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diff --git a/old/69051-0.txt b/old/69051-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 95751d4..0000000 --- a/old/69051-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7697 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Romances of the old town of Edinburgh, -by Alexander Leighton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Romances of the old town of Edinburgh - -Author: Alexander Leighton - -Release Date: September 26, 2022 [eBook #69051] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Sonya Schermann, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANCES OF THE OLD TOWN OF -EDINBURGH *** - - - - - - ROMANCES OF THE OLD TOWN - OF - EDINBURGH. - - BY - ALEXANDER LEIGHTON, - - AUTHOR OF “MYSTERIOUS LEGENDS OF EDINBURGH,” “CURIOUS STORIED - TRADITIONS OF SCOTTISH LIFE,” ETC. - - EDINBURGH: - WILLIAM P. NIMMO. - 1867. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The stories in this volume owe their publication to the favour -extended to my Book of Legends. If I had any apology to make it could -only--independently of what is due for demerits which the cultivators -of “the gay science” will not fail to notice--consist in an answer to -the charge that books of this kind feed a too natural appetite for -images and stimulants which tends to voracity, and which again tends -to that attenuation of the mental constitution deserving of the name -of _marasmus_. I may be saved the necessity of such an apology by -reminding the reader that, although I plead guilty to the charge of -invention, I have generally so much of a foundation for these stories -as to entitle them to be withdrawn from the category of fiction. On -this subject the reader may be inclined to be more particular in his -inquiry than suits the possibility of an answer which may at once be -safe and satisfactory. I would prefer to repose upon the generous -example of that philanthropic showman, who leaves to those who look -through his small windows the choice of selecting his great duke out -of two personages, both worthy of the honour. The reader may believe, -or not believe, but it is not imperative that he should do either; -for even at the best--begging pardon of my fair readers for the -Latin--_fides semper est inevidens in re testificata_. - - A. L. - - YORK LODGE, TRINITY, - _January 1867_. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - THE STORY OF THE TWO RED SLIPPERS, 1 - - THE STORY OF THE DEAD SEAL, 13 - - THE STORY OF MRS HALLIDAY, 35 - - THE STORY OF MARY BROWN, 60 - - THE STORY OF THE MERRILLYGOES, 88 - - THE STORY OF THE SIX TOES, 115 - - THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG, 137 - - THE STORY OF PINCHED TOM, 160 - - THE STORY OF THE IRON PRESS, 177 - - THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER, 190 - - THE STORY OF MARY MOCHRIE AND THE MIRACLE OF THE COD, 214 - - THE STORY OF THE PELICAN, 238 - - THE STORY OF DAVIE DEMPSTER’S GHAIST, 255 - - THE STORY OF THE GORTHLEY TWINS, 277 - - THE STORY OF THE CHALK LINE, 299 - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - ROMANCES - OF THE - OLD TOWN OF EDINBURGH. - - - - -The Story of the Two Red Slippers. - - -The taking down of the old house of four or five flats, called -Gowanlock’s Land, in that part of the High Street which used to be -called the Luckenbooths, has given rise to various stories connected -with the building. Out of these I have selected a very strange -legend--so strange, indeed, that, if not true, it must have been the -production, _quod est in arte summa_, of a capital inventor; nor need I -say that it is of much importance to talk of the authenticity of these -things, for the most authentic are embellished by invention, and it is -certainly the best embellished that live the longest; for all which we -have very good reasons in human nature. - -Gowanlock’s Land, it would seem, merely occupied the site of an older -house, which belonged, at the time of Prince Charlie’s occupation of -the city, to an old town councillor of the name of Yellowlees. This -older house was also one of many stories, an old form in Edinburgh, -supposed to have been adopted from the French; but it had, which was -not uncommon, an entry from the street running under an arch, and -leading to the back of the premises to the lower part of the tenement, -that part occupied by the councillor. There was a lower flat, and one -above, which thus constituted an entire house; and which, moreover, -rejoiced in the privilege of having an extensive garden, running -down as far as the sheet of water called the North Loch, that secret -“domestic witness,” as the ancients used to say, of many of the dark -crimes of the old city. These gardens were the pride of the rich -burghers of the time, decorated by Dutch-clipped hollies and trim -boxwood walks; and in our special instance of Councillor Yellowlees’s -retreat, there was in addition a summer-house, or rustic bower, -standing at the bottom; that is, towards the north, and close upon -the loch. I may mention also, that in consequence of the damp, this -little bower was strewed with rushes for the very special comfort of -Miss Annie Yellowlees, the only and much-petted child of the good -councillor. - -All which you must take as introductory to the important fact that the -said Miss Annie, who, as a matter of course, was “very bonnie,” as well -as passing rich to be, had been, somewhat previous to the prince’s -entry to the town, pledged to be married to no less considerable a -personage than Maister John Menelaws, a son of him of the very same -name who dealt in pelts in a shop of the Canongate, and a student of -medicine in the Edinburgh University; but as the councillor had in -his secret soul hankerings after the prince, and the said student, -John, was a red-hot royalist, the marriage was suspended, all to the -inexpressible grief of our “bonnie Annie,” who would not have given -her John for all the Charlies and Geordies to be found from Berwick to -Lerwick. On the other hand--while Annie was depressed, and forced to -seek relief in solitary musings in her bower by the loch--it is just as -true that “it is an ill wind that blaws naebody gude;” nay, the truth -of the saying was verified in Richard Templeton, a fellow-student of -Menelaws, and a rival, too, in the affections of Annie; who, being a -Charlieite as well as an Annieite, rejoiced that his companion was in -the meantime foiled and disappointed. - -Meanwhile, and, I may say, while the domestic affairs of the -councillor’s house were still in this unfortunate position, the -prince’s bubble burst in the way which history tells us of, and -thereupon out came proscriptions of terrible import, and, as fate would -have it, young Templeton’s name was in the bloody register; the more by -reason that he had been as noisy as Edinburgh students generally are in -the proclamation of his partisanship. He must fly or secrete himself, -or perhaps lose a head in which there was concealed a considerable -amount of Scotch cunning. He at once thought of the councillor’s house, -with that secluded back garden and summer-house, all so convenient for -secrecy, and the envied Annie there, too, whom he might by soft wooings -detach from the hated Menelaws, and make his own through the medium -of the pity that is akin to love. And so, to be sure, he straightway, -under the shade of night, repaired to the house of the councillor, -who, being a tender-hearted man, could not see a sympathiser with the -glorious cause in danger of losing his head. Templeton was received, a -report set abroad that he had gone to France, and all proper measures -were taken within the house to prevent any domestic from letting out -the secret. - -In this scheme Annie, we need hardly say, was a favouring party; not -that she had any love for the young man, for her heart was still -true to Menelaws, (who, however, for safety’s sake, was now excluded -from the house,) but that, with a filial obedience to a beloved -father, she felt, with a woman’s heart, sympathy for one who was in -distress, and a martyr to the cause which her father loved. Need we -wonder at an issue which may already be looming on the vision of those -who know anything of human nature? The two young folks were thrown -together. They were seldom out of each other’s company. Suffering is -love’s opportunity, and Templeton had to plead for him not only his -misfortune, but a tongue rendered subtle and winning by love’s action -in the heart. As the days passed, Annie saw some new qualities in the -martyr-prisoner which she had not seen before; nay, the pretty little -domestic attentions had the usual reflex effect upon the heart which -administered them, and all that the recurring image of Menelaws could -do to fight against these rising predilections was so far unavailing, -that that very image waxed dimmer and dimmer, while the present -object was always working through the magic of sensation. Yes, Annie -Yellowlees grew day by day fonder of her _protégé_, until at length -she got, as the saying goes, “over head and ears.” Nay, was she not, -in the long nights, busy working a pair of red slippers for the object -of her new affections, and were not these so very suitable to one who, -like Hercules, was reduced almost to the distaff, and who, unlike that -woman-tamed hero, did not need them to be applied anywhere but to the -feet? - -In the midst of all this secluded domesticity, there was all that -comfort which is said to come from stolen waters. Then, was there not -the prospect of the proscription being taken off, and the two would -be made happy? Even in the meantime they made small escapades into -free space. When the moon was just so far up as not to be a tell-tale, -Templeton would, either with or without Annie, step out into the garden -with these very red slippers on his feet. That bower by the loch, -too, was favourable to the fondlings of a secret love; nor was it -sometimes less to the prisoner a refuge from the eerieness which comes -of _ennui_--if it is not the same thing--under the pressure of which -strange feeling he would creep out at times when Annie could not be -with him; nay, sometimes when the family had gone to bed. - -And now we come to a very wonderful turn in our strange story. One -morning Templeton did not make his appearance in the breakfast-parlour, -but of course he would when he got up and got his red slippers on. -Yet he was so punctual, and Annie, who knew that her father had to -go to the council-chamber, would see what was the cause of the young -man’s delay. She went to his bed-room door. It was open, but where was -Templeton? He was not there. He could not be out in the city; he could -not be even in the garden with the full light of a bright morning sun -shining on it. He was not in the house; he was not in the garden, as -they could see from the windows. He was nowhere to be found, and what -added to the wonder, he had taken with him his red slippers, wherever -he had gone. The inmates were in wonderment and consternation, and, -conduplicated evil! they could make no inquiry for one who lay under -the ban of a bloody proscription. - -But wonders, as we all know, generally ensconce themselves in some snug -theory, and die by a kind of pleasant euthanasia; and so it was with -this wonder of ours. The councillor came, as the days passed, to the -conclusion that Templeton, wearied out by his long confinement, had -become desperate, and had gone abroad. As good a theory as could be -got, seeing that he had not trusted himself in going near his friends; -and Annie, whose grief was sharp and poignant, came also to settle -down with a belief which still promised her her lover, though perhaps -at a long date. But, somehow or another, Annie could not explain, why, -even with all the fondness he had to the work of her hands, he should -have elected to expose himself to damp feet by making the love-token -slippers do the duty of the pair of good shoes he had left in the -bed-room. - -Even this latter wonder wore away, and months and months passed on -the revolving wheel which casts months, not less than moments, into -that gulf we call eternity. The rigour of the Government prosecutions -was relaxed, and timid sympathisers began to show their heads out of -doors, but Richard Templeton never returned to claim either immunity -or the woman of his affections. Nor within all this time did John -Menelaws enter the house of the councillor; so that Annie’s days were -renounced to sadness and her nights to reveries. But at last comes the -eventful “one day” of the greatest of all storytellers, Time, whereon -happen his startling discoveries. Verily one day Annie had wandered -disconsolately into the garden, and seated herself on the wooden form -in the summer-house, where in the moonlight she had often nestled -in the arms of her proscribed lover, who was now gone, it might be, -for ever. Objective thought cast her into a reverie, and the reverie -brought up again the images of these objects, till her heart beat -with an affection renewed through a dream. At length she started up, -and wishing to hurry from a place which seemed filled with images at -once lovable and terrible, she felt her foot caught by an impediment -whereby she stumbled. On looking down she observed some object of a -reddish-brown colour, and becoming alarmed lest it might be one of the -toads with which the place was sometimes invaded, she started back. Yet -curiosity forced her to a closer inspection. She applied her hand to -the object, and brought away one of those very slippers which she had -made for Templeton. All very strange; but what may be conceived to have -been her feelings when she saw, sticking up from beneath the rushes, -the white skeleton of a foot which had filled that very slipper! A -terrible suspicion shot through her mind. She flew to her father, and, -hurrying him to the spot, pointed out to him the grim object, and -showed him the slipper which had covered it. Mr Yellowlees was a shrewd -man, and soon saw that, the foot being there, the rest of the body was -not far away. He saw, too, that his safety might be compromised either -as having been concerned in a murder or the harbourage of a rebel; and -so, making caution the better part of his policy, he repaired to a -sympathiser, and, having told him the story, claimed his assistance. -Nor was this refused. That same night, by the light of a lamp, they -exhumed the body of Templeton, much reduced, but enveloped with his -clothes; only they observed that the other red slipper was wanting. -On examining the body, they could trace the evidence of a sword-stab -through the heart. All this they kept to themselves, and that same -night they contrived to get the sexton of the Canongate to inter the -body as that of a rebel who had been killed and left where it was found. - -This wonder also passed away, and, as time sped, old things began to -get again into their natural order. Menelaws began to come again about -the house, and, as an old love, when the impediments are removed, is -soon rekindled again, he and Annie became even all that which they -had once been to each other. The old vows were repeated without the -slightest reference being made by either party to the cause which had -interfered to prevent them from having been fulfilled. It was not -for Annie to proffer a reason, and it did not seem to be the wish of -Menelaws to ask one. In a short time afterwards they were married. - -The new-married couple, apparently happy in the enjoyment of an -affection which had continued so long, and had survived the crossing of -a new love, at least on one side, removed to a separate house farther -up in the Lawnmarket. Menelaws had previously graduated as a doctor, -and he commenced to practise as such, not without an amount of success. -Meanwhile, the councillor died, leaving Annie a considerable fortune. -In the course of somewhere about ten years they had five children. They -at length resolved on occupying the old house with the garden, for -Annie’s reluctance became weakened by time. It was on the occasion of -the flitting that Annie had to rummage an old trunk which Menelaws, -long after the marriage, had brought from the house of his father, the -dealer in pelts. There, at the bottom, covered over by a piece of brown -paper, she found--what? The very slipper which matched the one she -still secretly retained in her possession. _Verbum sapienti._ You may -now see where the strange land lies; nor was Annie blind. She concluded -in an instant, and with a horror that thrilled through her whole body, -that Menelaws had murdered his rival. She had lain for ten years in -the arms of a murderer. She had borne to him five children. Nay, she -loved him with all the force of an ardent temperament. The thought was -terrible, and she recoiled from the very possibility of living with him -a moment longer. She took the fatal memorial and secreted it along with -its neighbour, and having a friend at a little distance from Edinburgh, -she hurried thither, taking with her her children. Her father had left -in her own power a sufficiency for her support, and she afterwards -returned to town. All the requests of her husband for an explanation -she resisted, and indeed they were not long persisted in, for Menelaws -no doubt gauged the reason of her obduracy--a conclusion the more -likely that he subsequently left Scotland. I have reason to believe -that some of the existing Menelaws are descended from this strange -union. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of the Dead Seal. - - -Among Lord Kames’s session papers there are two informations or written -pleadings upon the competency of an action of damages. The law point -was strange enough, but the facts set forth in explanation were much -more so, amounting indeed to a story so unprecedented, that I cannot -help being surprised how they have escaped the curiosity of those who -love “to chronicle the strong beer” of human life and action. Mr John -Dalrymple, merchant, had passed his honeymoon with his wife (whose -maiden name was Jean Bisset) in his house in Warrender’s Close, and was -about to proceed next morning to Glasgow, to execute some commission -business. They had a cheerful supper; they were both young, both -healthy, and both hopeful, and surely if under these conditions they -could not extract some sweets out of the orange of life, they might -have little chance afterwards, when the pulp would diminish to the -bitter skin which is inevitable. But the truth is, they had both very -good powers of suction, and will enough to use them; and if it were not -that death and life play upon the same string, one might have said that -the new-married couple stood no apparent risk of any fatal interruption -to their happiness. - -It was accordingly in very good spirits that Mr Dalrymple set forth in -the morning on his journey. We might perhaps say, that the inspiration -of her love lent force to his mercantile enterprise, for somehow it -would seem that all the actions of man beyond the purely selfish play -round the great passion, just as the gaudy petals of the flowers are -a kind of acted marriage-song round what is going on in the core of -the plants; and so having arrived in Glasgow, he would be thinking -about his Jean, to whom, when he got home again, he would recount the -wonderful triumphs he had achieved over his competing worshippers in -the Temple of Mammon. He was to be eight days away, and no doubt, -according to a moderate calculation, they would appear as so many -months, were it not that his business engagements would keep these -days to their normal length. He was to write her every day, but as -he did not know at what inn he might put up, she was not to write -to him until she knew where to address him. On the day after his -arrival he accordingly sent her a very loving letter, containing, we -presume, as many of those kisses _à la distance_ as is usual in such -cases, and which in our day would make some noise in the post-office -receiving-box, if they were endowed with sound. Having performed this -loving duty, he continued his exertions re-inspired with the hope of -receiving an answer on the morning of the day following. Then--as happy -people, like the other animals, are playful--he amused himself at -intervals, by conjecturing as to what kind of a letter he would get, -how endearingly expressed it would be, how many “dears” there would -be in it, what warmth of feeling the words would convey, and how many -sighs had already been wasted for his return. We might smile at such -frivolities if we were not called to remember that the most of our -pleasures, if looked at through the spectacle-glass of Reason, would -appear to be ridiculous. - -The morning came; and, according to the statement of the waiter, the -letter would arrive about breakfast time. He would thus have two -or three pleasures rolled up in the same hour; he would sip coffee -and nectar at the same time; his ham and egg would be sweetened by -ambrosia; the pleasures of sense would be heightened by those of the -fancy. All which were promises made by himself, and to himself, while -he was dressing, and we cannot be sure that he did not make himself -more sprightly, that he had to appear before the letter of his dear -Jean. Did not Rousseau blush in presence of the great lady’s dog? -Do what we may, we cannot get quit of the moral influence exercised -over us by even inanimate things having the power of suggesting -associations. But the breakfast was set, all the eatables and -drinkables were on the table, and the last thing served by the waiter -was the communication that the postman had passed and had left no -letter. - -The circumstance was rendered more than awkward by his prior hopes and -anticipations, and it had the effect, moreover, which it surely ought -not to have had upon a sensible man, of taking away his appetite. That -it was strange there could be no doubt, for where is the loving wife -who at the end of the honeymoon would allow a post to pass without -replying to a loving husband’s letter?--but then he contrived to -make it more strange by his efforts to satisfy himself that it was -not strange at all. His reasons did not satisfy him; the humming of -a Scotch air carried no conviction and produced no appetite; and -the result was increased anxiety, evidenced by the hanging head and -heavy eye. Again the main argument was that his or her letter had -miscarried,--how _could_ there be any other mode of accounting for -it?--and then he hummed the air again--the breakfast standing all the -time. All to be again counter-argued by the fact that during all the -period he had corresponded with Glasgow, there had been no miscarriage -of a letter, either to or from him. This was the doctrine of chances -in the form of a stern logic, and the effect was apparent in another -relapse into fear and anxiety. But Mr Dalrymple, though made a moral -coward by the intensity of his affection, was withal a sensible man--a -fact which he gave a good proof of, by placing more faith in brandy -than logic, for having called for a little of that cordial, he put -a glassful into his coffee, and thereupon felt, almost as soon as -the liquor had got into his stomach, that there was really a great -deal less to fear than he had thought, if the whole affair was not -a mere bugbear; and what was not less remarkable, if not fortunate, -the brandy, by dismissing his fears, brought back his appetite, and -although he required a little longer time, he contrived to make nearly -as good a breakfast as if he had been favoured with the ambrosial -accompaniment which he had so hopefully promised himself. - -Nor was this a small matter, for the meal served as ballast to enable -him to encounter something very different from the slight adverse wind -he had experienced for the last hour. He was still sitting at the -table, rather pleased that he had triumphed over morbid fears, and -laying out his scheme for the day, when the words, coming from behind, -“A letter, sir,” struck his ear as if by a slap. His hand nervously -seized the proffered gift, his eyes “flew” as it were to meet the -superscription. He did not know the handwriting. It was directed to the -care of Messrs Robert Fleming & Co., one of the houses with which he -had been doing business. So far he was relieved, even when disappointed -by the absence of his wife’s hand on the address. He turned it with -the view to break it open, and then stopped and trembled as his eye -fixed itself on a large black seal, exhibiting the death’s head and -cross-bones of a funeral letter. Even this he soon got over, under the -supposition that it was an invitation to some acquaintance’s funeral -sent through to him, likely, by the recommendation of his wife before -she had received his true address. At length he broke it open, and read -the following words:-- - - “DEAR SIR,--I am sorry to be under the necessity of informing you - that your wife died this afternoon, between three and four, from - the bursting of a blood-vessel in the lungs. You will see the - propriety of starting for home as soon as you receive this melancholy - intelligence.