land-sharks, particularly of the + female gender, whom he demonstrates to be the worst enemies poor Jack has; + he calls these sunken rocks, fire-ships and other metaphors. He concludes + thus: “You are all the lass I mean to have till I'm a skipper, and then + I'll bear up alongside some pretty, decent lass, like yourself, Christie, + and we'll sail in company all our lives, let the wind blow high or low.” + Such is the gracious Flucker become in his twentieth year. Last voyage, + with Christie's aid, he produced a sextant of his own, and “made it twelve + o'clock” (with the sun's consent, I hope), and the eyes of authority fell + upon him. So, who knows? perhaps he may one day, sail a ship; and, if he + does, he will be prouder and happier than if we made him monarch of the + globe. + </p> + <p> + To return to our chiefs; Mrs. Gatty gave her formal consent to her son's + marriage with Christie Johnstone. + </p> + <p> + There were examples. Aristocracy had ere now condescended to wealth; earls + had married women rich by tallow-importing papas; and no doubt, had these + same earls been consulted in Gatty's case, they would have decided that + Christie Johnstone, with her real and funded property, was not a + villainous match for a green grocer's son, without a rapp;* but Mrs. Gatty + did not reason so, did not reason at all, luckily, her heart ran away with + her judgment, and, her judgment ceasing to act, she became a wise woman. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *A diminutive German coin. +</pre> + <p> + The case was peculiar. Gatty was a artist <i>pur sang</i>—and + Christie, who would not have been the wife for a <i>petit maitre,</i> was + the wife of wives for him. + </p> + <p> + He wanted a beautiful wife to embellish his canvas, disfigured hitherto by + an injudicious selection of models; a virtuous wife to be his crown; a + prudent wife to save him from ruin; a cheerful wife to sustain his + spirits, drooping at times by virtue of his artist's temperament; an + intellectual wife to preserve his children from being born dolts and bred + dunces, and to keep his own mind from sharpening to one point, and so + contracting and becoming monomaniacal. And he found all these qualities, + together with the sun and moon of human existence—true love and true + religion—in Christie Johnstone. + </p> + <p> + In similar cases, foolish men have set to work to make, in six months, + their diamond of nature, the exact cut and gloss of other men's pastes, + and, nervously watching the process, have suffered torture; luckily + Charles Gatty was not wise enough for this; he saw nature had + distinguished her he loved beyond her fellows; here, as elsewhere, he had + faith in nature—he believed that Christie would charm everybody of + eye, and ear, and mind, and heart, that approached her; he admired her as + she was, and left her to polish herself, if she chose. He did well; she + came to London with a fine mind, a broad brogue, a delicate ear; she + observed how her husband's friends spoke, and in a very few months she had + toned down her Scotch to a rich Ionic coloring, which her womanly instinct + will never let her exchange for the thin, vinegar accents that are too + prevalent in English and French society; and in other respects she caught, + by easy gradation, the tone of the new society to which her marriage + introduced her, without, however, losing her charming self. + </p> + <p> + The wise dowager lodges hard by, having resisted an invitation to be in + the same house; she comes to that house to assist the young wife with her + experience, and to be welcome—not to interfere every minute, and + tease her; she loves her daughter-in-law almost as much as she does her + son, and she is happy because he bids fair to be an immortal painter, and, + above all, a gentleman; and she, a wifely wife, a motherly mother, and, + above all, a lady. + </p> + <p> + This, then, is a happy couple. Their life is full of purpose and industry, + yet lightened by gayety; they go to operas, theaters and balls, for they + are young. They have plenty of society, real society, not the ill-assorted + collection of a predetermined number of bodies, that blindly assumes that + name, but the rich communication of various and fertile minds; they very, + very seldom consent to squat four mortal hours on one chair (like old + hares stiffening in their hot forms), and nibbling, sipping and twaddling + in four mortal hours what could have been eaten, drunken and said in + thirty-five minutes. They are both artists at heart, and it shocks their + natures to see folks mix so very largely the <i>inutile</i> with the <i>insipidum,</i> + and waste, at one huge but barren incubation, the soul, and the stomach, + and the irrevocable hours, things with which so much is to be done. But + they have many desirable acquaintances, and not a few friends; the latter + are mostly lovers of truth in their several departments, and in all + things. Among them are painters, sculptors, engineers, writers, + conversers, thinkers; these acknowledging, even in England, other gods + besides the intestines, meet often <i>chez</i> Gatty, chiefly for mental + intercourse; a cup of tea with such is found, by experience, to be better + than a stalled elk where chit-chat reigns over the prostrate hours. + </p> + <p> + This, then, is a happy couple; the very pigeons and the crows need not + blush for the nest at Kensington Gravel-pits. There the divine institution + Marriage takes its natural colors, and it is at once pleasant and good to + catch such glimpses of Heaven's design, and sad to think how often this + great boon, accorded by God to man and woman, must have been abused and + perverted, ere it could have sunk to be the standing butt of + farce-writers, and the theme of weekly punsters. + </p> + <p> + In this pair we see the wonders a male and female can do for each other in + the sweet bond of holy wedlock. In that blessed relation alone two + interests are really one, and two hearts lie safe at anchor side by side. + </p> + <p> + Christie and Charles are friends—for they are man and wife. + </p> + <p> + Christie and Charles are lovers still—for they are man and wife. + </p> + <p> + Christie and Charles are one forever—for they are man and wife. + </p> + <p> + This wife brightens the house, from kitchen to garret, for her husband; + this husband works like a king for his wife's comfort, and for his own + fame—and that fame is his wife's glory. When one of these expresses + or hints a wish, the other's first impulse is to find the means, not the + objections. + </p> + <p> + They share all troubles, and, by sharing, halve them. + </p> + <p> + They share all pleasures, and, by sharing, double them. + </p> + <p> + They climb the hill together now, and many a canty day they shall have + with one another; and when, by the inevitable law, they begin to descend + toward the dark valley, they will still go hand in hand, smiling so + tenderly, and supporting each other with a care more lovely than when the + arm was strong and the foot firm. + </p> + <p> + On these two temperate lives old age will descend lightly, gradually, + gently, and late—and late upon these evergreen hearts, because they + are not tuned to some selfish, isolated key; these hearts beat and ring + with the young hearts of their dear children, and years hence papa and + mamma will begin life hopefully, wishfully, warmly again with each loved + novice in turn. + </p> + <p> + And when old age does come, it will be no calamity to these, as it is to + you, poor battered beau, laughed at by the fair ninnies who erst laughed + with you; to you, poor follower of salmon, fox, and pheasant, whose joints + are stiffening, whose nerve is gone—whose Golgotha remains; to you, + poor faded beauty, who have staked all upon man's appetite, and not + accumulated goodness or sense for your second course; to you, poor + drawing-room wit, whose sarcasm has turned to venom and is turning to + drivel. + </p> + <p> + What terrors has old age for this happy pair? it cannot make them ugly, + for, though the purple light of youth recedes, a new kind of tranquil + beauty, the aloe-blossom of many years of innocence, comes to, and sits + like a dove upon, the aged faces, where goodness, sympathy and + intelligence have harbored together so long; and where evil passions have + flitted (for we are all human), but found no resting-place. + </p> + <p> + Old age is no calamity to them. It cannot terrify them; for ere they had + been married a week the woman taught the man, lover of truth, to search + for the highest and greatest truths in a book written for men's souls by + the Author of the world, the sea, the stars, the sun, the soul; and this + book, <i>Dei gratia,</i> will, as the good bishop sings, + </p> + <p> + “Teach them to live that they may dread The grave as little as their bed.” + </p> + <p> + It cannot make them sad, for, ere it comes loved souls will have gone from + earth and from their tender bosom, but not from their memories; and will + seem to beckon them now across the cold valley to the golden land. + </p> + <p> + It cannot make them sad, for on earth the happiest must drink a sorrowful + cup more than once in a long life, and so their brightest hopes will have + come to dwell habitually on things beyond the grave; and the great + painter, <i>jam Senex,</i> will chiefly meditate upon a richer landscape + and brighter figures than human hand has ever painted; a scene whose + glories he can see from hence but by glimpses and through a glass darkly; + the great meadows on the other side of Jordan, which are bright with the + spirits of the just that walk there, and are warmed with an eternal sun, + and ring with the triumph of the humble and the true, and the praises of + God forever. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Christie Johnstone, by Charles Reade + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTIE JOHNSTONE *** + +***** This file should be named 3671-h.htm or 3671-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/7/3671/ + +Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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