--Yours, - - “A. MORGAN, F.R.C.S.” - -No sooner had he read this terrible communication than he was rendered -as rigid as a statue. The only movement that could have been observed -in him was in the fingers of the right hand, as it crumpled up the -paper by the spasm of the muscles acting involuntarily. His eye was -fixed without an object to claim it, and his teeth were clenched as if -he had been seized by lockjaw. Conditions which we use strong words to -describe, as we toil in vain after an expression which must always be -inadequate, even though the words are furnished by the unhappy victim -himself. We try a climax by using such expressions as “palsied brain” -and so forth, all the while forgetting that we are essaying to convey -a condition of inward feeling by external signs, the thing and the -sign being in different categories. As he still sat under the stunning -effect of the letter, the waiter entered to clear the table, but when -he saw the letter in the clenched hand he retreated from the scene of -a private grief, which a foreign interference would only have tended -to irritate; but probably the noise of the closing door helped the -reaction which comes sooner or later to all victims of moral assaults, -and by and by he began to think--to see the whole details of the -tragedy--to be conscious of the full extent of his misery. It was not -yet time for the beginning of relief, for these conditions are subject -to the law of recurrence. Like the attacks of an ague they exhaust -themselves by repetition, and Nature’s way is at best but a cruel -process of wearing out the sensibility of the palpitating nerve. - -How long these oscillations lasted before the unhappy victim was able -to leave his seat, we cannot tell. But as all thought is motion, so is -all motion action. He could not retreat from the inevitable destiny. -He must move on in the maze of the puppets. He must face the dead body -of his wife. He must bury her, if he should never be able to lay the -haunting spirit of memory. All business must be suspended, to leave the -soul to the energies necessary for encountering the ordeal. A certain -hardness, which belongs to the last feelings of despair, enabled him, -even with something like deliberation, to go through the preparations -of departure; but in this he exhibited merely the regularity of a -machine, which obeys the imposed power behind. At eleven o’clock he was -seated in the coach, as one placed there to be moved on and on, mile -by mile, to see the dead body of a wife, whose smiling face, as he had -seen it last, was still busy with his fancy, and whose voice, as he had -heard her sing at the parting supper, still rang in his ears. - -Nor were his feelings ameliorated by the journey, to remove the -tediousness of which, at that slow time, the passengers were obliged -to talk even against sheer Scotch taciturnity. He sat and heard, -whether he would or not, the account of one who was going to bring home -a wife; of another who had been away for ten years, and who was to be -met at the coach-door by one who was dying to clasp him in her arms. -All which were to him as sounds in another world wide apart from that -one occupied by him, where he was, as he could not but think, the one -solitary inhabitant, with one dead companion by his side. By and by, as -the conversation flagged, he fell into that species of monomania where -the brooding spirit, doomed to bear a shock, conjures up and holds -before its view the principal feature of a tragedy. That feature was -the image of his Jean’s face. It was paler than the palest of corpses, -to suit the condition of the disease of which she had died. The lips -were tinged with the blood of the fatal hemorrhage. The eyes were -blank and staring, as if filled with the surprise and terror of the -sudden attack. Over all, the fixedness of the muscles,--the contrast of -death to the versatile movements, which were obedient to the laugh of -pleasure when he last drew indescribable joy from the changes of her -humour. No effort could relieve him from that one haunting image. The -conversation of the party seemed to render it more steadfast--more -bright--more harrowing. Nor when he tried to realise his feelings, in -the personal encounter of facing the reality, could he find in himself -any promise of a power to enable him to bear up against the terrible -sight. It seemed to him, as the coach moved slowly on, as if he were -being dragged towards a scaffold draped in black, where he was to -suffer death. - -When the coach at length stopped in the High Street, he was roused as -from a dream, but the consciousness was even worse than the monomaniac -condition in which he had been for hours. It was twelve at night; the -bell of St Giles’s sounded solemnly in the stillness of the sleeping -city. Every one of the passengers hurried off each to his home or inn, -all glad of the release. To him it was no release; he would have ridden -on and on, for days and weeks, if for nothing else than to prolong the -interval, at the end of which the ordeal he feared so much awaited -him. Whither now? He stood in the middle of the dark and silent street -with his portmanteau in his hand, for he was really uncertain whether -to proceed to his sister’s house in Galloway’s Close, and get her to -go with him to his own house, as a kind of medium, to break the effect -of the vision--or to proceed homewards alone. He turned his steps -towards Galloway’s Close, and soon found that the family had gone to -bed; at least, all was dark yet. Might not his sister be at his house -“sitting up” with the corpse? It was not unlikely, and so he turned and -proceeded towards home, his steps being forced, as if his will had no -part in his ambulation. Arriving at Warrender’s Close, he stood at the -foot of his own stair, and, looking up to the windows, he found here, -too, all dark; nor were there any neighbours astir who might address -to him some human speech, if not sympathy. The silence was as complete -as the darkness, and both seemed to derive the dull charm of their -power from the chamber of death. At length he forced himself, step by -step, up the stairs, every moment pausing, as well from the exhaustion -produced by his moral cowardice, as to listen for a stray sound of the -human voice. He had now got to the landing, and, entering the dark -passage leading to the door of his own flat, he groped his way along -by applying his unoccupied hand to the wall. He now felt his nerves -fast giving way, his heart beat audibly, his limbs shook, and though he -tried to correct this fear, he felt he had no power, though naturally a -man of great physical courage. - -He must persevere, and a step or two more brought him to the door, -which he found partially open,--a circumstance he thought strange, -but could account for by supposing that there were neighbours -inside--gossips who meet round death-beds to utter wise saws with dry -eyes. Yet, though he listened, he heard no sounds. He now pushed open -the door, and so quietly, as if he feared that a grating hinge would -break the silence. The lobby was still darker than outside, and his -first step was towards the kitchen, the door of which he pushed back. -There was no one there,--a cruse which hung upon the wall was giving -forth the smallest glimmer of a dying light. There was a red peat in -the grate, smouldering into white ashes. Turning to the servant’s bed, -he found it unoccupied, with the clothes neatly folded down, no doubt -by Peggy’s careful hands, and no doubt, too, Peggy had solemn work to -do “ben the house.” He next crossed the lobby, partly by groping, and -reached a parlour, the door of which he opened gently. Dark too, and no -one within. The same process was gone through with the dining-room, and -with the same negative result. The last door was that of the bed-room, -where he was to encounter what he feared. It was partially open. He -placed his ear to the chink and listened, but he heard nothing. There -was no living voice there, and death speaks none. He pushed the door -open, and looked fearfully in. A small rushlight on the side-table -opposite the bed threw some flickering beams around the room, bringing -out indistinctly the white curtains of the bed. He approached a little, -and could discover vaguely the form of his wife lying there. Would he -take up the rushlight, and, with the necessary courage, go forward and -examine the features? He had arrived at the spot, and at the moment, -portrayed prospectively in his waking dream during his journey, and -a few steps, with the rushlight in his hand, would realise the image -he had brooded over so long. He struggled with himself, but without -avail. Any little courage he had been for the last few minutes trying -to summon up utterly gave way. There rushed into his mind vague fancies -and fears,--creatures of the darkness and the death-like stillness -around him, which he could neither analyse nor stay. He even thought he -heard some sound from the bed where the corpse lay,--the consequence of -all which was total loss of self-possession, approaching to something -like a panic, and the effect of this, again, was a retreat. He sought -the door, groped his way again through the inside lobby, got to the -outer door, along the outer passage, down the stair to the street. - -Nor when he got there did he pull up and begin to think of the extreme -pusillanimity, if not folly, of his conduct. Even if he had tried, -he could only have wound up his self-crimination by the ordinary -excuse--that he could not help it. The house, with its stretched -corpse, deserted rooms, its darkness and silence, was frightful to -him. He could not return until he found some one to accompany him; and -he satisfied himself of the reasonableness of this condition by the -fact that the servant herself had fled in fear from the dismal scene. -He began to move, though almost involuntarily, down the Canongate, -his step quick and hurried, after the manner of those who are pursued -by some danger, the precise nature of which they do not stop to -examine. He even found a slight relief in the muscular exertion, and -thus hurrying on, he reached the Duke’s Walk, and came to the heap of -stones called Muschet’s Cairn, from Nichol Muschet of Boghall, who -there murdered his wife. With no object but movement to dispel his -misery, it was indifferent to him whither he should go; and hurrying to -Arthur’s Seat, he began to climb the hill, regardless of the dangerous -characters often encountered there at night, any one of whom he had -courage enough to have throttled at the moment he was flying from what -was little more than a mere phantom. - -Meanwhile the moon had risen, and was illuminating at intervals the -north-east side of the hill, leaving all in comparative darkness again -as she got behind the thick clouds which hung heavily in the sky; but -the light was of no value to one who was moved only by the impulse of -a distraction. Yet, as he stood for a moment, and looked back upon the -city, with that Warrender’s Close in the heart of it, and that house -in the close, and that room with the rushlight within the house, and -that bed in the room, and that figure so still and silent in the bed, -he became conscious of a circumstance which had escaped him. He found -that in his wild wandering, apparently without any other aim than -to allay unbearable feelings by exertion, he had been unconsciously -following, step by step, the very track which he and his now lost -Jean had taken in a walk of the afternoon of the Sunday preceding his -departure for Glasgow. The thought thus coming as a discovery was in -itself a mystery, and he felt it to be a kind of duty--though with what -sanction of a higher power he knew not--to continue that same track of -the Sunday walk which had been consecrated by the sweet intercourse of -two loving hearts. In execution of which purpose he kept moving towards -the east shoulder of the hill, and such hold had this religious fancy -taken of him, that he looked about for places in the track where some -part of their conversation had occurred, which, from some peculiarity -in it, had remained upon his memory. Nay, so weak did he become in his -devotion, that he threw himself down on the cold grass at spots where -Jean had required a rest, and had leant her head upon his shoulder, -and had been repaid by some note of endearment. But in these reclining -postures, which assumed the form of a species of worship, he remained -only till the terrible thought of his privation again rose uppermost in -his mind, forcing him to start to his feet by a sudden spring, and to -go on again, and brush through the whins that grew on the hill-side, as -if he courted their obstruction as a relief. - -It is said that our ideas produce time, and our feelings devour it; -and this is true at least where the feelings are of apprehension and -fear of some inevitable event to occur in the future. He had still the -ordeal to pass through. The sun would rise, in the light of which he -would be forced to look on the dead face, and in place of considering -the time occupied by these wanderings to and fro long and weary, the -moments, minutes, hours, passed with such rapidity that the moon had -gone far on in her journey, and the gray streaks of dawn were opening -up a view to the east, before he could realise the passage of the time -which had been, as it were, swallowed up by his desire to postpone -what, by the laws of nature and society, he was bound to endure. How -many times he had gone round the hill and up to the top, and down to -Duddingstone, and along by the village road, and in through the bog, -to begin his rounds again, he could not have told. But at length the -sun glared threateningly in his face. Time defied him, and at length -he saw the smoke of the chimneys begin to rise from the city. The red -peat he had seen in the grate of his own kitchen would at least yield -none. The household gods had deserted his hearth. Death and silence now -reigned there. He heard eight o’clock sound from St Giles’s. The people -were beginning to move in all directions--all in search of pleasure, -the ultimate end of all man’s exertions--and he could no longer find a -refuge in darkness or distance; so he began to move in the direction -of the town with the weariness and lassitude of exhaustion rendering -his legs rigid and his feet heavy, in addition to the hopelessness of -a stricken heart. When he got to the Watergate, he began to see faces -of people whom he knew, and who knew him; but he felt no desire to -speak, and they doubtless from delicacy passed, without showing any -desire to stop him. At length he arrived at the head of Warrender’s -Close, and now he felt as if he were more submissive to the necessity -of what seemed to be fate, moving his limbs with more will--even with -something like a wish on his mind to put an end to a long agony. Down -and down step by step, the drooping head responsive in its nods to -the movement of his body; up the stair step after step deliberately, -resolutely; along the outer passage; now opposite his own door. That -door was now closed, giving indication that the servant, or some friend -or neighbour, had been in the house since he left. He tapped gently. -The door was opened almost upon the instant, and Mr John Dalrymple -was immediately encompassed by the arms of a woman screaming in the -exultation of immoderate joy. - -“John, dear John, how delighted I am to see you,--for oh, we have been -in such dreadful fear about you since Peggy found your portmanteau in -the lobby; but, thank God, you are come at last, and just in time for a -fine warm breakfast.” - -The ejaculation, or rather screaming of which words was very easy, -because very natural, to Mrs Jean Dalrymple, in the happy circumstances -in which she found herself after so much apprehension produced by the -mystery connected with the portmanteau, but as for Mr John Dalrymple -speaking even to the extent of a single syllable was out of the -question, unless some angel other than she of the house had touched his -lips with the fire of inspiration, in place of his receiving the kisses -of his wife. And this was so far well, for he certainly would have -made a bungle of any attempt at the moment to express his feelings, -besides laying himself open to a heavier charge of folly than that -which already stood at the wrong side of his account of wisdom, or -even common sense. So quietly taking off his hat he led the way into -the breakfast-parlour, where he saw the breakfast things all neatly -laid, beside a glowing fire, before which lay his brindled cat, not the -least happy of the three; whilst Peggy, who had some forgotten thing to -put on the table, had a pleasant smile on her face, just modified in -a slight degree with a little apprehension which probably neither the -master nor mistress could comprehend. - -“I will tell you, Jeannie, all about the portmanteau, and perhaps -something more, when we sit down to breakfast,” words which in the -meantime were satisfactory to Mrs Jean; and the event they conditioned -for soon arrived, for the wife was all curiosity and despatch, and -Peggy all duty and attention. - -The story was very soon told, nor did Mrs Jean interrupt the narrative -by a single word as she sat with staring eyes and open mouth listening -to the strange tale. - -“There is the letter with the dead seal,” said he, as he handed it over -to her. - -Mrs Jean read it, and then began to examine it as if she was -scrutinising the form of the written words. - -“That is the handwriting of Bob Balfour, my old admirer,” said she, at -length, with animation. “I know his hand as well as I know yours, and -he has done this in revenge for your having taken me from him. I will -show you proof.” - -And going to a cabinet she took therefrom some letters, which she -handed to her husband. These proved two things: first, that the letter -with the black seal, purporting to be signed by Surgeon Morgan, was -in the handwriting of Balfour, though considerably disguised; and -secondly, that he had been an ardent lover of Jean, and, perhaps, on -that account an enemy to the man who had been fortunate enough to -secure her affections and her hand. - -“All clear enough; but I shall have my revenge, too!” cried the -husband. “In the meantime there are some things to be explained. Why -did you not write?” - -“I wrote to you last night,” said Jean. “You had posted your letter too -late.” - -“And why was not Peggy in the house last night at twelve, when I came -home?” - -“Peggy must answer that herself,” answered Mrs Jean, smiling, and -looking from her husband to Peggy, and from Peggy to her husband, as -she spoke; “but I think I know what her answer will be.” - -And that answer was indeed very simple, amounting to no more than the -very natural fact that Peggy, after her mistress had retired to rest, -had gone up the common stair to Widow Henderson’s, whose son Jock -was courting Peggy at the time with all commendable assiduity, and -considerable chance of success. - -But our story, though thus so satisfactorily explained, is not yet -done. Nay, as we have said, its termination was in the court, where -Mr Dalrymple sued Balfour for damages and _solatium_ for his cowardly -and cruel act. Nor was this action itself an ordinary matter, for it -interested the lawyers of the day, not by the romantic facts which -led to it, but the legal principles which flowed out of it. Balfour’s -counsel objected to the relevancy, that is, denied there was in a -lie or practical joke any cause of action. This defence gave rise to -the informations we have mentioned, for the point raised was new and -difficult. It was argued by Balfour that lies in the form of hoaxes -are told every day, some good and some bad. Men know this, and ought -to be upon their guard, which can be their only security,--for if -such lies were actionable, one-half of society would be at law with -the other. And as for any injury inflicted on Mr Dalrymple, it was -doubtful whether the pleasure he experienced that morning when enclosed -in the arms of his wife, did not more than compensate for his prior -sufferings. On the other hand the pursuer argued, that by the law of -Scotland there is no wrong without a legal remedy, and that having -suffered by the cruel deceit both in his feelings and in his purse, -(for he left his business unfinished,) he was entitled to recover. We -have been unable to find the judgment. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of Mrs Halliday. - - -There are little bits of romance spread here and there in the routine -of ordinary life, but for which we should be like the fairy Aline, -somewhat weary of always the same flowers blooming, and the same -birds singing, and the same play of human motives and passions. They -are something of the nature of episodes which, as in the case of -epic poems, are often the most touching and beautiful in the whole -work. Yet the beauty is seldom felt by the actors themselves, who are -frequently unfortunate; and so it is that they suffer that we may enjoy -the pathos of their suffering, after it has gone through the hands -of art. We are led to say this as a kind of prelude to one of those -episodical dramas which occurred some eighty years ago, and for twenty -of them formed a household story, as well from the singularity of the -principal circumstances as from the devotion of the personages. But -we must go back a little from the main incidents to introduce to the -reader a certain Patrick Halliday, a general agent for the sale of -English broadcloth, whose place of business was in the Lawnmarket, and -dwelling-house in a tenement long called Peddie’s Land, situated near -the Old Assembly Close. It belongs not much to our story to say that -Mr Halliday was pretty well-to-do in the world, though probably even -with youth and fair looks, if he had been a poor man, he would not have -secured as he did the hand of a certain young lady, at that time more -remarkable than he. Her name was Julia Vallance. We know no more of her -except one particular, which many people would rather be known by than -by wealth, or even family honours, and that was personal beauty--not -of that kind which catches the eye of the common people, and which is -of ordinary occurrence, but of that superior order which, addressing -itself to a cultivated taste, secures an admiration which can be -justified by principles. And so it came to pass that Julia had before -her marriage attained to the reputation--probably not a matter of great -ambition to herself, certainly not at all times very enviable--of being -the belle of the old city. Nor is this saying little, when we claim it -in the face of the world as a truth that Edinburgh, in spite of its -smoke, has at all times been remarkable for many varieties, dark and -fair, of fine women. A result this which, perhaps, we owe to a more -equal mixture of the two fine races, the Celt and Saxon, than ever -took place in England. But Julia had brought her price, and her market -having been made, she could afford to renounce the admiration of a -gaping public in consideration of the love of a husband who was as kind -to her as he was true. As regards their happiness as man and wife, we -will take that in the meantime as admitted, the more by reason that in -due time after the marriage they had a child; and, no doubt, they would -have had many in succession had it not been for the strange occurrence -which forms the fulcrum of our tale. - -Apart from the family in Peddie’s Land, and in no manner connected with -it, either by blood or favour, was that of Mr Archibald Blair, a young -man living in Writers’ Court, of whom we can say little more than that -he was connected with the Borgue family in the Stewartry, an advocate, -and also married. We are not informed of either the name or lineage of -his young wife, and far less can we say aught of the perfections or -imperfections she derived from nature. We are only left to presume that -if there had been no love, there would probably have been no marriage, -and in this case, also, we have the fact of a child having been born -to help the presumption of that which, naturally enough, may be taken -as granted. - -The two families, far asunder in point of grade, and equally far from -any chance of acquaintanceship, went on in their several walks; nor are -we entitled to say, from anything previously known of them, that they -even knew of each other’s existence--unless, to be sure, the reputation -of Julia for her personal perfections might have come to Blair’s ears -as it did to many who had perhaps never seen her; but, then, the -marriage of a beauty is generally the end of her fame, as it is of her -maiden career; and those who, before that event, are entitled to look -and admire, and, perhaps, wish to whisper their aspirations, not less -than to gaze on her beauty, leave the fair one to the happy man to whom -the gods have assigned her. - -We must now allow four years to have passed, during all which time -Patrick Halliday and his wife--still, we presume, retaining her beauty, -at least in the matronly form--were happy as the day is long, or, -rather we should say, as the day is short, for night is more propitious -to love than day. Nothing was known to have occurred to break the -harmony which had begun in love, and surely when we have, as there -appeared to be here, the three requisites of happiness mentioned by -the ancients--health, beauty, and wealth, there was no room for any -suspicion that the good deities repented of their gifts. But all this -only tended to deepen the shadows of a mystery which we are about to -revive at this late period. - -One day, when Patrick Halliday returned from a journey to Carlisle, -he was thunderstruck by the intelligence communicated to him by his -servant, that his wife had disappeared two days before, and no one -could tell whither she had gone. The servant, by her own report, -had been sent to Leith on a message, and had taken the daughter, -little Julia, with her; and when she came back, she found the door -unlocked, and her mistress gone. She had made inquiries among the -neighbours, she had gone to the acquaintances of the family, she had -had recourse to every one and every place where it was likely she would -get intelligence of her--all to no effect. Not a single individual -could even say so much as that he or she had seen her that day, and -at length, wearied out by her inquiries, she had had recourse to the -supposition that she had followed her husband to Carlisle. - -The effect of this strange intelligence was simply stupifying. Halliday -dropt into a chair, and, compressing his temples with his trembling -hands, seemed to try to retain his consciousness against the echoes of -words which threatened to take it away. For a time he had no power of -thought, and even when the ideas began again to resume their train, -their efforts were broken and wild, tending to nothing but confusion. - -He put question after question to the servant, every answer throwing -him back upon new suppositions, all equally fruitless. The only -notion that seemed to give him any relief was, that she had gone to a -distance, to some of her friends--wild enough, yet better than blank -despair; and as for infidelity, the thought never once occurred to him, -where there was no ground on which to rear even a doubt. - -At length, on regaining something like composure, he rose from his -seat, and began to walk drearily through the house. He opened his -desk and found that a considerable sum of money he had left there was -untouched. He next opened the press in the wall, where she kept her -clothes. He could not see anything wanting--the gown was there which -latterly she had been in the habit of putting on when she went out to -walk with little Julia; her two bonnets, the good and the better--the -one for everyday and the one for Sunday--hung upon their pegs. Her -jewels, too, which were in a drawer of her cabinet, were all there, -with the exception of the marriage-ring she was in the habit of wearing -every day. There was nothing wanting, save her ordinary body clothes, -including the fringed yellow wrapper in which, during the forenoon, -she used to perform her domestic duties, and which he had often thought -became her better than even her silks. Wherever she had gone, she must -have departed in her undress and bareheaded--nay, her slippers must -have been on her feet, for not only were they away, but the high-heeled -shoes by which she replaced them when she went to walk were in the -place where they usually lay. - -In the midst of all this mystery, the relations and others, who had -been quickened into a high-wrought curiosity by the inquiries made by -the servant, dropt in one after another in the expectation that the -missing wife would have returned with her husband, but they went away -more astonished than before, and leaving the almost frantic husband to -an increase of his apprehension and fears. - -The dark night came on, and he retired to bed, there to have the -horrors of a roused fancy added to the deductions of a hapless and -demented reason. - -In the morning he rose after a sleepless and miserable night, tried to -eat a little breakfast with the playful little Julia, the image of her -mother, by his side, asking him every now and then, in the midst of -her prattle, what had become of mammy, rose and went forth, scarcely -knowing whither to go. Directing his steps almost mechanically towards -his place of business, he ascertained that his clerk knew no more of -the missing wife than the others. On emerging again from his office, -he was doomed to run the ordinary gauntlet of inquiries, and not less -of strange looks where the inquirers seemed afraid to put the question. -Others tried to read him by a furtive glance, and went away with their -construction. No one could give him a word of comfort, if, indeed, he -had not sometimes reason to suspect that there were of his anxious -friends some who were not ill pleased that he had lost, no doubt by -elopement, a wife who outshone theirs. - -At length he found his way to the bailie’s office, where he got some of -the town constables to institute a secret search among the closes, and -thus the day passed resultless and weary, leaving him to another night -of misery. - -Next day brought scarcely any change, except in the wider spread -throughout the city of the news, which, in the circumstances, -degenerated into the ordinary scandal. Nor did the husband make any -endeavour to check this, by stating to any one the part of the mystery -connected with the clothes--a secret which he kept to himself, and -brooded over with a morbid feeling he perhaps could not have explained -to himself. And that day passed also, leaving at its close an increased -curiosity on the part of the public, but with no change in the -conviction that the lady had merely played her husband false. - -The next day was not so barren--nay, it was pregnant with a fact -calculated to increase the excitement without ameliorating the scandal. -On going up the High Street, Halliday met one of the officers who had -been engaged in the search, and who told him that another citizen had -disappeared in a not less mysterious way. The question, “Who is it?” -was put, but not answered, except by another question. - -“Was Mrs Halliday acquainted with Mr Archibald Blair, advocate, in -Writers’ Court?” - -“No,” was the answer of the husband; “and why do you put the question?” - -“Because Mrs Blair requested me,” replied the officer. “She is in great -distress about her husband, and I think you had better see her.” - -And so thought Patrick Halliday, as he hurried away to Writers’ Court, -much in the condition of one who would rush into the flames to avoid -the waves; for, dreadful as the death of his beloved wife would be -to him, more dreadful still was the thought that she had eloped with -another man, and that man might be Archibald Blair. On reaching the -house, where he was admitted upon the instant, he found a counterpart -of his own domestic tragedy--everything telling the tale of weariness, -anxiety, and fear; comers and goers with lugubrious countenances; and -Mrs Blair herself in a chair the picture of that very misery he had -himself endured, and was at that very moment enduring. - -“Who are you?” she cried, as he approached her. “Are you come with good -news or bad?” - -“My name is Halliday, madam,” replied he. “I understand you wish to see -me.” - -“As much as you may perhaps wish to see me,” answered the lady. -“The town has been ringing for days with the news of the sudden -disappearance of your wife, who is said to be----,” and she faltered -at the word, “very beautiful. Is it true, and on what day did she -disappear?” - -“Too true, madam,” groaned the unhappy man. “Tuesday was the day on -which she was found amissing.” - -“Tuesday! Oh, unfortunate day!” rejoined she. “The very one, sir, -when my Archibald left me, perhaps never to return. Can you tell me,” -she continued, as she sobbed hysterically, “whether your wife and my -husband were ever at any time acquainted? Oh, I fear your answer, but I -must hear it.” - -“I don’t think,” replied he, “that my wife ever knew of the existence -of your husband. Even _I_ never heard of his name, though I now -understand he was a promising advocate. I can, therefore, give you -small satisfaction; and, I presume, I can get as little from you when I -ask you, what I presume is unnecessary, whether you ever heard that my -wife was in any way acquainted with Mr Blair?” - -“No,” replied she; “neither he nor I ever mentioned her name, nor did -it once come to my ears that Archibald was ever seen in the company of -any woman answering to the description of your wife.” - -“Most wonderful circumstance, madam,” replied Halliday, into whose mind -a thought at the moment came, suggested by the mystery of the left -clothes. “Pray, madam,” he continued, “can you draw no conclusion from -Mr Blair’s desk or wardrobe whether or not he had provided himself for -the necessities of a journey?” - -“That is the very wonder of all the wonders about this strange case, -sir,” she answered. “I have made a careful search, knowing the money -that was in the house, and having sent and inquired whether he had -drawn any from the bank, I am satisfied that he had not a penny of -money upon him. As for his wardrobe, every article is there, with the -exception of what he used when he went to take a walk in the morning--a -light dress, with a round felt hat in place of the square one. Even his -cane stands there in the lobby. Where could he have gone in such an -undress, and without money?” - -A pertinent question, which was just the counterpart of that which -Patrick Halliday had put to himself. The resemblance between the two -cases struck him as wonderful, and no doubt if he had stated to Mrs -Blair the analogous facts connected with his wife’s wardrobe, the -untouched money, and the missing slippers, that lady would have shared -in his wonder; but he felt disinclined to add to her apprehensions -by acquainting her with facts which could lead to no practical use. -There was sufficient community of feeling between them without going -into further minutiæ, and the conversation ended with looks of fearful -foreboding. - -Patrick Halliday left the house of the advocate only to saunter like -one broke loose from Bedlam, going hither and thither without aim; -learning, as he went, that the absence of Mr Blair had got abroad -abreast of his own evil, and that the public had adopted the theory -that his wife and the advocate had gone off together. The conclusion -was only too natural, nor would it in all likelihood have been much -modified even though all the facts inferring some other solution had -come to be known. Even he himself was coming gradually to see that the -disappearance of the two occurring at the same time, almost at the -same hour, could not be countervailed by the other facts. But behind -all this there was the apparent difficulty to be overcome that two -individuals so well known in a news-loving city should have been in the -habit of meeting, wherever the place might be, without any one having -ever seen them--nay, the almost impossible thing that a woman without -a bonnet, arrayed in a yellow wrapper, and with coloured slippers on -her feet, could have passed through any of the streets without being -recognised, and that the same immunity from all observation should have -been enjoyed by a public man so well known--dressed, too, in a manner -calculated to attract notice. There was certainly another theory, and -some people entertained the possibility, if not the reasonableness of -it, that the two clandestine lovers might have concealed themselves -for an obvious purpose in some of those houses whose keepers have an -interest in the concealment of their guilty lodgers. But this theory -must have appeared a very dubious one, for it involved a degree of -imprudence, if not recklessness, amounting to voluntary ruin, where -a little foresight might have secured their object without further -sacrifice than the care required in the preservation of their guilty -secret. But, unlikely as this theory was, it was not left untested, for -special visits and inquiries were made in all places known as likely to -offer refuge to persons in their circumstances and condition. - -All was still in vain; another day passed, and another, till the -entire week proved the inutility of both search and inquiry. The -ordinary age of a wonder was attained, with the usual consequence of -the beginning of that decay which is inherent in all things. Yet it is -with these moral organisms as with the physical--they cast their seeds -to come up again as memories. A month elapsed, and then another, and -another, till these periods carried the mere diluted interest of the -early days. So it is that the big animal, the world, on which man is -one of the small parasites, supplies the sap as the desires require, -and changes it as the appetite changes, with that variety which is -the law of nature. Even as regarded Patrick Halliday and Mrs Blair, -the moral granulation began gradually and silently to fill up the -excavated sores in their hearts, and by and by it ought by rule to have -come about that the cicatrices would follow, and then the smoothing -of the covering, even to the pellucid skin. And as for the public, -new wonders, from the ever-discharging womb of events, were rising up -every day, so that the story of the once famed Julia Halliday and the -advocate Blair was at length assuming the sombre colours of one of the -acted romances of life. But it takes long to make a complete romance. -There is a vitality in moral events as in some physical ones which -revives in overt symptoms, and so it was in the case we are concerned -with. A whole year had at length passed, and brooding silence had waxed -thick over the now comparatively-old event; but the silence was to be -broken by the speaking of an inanimate thing as strange in itself as -the old mystery. - -One day, when Patrick Halliday had returned from his office in the -upper part of the city to Peddie’s Land for the purpose of getting a -letter which he had by mistake left on the table in the morning, he -found that the servant had gone out as usual for the purpose of taking -little Julia for an airing; but, getting entrance by his own key, he -proceeded along the lobby to the parlour, on opening the door of which, -and entering, his eye was attracted to something on the floor. The -room was at the time shaded by the hangings drawn together to keep out -the rays of the sun, and, not distinguishing the object very well, he -thought it was some plaything of Julia’s. On taking it up he found, to -his amazement, that it was one of the slippers of his wife. It had a -damp musty smell, which he found so unpleasant that he threw it down on -the floor again, and then began to think where in the world it had come -from, or how it came to be there. The servant might explain it when she -came in; but why she should have gone out with that remaining to be -explained he could not understand. Meanwhile his only conclusion was, -that sufficient search had not been made for the slippers, and that the -dog, which was out with the maid, had dragged the article from some -nook or corner which had escaped observation. Under this impression -he felt inclined to seek for the neighbour of that which had been so -strangely found, altogether oblivious of the fact that, if the slipper -had been left by the runaway, she must have departed either bare-footed -or in her stocking-soles; for her shoes, so far as he could know, had -been accounted for. - -But he was not to be called upon to make this search; something else -awaited him; for, as he sat enveloped in the darkness of this new -mystery, his eye, wandering about in the shaded room, was attracted by -another object. Rising, as if by a start, he proceeded to the spot, and -took up, to his further amazement, a man’s shoe. He at first supposed -that it was one of his own; but on looking at the silver buckle, on -which were engraved--not an uncommon thing at the time--two initial -letters, (these were “A. B.,”) he was at no loss for the name. It -was that of the missing advocate. This shoe, like the slipper, was -covered with white mould, and smelt of an odour different from and -more disagreeable than mere must. He was now in more perplexity than -ever, nor could he bring his mind to a supposition of how these things -came to be there. It was the time of popular superstitions, when -intelligences in the shape of ghosts and hobgoblins, and all forms -of good and devilish beings, seemed to have nothing else to do than -to entertain themselves with the fancies, feelings, and passions of -men, and we might not be surprised to find that Patrick Halliday was -brought under the feeling of an indescribable awe--nay, it is doubtful -if even the veritable spirits of his wife and her paramour, if they -had then and there appeared in that shaded room before him, would have -produced a stronger impression upon him than did those speechless yet -eloquent things. A moral vertigo was on him; he threw himself again -into a chair, and felt his knees knocking against each other, as if the -nerves, paralysed by the deep impression upon the brain, were no longer -under the influence of the will. - -After sitting for a time in this state of perplexity and awe, from -which he could not extricate himself, the servant, with his daughter, -returned. He called her to his presence, and asked her, pointing to the -shoe and the slipper, “how those things came to be there?” - -The girl was seized with as great wonder as he himself had been, and -there was even a greater cause for astonishment on her part, insomuch -as, according to her declaration, she had cleaned out and dusted the -parlour within half an hour of going forth, and these articles were -certainly not in the room then. As for the outer door, she had left it -fastened in the usual way, and the windows were carefully drawn down -before her departure. Where _could_ they have come from, she questioned -both her master and herself, with an equal chance of a satisfactory -answer from either. Then she would not have been a woman if she could -have resisted the claims of superstition in a case so inexplicable, so -extraordinary, so unparalleled even in winter fireside stories. And -so she looked at her master, and he looked at her, in blank wonder, -without either of them having the power of venturing even a surmise as -to how or by what earthly or unearthly means those ominous things, so -terrible in the associations by which they were linked to their owners, -came to be where they were. - -After some longer time uselessly occupied, Patrick Halliday bethought -himself of going to Writers’ Court, so taking up the silver-buckled -shoe, and putting it into his large coat pocket, he proceeded to Mrs -Blair’s. He found her in that state of reconciled despondency to which -she had been reduced for more than two months; but the moment she saw -Patrick Halliday enter, she sprang up as if she had been quickened -by the impulse of a new-born hope rising amidst the clouds of a -long-settled despair. The movement was soon stayed when her keenness -scanned the face of the man; but a new feeling took possession of her -when she saw him draw out of his pocket the silver-buckled shoe with -which she had been as familiar as with her own. - -“Where, in the Lord’s name!--” she cried, without being able to say -more, while she seized spasmodically the strange object, still covered -as it was with the mould, and with the silver obscured by the passage -of time. And, gazing at it, she heard Halliday’s account of how he came -to be in possession of it, along with the slipper. - -“Have you the neighbour in the house?” he inquired. - -“No, no,” said she; “but I am certain that that is one of the shoes -Archibald had on the day he disappeared. Oh, sir, I can scarcely look -at these initials; and there is such a death-like odour about it that -it sickens me.” - -“It is the same with the slipper,” said he. “It would seem that both of -them had been taken off the feet of corpses.” - -“Strange mystery altogether,” added she, with a deep sigh. “Oh, I could -have wished I had not seen these--it only serves to renew my care, -without satisfying my natural desire to know the fate of one I loved so -dearly.” - -“It is so with me as well, madam,” rejoined Mr Patrick; “but the -finding of this shoe and slipper may satisfy us of the connexion -between your husband and my wife.” - -“Yes, yes,” ejaculated she; “but oh, merciful God! what a wretched -satisfaction to the bereaved wife and the deserted child. You are a -man, and can bear up. A poor woman must sit in solitude and mourn, -while the flesh wastes day by day under the weary spirit.” - -“And you can suggest nothing to help me to an explanation of this new -mystery?” said he. - -“Nothing; all is darker than ever,” replied she. “But, sir, you have -got the only trace that for a long year has been found of this most -unfortunate--I fear, unhappy pair, and it will be for you to improve it -in some way. Something more will follow. I will go over with you myself -to your house. A woman’s eyes are sharper than a man’s. I would like to -examine the house, and judge for myself.” - -And the lady, rising, went and dressed herself. In a few minutes more -they were on the way to Peddie’s Land; probably, as they went along, -objects of speculation to those who knew the strange link by which -their fortunes were joined. Nor was it unlikely that evil tongues might -suggest that as their partners had played them false, they intended to -make amends by a kind of poetical retribution. Alas! how different from -their thoughts, how unlike their feelings, how far distant from their -object! - -On arriving at the house, a new wonder was to meet them, almost upon -the threshold. The servant ran forward to Halliday, holding in her hand -the partner of the silver-buckled shoe which her master had in his -pocket. She was utterly unable to say a word, her eyes were strained -not less in width than in intensity, her mouth was open like that -of an idiot, and motioning and muttering, “Come, come,” she led her -master and Mrs Blair on through two or three rooms till she came to a -small closet, at the back of which there was a door, now for the first -time in Patrick Halliday’s experience found open. In explanation of -which peculiarity we require to suspend our narrative for a minute or -two, to enable us to inform the reader, that the house then occupied -by Halliday had, five years before, and immediately preceding his -marriage, been in possession of George Morgan, a wool-dealer. - -Morgan’s warehouse, where he stored his wool, entered from a close to -the west, through a pend, between Peddie’s Land and the large tenement -adjoining. The run of the warehouse was thus at right angles to that -of the dwelling-house, and Morgan was thereby enabled to knock out a -small door at the back of a press, through which he could conveniently -pass to his place of business without being at the trouble of going -down the close to the main entry. After Morgan’s death, the house and -warehouse went to his heirs, from whom Halliday rented the former, -the other having been let to some other person for three years, after -which it had been without a tenant. We may state also that Halliday -was at first quite aware of the existence of the door at the back of -the press, and had even taken the precaution of getting it locked; but -as no requisition had been made by the tenant of the warehouse to have -the communication more securely barred, the door had been left in the -condition we have described. - -Resuming our story: the servant, when she came to the point where we -left her, stopped and trembled; but by this time Halliday had begun to -see whither these pointings tended, and pushing the girl aside with -a view to examine the door, he was astonished to find that it opened -to his touch--a fact better known by Nettle, his dog, who had, as the -shoes testified, been there before. - -On entering the warehouse, all the windows of which were shut except -one, through which a ray of light struggled to illuminate merely a -part of the room, the party beheld a sight which in all likelihood -would retain a vividness in their memories after all other images of -earthly things had passed away. Right in the middle of the partial -light admitted by the solitary window lay the bodies of two persons--a -man and a woman. The latter had on her a yellow morning gown trimmed -with green. One slipper was on, the other off; her head, which was -uncovered, was surmounted by the high toupee of the times, which -consisted of the collected hair brushed up and supported by a concealed -cushion. The man had on a morning dress, with a round felt hat, which -still retained its place on his head. There was no corruption in the -bodies of that kind called moist. They were nearly shrivelled, but that -to an extent which reduced them to little other than skeletons covered -with a brown skin--a state of the bodies which probably resulted -from the dry air of the wareroom, heated as it was by a smithy being -immediately below it, the smoke of which was conveyed by a flue up the -side of the tenement. The two bodies lay clasped in each other’s arms, -the faces were so close that the noses almost met; the eyes were open, -and though the balls were shrunk so much that they could not be seen, -the lids, which had shrunk also, were considerably apart. These were -the bodies of Julia Halliday and Archibald Blair. - -There was not a word spoken by the searchers. Their eyes told them all -that was necessary to convince them of the identity of those who lay -before them. Nor, when Halliday took up a paper which lay at the head -of Blair, did he think it necessary to make any observation of surprise -at what was in keeping with what they saw. - -“Oh, read,” said Mrs Blair, as she gasped in the midst of her agony. - -Halliday, holding up the paper so as to receive the light, read as -follows:-- - - “Whoever you may be, man or woman, who first discovers the bodies of - me and her who lies by my side will please, as he or she hopes for - mercy, deliver this paper either to Mr Patrick Halliday of Peddie’s - Land, or Mrs Archibald Blair in Writers’ Court, that they may take - the means of getting us decently interred. Julia Halliday and I, - Archibald Blair, met and looked and loved. These few words contain - the secret of our misfortune, and must be the excuse of our crime - in taking away our lives. Our love was too strong to be quelled by - resolution, too sacred to be corrupted by coarse enjoyment of the - senses, too hopeless to be borne amidst the impediments of our mutual - obligations to our spouses. We felt and believed that it was only - our mortal bodies that belonged to our partners, our spirits were - ours and ours alone by that decree which made the soul, with its - sympathies and its elections, before ever the world was, or marriage, - which is only a convention of man’s making. We loved, we sinned not, - yet we were unhappy, because we could not fulfil the obligations of - affection to those we had sworn at the altar to love and honour. - Often have we torn ourselves from each other with vows on our lips - of mutual avoidance, but these efforts were vain. We could not live - estranged, and we flew again to each other’s arms, again to vow, - again to meet, again to be blessed, again to be tortured. This life - was unendurable; and, left to the alternative of parting or dying, - we selected the latter. The poison was bought by me in two separate - vials. As I write, Julia holds hers in her hands, and smiles as she - is about to swallow the drug. We have resolved to lie down face to - face, so as to be able to look into each other’s eyes and watch - jealously Death as he drags us slowly from each other. I have now - swallowed my draft, smiling the while in Julia’s face. She does the - same. The pen trembles in my hand. Farewell, my wife: Julia mutters, - ‘Farewell, my husband.’ Against neither have we ever sinned. - - “ARCHIBALD BLAIR.” - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of Mary Brown. - - -If the reader of what I am going to relate for his or her edification, -or for perhaps a greater luxury, viz., wonder, should be so -unreasonable as to ask for my authority, I shall be tempted, because -a little piqued, to say that no one should be too particular about -the source of pleasure, inasmuch as, if you will enjoy nothing but -what you can prove to be a reality, you will, under good philosophical -leadership, have no great faith in the sun--a thing which you never -saw, the existence of which you are only assured of by a round -figure of light on the back of your eye, and which may be likened to -tradition; so all you have to do is to believe like a good Catholic, -and be contented, even though I begin so poorly as to try to interest -you in two very humble beings who have been dead for many years, and -whose lives were like a steeple without a bell in it, the intention -of which you cannot understand till your eye reaches the weathercock -upon the top, and then you wonder at so great an erection for so small -an object. The one bore the name of William Halket, a young man, who, -eight or nine years before he became of much interest either to himself -or any other body, was what in our day is called an Arab of the City--a -poor street boy, who didn’t know who his father was, though, as for his -mother, he knew her by a pretty sharp experience, insomuch as she took -from him every penny he made by holding horses, and gave him more cuffs -than cakes in return. But Bill got out of this bondage by the mere -chance of having been taken a fancy to by Mr Peter Ramsay, innkeeper -and stabler, in St Mary’s Wynd, (an ancestor, we suspect, of the -Ramsays of Barnton,) who thought he saw in the City Arab that love of -horse-flesh which belongs to the Bedouin, and who accordingly elevated -him to the position of a stable-boy, with board and as many shillings a -week as there are days in that subdivision of time. - -Nor did William Halket--to whom for his merits we accord the full -Christian name--do any discredit to the perspicacity of his master, -if it was not that he rather exceeded the hopes of his benefactor, -for he was attentive to the horses, civil to the farmers, and handy -at anything that came in his way. Then, to render the connexion -reciprocal, William was gratefully alive to the conviction that if he -had not been, as it were, taken from the street, the street might have -been taken from him, by his being locked up some day in the Heart of -Midlothian. So things went on in St Mary’s Wynd for five or six years, -and might have gone on for twice that period, had it not been that at -a certain hour of a certain day William fell in love with a certain -Mary Brown, who had come on that very day to be an under-housemaid in -the inn; and strange enough, it was a case of “love at first sight,” -the more by token that it took effect the moment that Mary entered the -stable with a glass of whisky in her hand sent to him by Mrs Ramsay. No -doubt it is seldom that a fine blooming young girl, with very pretty -brown hair and very blue eyes, appears to a young man with such a -recommendation in her hand, but we are free to say that the whisky had -nothing to do with an effect which is well known to be the pure result -of the physical attributes of the individual. Nay, our statement might -have been proved by the counterpart effect produced upon Mary herself, -for she was struck by William at the same moment when she handed him -the glass; and we are not to assume that the giving of a pleasant boon -is always attended with the same effect as the receiving of it. - -But, as our story requires, it is the love itself between these two -young persons whose fates were so remarkable we have to do with--not -the causes, which are a mystery in all cases. Sure it is, humble in -position as they were, they could love as strongly, as fervently, -perhaps as ecstatically, as great people--nay, probably more so, -for education has a greater chance of moderating the passion than -increasing it; and so, notwithstanding of what Plutarch says of -the awfully consuming love between Phrygius and Picrea, and also -what Shakespeare has sung or said about a certain Romeo and a lady -called Juliet, we are certain that the affection between these grand -personages was not _more_ genuine, tender, and true than that which -bound the simple and unsophisticated hearts of Will Halket and Mary -Brown. But at best we merely play on the surface of a deep subject when -we try with a pen to describe feelings, and especially the feelings -of love. We doubt, if even the said pen were plucked from Cupid’s -wing, it would help us much. We are at best only left to a choice of -expressions, and perhaps the strongest we could use are those which -have already been used a thousand times--the two were all the world -to each other, the world outside nothing at all to them; so that -they could have been as happy on the top of Mount Ararat, or on the -island of Juan Fernandez, provided they should be always in each -other’s company, as they were in St Mary’s Wynd. And as for whispered -protestations and chaste kisses--for really their love had a touch of -romance about it you could hardly have expected, but which yet kept -it pure, if not in some degree elevated above the loves of common -people--these were repeated so often about the quiet parts of Arthur’s -Seat and the Queen’s Park, and the fields about the Dumbiedykes and -Duddingstone Loch, that they were the very moral aliments on which -they lived. In short, to Mary Brown the great Duke of Buccleuch was as -nothing compared to Willie Halket, and to Willie Halket the beautiful -Duchess of Grammont would have been as nothing compared to simple Mary -Brown. All which is very amiable and very necessary, for if it had been -so ordained that people should feel the exquisite sensations of love -in proportion as they were beautiful, or rich, or endowed with talent, -(according to a standard,) our world would have been even more queer -than that kingdom described by Gulliver, where the ugliest individual -is made king or queen. - -Things continued in this very comfortable state at the old inn in -St Mary’s Wynd for about a year, and it had come to enter into the -contemplation of Will that upon getting an increase of his wages -he would marry Mary and send her to live with her mother, a poor -hard-working washerwoman, in Big Lochend Close; whereunto Mary was -so much inclined, that she looked forward to the day as the one that -promised to be the happiest that she had yet seen, or would ever see. -But, as an ancient saying runs, the good hour is in no man’s choice; -and about this time it so happened that Mr Peter Ramsay, having had a -commission from an old city man, a Mr Dreghorn, located as a planter -in Virginia, to send him out a number of Scottish horses, suggested -to William that he would do well to act as supercargo and groom. Mr -Dreghorn had offered to pay a good sum to the man who should bring them -out safe, besides paying his passage over and home. And Mr Ramsay would -be ready to receive Will into his old place again on his return. As for -Mary, with regard to whom the master knew his man’s intentions, she -would remain where she was, safe from all temptation, and true to the -choice of her heart. This offer pleased William, because he saw that -he could make some money out of the adventure, whereby he would be the -better able to marry, and make a home for the object of his affections; -but he was by no means sure that Mary would consent; for women, by some -natural divining of the heart, look upon delays in affairs of love as -ominous and dangerous. And so it turned out that one Sabbath evening, -when they were seated beneath a tree in the King’s Park, and William -had cautiously introduced the subject to her, she was like other women. - -“The bird that gets into the bush,” she said, as the tears fell upon -her cheeks, “sometimes forgets to come back to the cage again. I would -rather hae the lean lintie in the hand than the fat finch on the wand.” - -“But you forget, Mary, love,” was the answer of Will, “that you can -feed the lean bird, but you can’t feed me. It is I who must support -you. It is to enable me to do that which induces me to go. I will come -with guineas in my pocket where there are now only pennies and placks, -and you know, Mary, the Scotch saying, ‘A heavy purse makes a light -heart.’” - -“And an unsteady one,” rejoined Mary. “And you may bring something else -wi’ you besides the guineas; may be, a wife.” - -“One of Mr Dreghorn’s black beauties,” said Will, laughing. “No, no, -Mary, I am too fond of the flaxen ringlets, the rosy cheeks, and the -blue eyes, and you know, Mary, you have all these, so you have me in -your power. But to calm your fears and stop your tears I’ll tell you -what I’ll do.” - -“Stay at hame, Will, and we’ll live and dee thegither.” - -“No,” replied Will, “but, like the genteel lover I have read of, I will -swear on your Bible that I will return to you within the year, and -marry you at the Tron Kirk, and throw my guineas into the lap of your -marriage-gown, and live with you until I die.” - -For all which and some more we may draw upon our fancy, but certain -it is, as the strange story goes, that Will did actually then and -there--for Mary had been at the Tron Kirk and had her Bible in her -pocket, (an article the want of which is not well supplied by the -scent-bottle of our modern Marys,)--swear to do all he had said, -whereupon Mary was so far satisfied that she gave up murmuring--perhaps -no more than that. Certain also it is that before the month was done, -Will, with his living kicking charges, and after more of these said -tears from Mary than either of them had arithmetic enough to enable -them to count, embarked at Leith for Richmond, at which place the -sugar-planter had undertaken to meet him. - -We need say nothing of the voyage across the Atlantic--somewhat arduous -at that period--nor need we pick up Will again till we find him in -Richmond with his horses all safe, and as fat and sleek as if they -had been fed by Neptune’s wife, and had drawn her across in place of -her own steeds. There he found directions waiting from Mr Dreghorn -to the effect that he was to proceed with the horses to Peach Grove, -his plantation, a place far into the heart of the country; but Will -was content, for had he not time and to spare within the year, and he -would see some more of the new world, which, so far as his experience -yet went, seemed to him to be a good place for a freeman to live in. So -off he went, putting up at inns by the way as well supplied with food -and fodder as Mr Peter Ramsay’s, in St Mary’s Wynd, and showing off his -nags to the planters, who wondered at their bone and muscle, the more -by reason they had never seen Scotch horses before. As he progressed, -the country seemed to Will more and more beautiful, and by the time -he reached Peach Grove he had come to the unpatriotic conclusion that -all it needed was Mary Brown, with her roses, and ringlets, and eyes, -passing like an angel--lovers will be poets--among these ebon beauties, -to make it the finest country in the world. - -Nor when the Scotsman reached Peach Grove did the rosy side of matters -recede into the shady, for he was received in a great house by Mr -Dreghorn with so much kindness, that, if the horses rejoiced in maize -and oats, Will found himself, as the saying goes, in five-bladed -clover. But more awaited him, even thus much more, that the planter, -and his fine lady of a wife as well, urged him to remain on the -plantation, where he would be well paid and well fed; and when Will -pleaded his engagement to return to Scotland within the year, the -answer was ready that he might spend eight months in Virginia at least, -which would enable him to take home more money--an answer that seemed -so very reasonable, if not prudent, that “Sawny” saw the advantage -thereof and agreed. But we need hardly say that this was conceded upon -the condition made with himself, that he would write to Mary all the -particulars, and also upon the condition acceded to by Mr Dreghorn, -that he would take the charge of getting the letter sent to Scotland. - -All which having been arranged, Mr Halket--for we cannot now continue -to take the liberty of calling him Will--was forthwith elevated to the -position of driving negroes in place of horses, an occupation which he -did not much relish, insomuch that he was expected to use the lash, -an instrument of which he had been very chary in his treatment of -four-legged chattels, and which he could not bring himself to apply -with anything but a sham force in reference to the two-legged species. -But this objection he thought to get over by using the sharp crack of -his Jehu-voice, as a substitute for that of the whip; and in this he -persevered, in spite of the jeers of the other drivers, who told him -the thing had been tried often, but that the self-conceit of the negro -met the stimulant and choked it at the very entrance to the ear; and -this he soon found to be true. So he began to do as others did, and he -was the sooner reconciled to the strange life into which he had been -precipitated by the happy condition of the slaves themselves, who, -when their work was over, and at all holiday hours, dressed themselves -in the brightest colours of red and blue and white, danced, sang, ate -corn-cakes and bacon, and drank coffee with a zest which would have -done a Scotch mechanic, with his liberty to produce a lock-out, much -good to see. True, indeed, the white element of the population was -at a discount at Peach Grove. But in addition to the above source -of reconciliation, Halket became day by day more captivated by the -beauty of the country, with its undulating surface, its wooded clumps, -its magnolias, tulip-trees, camellias, laurels, passion-flowers, and -palms, its bright-coloured birds, and all the rest of the beauties for -which it is famous all over the world. But nature might charm as it -might--Mary Brown was three thousand miles away. - -Meanwhile the time passed pleasantly, for he was accumulating money, -Mary’s letter would be on the way, and the hope of seeing her within -the appointed time was dominant over all the fascinations which -charmed the senses. But when the month came in which he ought to have -received a letter, no letter came--not much this to be thought of, -though Mr Dreghorn tried to impress him with the idea that there must -be some change of sentiment in the person from whom he expected the -much-desired answer. So Halket wrote again, giving the letter, as -before, to his master, who assured him it was sent carefully away, -and while it was crossing the Atlantic he was busy in improving his -penmanship and arithmetic, under the hope held out to him by his master -that he would, if he remained, be raised to a book-keeper’s desk; for -the planter had seen early that he had got hold of a long-headed, -honest, sagacious “Sawny,” who would be of use to him. On with still -lighter wing the intermediate time sped again, but with no better -result in the shape of an answer from her who was still the object -of his day fancies and his midnight dreams. Nor did all this kill -his hope. A third letter was despatched, but the returning period -was equally a blank. We have been counting by months, which, as they -sped, soon brought round the termination of his year, and with growing -changes too in himself, for as the notion began to worm itself into -his mind that his beloved Mary was either dead or faithless, another -power was quietly assailing him from within, no other than ambition -in the most captivating of all shapes, Mammon. We all know the manner -in which the golden deity acquires his authority, nor do we need to -have recourse to the conceit of the old writer who tells us that the -reason why gold has such an influence upon man lies in the fact that -it is of the colour of the sun, which is the fountain of light, and -life, and joy. Certain it is, at least, that Halket having been taken -into the counting-house on a raised salary, began “to lay by,” as the -Scotch call it, and by and by, with the help of a little money lent to -him by his master, he began by purchasing produce from the neighbouring -plantations, and selling it where he might, all which he did with -advantage, yet with the ordinary result to a Scotsman, that while he -turned to so good account the king’s head, the king’s head began to -turn his own. - -And now in place of months we must begin to count by lustrums, and -the first five years, even with all the thoughts of his dead, or, at -least, lost Mary, proved in Halket’s case the truth of the book written -by a Frenchman, to prove that a man is a plant, for he had already -thrown out from his head or heart so many roots in the Virginian soil -that he was bidding fair to be as firmly fixed in his new sphere as a -magnolia, and if that bore golden blossoms, so did he; yet, true to -his first love, there was not among all these flowers one so fair as -the fair-haired Mary. Nay, with all hope not yet extinguished, he had -even at the end of the period resolved upon a visit to Scotland, when -strangely enough, and sadly too, he was told by Mr Dreghorn that having -had occasion to hear from Mr Peter Ramsay on the subject of some more -horse dealings, that person had reported to him that Mary Brown, the -lover of his old stable-boy, was dead. A communication this which, if -it had been made at an earlier period, would have prostrated Halket -altogether, but it was softened by his long foreign anticipations, and -he was thereby the more easily inclined to resign his saddened soul -to the further dominion of the said god, Mammon, for as to the notion -of putting any of those beautiful half-castes he sometimes saw about -the planter’s house at Peach Grove, in the place of her of the golden -ringlets, it was nothing better than the desecration of a holy temple. -Then the power of the god increased with the offerings, one of which -was his large salary as manager, a station to which he was elevated -shortly after he had received the doleful tidings of Mary’s death. -Another lustrum is added, and we arrive at ten years, and yet another, -and we come to fifteen; at the end of which time Mr Dreghorn died, -leaving Halket as one of his trustees, for behoof of his wife, in whom -the great plantation vested. If we add yet another lustrum, we find -the Scot--fortunate, save for one misfortune that made him a joyless -worshipper of gold--purchasing from the widow, who wished to return to -England, the entire plantation under the condition of an annuity. - -And Halket was now rich, even beyond what he had ever wished, but the -chariot-wheels of Time would not go any slower--nay, they moved faster, -and every year more silently, as if the old Father had intended to -cheat the votary of Mammon into a belief that he would live for ever. -The lustrums still passed: another five, another, and another, till -there was scope for all the world being changed, and a new generation -taking the place of that with which William Halket and Mary Brown -began; and he was changed too, for he began to take on those signs of -age which make the old man a painted character; but in one thing he -was not changed, and that was the worshipful steadfastness, the sacred -fidelity, with which he still treasured in his mind the form and face, -the words and the smiles, the nice and refined peculiarities that feed -love as with nectared sweets, which once belonged to Mary Brown, the -first creature that had moved his affections, and the last to hold -them, as the object of a cherished memory for ever. Nor with time so -deceptive, need we be so sparing in dealing out those periods of five -years, but say at once that at last William Halket could count twelve -of them since first he set his foot on Virginian soil: yea, he had been -there for sixty summers, and he had now been a denizen of the world for -seventy-eight years. In all which our narrative has been strange, but -we have still the stranger fact to set forth, that at this late period -he was seized with that moral disease (becoming physical in time) -which the French call _mal du pays_, the love of the country where one -was born and first enjoyed the fresh springs that gush from the young -heart. Nor was it the mere love of country, as such, for he was seized -with a particular wish to be where Mary lay in the churchyard of the -Canongate, to erect a tombstone over her, to seek out her relations and -enrich them, to make a worship out of a disappointed love, to dedicate -the last of his thoughts to the small souvenirs of her humble life. -Within a month this old man was on his way to Scotland, having sold the -plantation, and taken bills with him to an amount of little less than a -hundred thousand pounds. - -In the course of five weeks William Halket put his foot on the old -pier of Leith, on which some very old men were standing, who had been -urchins when he went away. The look of the old harbour revived the -image which had been imprinted on his mind when he sailed, and the -running of the one image into the other produced the ordinary illusion -of all that long interval appearing as a day; but there was no illusion -in the change, that Mary Brown was there when he departed, and there -was no Mary Brown there now. Having called a coach he told the driver -to proceed up Leith Walk, and take him to Peter Ramsay’s Inn, in St -Mary’s Wynd; but the man told him there was no inn there, nor had been -in his memory. The man added that he would take him to the White Horse -in the Canongate, and thither accordingly he drove him. On arriving at -the inn he required the assistance of the waiter to enable him to get -out of the coach, nor probably did the latter think this any marvel, -after looking into a face so furrowed with years, so pale with the -weakness of a languid circulation, so saddened with care. The rich man -had only an inn for a home, nor in all his native country was there one -friend whom he hoped to find alive. Neither would a search help him, -as he found on the succeeding day, when, by the help of his staff, he -essayed an infirm walk in the great thoroughfare of the old city. The -houses were not much altered, but the signboards had got new names and -figures, and as for the faces, they were to him even as those in Crete -to the Cretan, after he awoke from a sleep of forty-seven years--a -similitude only true in this change, for Epimenidas was still as young -when he awoke as when he went to sleep, but William Halket was old -among the young and the grown, who were unknown to him as he was indeed -strange to them. True, too, as the coachman said, Peter Ramsay’s Inn, -where he had heard Mary singing at her work, and the stable where he -had whistled blithely among his favourite horses, were no longer to -be seen--_etiam cineres perierunt_--their very sites were occupied by -modern dwellings. What of that small half-sunk lodging in Big Lochend -Close, where Mary’s mother lived, and where Mary had been brought up, -where perhaps Mary had died. Would it not be a kind of pilgrimage to -hobble down the Canongate to that little lodging, and might there -not be for him a sad pleasure even to enter and sit down by the same -fireplace where he had seen the dearly-beloved face, and listened to -her voice, to him more musical than the melody of angels? - -And so after he had walked about till he was wearied, and his steps -became more unsteady and slow, and as yet without having seen a face -which he knew, he proceeded in the direction of the Big Close. There -was, as regards stone and lime, little change here; he soon recognised -the half-sunk window where, on the Sunday evenings, he had sometimes -tapped as a humorous sign that he was about to enter, which had often -been responded to by Mary’s finger on the glass, as a token that he -would be welcome. It was sixty years since then. A small corb would now -hold all that remained of both mother and daughter. He turned away his -head as if sick, and was about to retrace his steps. Yet the wish to -enter that house rose again like a yearning, and what more in the world -than some souvenir of the only being on earth he ever loved was there -for him to yearn for? All his hundred thousand pounds were now, dear as -money had been to him, nothing in comparison of the gratification of -seeing the room where she was born--yea, where probably she had died. -In as short a time as his trembling limbs would carry him down the -stair, which, in the ardour of his young blood he had often taken at a -bound, he was at the foot of it; there was there the old familiar dark -passage, with doors on either side, but it was the farthest door that -was of any interest to him. Arrived at it he stood in doubt. He would -knock, and he would not; the mystery of an undefined fear was over him, -and yet, what had he to fear, for half a century the inmates had been -changed, no doubt, over and over again, and he would be as unknowing -as unknown? At length the trembling finger achieves the furtive tap, -and the door was opened by a woman, whose figure could only be seen by -him in coming between him and the obscure light that came in by the -half-sunk window in front; nor could she, even if she had had the power -of vision, see more of him, for the lobby was still darker. - -“Who may live here?” said he, in the expectation of hearing some name -unknown to him. - -The answer, in a broken cracked voice, was not slow-- - -“Mary Brown; and what may you want of her?” - -“Mary Brown!” but not a word more could he say, and he stood as still -as a post, not a movement of any kind did he show for so long a time -that the woman might have been justified in her fear of a very spirit. - -“And can ye say nae mair, sir?” rejoined she. “Is my name a bogle to -terrify human beings?” - -But still he was silent, for the reason that he could not think--far -less speak, nor even for some minutes could he achieve more than the -repetition of the words, “Mary Brown.” - -“But hadna ye better come in, good sir?” said she. “Ye may ken our auld -saying: ‘They that speak in the dark may miss their mark;’ for words -carry nae light in their een ony mair than me, for, to say the truth, I -am old and blind.” - -And, moving more as an automaton than as one under a will, Halket was -seated on a chair with this said old and blind woman by his side, who -sat silent and with blank eyes waiting for the stranger to explain -what he wanted. Nor was the opportunity lost by Halket, who, unable to -understand how she should have called herself Mary Brown, began, in -the obscure light of the room, to scrutinise her form and features, -and in doing this he went upon the presumption that this second Mary -Brown only carried the name of the first; but as he looked he began -to detect features which riveted his eyes; where the re-agent was so -sharp and penetrating, the analysis was rapid--it was also hopeful--it -was also fearful. Yes, it was true that that woman was _his_ Mary -Brown. The light-brown ringlets were reduced to a white stratum of thin -hair; the blue eyes were gray, without light and without speculation; -the roses on the cheeks were replaced by a pallor, the forerunner of -the colour of death; the lithe and sprightly form was a thin spectral -body, where the sinews appeared as strong cords, and the skin seemed -only to cover a skeleton. Yet withal he saw in her that identical Mary -Brown. That wreck was dear to him; it was a relic of the idol he had -worshipped through life; it was the only remnant in the world which had -any interest for him; and he could on the instant have clasped her to -his breast, and covered her pale face with his tears. But how was he to -act? A sudden announcement might startle and distress her. - -“There was a Mary Brown,” said he, “who was once a housemaid in Mr -Peter Ramsay’s Inn in St Mary’s Wynd.” - -“And who can it be that can recollect that?” was the answer, as she -turned the sightless orbs on the speaker. “Ye maun be full o’ years. -Yes, that was my happy time, even the only happy time I ever had in -this world.” - -“And there was one William Halket there at that time also,” he -continued. - -Words which, as they fell upon the ear, seemed to be a stimulant so -powerful as to produce a jerk in the organ; the dulness of the eyes -seemed penetrated with something like light, and a tremor passed over -her entire frame. - -“That name is no to be mentioned, sir,” she said, nervously, “except -aince, and nae mair; he was my ruin; for he pledged his troth to me, -and promised to come back and marry me, but he never came.” - -“Nor wrote you?” said Halket. - -“No, never,” replied she; “I would hae gien the world for a scrape o’ -the pen o’ Will Halket; but it’s a’ past now, and I fancy he is dead -and gone to whaur there is neither plighted troth, nor marriage, nor -giving in marriage; and my time, too, will be short.” - -A light broke in upon the mind of Halket, carrying the suspicion that -Mr Dreghorn had, for the sake of keeping him at Peach Grove, never -forwarded the letters, whereto many circumstances tended. - -“And what did you do when you found Will had proved false?” inquired -Halket. “Why should that have been your ruin?” - -“Because my puir heart was bound up in him,” said she, “and I never -could look upon another man. Then what could a puir woman do? My mother -died, and I came here to work as she wrought: ay, fifty years ago, and -my reward has been the puir boon o’ the parish bread; ay, and, waur -than a’ the rest, blindness.” - -“Mary,” said Halket, as he took her emaciated hand into his, scarcely -less emaciated, and divested of the genial warmth of life. - -The words carried the old sound, and she started and shook. - -“Mary!” he continued, “Will Halket still lives. He was betrayed, as you -have been betrayed. He wrote three letters to you, all of which were -kept back by his master, for fear of losing one who he saw would be -useful to him; and, to complete the conspiracy, he reported you dead -upon the authority of Peter Ramsay. Whereupon Will betook himself to -the making of money, but he never forgot his Mary, whose name has been -heard as often as the song of the birds in the groves of Virginia.” - -“Ah, you are Will himself!” cried she. “I ken now the sound o’ your -voice in the word ‘Mary,’ even as you used to whisper it in my ear in -the fields at St Leonard’s. Let me put my hand upon your head, and move -my fingers ower your face. Yes, yes; oh, mercy, merciful God, how can -my poor worn heart bear a’ this!” - -“Mary, my dear Mary!” ejaculated the moved man, “come to my bosom and -let me press you to my heart; for this is the only blissful moment I -have enjoyed for sixty years.” - -Nor was Mary deaf to his entreaties, for she resigned herself as in -a swoon to an embrace, which an excess of emotion, working on the -shrivelled heart and the wasted form, probably prevented her from -feeling. - -“But, O Willie!” she cried, “a life’s love lost; a lost life on both -our sides.” - -“Not altogether,” rejoined he, in the midst of their mutual sobs. “It -may be--nay, it is--that our sands are nearly run. Yea, a rude shake -would empty the glass, so weak and wasted are both of us; but still -there are a few grains to pass, and they shall be made golden. You -are the only living creature in all this world I have any care for. -More thousands of pounds than you ever dreamt of are mine, and will -be yours. We will be married even yet, not as the young marry, but as -those marry who may look to their knowing each other as husband and -wife in heaven, where there are no cruel interested men to keep them -asunder; and for the short time we are here you shall ride in your -carriage as a lady, and be attended by servants; nor shall a rude -breath of wind blow upon you which it is in the power of man to save -you from.” - -“Ower late, Willie; ower late,” sighed the exhausted woman, as she -still lay in his arms. “But if all this should please my Will--I canna -use another name, though you are now a gentleman--I will do even as you -list, and that which has been by a cruel fate denied us here we may -share in heaven.” - -“And who shall witness this strange marriage?” said he. “There is no -one in Edinburgh now that I know or knows me. Has any one ever been -kind to you?” - -“Few, few indeed,” answered she. “I can count only three.” - -“I must know these wonderful exceptions,” said he, as he made an -attempt at a grim smile; “for those who have done a service to Mary -Brown have done a double service to me. I will make every shilling they -have given you a hundred pounds. Tell me their names.” - -“There is John Gilmour, my landlord,” continued she, “who, though he -needed a’ his rents for a big family, passed me many a term, and forbye -brought me often, when I was ill and couldna work, many a bottle o’ -wine; there is Mrs Paterson o’ the Watergate, too, who aince when I -gaed to her in sair need gave me a shilling out o’ three that she -needed for her bairns; and Mrs Galloway o’ Little Lochend, slipt in to -me a peck o’ meal ae morning when I had naething for breakfast.” - -“And these shall be at our marriage, Mary,” said he. “They shall be -dressed to make their eyes doubtful if they are themselves. John -Gilmour will wonder how these pounds of his rent he passed you from -have grown to hundreds. Mrs Paterson’s shilling will have grown as -the widow’s mite never grew, even in heaven; and Mrs Galloway’s peck -of meal will be made like the widow’s cruse of oil--it will never be -finished while she is on earth.” - -Whereupon Mary raised her head. The blank eyes were turned upon him, -and something like a smile played over the thin and wasted face. At the -same moment a fair-haired girl of twelve years came jumping into the -room, and only stopped when she saw a stranger. - -“That is Helen Kemp,” said Mary, who knew her movements. “I forgot -Helen; she lights my fire, and when I was able to gae out used to lead -me to the park.” - -“And she shall be one of the favoured ones of the earth,” said he, as -he took by the hand the girl, whom the few words from Mary had made -sacred to him, adding, “Helen, dear, you are to be kinder to Mary than -you have ever been;” and, slipping into the girl’s hand a guinea, he -whispered, “You shall have as many of these as will be a bigger tocher -to you than you ever dreamed of, for what you have done for Mary Brown.” - -And thus progressed to a termination a scene perhaps more extraordinary -than ever entered into the head of a writer of natural things -and events not beyond the sphere of the probable. Nor did what -afterwards took place fall short of the intentions of a man whose -intense yearnings to make up for what had been lost led him into the -extravagance of a vain fancy. He next day took a great house and -forthwith furnished it in proportion to his wealth. He hired servants -in accordance, and made all the necessary arrangements for the -marriage. Time which had been so cruel to him and his sacred Mary was -put under the obligation of retribution. John Gilmour, Mrs Paterson, -Mrs Galloway, and Helen Kemp were those, and those alone, privileged -to witness the ceremony. We would not like to describe how they were -decked out, nor shall we try to describe the ceremony itself. But vain -are the aspirations of man when he tries to cope with the Fates! The -changed fortune was too much for the frail and wasted bride to bear. -She swooned at the conclusion of the ceremony, and was put into a -silk-curtained bed. Even the first glimpse of grandeur was too much for -the spirit whose sigh was vanity, all is vanity, and, with the words on -her lips, “A life’s love lost,” she died. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of the Merrillygoes. - - -The world has been compared to many things,--a playhouse, a madhouse, -a penitentiary, a caravanserai, and so forth; but I think a show-box -wherein all, including man, is turned by machinery, is better than any -of them. And every one looks through his own little round hole at all -the rest, he being both object and subject. How the scenes shift too! -the belief of one age being the laughing-stock of the next. Witches and -brownies and fairies and ghosts and bogles have lost their quiddity, -and given birth to quips and laughs; but I have here, as a simple -storyteller, to do with one example of these vanished beliefs, what was -in folk-lore called the “Merrillygoes,” sometimes in the old Scotch -dictionaries spelled “Mirrligoes.” It was a supposed affection of the -eyes, in which the victim or patient, as you suppose the visitation -brought on by natural or supernatural powers, fancied he saw men and -women and inanimate things which were not at the time before him. -I think the affection was different from the “glamour” which was -generally attributed to the wrath of fairies; and both indeed might, -after all, be resolved into the pseudoblepsy of the old, and the -monomania of the new nosologies. But dismissing all learning--which, -however potent to puff up man’s pride, and then prick the bladder of -his conceit, has no concern with a story--I at once introduce to you Mr -David Tweedie. He was one of those Davids who, for some Scotch reason, -are called Dauvit; and, like other simple men, he had a wife, whose -name, I think, was Semple, Robina Semple, certainly not Simple. These -worthies figured in Berenger’s Close of Edinburgh some time about the -provostship of the unfortunate Alexander Wilson; and were not only man -and wife by holy Kirk, but a copartnership, insomuch as, Dauvit being -a tailor, she after marriage, and having no children to “fash her,” -became a tailor also, sitting on the same board with him, using the -same goose, yea, pricking the same flea with emulous needle. - -Yet our couple were in some respects the most unlike each other in the -world; Robina being a sharp, clear-witted, nay, ingenious woman--Dauvit -a mere big boy. I do not know if I could give the reader a better -explanation of the expression I have used than by referring him to the -notion he might form of Holbein’s picture of his son, whom he quaintly -and humorously painted as a man, but retaining all the features, except -size, of a boy: the chubby cheeks, small snub nose, pinking eyes, and -delicate colours. Nor was Dauvit a big chubby man merely as respected -the body, for he was also little better than chubby in mind; at least -in so far as regards credulity, passiveness, and softness. He had -a marvellous appetite for worldly wonders, the belief being in the -direct ratio of the wonderfulness, and he gave credit to the last thing -he heard, for no other reason than that it was the last thing; one -impression thus effacing another, so that the soft round lump remained -always much the same. All which peculiarities were, it may easily be -supposed, not only known to, but very well appreciated by, his loving, -but perhaps not over-faithful, Binny. - -If you keep these things in your mind, you will be able the better -to estimate the value of the facts as I proceed to tell you that one -morning Dauvit was a little later in getting out of bed than was usual -with him, by reason that he had on the previous night been occupied -with a suit of those sacredly-imperative things called in Scotland -“blacks,” that is, mourning. But then the time was not lost; for Robina -was up and active, very busily engaged in preparing breakfast. Not -that Dauvit condescended to take much notice of these domestic duties -of Binny, because he had ample faith not only in her housewifery, but -the wonderful extent of her understanding; only it just happened, -as indeed anything _may_ happen in a world where we do not know why -anything _does_ happen, that as he lay very comfortably under the -welcome pressure of the soft blankets, with his eyes looking as it -were out of a hole, he heard a tap at the door, which tap was just as -like that of the letter-carrier as any two blunts of exactly the same -length could possibly be. Nor did his observation stop here; for he saw -with these same eyes, as if confirming his ears, Binny go to the door -and open it; then came the words of doubtless the said letter-carrier, -“That’s for Dauvit;” and at the same instant a letter was put into his -wife’s hands, and thereafter disappeared at the hole of her pocket, -where there were many things that David knew nothing about. - -Strange as this seemed to Mr Tweedie, even the last act of pocketing -would not have appeared to him so very curious if at the moment of -secreting the letter she had not very boldly, and even with a kind of -smile upon her face, looked fully into the open eyes of her husband. -But more still, this sagacious and honest woman immediately thereafter -retired into the inner room, where, no doubt, she made herself -acquainted with the contents of the communication, whatever it might -be, and from which she came again to resume, as she did resume, her -preparations for breakfast just as if nothing had happened beyond what -was common. Of course I need not say that Dauvit was astonished; but -his astonishment was an increasing quantity in proportion to the time -that now passed without her going forward to the bedside and reading -the letter to him, as she had often done before; and if we might be -entitled to wonder why he didn’t at once put the question, “What letter -was that, Binny?” perhaps the answer which would have been given by -David himself might have been that his very wonder prevented him from -asking for an explanation of the wonder--just as miracles shut people’s -mouths at the same moment that they make them open their eyes. - -However this might be--and who knows but that David might have a pawky -curiosity to try Binny?--the never a word did he say; but, rising -slowly and quietly, he dressed himself, in that loose way in which -of all tradesmen the tailors most excel, for a reason of which I am -entirely ignorant. He then sat down by the fire; and Binny having -seated herself on the other side, the operation of breakfast began -without a word being said on either part, but with mutual looks, which -on the one side, viz., Robina’s, were very well understood, but on the -other not at all. A piece of pantomime all this which could not last -very long, for the good reason that impatience is the handmaiden of -curiosity; and David at length, in spite of a bit of bread which almost -closed up his mouth, got out the words-- - -“What letter was that, Binny, which the letter-carrier handed in this -mornin’?” - -“Letter! there was nae letter, man,” was the answer of Binny, -accompanied with a look of surprise, which might in vain compete with -the wonder immediately called up in the eyes of her simple husband. - -“Did I no see it with my ain een?” was the very natural ejaculation. - -“No, you didn’t; you only thought ye saw it,” said the wife; “and thae -twa things have a gey difference between them.” - -“What _do_ ye mean, Robina, woman?” - -“The merrillygoes!” - -“The merrillygoes,” rejoined the wondering David; “my een niver were in -that condition.” - -“_You_ may think sae, Dauvit,” rejoined Binny; “but I happen to ken -better. On Wednesday night, when we were in bed, and the moon shining -in at the window, did I no hear you say, ‘Binny, woman, what are ye -doing up at this eery hour?’ It was just about twelve; and upon -lifting my head and looking ower at ye, I saw your een staring out as -gleg as a hawk’s after a sparrow. It had begun then.” - -“Ou, I had been dreaming,” said David. - -“Dreaming with your een open!” - -“That is indeed strange enough,” rejoined David. “Did ye really see my -een open?” - -“Did ye ever hear me tell ye a lee, man? Am I no as true as the Bible? -and think ye I dinna ken the strange light o’ the merrillygoes, when I -have seen it in the een o’ my ain father?” - -“Is that really true, Binny? I’m beginnin’ to get fear’d. But what o’ -your father, lass?” - -“Ye may weel ask,” said the wife. “He had been awa’ at Falkirk Tryst -with his ewes, and it was about seven o’clock when he cam’ hame. We -were then in the farm o’ Kimmergame. Weel, he was coming up the lang -loan, and it was gloaming; and just when he was about twenty yards from -his ain door, he saw twa men hurrying along with a coffin a’ studded -with white nails. They were only a yard or twa before him, and the -moment he saw them he stopped till he saw where they were going; and -yet where could they be going but to his ain house; and nae doubt his -wife would be dead, for the lang coffin couldna have fitted any other -person in the house; but he was soon made sure enough, for he saw the -men with the coffin enter into his ain door, and there he stood in a -swither o’ fear; but he was a brave man, and in he went, never stopping -till he got into his ain parlour, where my mother was sitting at her -tea, and nae sooner did she see him than she broke out in a laugh o’ -perfect joy at his hamecome. But the never a word he ever said about -the coffin, because he didn’t wish to terrify his wife with evil omens; -and besides, he understood the vision perfectly. And, Dauvit, if ye’re -a wise man ye will submit to the hand o’ God, wha sees fit to bring -thae visitations upon us for some wise end.” - -“Very true,” said David, to whom the affair of the letter was rather -much even for _his_ credulity; “but still, Binny, lass, I canna just -come to it that I was deceived.” - -“Weel, weel, stick to it, my man, and mak me, your ain wife, a leear.” - -“That canna be either,” rejoined David; “and by my faith, I’m at a loss -what to think or what to do; for if it really be that the infliction’s -upon me, how, in the Lord’s name, am I to ken the real thing from the -fause? My head rins right round at the very thought o’t. And then I -fancy there’s nae remedy in the power o’ man.” - -“I fear no,” replied Binny. “Ye maun just pray; but I have heard -my father say that it came on him after he had been confined with -an ill-working stomach to the house, and exercise drove it away. -Ye’ve been sitting ower close. Take scouth for a day. Awa’ ower to -Burntisland, and get payment from John Sprunt o’ the three pounds he -owes for his last suit. Stay ower the night. I say nothing about the -jolly boose ye’ll have thegither, but it may drive thae fumes and -fancies out o’ your head. Come ower with the first boat in the morning, -and I will have your breakfast ready for you.” - -The prudence of this advice David was not slow to see, though he had, -maugre his simplicity, considerable misgivings about the affair of the -letter; nor did he altogether feel the absolute conviction that he was -under the influence of the foresaid mysterious power. But independently -of the prudence of her counsel, he felt it as a command, and therefore -behoved to obey. For we may as well admit that David might doubt of -the eternal obligation of a certain decalogue by reason of its being -abrogated; but as for the commands of Mrs Robina, they were subject -to no abrogation, and certainly no denial whatever. So David went and -dressed himself in his “second-best”--a particular mentioned here with -an after-view--and having got from the hands of her, who was thus both -wife and medical adviser, a drop of spirits to help him _on_, and the -merrillygoes _off_, he set forth on his journey. - -Proceeding down Leith Wynd, he found himself in Leith Walk; but however -active his limbs, thus relieved on so short a warning from “the -board,” and however keen and far-sighted his eyes, as they scanned -all the people he met, he could not shake off certain doubts whether -the individuals he met were in reality creatures of flesh and blood, -or mere visions. The sacred words of Mrs Robina were a kind of winged -beliefs, which, by merely striking on the ear, performed for him what -many a man has much trouble in doing for himself--that is, thinking; -so that upon the whole the tendency of his thoughts was in a great -degree favourable to sadness and terror. The sigh was heaved again and -again; being sometimes for a longer period delayed, as the hope of a -jolly boose with his friend Sprunt held a partial sway in his troubled -mind. But by and by the activity required by his search for a boat, the -getting on board, the novelty of the sail, the undulating movements, -and all the interests which belong to a “traveller by sea and land,” -drove away the cobwebs that hung about the brain; and by the time he -got to Burntisland he was much as he used to be. But, alas, he little -knew that this journey, propitious as it appeared, was not calculated -to produce the wonderful effects expected from it. - -No sooner had he landed on the pier than he made straight for the house -of his friend, which stood by the roadside, a little removed from the -village. He saw it in the distance; and quickening his steps, came to -an angle which enabled him to see into Mr Sprunt’s garden; and we may, -considering how much the three pounds, the boose, the fun, the cure was -associated with the figure of that individual, imagine the satisfaction -felt by Mr Tweedie when he saw the true body of John Sprunt in that -very garden, busily engaged, too, in the delightful occupation of -garden-work, and animated, we may add of our own supposition, with a -mind totally oblivious of the three pounds he owed to the Edinburgh -tailor. But well and truly may we speak of the uncertainty of mundane -things. David had only turned away his eyes for an instant, and yet -in that short period, as he found when he again turned his head, the -well-known figure of his old friend, pot-companion, and debtor in -three pounds, had totally disappeared. The thing looked like what -learned people call a phenomenon. How could Sprunt have disappeared -so soon? Where could he have gone to be invisible, where there was no -summer-house to receive him, and where the time did not permit of a -retreat into his own dwelling? David stood, and began to think of the -words of Robina. There could be no doubt that his eyes had been at -fault again; it was not John Sprunt he had seen--merely a lying image. -And so even on the instant the old sadness came over him again, with -more than one long sigh; nor in his depression and simplicity was he -able to bring up any such recondite thing as a thought suggesting the -connexion between John’s disappearance and the fact that he owed Mr -David Tweedie--whom he could have seen in the road--the sum of three -pounds. - -In which depressed and surely uncomfortable condition our traveller -proceeded towards the house, more anxious, indeed, to disprove his -terrors than to get his money. He knocked at the door, which, by the -by, was at the end of the house; and his knock was answered by Mrs -Sprunt herself, a woman who could have acted Bellona in an old Greek -piece. - -“I am glad John is at hame,” were David’s first words. - -“And I would be glad if that were true, Mr Dauvit,” replied she; “but -it just happens no to be true. John went off to Kirkaldy at six o’clock -this morning to try and get some siller that’s due him there.” - -“Let me in to sit down,” muttered David, with a kind of choking in his -voice. - -And following the good dame into the parlour, Mr Tweedie threw himself -into the arm-chair in a condition of great fear and perturbation. -Having sat mute for a minute or two, probably to the wonderment of the -dame, he began to rub his brow with his handkerchief, as if taking off -a little perspiration could help him in his distress. - -“Mrs Sprunt,” said he, “I could have sworn that I saw John working in -the yard.” - -Whereat Mrs Sprunt broke out into a loud laugh, which somehow or -another seemed to David as ghostly as his visions; and when she had -finished she added, “Something wrong, Dauvit, with your een.” - -“Gudeness gracious and ungracious!” said David. “Is this possible? Can -it really be? Whaur, in the name o’ Heeven, am I to look for a real -flesh-and-blood certainty?” - -“And yet ye seem to be sober, Dauvit.” - -“As a judge,” replied he. But, after a pause, “Can I be sure even o’ -_you_?” he cried, as he started up; the while his eyes rolled in a -manner altogether very unlike the douce quiet character he bore. “Let -me satisfy mysel that you are really Mrs Janet Sprunt in the real body.” - -And making a sudden movement, with his arms extended towards the -woman, he tried to grip her; but it was a mere futile effort. Mrs -Sprunt was gone through the open door in an instant, and David was left -alone with another confirmation of his dreaded suspicion, muttering -to himself, “There too, there too,--a’ alike; may the Lord have mercy -upon His afflicted servant! Robina Tweedie, ye were right after a’, and -that letter was a delusion like the rest--a mere eemage--a’ eemages -thegither.” - -After which soliloquy he again sat down in the easy-chair, held his -hands to his face, and groaned in the pain of a wounded spirit. But -even in the midst of this solemn conviction that the Lord had laid His -hand upon him, he could see that sitting there could do him no good; -and, rising up, he made for the kitchen. There was no one there; he -tried another room, which he also found empty; and issuing forth from -the unlucky house, he encountered an old witch-looking woman who was -turning the corner, as if going in the direction of another dwelling. - -“Did you see Mrs Sprunt even now?” said he. - -“No likely,” answered the woman; “when she tauld me this mornin’ she -was going to Petticur. She has a daughter there, ye ken.” - -Melancholy intelligence which seemed to have a logical consistency -with the other parts of that day’s remarkable experiences; nor did -David seem to think that anything more was necessary for the entire -satisfaction of even a man considerably sceptical, and then who in -those days doubted the merrillygoes? - -“What poor creatures we are!” said he. “I came here for a perfect cure, -and I gae hame with a heavy care.” - -And with these words, which were in reality an articulated groan, Mr -David Tweedie made his way back towards the pier, under an apprehension -that as he went along he would meet with some verification of a -suspicion which, having already become a conviction, not only required -no more proof, but was strong enough to battle all opposing facts and -arguments; so he went along with his chin upon his breast, and his -eyes fixed upon the ground, as if he were afraid to trust them with a -survey of living beings, lest they might cheat him as they had already -done. It was about half-past twelve when he got to the boat; and he was -further disconcerted by finding that the wind, which had brought him -so cleverly over, would repay itself, like over-generous givers, who -take back by one hand what they give by the other. And so it turned -out; for he was fully two hours on the passage, all of which time -was occupied by a reverie as to the extraordinary calamity that had -befallen him. And how much more dreary his cogitations as he thought -of the increased unhappiness of Robina, when she ascertained not only -the failure of getting payment of his debt, but the total wreck of her -means of cure! - -At length he got to Leith pier; but his landing gave him no pleasure: -he was still haunted with the notion that he would encounter more -mischances; and he hurried up Leith Walk, passing old friends whom he -was afraid to speak to. Arrived at the foot of Leith Wynd, he made a -detour which brought him to the foot of Halkerston’s Wynd, up which he -ascended, debouching into the High Street. And here our story becomes -so incredible, that we are almost afraid to trust our faithful pen to -write what David Tweedie saw on his emerging from the entry. There, -coming up the High Street, was Mrs Robina Tweedie herself, marching -along steadily, dressed in David’s best suit. He stood and stared with -goggle eyes, as if he felt some strange pleasure in the fascination. -The vision was so concrete, that he could identify his own green coat -made by his own artistic fingers. There were the white metal buttons, -the broadest he could get in the whole city--nay, one of them on the -back had been scarcely a match, and he recognised the defect; his -knee-breeches too, so easily detected by their having been made out of -a large remnant of a colour (purple) whereof there was not another bit -either to be bought or “cabbaged,”--nay, the very brass knee-buckles of -which he was so proud; the “rig-and-fur” stockings of dark brown; the -shoe-buckles furbished up the last Sunday; the square hat he had bought -from Pringle; and, to crown all, his walking-stick with the ivory top. -So perfect indeed was the “get-up” of his lying eyes, that, if he -had not been under the saddening impression of his great visitation, -he would have been well amused by the wonderful delusion. Even as it -was, he could not help following the phantom, as it went so proudly -and jantily along the street. And what was still more extraordinary, -he saw Mucklewham, the city guardsman, meet her and speak to her in -a private kind of way, and then go away with her. But David had a -trace of sense in his soft nature. He saw that it was vain as well -as hurtful to gratify what was so clearly a delusion; it would only -deepen the false images in eyes already sufficiently “glamoured;” and -so he stopped suddenly short and let them go--that is, he would cease -_to look_,--and they, the visions, would cease _to be_. In all which -how little did he know that he was prefiguring a philosophy which was -some time afterwards to become so famous! Nay, are we not all under the -merrillygoes in this world of phantoms? - - “You say you see the things that be: - I say you only think you see. - Not even that. It seems to me - You only think you think you see. - Then thinking weaves so many a lie, - Methinks this world is ‘all my eye.’” - -But even in his grief and sacred fear he could not help saying to -himself, “Gude Lord! if that eemage werena frightfu’, would it no be -funny? And what will Robina say? Nae doubt she is at this very moment -sitting at her tea in Berenger’s Close, thinking upon my calamity. -What _will_ she say when I tell her that I saw her in the High Street -dressed in my Sunday suit, walking just as if she were Provost Wilson -himsel? I wouldna wonder if she should get into ane o’ her laughing -fits, even in very spite o’ her grief for the awful condition of her -loving husband. At any rate, it’s time I were hame, when I canna tell -what I am to see next, nor can even say which end o’ me is uppermost.” - -Nor scarcely had he finished his characteristic soliloquy, when a -hand was laid on his shoulder. It was that of the corporal; but how -was David to know that? Why, he felt Bill’s hand; and to make things -more certain, he even laid his own hand upon the solid shoulder of the -sturdy city guardsman; adding, for still greater proof-- - -“Did you meet and speak to any one up the street there?” - -“The niver a living soul,” said the corporal, “as I’m a sinner; but -come along, man, to the Prophet Amos’s,” (a well-known tavern in -the Canongate,) “and let us have a jolly jug, for I’m to be on duty -to-night, and need something to cheer me up; and the colour of ale will -sit better on your cheeks when you go home to Robina than that saffron. -Are you well enough, David? I think I might as well ask the question of -a half-hanged dog.” - -“Half or hale hanged,” replied David, as he eyed his friend -suspiciously, “I canna be the waur o’ a jug o’ ale.” - -An answer which was perhaps the result of sheer despair, for the -conviction of the “real unreality” of what he had seen was now so -much beyond doubt that he began to submit to it as a doom; and what -is irremediable becomes, like death, to be bearable, nay, even -accommodating to the routine of life; and so the two jogged along till -they came to the Prophet’s, where they sat down to their liquor and, -we may add, loquacity, of which latter Mucklewham was so profuse, that -any other less simple person than David might have thought that the -guardsman wanted to speak against time. But David suspected nothing, -and he was the more inclined to be patient that his friend had promised -to pay the score. - -“And when saw ye Robina?” said David. - -“Not for a good round year, my bairn,” said the big corporal. - -“Gude Lord, did ye no see her and speak to her even this day?” - -Whereupon the big guardsman laughed a horse (guardsman’s) laugh; -and pointing his finger to his eye he twirled the same, that is the -finger, merrily round. A movement which David too well understood; and -after heaving a deep sigh, he took a deep pull at the ale, as if in a -paroxysm of despair. - -And so they drank on, till David having risen and left the room for a -breath of fresh air, found on his return that his generous friend had -vanished. Very wonderful, no doubt. But, then, had he not taken his jug -with him?--no doubt to get it replenished--and he would return with a -filled tankard. Vain expectation! Mucklewham was only another Sprunt, -another lie of the visual sense. Did David Tweedie really need this -new proof? David knew he didn’t; neither did he require the additional -certainty of his calamity by having to pay only for his own “shot.” The -Prophet did not ask for more, nor did he think it necessary to say why; -perhaps he would make the corporal pay his own share afterwards. The -whole thing was as clear as noon: David had been drinking with one who -had no stomach wherein to put his liquor, and for the good reason that -he had no body to hold that stomach. - -“Waur than the case o’ the letter, or Sprunt, (hiccup,) or Robina -dressed in my claes,” said he lugubriously, “for I only _saw_ them, but -I handled the corporal, sat with him, drank with him, heard him speak; -yet baith he and the pewter jug were off in a moment, and I hae paid -(hic) only for ae man’s drink. But is it no a’ a dream thegither? I -wouldna wonder I am at this very moment in my bed wi’ Robina lying at -my back.” - -And rising up, he discovered that he was not very well able to keep -his legs, the more by reason that he had poured the ale into an empty -stomach; there was, besides, a new confusion in his brain, as if that -organ had not already enough to do with any small powers of maintaining -itself in equilibrium which it possessed. But he behoved to get -home; and to Berenger’s Close he accordingly went, making sure as he -progressed of at least one truth in nature, amidst all the dubieties -and delusions of that most eventful day: that the shortest way between -two points is the deflecting one. And what was Binny about when he -entered his own house? Working the button-holes of a vest which had -been left by David unfinished. No sooner did she see David staggering -in than she threw the work aside. - -“Hame already? and in that state too!” she cried. “You must have been -seeing strange ferlies in the High Street, while I was sitting here -busy at my wark.” - -“Strange enough, lass; but if you can tell me whether or no I am Dauvit -Tweedie, your lawfu’ husband or the Prophet Moses, or the Apostle -Aaron, or (hic) the disciple Deuteronomy, or the deevil, it’s mair than -I can.” - -Whereupon David dropt his uncertain body in a chair, doubting perhaps -if even the chair was really a chair. - -“And it wasna just enough,” rejoined she, “that you had an attack of -the merrillygoes, but you must add pints o’ ale to make your poor wits -mair confounded.” - -A remark which Robina thought herself entitled to make, irrespective of -the question which for a hundred years has been disputed, viz., whether -she had sent the corporal to take David to Prophet Amos’s and fill him -drunk with ale, and then shirk the score? - -“But haste ye to bed, my man,” she added, “that’s the place for you, -where you may snore awa’ the fumes o’ Prophet Amos’s ale, and the -whimwhams o’ your addled brain.” - -An advice which David took kindly, though he did not need it; for, -educated as he may be said to have been by the clever Robina, he was -fortunately one of those favoured beings pointed at in the wise saying -that the power of education is seldom effectual except in those happy -cases where it is superfluous. So it was the ale that sent him to bed -and to sleep as well--a condition into which he sunk very soon. And it -was kindly granted to him, insomuch as it was a kind of recompense for -what he had suffered during that day of wonders: it saved him from the -possibility of hearing a conversation in the other room between Robina -and the corporal, in the course of which it was asked and answered -whether David had recognised Robina in her male decorations; and -whether he had any suspicions as to the true character of the deep plot -they were engaged in working out. - -What further took place in the house of Mr Tweedie that night we have -not been able, notwithstanding adequate inquiry, to ascertain; but of -this important fact we are well assured, that next morning David awoke -in a much improved condition. To account for this we must remember his -peculiar nature, for to him “the yesterday,” whatever yesterday it -might be, was always a _dies non_; it had done its duty and was gone, -and it had no business here any more than an impudent fellow who tries -to live too long after the world is sick of him. Indeed, we know that -he ate such a breakfast, and with such satisfaction, that no ideas of -a yesterday had any chance of resisting the feelings of the moment; and -once gone, they had too much difficulty to get into the dark chamber -again to think of trying it. He was “on the board” by ten o’clock. For -he had work to do, and as Robina’s purpose was in the meantime served, -she said no more of the merrillygoes. She had perhaps something else -to do; for shortly after eleven she went out, perhaps to report to -the corporal the sequel to that which he already knew. But whatever -her object, her absence was not destined to be so fruitful of good to -her as her presence wherever she might go; for it so happened that as -David was sitting working, and sometimes with his face overcast with -a passing terror of a return of his calamity, he found he required a -piece of cloth of a size and colour whereof there were some specimens -in an old trunk. To that repository of cabbage, as it is vulgarly -called, he went; and in rummaging through the piebald contents he -came upon a parcel in a corner. On opening it, he found to his great -wonderment no fewer than a hundred guineas of pure gold. The rays from -the shiny pieces seemed to enter his eyes like spikes, and fix the -balls in the sockets; if he felt a kind of fascination yesterday as he -looked at his wife in male attire, though a mere vision, he experienced -the influence now even more, however doubtful he was of the reality of -the glittering objects. He seized, he clutched them, he shut his eyes, -and opened them again as he opened his hands; they did _not_ disappear; -but then Robina herself might appear, and under this apprehension, -which put to flight his doubts, he carried them off, and secreted -them in a private drawer of which he had the key; whereupon he betook -himself again to the board. By and by Robina returned; but the never -a word David said of the guineas, because he had still doubts of the -veracity of his eyes. - -And so the day passed without anything occurring to suggest either -inquiry or answer. During the night David slept so soundly that he was -even oblivious of his prize; and it was not till eleven next forenoon, -when his wife went out, that he ventured to look into the drawer; but -now the terrible truth was revealed to him: the guineas were gone, and -he had been again under delusion. The merrillygoes once more! and how -was he to admit the fact to Robina, after his attempted appropriation! - -But, happily, there was no necessity for admitting his own shame, for -about four o’clock John Jardine the letter-carrier called and told -him that his wife had eloped with the corporal. The intelligence was -no doubt very dreadful to David, who loved his wife so dearly that -he could have subscribed to the saying “that the husband will always -be deceived when the wife condescends to dissemble;” but Mrs Robina -Tweedie did not so condescend; and David now began to see certain -things and to recollect certain circumstances which, when put together, -appeared even to his mind more strange than the merrillygoes. And his -eyes were opened still further by a letter from Kirkcudbright from a Mr -Gordon, wishing to be informed why he had not acknowledged the receipt -of the hundred guineas left him by his uncle, and which had been sent -in a prior letter in the form of a draft on the Bank of Scotland. Mr -David Tweedie now went to the bank, and was told that the money had -been paid to a man in a green coat and white metal buttons, square hat, -and walking-stick, who represented himself as David Tweedie. - -Our story, it will be seen, has pretty nearly explained itself; yet -something remains to be told. A whole year elapsed, when one morning -Mrs Robina Tweedie appeared before honest David, with a lugubrious face -and a lugubrious tale, to the effect that although she had been tempted -to run away with the corporal, she had almost immediately left him--a -pure, bright, unsullied wife; but during all this intermediate time -she had felt so ashamed and conscience-stricken, that she could not -return and ask forgiveness. All which David heard, and to all which he -answered-- - -“Robina--nae mair Tweedie, lass--ye ken I was afflicted with a strange -calamity when ye left me. I thought I saw what wasna to be seen. It -comes aye back upon me now and then; and I ken it’s on me this mornin’. -I may think I see you there standin’ before me, even as I saw you in -my broad-tailed coat that day in the High Street; but I ken it’s a’ -a delusion. In fact, my dear Robina, _I dinna see you, I dinna even -feel your body_,” (pushing her out by the cuff of the neck;) “the -merrillygoes, lass! the merrillygoes!” - -And David shut the door on the ejected Robina--thereafter living a very -quiet and comparatively happy life, free from all glamour or any other -affection of the eyes, and seeing just as other people see. Yea, with -his old friend Sprunt and his wife he had many a joke on the subject, -forgiving John for running away that morning to shirk his creditor, -as well as Mrs Janet for being terrified out of the house by the wild -rolling eyes of the unhappy David. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of the Six Toes. - - -A man who makes a will generally knows pretty well the person to whom -he leaves a legacy, but it does not follow that other people are to -have the same enlightenment as to the identity of the legatee. I make -the remark in reference to a common story connected with the will of -honest Andrew Gebbie, who officiated once as a ruling elder in the -Church of Trinity College, Edinburgh, and was supposed to have done so -much good to the people by his prayers, exhortations and psalm-singing, -that it was utterly unnecessary for his getting to heaven, where he had -sent so many others, that he should bequeath a single plack or bawbee -to the poor when he died. Yet whether it was that the good man Andrew -determined to make sure work of his salvation, or that he had any less -ambitious object in view, certain it is that some time before he died -he made a will by his own hand, and without the help of a man of the -law, in spite of the Scotch adage-- - - “Who saves a fee and writes his will - Is friendly to the lawyers still; - For these take all the will contains, - And give the heir all that remains.” - -And by this said will honest Andrew bequeathed the sum of three hundred -pounds sterling money to “Mistress Helen Grey, residing in that street -of the old town called Leith Wynd,” without any further identification -or particularisation whatsoever, nor did he say a single word about the -cause of making this somewhat generous bequest, or anything about the -merits or services of the legatee. A strange circumstance, seeing that -the individual being a “Nelly Grey” had long been a favourite of the -poets, (and, therefore, rather indefinite,) as she indeed still figures -in more than one very popular song, wherein she is even called bonny -Nelly Grey. - -Then, to keep all matters in harmony, he appointed three clergymen--the -minister of his own church, the minister of the Tolbooth, and the -minister of the Tron--as his executors for carrying his said will into -execution, probably thinking that Nelly Grey’s three hundred, and her -soul to boot, could not be in better hands than those of such godly -men. So, after living three weeks longer in a very bad world, the -worthy testator was gathered to his fathers, and it might perhaps have -been as well that his said will had been gathered along with him,--as -indeed happened in a recent case, where a sensible man, probably in -fear of the lawyers, got his will placed in the same coffin with -him,--though no doubt he forgot that worms, if not moths, do corrupt -there also, and sometimes thieves, in the shape of body-snatchers, do -break through and steal. Passing all which we proceed to say that the -executors entered upon their duties. As regards the other legatees -they found no difficulty whatever, most probably because legatees are -a kind of persons who are seldom out of the way when they are wanted. -They accordingly made their appearance, and without a smile, which -would have been unbecoming, got payment of their legacies. But as -for this Helen Grey, with so large a sum standing at her credit, she -made no token of any kind, nor did any of the relations know aught -concerning her, though they wondered exceedingly who she could be, and -how she came to be in so strange a place as their kinsman’s testament. -Not that the three executors, the ministers, shared very deeply in -this wondering, because they knew that their elder, honest Andrew, -was a good and godly man, and had had good and godly, and therefore -sufficient reasons, (probably in the poverty and piety of Helen,) for -doing what he had done. - -If indeed these gentlemen wondered at all, it was simply that any poor -person living in such a place as Leith Wynd should be so regardless -of money, as to fail to make her appearance among the grave and happy -legatees. The question, who can she be, passed from the one to the -other like a bad shilling. Not one of them could answer. Father Tron, -and Father Tolbooth, and Father Trinity, were all at fault; the noses -of their ingenuity could not smell out the object of their wish. But -then they had been trusting so far as yet to the relatives, and had not -made personal inquiry in Leith Wynd, which, if they had been men of -business, they would have done at once. - -“Oh,” said Father Trinity at length, “I think I have it now when I -recollect there was an honest woman of that name who was a member of -my congregation some years ago, and, if I am not mistaken, she was in -honest Andrew Gebbie’s visiting district, and he took an interest in -her soul.” - -“The thing is patent,” rejoined Father Tron. “Our lamented elder hath -done this good thing out of the holy charity that cometh of piety.” - -“And a most beautiful example of the fruits of godliness,” added Father -Tolbooth. - -“Beautiful indeed!” said Trinity. “For we have here to keep in view -that Elder Andrew had many poor friends, but he hath chosen to prefer -the relationship of the spirit to that of mere earthly connexion. And -his reward will verily be reaped in heaven.” - -“We must give the good man a paragraph in the _Mercury_,” resumed -Father Tolbooth. “And now, brother of Trinity, it will be for you to -find Helen Grey out, and carry to her the glad tidings.” - -“A pleasant commission,” rejoined Father Trinity, as he rose to depart. - -And taking his way to Leith Wynd, he soon reached that celebrated -street, nor was it long till he passed “The Happy Land,” that dreaded -den of burglars, thieves, and profligate women, which the Scotch, -according to their peculiar humour, had so named. That large building -he behoved to pass with a sigh as the great forlorn hope of the city, -and coming to some of the brokers whose shops were farther down, he -procured some information which sent him up a dark close, to the end -of which having got, he ascended to a garret in a back tenement, and, -knocking at the door, was answered by an aged woman. - -“Does Helen Grey live here?” - -“Ay, sir!” replied she. “If ye ca’ living the breathing awa o’ the -breath o’ life. It’s a sad thing when auld age and poverty come -thegither.” - -“An old saying, Helen,” replied the father. “Yet there is a third one -which sanctifieth the other two, and bringeth all into harmony, peace, -and love, and that is religion. But do you not know your old minister?” - -“Brawly, brawly, sir,” replied she; “but the truth is, I didna like to -speak first; and now, sir, I’m as proud as if I had got a fortune.” - -“And so perhaps you have,” added the father. “But come, sit down. I’ve -got something to say;” and having seated himself he continued. “Was -Maister Andrew Gebbie, our worthy elder, in the habit of visiting you?” - -“Indeed, and he did aince or twice come and see me; but never mair,” -replied she. “Yet he was sae kind as to bring me the last time this -book o’ psalms and paraphrases, and there’s some writing in’t which I -couldna read.” - -“Let me see it,” he said. - -And the woman having handed him the book-- - -“To Mrs Janet Grey,” said the minister, as he read the inscription. - -“A mistake, for my name is Helen,” said she. “But it was weel meant in -Mr Gebbie, and it’s a’ the same.” - -“A staff to help her on to the happy land,” continued the reverend -doctor, reading. - -“No ‘The Happy Land’ near bye?” interjected Helen. - -“Not likely,” continued the doctor with a smile. “But I have good news -for you, Helen.” - -“Good news for me!” said the woman. “That must come frae an airth no -within the four quarters o’ the earthly compass. I thought a’ gude news -for _me_ had ta’en wings, and floun awa to the young and the happy.” - -“It seems not,” said he; “for Elder Andrew has left you a legacy of -three hundred pounds.” - -“Stop, stop, sir!” ejaculated the frightened legatee. “It canna be, and -though it was sae, I couldna bear the grandeur. It would put out the -sma’ spark o’ life that’s left in my auld heart.” - -“No, no!” said he. “It is only an earthly inheritance, Helen, to keep -you in ease and comfort in your declining years, till you succeed to -that inheritance which knoweth no decay, and fadeth not away.” - -“But is it really possible, good sir?” she continued, a little -reconciled to that whereunto there is a pretty natural predisposition -in human nature. “But I havena blessed Elder Andrew yet. May the Lord -receive Andrew Gebbie’s soul into endless glory!” - -“Amen!” said the reverend doctor. “I will speak of this again to you, -Helen.” - -And with these words he left the still confused woman, who would very -likely still feel a difficulty in comprehending the length and breadth -of the goodness of a man who had seen her only a few times, and given -her a psalm-book, and called her Janet in place of Helen--a mistake he -must have rectified before he made his will. - -Next day the reverend doctor of Trinity had another meeting in the -office of the law-agent to the trust, Mr George Crawford, whereat he -recounted how he had found out the legatee; how strange it was that -the poor woman was entirely ignorant of her good fortune; how grateful -she was; and, above all, how strange that the saintly elder had only -seen her a few times, and knew so little of her that he had made -the foresaid mistake in her name. All which did seem strange to the -brethren, not any one of whom would even have thought of giving more -than perhaps a pound to such a person. But as the motives of men are -hidden from the eyes of their fellows, and are indeed like the skins of -onions, placed one above another, so they considered that all they had -to do was to walk by the will. - -“We have no alternative,” said Father Tron; “nor should we wish any, -seeing that the money could not be better applied; for has not the son -of Sirach said, ‘Give unto a godly man, and not unto a sinner.’” - -“And,” added Tolbooth, “we are also commanded to give of our substance -to the poor, and ‘do well unto those that are lowly.’” - -“Yes,” said Father Trinity. “Mr Gebbie’s object was clear enough; it -was sufficient for him that the woman was poor; therein lay his reward; -and I presume we have nothing to do but to authorise Mr Crawford to pay -the money.” - -“Which I will do, gentlemen,” said the writer, “if you authorise me; -but I frankly confess to you that I am not altogether satisfied, -because I knew Mr Andrew Gebbie intimately, and, godly as he was, I can -hardly think he was the man to make a comparative stranger the medium -of the accumulation of compound interest to be got back in heaven. -Besides, Helen Grey is so common a name, that I believe I could get -several in Edinburgh; and if we were to pay to the wrong woman, you -might be bound to refund out of your own stipends, which would not be a -very pleasant thing.” - -A speech which, touching the word stipend, brought a very grave look -into the faces of the brethren. - -“A most serious, yea, a momentous consideration,” said Tron, followed -by the two others. - -Nor had the groan got time to die away when the door opened, and there -stood before them a woman of somewhere about forty, a little shabby -in her apparel, though with a decayed flush of gaudy colour in it here -and there; somewhat blowsy too--the tendency to the tint of the peony -being more evident about the region of the nose, where there was a spot -or two very clearly predisposed to the sending forth, under favourable -circumstances, of a pimple; rather bold-looking in addition, even in -presence of holy men who wielded the Calvinistic thunders of the day, -and followed them up with the refreshing showers of grace and love. - -“I understand,” said she, “that Elder Andrew Gebbie has left me a -legacy o’ three hundred pounds, and I will thank you for the siller.” - -On hearing which the three fathers looked at each other in amazement, -and it was clear they did not like the appearance of the new claimant. - -“Who are you?” said Trinity. - -“Helen Grey!” replied she. “I live in Leith Wynd. Mr Andrew Gebbie and -me were man and wife.” - -“Where are your marriage lines?” asked Tron. - -“I hae nane,” replied she. “It was a marriage by giving and taking -between ourselves--a gude marriage by the law.” - -“And no witnesses?” said Tron. - -“The deil ane but the Lord.” - -“Wh-e-w!” whistled Father Tron, not audibly, only as it were within the -mouth. - -“It is very true,” said Father Trinity, as he looked askance at the -claimant, and contrasted her in his mind with the other Nelly, who he -was satisfied was the real Nelly Pure, “that Mr Andrew Gebbie left that -sum of money to a certain Helen Grey, but we have no evidence to show -that you are the right woman.” - -“The right woman!” ejaculated she, with a bold laugh; “and how could I -be the wrong ane, when I cut Andrew Gebbie’s corns for ten years?” - -“Oh, a chiropodist!” said Father Tron. - -“I’m nae corn-doctor, sir,” replied she, with something like offended -pride: “I never cut another man’s corns in my life.” - -“We are nearly getting into that lightness of speech which betokeneth -vanity,” said another of the brethren. “It is a serious matter; and we -must require of you, Mrs Grey--seeing that the marriage cannot, even -by your own statement, be taken into account, for want of evidence--to -prove that you were upon such terms of friendship with Mr Gebbie as to -make it probable that he would leave you this large sum of money.” - -“Friendship!” cried the woman again. “Ay, for ten years, and wha can -tell where the flee may stang? It was nae mair than he should have -dune. I am Helen Grey, and I insist upon my rights.” - -“But,” said Father Trinity, “there is another Helen Grey in Leith Wynd, -with whom Mr Gebbie was acquainted, and to whom he made a present of a -psalm-book.” - -“And did he no gie me a psalm-book too!” quoth the woman. “I have it at -hame, and you are welcome to see my name on’t written by the elder’s -ain hand. But did this second Helen Grey cut the good elder’s corns for -ten lang years, I wonder? Tell me that, gentlemen, and I’ll tell you -something mair that will make your ears ring as they never did at a -psalm.” - -“Still this irreverend nonsense about corns: woman, are you mad?” -said Tron. “Give us the names of respectable people who knew of this -asserted friendship between you and the deceased elder.” - -“The deil ane kent o’t, sir, but ourselves!” was the sharp answer of -the woman. “And if it comes to that, I can prove naething; but I tell -you there’s mair in the corns than ye wot.” - -“Oh! she wants to prove the _footing_ she was on with Mr Gebbie,” -punned Mr Crawford with a laugh, and the grave brethren could not -help joining in what Tron called a fine example of the figure called -_paronomasia_. - -“That’s just it,” said the woman. “I will prove that I knew the length -o’ his big tae, and may be mair.” - -“And what more?” asked Father Tron. - -“That Mr Gebbie had six toes on his left foot!” answered she. - -“And what of that?” inquired the agent, as he pricked up his ears at -what might turn out a more special means of knowledge than they were -dreaming of. - -“A great deal,” continued the woman. “Sae muckle that I need nae mair, -for be it kenned to ye that Mr Gebbie was aye ashamed o’ what he -thought a deformity, and concealed it from a’ living mortals except -me. If ye’ll prove that there’s anither person in a’ Edinburgh, in -Scotland, or in the hail world, wha kens that Elder Andrew had six toes -on his left foot, I’ll give up a’ right to the three hundred pounds!” - -“So there is something in the corns after all,” whispered Mr Crawford -to Trinity, and the others hearing the remark began to think, and -think, and look at each other, as if they felt that the woman had -fairly shut them up to a test of her truthfulness easily applied. So -telling her to call back next day at the same hour, they requested -her to leave them. And after she was gone, the four gentlemen began -gradually to relax from their gravity as they saw the ingenuity of the -woman, for it was quite apparent that if it should turn out that no -one--servant, relative, or doctor--could tell this wonderful fact about -the six toes of their own knowledge, however derived, and that this -Helen Grey was the sole confidential custodier thereof--the conclusion -was all but certain that she knew it by being intrusted with the -cutting of the holy man’s corns, as she had asserted. And a confidence -of this kind, (setting aside the irregular marriage,) implied a -friendship so close as to justify the legacy. What in the meantime -remained to be done was for the agent to see any persons connected with -the elder’s household who were likely to know the fact, and being an -honourable man he behoved to do this without what is called a leading -question. - -Accordingly, that same afternoon Mr Crawford busied himself to the -effect of having seen the good elder’s housekeeper, as well as the -doctor who had attended him upon his last illness, with perhaps a dozen -of other likely people, such as the other legatees and relations, all -of whom were entirely ignorant of the fact set forth by the woman, -viz., that Mr Gebbie had six toes on his left foot. And next day the -trustees met again, when Mr Crawford told them, before touching on the -corns, that an agent had called upon him from the other Helen first -seen, demanding payment to her. He then told the trustees the result -of his inquiries--that not a single person of all he had seen knew -anything of the abnormal foot. At this the clergymen wondered more and -more, and how long they might have sat there and wondered it might have -been difficult to say, had it not been for an ingenious idea started by -Tron, and suggested by the old story about King Charles and the fish in -the bucket of water. - -“The woman is laughing at us,” said he, “and we are inquiring whether -certain people knew a fact without making ourselves acquainted with -the prior fact, whether that prior fact had ever any existence except -in the brain of this bad woman, whose evidence goes to traduce the -character of a holy elder of the Church of Scotland.” - -The brethren again laughed at this ingenious discovery of Father -Tron’s, and thereupon began to veer round in favour of good Nelly -_prima_. In a few minutes more entered Blowsabel again, holding in -her hand a psalm-book with some words of an inscription on it in the -handwriting of the elder, but subscribed “a friend,” whereas, as -the reader may recollect, the inscription in the book given to the -first Helen, (with the misnomer of Janet,) was in the name of Andrew -Gebbie--a fact rather in favour of Nelly _secunda_, insomuch as it -harmonised with her statement that the friendship between the elder -and her had been kept a secret known only to themselves. - -“That goes for what it’s worth,” said she, as she received back the -book. “And now,” she continued, addressing Mr Crawford, “you can tell -me whether you were able to find, within the hail o’ Edinburgh, a -single person who knew that Elder Andrew had six taes on his left foot.” - -“I have found no one,” was the answer, “for the good reason that Andrew -Gebbie had no more toes on his left foot than you yourself have on -yours.” - -Whereupon Helen _secunda_ burst out into a laugh. After which, said -she, “I will prove it, as sure as I am a living woman!” - -“The man is dead and buried!” replied Mr Crawford, with a voice of -triumph. - -“That makes nae difference,” said she; “unless it be that the worms -have eaten awa the sixth tae; and, by my faith, I’ll see to it!” - -And with these words she went away, leaving the trustees in as great a -difficulty as ever. Nor had she been long gone when a man of the name -of Marshall, the procurator who had taken up the case of the first -Helen, entered and said, “he had got evidence to show that a neighbour, -who had been present at the last interview between the elder and his -client, had heard the worthy man declare, that he had been moved to -pity by her age and poverty, and had promised to do something for her, -to enable her to pass her remaining years in comfort.” - -“But,” said the agent, “there is, I am sorry to say, another Helen in -the field; and you must drive her off before we can pay your client the -money.” - -“And I know who she is,” was the answer. “That woman’s word is not -to be relied upon; for she is what she is.” And then he added, “I am -determined to see justice done to my client--who, at least, is an -honest woman.” - -“Now you see, gentlemen,” said Mr Crawford, after the first Helen’s -agent had departed--“you see how this extraordinary affair stands. The -two claimants are determined to fight it out: so that, if you pay the -money to the good woman, you will, as I said before, run a risk of -being obliged to pay the other one afterwards out of your stipends.” - -“Our stipends are the holy tenths, set apart to the work of the Lord -from the beginning of the world,” answered the brethren, “and cannot be -touched, except by sacrilegious hands!” - -“Then,” continued the agent, “there is only one thing we can do; -and that is, to throw the case into court by what we call a -multiplepoinding, and let the claimants fight against each other.” - -A proposition this to which the trustees felt themselves bound to -agree, though with very much reluctance; for they saw that the case -would become public, and there would be ill-disposed people that would -be inclined to put a false construction upon the motives of the worthy -elder of Trinity. But then, to comfort them, they felt assured that the -story of the toes was a pure invention; and the elder being buried, -there was no possibility of proving the same. - -Whereupon the meeting separated. Next day Mr Crawford commenced his -law proceedings; and in due time, a record having been prepared, the -advocates behoved to plead the causes of their respective clients. - -Then stood up Mr Anderson, the advocate of the first Helen, and said:-- - -“Your lordships must see that--if you lay out of view as a mere -invention, which it is, the story of the six toes--the preponderance -of the evidence lies with my client. There is a psalm-book in each -case; but mine has the name of the testator to the inscription: and you -have, in addition, the testimony of one respectable person who heard Mr -Gebbie declare his intention to enable this poor old woman to live. On -the other side you have no evidence whatever that the elder ever set -his foot--corns or no corns--on the floor of the Helen _secunda_. There -was no such _footing_ of intimacy as that contended for on the other -side; and that I am justified in calling the story of the six toes -an invention will appear when I say that, according to the authority -of learned men, a _lusus naturæ_ of this kind does not occur once in -ten thousand births: so that it is ten thousand to one against the -assumption. In addition, there is the character of the deceased, whose -whole life and conversation are against the presumption that he would -go to Leith Wynd, and get a woman of doubtful character to operate upon -a foot of which he is said to have been ashamed. For all which reasons -I claim the three hundred pounds for my client.” - -Then stood up Mr Sharp, the advocate of the second Helen, and said:-- - -“It is no wonder at all why my learned friend has a difficulty about -his _locus standi_, seeing he is so delicate about the feet. I feel -no delicacy on that fundamental point. And it is because my corns of -legal right and justice are pared that I stand here with so much ease, -and assert that Mr Gebbie having imparted to my client a secret which -he never communicated to living mortal besides, that secret could -only have been the result of an intimacy and confidence sufficient to -justify this legacy in her favour of three hundred pounds. My friend -says, that there are many chances against such a freak of nature as -six toes. That is true. But he confounds the thing with the assertion -of the thing. And were there not a presumption in favour of a person -speaking the truth rather than falsehood, what would become of that -testimony which is the foundation of our holy religion, not less than -of the decisions of our courts of justice? But it is in the power of -this court to ascertain the truth of my assertion. The body of the -worthy elder can be exhumed; and if it shall appear that it has six -toes on the left foot, the presumption of the intimacy of friendship -which will justify the legacy is complete. On the other side there is -no such presumption. The elder only visited the first Helen once or -twice, and what was to induce him to leave her so large a sum to the -deprivation of his poor relations?” - -Then the President spoke as follows:-- - -“It appears to the Court that, in this very extraordinary case, we -never can get at the truth without testing, by proof, the statement -made by the second Helen in regard to the six toes, because if it is -really a fact that the testator carried this number on his left foot, -and by parity that that number carried him, it is impossible to get -quit of the presumption that the fact was communicated confidentially -when the operation of paring was resorted to; and as confidence -implies friendship, and friendship intimacy, we must assume that there -must have been such an amount of mutual liking on the part of these -individuals as would justify the legacy which is the subject-matter -of this multiplepoinding. The Court will therefore issue an order -for the exhumation of the body of Andrew Gebbie, for the purpose of -ascertaining whether the testator’s foot was formed in the manner -asserted by the claimant.” - -The commission was accordingly issued. The body of the elder was -examined as it lay in the coffin, and the result of the examination, as -stated in the report, was: “That the left foot was furnished with six -toes, the sixth or supernumerary one being much smaller than the one -next to it. It also appeared that the toes of this foot were supplied -with a number of very hard corns, which bore the marks of having been -often pared by some very careful hand.” - -Whereupon the case was again taken up, when judgment was given for the -second Helen, who was thus remarkably well paid for her attention to -the corns of the worthy elder. When the decision was reported to the -reverend executors, Father Tron shook his head with great gravity, -Tolbooth did the same, and so did Trinity: nay, they all shook their -heads at the same time: but what they intended to signify thereby was -never known, for the reason that it was never declared. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of Mysie Craig. - - -In detailing the curious circumstances of the following story, I am -again only reporting a real law case to be found in the Court of -Session Records, the turning-point of which was as invisible to the -judges as to the parties themselves--that is, until the end came; a -circumstance again which made the case a kind of developed romance. But -as an end implies a beginning, and the one is certainly as necessary as -the other, we request you to accompany us--taking care of your feet--up -the narrow spiral staircase of a tenement called Corbet’s Land, in -the same old town where so many wonderful things in the complicated -drama--or dream, if you are a Marphurius--of human life have occurred. -Up which spiral stair having got by the help of our hands, almost -as indispensable as that of the feet--we find ourselves in a little -human dovecot of two small rooms, occupied by two persons not unlike, -in many respects, two doves--Widow Craig and her daughter, called -May, euphuised by the Scotch into Mysie. The chief respects in which -they might be likened, without much stress, to the harmless creatures -we have mentioned, were their love for each other, together with -their total inoffensiveness as regarded the outside world; and we are -delighted to say this, for we see so many of the multitudinous sides of -human nature dark and depraved, that we are apt to think there is no -bright side at all. Nor shall we let slip the opportunity of saying, -at the risk of being considered very simple, that of all the gifts of -felicity bestowed, as the Pagan Homer tells, upon mankind by the gods, -no one is so perfect and beautiful as the love that exists between a -good mother and a good daughter. - -For so much we may be safe by having recourse to instinct, which is -deeper than any secondary causes we poor mortals can see. But beyond -this, there were special reasons tending to this same result of mutual -affection, which come more within the scope of our observation. In -explanation of which we may say that the mother, having something in -her power during her husband’s life, had foreseen the advantages of -using it in the instruction of her quick and intelligent daughter -in an art of far more importance then than now--that of artistic -needlework. Nay, of so much importance was this beautiful art, and -to such perfection was it brought at a time when a lady’s petticoat, -embroidered by the hand, with its profuse imitations of natural -objects, flowers, and birds, and strange devices, would often cost -twenty pounds Scots, that a sight of one of those operose achievements -of genius would make us blush for our time and the labours of our -women. Nor was the perfection in this ornamental industry a new thing, -for the daughters of the Pictish kings confined in the castle were -adepts in it; neither was it left altogether to paid sempstresses, for -great ladies spent their time in it, and emulation quickened both the -genius and the diligence. So we need hardly say it became to the mother -a thing to be proud of, that her daughter Mysie proved herself so apt -a scholar that she became an adept, and was soon known as one of the -finest embroideresses in the great city. So, too, as a consequence, -it came to pass that great ladies employed her, and often the narrow -spiral staircase of Corbet’s Land was brushed on either side by the -huge masses of quilted and emblazoned silk that, enveloping the belles -of the day, were with difficulty forced up to, and down from, the small -room of the industrious Mysie. - -But we are now speaking of art, while we should have more to say (for -it concerns us more) of the character of the young woman who was -destined to figure in a stranger way than in making beautiful figures -on silk. Mysie was one of a class; few in number they are indeed, but -on that account more to be prized. Her taste and fine manipulations -were but counterparts of qualities of the heart--an organ to which the -pale face, with its delicate lines, and the clear liquid eyes, was a -suitable index. The refinement which enabled her to make her imitation -of beautiful objects on the delicate material of her work was only -another form of a sensibility which pervaded her whole nature--that -gift which is only conceded to peculiar organisations, and is such a -doubtful one, too, if we go, as we cannot help doing, with the poet, -when he sings that “chords that vibrate sweetest pleasures,” often also -“thrill the deepest notes of woe.” Nay, we might say that the creatures -themselves seem to fear the gift, for they shrink from the touch of -the rough world, and retire within themselves as if to avoid it, while -they are only courting its effects in the play of an imagination much -too ardent for the duties of life. And, as a consequence, how they -seek secretly the support of stronger natures, clinging to them as do -those strange plants called parasites, which, with their tender arms -and something so like fingers, cling to the nearest stem of a stouter -neighbour, and embracing it, even though hollow and rotten, cover it, -and choke it with a flood of flowers. So true is it that woman, like -the generous vine, lives by being supported and held up; yet equally -true that the strength she gains is from the embrace she gives, and so -it is also that goodness, as our Scottish poet Home says, often wounds -itself, and affection proves the spring of sorrow. - -All which might truly be applied to Mysie Craig; but as yet the -stronger stem to which she clung was her mother, and it was not -likely, nor was it in reality, that that affection would prove to her -anything but the spring of happiness, for it was ripened by love, -and the earnings of the nimble fingers, moving often into the still -hours of the night, not only kept the wolf from the door, but let in -the lambs of domestic harmony and peace. Would that these things had -so continued; but there are other wolves than those of poverty, and -the “ae lamb o’ the fauld” cannot be always under the protection of -the ewe; and so it happened on a certain night, not particularised -in the calendar, that our Mysie, having finished one of these floral -petticoats on which she had been engaged for many weeks, went forth -with her precious burden to deliver the same to its impatient -owner--no other than the then famous Anabella Gilroy, who resided in -Advocate’s Close. Of which fine lady, by the way, we may say that -of all the gay creatures who paraded between “the twa Bows,” no one -displayed such ample folds of brocaded silk, nodded her pon-pons more -jantily, or napped with a sharper crack her high-heeled shoes, all to -approve herself to “the bucks” of the time, with their square coats -brocaded with lace, their three-cornered hats on the top of their -bob-wigs, their knee-buckles and shoe-buckles. And certainly not the -least important of those, both in his own estimation and that of the -sprightly Anabella, was George Balgarnie, a young man who had only a -year before succeeded to the property of Balgruddery, somewhere in -the north, and of whom we might say that in forming him Nature had -taken so much pains with the building up of the body, that she had -forgotten the mind, so that he had no more spiritual matter in him than -sufficed to keep his blood hot, and enable his sensual organs to work -out their own selfish gratifications; or, to perpetrate a metaphor, -he was all the polished mahogany of a piano, without any more musical -springs than might respond to one keynote of selfishness. And surely -Anabella had approved herself to the fop to some purpose, for when our -sempstress with her bundle had got into the parlour of the fine lady, -she encountered no other than Balgarnie--a circumstance apparently of -very small importance, but we know that a moment of time is sometimes -like a small seed, which contains the nucleus of a great tree, perhaps -a poisonous one. And so it turned out that while Anabella was gloating -over the beautiful work of the timid embroideress, Balgarnie was -busy admiring the artist, but not merely, perhaps not at all, as an -artist--only as an object over whom he wished to exercise power. - -This circumstance was not unobserved by the little embroideress, but it -was only observed to be shrunk from in her own timid way, and probably -it would soon have passed from her mind, if it had not been followed -up by something more direct and dangerous. And it was; for no sooner -had Mysie got to the foot of the stairs than she encountered Balgarnie, -who had gone out before her; and now began one of those romances in -daily life of which the world is full, and of which the world is sick. -Balgarnie, in short, commenced that kind of suit which is nearly as -old as the serpent, and, therefore, not to be wondered at; neither are -we to wonder that Mysie listened to it, because we have heard so much -about “lovely woman stooping to folly,” that we are content to put -it to the large account of natural miracles. And not very miraculous -either, when we remember, that if the low-breathed accents of -tenderness awaken the germ of love, they awaken at the same time faith -and trust; and such was the beginning of the romance which was to go -through the normal stages--the appointment to meet again--the meeting -itself--the others that followed--the extension of the moonlight walks, -sometimes to the Hunter’s Bog between Arthur’s Seat and Salisbury -Crags, and sometimes to the song-famed “Wells o’ Weary.” All which were -just as sun and shower to the germ of the plant: the love grew and -grew, and the faith grew and grew also which saw in him that which it -felt in itself. Nay, if any of those moonlight-loving elves that have -left their foot-marks in the fairy rings to be seen near St Anthony’s -Well had whispered in Mysie’s ear, “Balgarnie will never make you his -wife,” she would have believed the words as readily as if they had -impugned the sincerity of her own heart. In short, we have again the -analogue of the parasitic plant: the very fragility and timidity of -Mysie were at once the cause and consequence of her confidence. She -would cling to him and cover him with the blossoms of her affection; -nay, if there were unsoundness in the stem, these very blossoms would -cover the rottenness. - -This change in the life of the little sempstress could not fail to -produce some corresponding change at home. We read smoothly the play we -have acted ourselves--and so the mother read love in the daughter’s -eyes, and heard it, too, in her long sighs; nor did she fail to read -the sign that the song which used to lighten her beautiful work was no -longer heard; for love to creatures so formed as Mysie Craig is too -serious an affair for poetical warbling. But she said nothing--for -while she had faith in the good sense and virtue of her daughter, she -knew also that there was forbearance due to one who was her support. -Nor, as yet, had she reason to fear, for Mysie still plied her needle, -and the roses and the lilies sprang up in all their varied colours -out of the ground of the silk or satin as quickly and as beautifully -as they were wont, though the lilies of her cheeks waxed paler as the -days flitted. And why the latter should have been we must leave to the -reader; for ourselves only hazarding the supposition that, perhaps, she -already thought that Balgarnie should be setting about to make her his -wife--an issue which behoved to be the result of their intimacy sooner -or later, for that in her simple mind there should be any other issue -was just about as impossible as that, in the event of the world lasting -as long, the next moon would not, at her proper time, again shine in -that green hollow, between the Lion’s Head and Samson’s Ribs, which -had so often been the scene of their happiness. Nay, we might say that -though a doubt on the subject had by any means got into her mind, it -would not have remained there longer than it took a shudder to scare -the wild thing away. - -Of course, all this was only a question of time; but certain it is -that by and by the mother could see some connexion between Mysie’s -being more seldom out on those moonlight nights than formerly, and a -greater paleness in her thin face, as if the one had been the cause -of the other; but still she said nothing, for she daily expected that -Mysie would herself break the subject to her, and so she was left only -to increasing fears that her daughter’s heart and affections had been -tampered with, and perhaps she had fears that went farther. Still, so -far as yet had gone, there was no remission in the labours of Mysie’s -fingers, as if in the midst of all--whatever that all might be--she -recognised the paramount necessity of bringing in by those fingers -the required and usual amount of the means of their livelihood. Nay, -somehow or other, there was at that very time when her cheek was at the -palest, and her sighs were at their longest, and her disinclination -to speak was at the strongest, that the work increased upon her; for -was not there a grand tunic to embroider for Miss Anabella, which -was wanted on a given day--and were there not other things for Miss -Anabella’s friend, Miss Allardice, which were not to be delayed beyond -that same day. And so she stitched and stitched on and on, till -sometimes the little lamp seemed to go out for want of oil, while the -true cause of her diminished light was really the intrusion of the -morning sun, against which it had no chance. It might be, too, that her -very anxiety to get these grand dresses finished helped to keep out of -her mind ideas which could have done her small good, even if they had -got in. - -But at length the eventful hour came when the gentle sempstress -withdrew the shining needle, made clear by long use, from the last -touch of the last rose; and, doubtless, if Mysie had not been under -the cloud of sorrow we have mentioned, she would have been happier at -the termination of so long a labour than she had ever been, for the -finishing evening had always been a great occasion to both the inmates; -nay, it had been always celebrated by a glass of strong Edinburgh -ale--a drink which, as both a liquor and a liqueur, was as famous then -as it is at this day. But of what avail was this work-termination to -her now? Was it not certain that she had not seen Balgarnie for two -moons, and though the impossibility of his not marrying her was just -as impossible as ever, why were these two moons left to shine in the -green hollow and on the rising hill without the privilege of throwing -the shadows of Mysie Craig and George Balgarnie on the grass, where the -fairies had left the traces of their dances? Questions these which -she was unable to answer, if it were not even that she was afraid to -put them to herself. Then, when was it that she felt herself unable -to tie up her work in order to take it home, and that her mother, -seeing the reacting effect of the prior sleepless nights in her languid -frame, did this little duty for her, even as while she was doing it -she looked through her tears at her changed daughter? But Mysie would -do so much. While the mother should go to Miss Allardice, Mysie would -proceed to Miss Anabella--and so it was arranged. They went forth -together, parting at the Netherbow; and Mysie, in spite of a weakness -which threatened to bring her with her burden to the ground, struggled -on to her destination. At the top of Advocate’s Close she saw a man -hurry out and increase his step even as her eye rested on him; and if -it had not appeared to her to be among the ultimate impossibilities of -things, natural as well as unnatural, she would have sworn that that -man was George Balgarnie; but then, it just so happened that Mysie came -to the conclusion that such a circumstance was among these ultimate -impossibilities. - -This resolution was an effort which cost her more than the conviction -would have done, though doubtless she did not feel this at the time, -and so with a kind of forced step she mounted the stair, but when she -got into the presence of Miss Gilroy she could scarcely pronounce the -words-- - -“I have brought you the dress, ma’am.” - -“And I am so delighted, Miss Craig, that I could almost take you into -my arms,” said the lady; “but what ails ye, dear? You are as white as -any snow I ever saw, whereas you ought to have been as blithe as a -bridesmaid, for don’t you know that you have brought me home one of my -marriage dresses? Come now, smile when I tell you that to-morrow is my -wedding-day.” - -“Wedding-day,” muttered Mysie, as she thought of the aforesaid utter -impossibility of herself not being soon married to George Balgarnie, an -impossibility not rendered less impossible by the resolution she had -formed not to believe that within five minutes he had flown away from -her. - -“Yes, Miss Craig, and surely you must have heard who the gentleman is, -for does not the town ring of it from the castle to the palace, from -Kirk-o’-Field to the Calton?” - -“I have not been out,” said Mysie. - -“That accounts for it,” continued the lady; “and I am delighted at the -reason, for wouldn’t it have been terrible to think that my marriage -with George Balgarnie of Balgruddery was a thing of so small a note as -not to be known everywhere?” - -If Mysie Craig had appeared shortly before to Miss Gilroy paler than -any snow her ladyship had ever seen, she must now have been as pale -as some other kind of snow that nobody ever saw. The dreadful words -had, indeed, produced the adequate effect--but not in the most common -way, for we are to keep in view that it is not the most shrinking and -sensitive natures that are always the readiest to faint; and there was, -besides, the aforesaid conviction of impossibility which, grasping -the mind by a certain force, deadened the ear to words implying the -contrary. Mysie stood fixed to the spot, as if she were trying to -realise some certainty she dared not think was possible, her lips -apart, her eyes riveted on the face of the lady--mute as that kind of -picture which a certain ancient calls a silent poem, and motionless as -a figure of marble. - -An attitude and appearance still more inexplicable to Anabella, perhaps -irritating as an unlucky omen, and, therefore, not possessing any claim -for sympathy--at least, it got none. - -“Are you the Mysie Craig,” she cried, as she looked at the girl, “who -used to chat to me about the dresses you brought, and the flowers on -them? Ah, jealous and envious, is that it? But, you forget, George -Balgarnie never could have made _you_ his wife--a working needlewoman; -he only fancied you as the plaything of an hour. He told me so himself -when I charged him with having been seen in your company. So, Mysie, -you may as well look cheerful. Your turn will come next, with some one -in your own station.” - -There are words which stimulate and confirm--there are others that -seem to kill the nerve and take away the sense, nor can we ever -tell the effect till we see it produced; and so we could not have -told beforehand--nay, we would have looked for something quite -opposite--that Mysie, shrinking and irritable as she was by nature, was -saved from a faint, (which had for some moments been threatening her,) -by the cruel insult which thus had been added to her misfortune. She -had even power to have recourse to that strange device of some natures, -that of “affecting to be not affected;” and, casting a glance at the -fine lady, she turned and went away without uttering a single word. -But who knows the pain of the conventional concealment of pain, except -those who have experienced the agony of the trial? Even at the moment -when she heard that George Balgarnie was to be married, and that she -came to know that she had been for weeks sewing the marriage dress of -his bride, she was carrying under her heart the living burden which was -the fruit of her love for that man. Yet not the burden of shame and -dishonour, as our story will show, for she was justified by the law -of her country--yea, by certain words once written by an apostle to -the Corinthians, all which may as yet appear a great mystery; but, as -regards Mysie Craig’s agony, as she staggered down Miss Gilroy’s stairs -on her way home, there could be no doubt or mystery whatever. - -Nor, when she got home, was there any comfort there for the daughter -who had been so undutiful as to depart from her mother’s precepts, and -conceal from her not only her unfortunate connexion with a villain, -but the condition into which that connexion had brought her. But she -was, at least, saved from the pain of a part of the confession, for -her mother had learned enough from Miss Allardice to satisfy her as to -the cause of her daughter’s change from the happy creature she once -was, singing in the long nights as she wrought unremittingly at her -beautiful work, and the poor, sighing, pale, heart-broken thing she -had been for months. Nor did she fail to see, with the quick eye of a -mother, that as Mysie immediately on entering the house laid herself -quietly on the bed, and sobbed in her great agony, that she had learned -the terrible truth from Miss Gilroy that the robe she had embroidered -was to deck the bride of her destroyer. Moreover, her discretion -enabled her to perceive that this was not the time for explanation, -for the hours of grief are sacred, and the heart must be left to do its -work by opening the issues of Nature’s assuagement, or ceasing to beat. -So the night passed, without question or answer; and the following -day, that of the marriage, was one of silence, even as if death had -touched the tongue that used to be the medium of cheerful words and -tender sympathies--a strange contrast to the joy, if not revelry, in -Advocate’s Close. - -It was not till after several days had passed that Mysie was able, as -she still lay in bed, to whisper, amidst the recurring sobs, in the -ear of her mother, as the latter bent over her, the real circumstances -of her condition; and still, amidst the trembling words, came the -vindication that she considered herself to be as much the wife of -George Balgarnie as if they had been joined by “Holy Kirk;” a statement -which the mother could not understand, if it was not to her a mystery, -rendered even more mysterious by a reference which Mysie made to the -law of the country, as she had heard the same from her cousin George -Davidson, a writer’s clerk in the Lawnmarket. Much of which, as it came -in broken syllables from the lips of the disconsolate daughter, the -mother put to the account of the fond dreams of a mind put out of joint -by the worst form of misery incident to young women. But what availed -explanations, mysteries or no mysteries, where the fact was patent -that Mysie Craig lay there, the poor heart-broken victim of man’s -perfidy--her powers of industry broken and useless--the fine weaving -genius of her fancy, whereby she wrought her embroidered devices to -deck and adorn beauty, only engaged now on portraying all the evils of -her future life; and, above all, was she not soon to become a mother? - -Meanwhile, and in the midst of all this misery, the laid-up earnings -of Mysie’s industry wore away, where there was no work by those -cunning fingers--now thin and emaciated; and before the days passed, -and the critical day came whereon another burden would be imposed on -the household, there was need for the sympathy of neighbours in that -form which soon wears out--pecuniary help. That critical day at length -came. Mysie Craig gave birth to a boy, and their necessities from that -hour grew in quicker and greater proportion than the generosity of -friends. There behoved something to be done, and that without delay. -So when Mysie lay asleep, with the innocent evidence of her misfortune -by her side, Mrs Craig put on her red plaid and went forth on a -mother’s duty, and was soon in the presence of George Balgarnie and -his young wife. She was under an impulse which made light of delicate -conventionalities, and did not think it necessary to give the lady -an opportunity of being absent; nay, she rather would have her to be -present--for was she, who had been so far privy to the intercourse -between her husband and Mysie, to be exempt from the consequences which -she, in a sense, might have been said to have brought about? - -“Ye have ruined Mysie Craig, sir!” cried at once the roused mother. “Ye -have ta’en awa her honour. Ye have ta’en awa her health. Ye have ta’en -awa her bread. Ay, and ye have reduced three human creatures to want, -it may be starvation; and I have come here in sair sorrow and necessity -to ask when and whaur is to be the remeid?” - -“When and where you may find it, woman!” said the lady, as she cast a -side-glance to her husband, probably by way of appeal for the truth -of what she thought it right to say. “Mr Balgarnie never injured your -daughter. Let him who did the deed yield the remeid!” - -“And do you stand by this?” said Mrs Craig. - -But the husband had been already claimed as free from blame by -his wife, who kept her eye fixed upon him; and the obligation to -conscience, said by sceptics to be an offspring of society, is -sometimes weaker than what is due to a wife, in the estimation of whom -a man may wish to stand in a certain degree of elevation. - -“You must seek another father to the child of your daughter,” said he, -lightly. And, not content with the denial, he supplemented it by a -laugh, as he added, “When birds go to the greenwood, they must take the -chance of meeting the goshawk.” - -“And that is your answer?” said she. - -“It is; and you need never trouble either my wife or me more on this -subject,” was the reply. - -“Then may the vengeance o’ the God of justice light on the heads o’ -baith o’ ye!” added Mrs Craig, as she went hurriedly away. - -Nor was her threat intended as an empty one, for she held on her way -direct to the Lawnmarket, where she found George Davidson, to whom she -related as much as she had been able to get out of Mysie, and also what -had passed at the interview with Balgarnie and his lady. After hearing -which, the young writer shook his head. - -“You will get a trifle of aliment,” said he; “perhaps half-a-crown -a week, but no more; and Mysie could have made that in a day by her -beautiful work.” - -“And she will never work mair,” said the mother, with a sigh. - -“For a hundred years,” rejoined he, more to himself than to her, and -probably in congratulation of himself for his perspicacity, “and since -ever there was a college of justice, there never was a case where a man -pulled up on oath for a promise of marriage admitted the fact. It is a -good Scotch law--only we want a people to obey it. But what,” he added -again, “if we were to try it, though it were only as a grim joke and a -revenge in so sad and terrible a case as that of poor Mysie Craig!” - -Words which the mother understood no more than she did law Latin; and -so she was sent away as sorrowful as she had come, for Davidson did -not want to raise hopes which there was no chance of being fulfilled; -but he knew as a Scotchman that a man who trusts himself to “a strae -rape” in the hope of its breaking, may possibly hang himself, and so -it happened that the very next day a summons was served upon George -Balgarnie, to have it found and declared by the Lords of Session that -he had promised to marry Mysie Craig, whereupon a child had been born -by her; or, in fault of that, he was bound to sustain the said child. -Thereupon, without the ordinary law’s delay, certain proceedings went -on, in the course of which Mysie herself was examined as the mother to -afford what the lawyers call a _semiplena probatio_, or half proof, to -be supplemented otherwise, and thereafter George Balgarnie stood before -the august fifteen. He denied stoutly all intercourse with Mysie, -except an occasional walk in the Hunter’s Bog; and this he would have -denied also, but he knew that he had been seen, and that it would be -sworn to by others; and then came the last question, which Mr Greerson, -Mysie’s advocate, put in utter hopelessness. Nay, so futile did it seem -to try to catch a Scotchman by advising him to put his head in a noose -on the pretence of seeing how it fitted his neck, that he smiled even -as the words came out of his mouth-- - -“Did you ever promise to marry Mysie Craig?” - -Was prudence, the chief of the four cardinal virtues, ever yet -consistent with vice? Balgarnie waxed clever--a dangerous trick in a -witness. He stroked his beard with a smile on his face, and answered-- - -“_Yes, once--when I was drunk!_” - -Words which were immediately followed by the crack of a single word in -the dry mouth of one of the advocates--the word “NICKED.” - -And nicked he was; for the presiding judge, addressing the witness, -said-- - -“The drunkenness may be good enough in its own way, sir; but it -does not take away the effect of your promise--nay, it is even an -aggravation, insomuch as having enjoyed the drink, you wanted to enjoy -with impunity what you could make of the promise also.” - -If Balgarnie had been a reader he might have remembered Waller’s verse-- - - “That eagle’s fate and mine are one, - Which on the shaft that made him die - Espied a feather of his own, - Wherewith he wont to soar so high.” - -So Mysie gained her plea, and the marriage with Anabella, for whom -she had embroidered the marriage-gown, was dissolved. How matters -progressed afterwards for a time we know not; but the Scotch know that -there is wisdom in making the best of a bad bargain, and in this case -it was a good one; for, as the Lady of Balgruddery, Mysie Craig did -no dishonour to George Balgarnie, who, moreover, found her a faithful -wife, and a good mother to the children that came of this strange -marriage. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of Pinched Tom. - - -In searching again Lord Kilkerran’s Session Papers in the Advocates’ -Library, I observed a strange remark written on the margin of one of -them--“Beware of pinched Tom”--the meaning of which I was at a loss -to find. His lordship was known to be a very grave man, as well as an -excellent lawyer, and all so unlike the Newtons and Harmands, who made -the blind Lady Justice laugh by the antics of that other lady sung by -Beranger--Dame Folly--that I was put to my wit’s end, although I admit -that, by a reference to a part of the printed Session Papers opposite -to which the remark was made, I thought I could catch a glimmering -of his lordship’s intention. The law case occupying the papers -comprehended a question of disputed succession, and that question -involved the application of a curious law in Scotland, which still -remains. - -I believe we borrowed it from that great repertory from which our -forefathers took so much wisdom--the Roman code; but be that as it -may, (and it’s no great matter in so far as regards my story,) certain -it is that it is a part of our jurisprudence, that where a marriage -is dissolved by the death of the wife within a year and a day of the -celebration thereof, without leaving a living child, the tocher goes -back to the wife’s friends. Of course nothing is more untrue than that -bit of connubial wit: that while we hold, according to the Bible, that -a man and his wife are _one_, we also very sensibly hold that the -husband is _that one_. Then the child behoves to be a living child; but -what constituted a living child often turned out to be as difficult -a question as what constitutes a new birth of a living Christian, -according to our good old sturdy Calvinism; for as all doctors know -that a child will, on coming into the world, give a breath or two -with a shiver, and then go off like a candle not properly lighted, it -became a question whether, in such a case, the child could be said to -have lived. Sometimes, too, the living symptom is less doubtful, as -in the case, also very common, where the little stranger gives a tiny -scream, the consequence of the filling of the lungs by the rushing in -of the air, and having experienced a touch of the evils of life, makes -up its mind to be off as quickly as possible from a wicked world. Now -this last symptom our Scotch law accepts as the only evidence which -can be received that the child had within it a living-spirit, or, as -we call it, an immortal soul. It would be of no importance that it -opened and shut its eyes, moved its hands, or kicked or sprawled in any -way you please; all this is nothing but infantine pantomime, and the -worst pantomime, too, that it has no possible meaning that any rational -person could understand, and so, therefore, it goes for nothing. In -short, our law holds that, unless “baby squeak,” there is no evidence -that baby ever lived. Nor is any distinction made between the male -and the female, although we know so well that the latter is much more -inclined to make a noise than the other, were it for nothing else than -to exhibit a first attempt to do that at which the sex are so good when -they grow up and get husbands. - -To bring back the reader to Lord Kilkerran’s remark--“Beware of Pinched -Tom”--the case to which the note applied comprehended the question -whether the child had been heard to cry, and though the connexion might -be merely imaginary on my part, I recollected in the instant having -heard the story I now relate of Mr Thomas Whitelaw, a merchant burgess -of Edinburgh, who figured somewhere between the middle and the end of -last century, and took for wife a certain Janet Monypenny. In which -union “the sufficient reason” which always exists, though we do not -always know it, was on the part of the said Thomas the certainty that -Janet’s name (defying Shakespeare’s question) was a real designative -of a quality, that being that she possessed, in her own right, not -merely many a penny, but so many thousand pennies, that they amounted -to somewhere about two thousand merks, a large sum in those olden -days. And this money was perhaps the more valuable, that the heiress -had an unfortunate right by inheritance to consumption, whereby she -ran a risk of being taken away, leaving her money unconsumed in the -hands of her husband; an event, this latter, which our merchant burgess -could certainly have turned to more certain account if he had provided -against the law we have mentioned by entering into an antenuptial -contract of marriage, wherein it might have been set forth that, though -the marriage should be dissolved by the death of the wife before “year -and day,” without a living child being born thereof, yet the husband’s -right to the tocher would remain. But then Burgess Thomas did not know -of any such law, while Mr George Monypenny, the brother of Mrs Janet, -knew it perfectly, the more by token that he was a writer, that is, a -legal practitioner, at the Luckenbooths. And though Mr George might -have made a few pennies by writing out the contract, he never hinted -to his intended brother-in-law of the propriety of any such act, -because he knew that he had a chance of coming to more pennies, by the -death of his sister, within the year and the day. - -So the marriage was entered into without more use of written paper than -what we call the marriage lines, and Writer George was satisfied until -he began to see that Mrs Whitelaw was likely to be a mother before the -expiry of the year and the day; but then he had the consolation--for, -alas! human nature was the same in those olden times that it is now--of -seeing that, while poor Janet was increasing in one way, she was -decreasing in another, so that it was not unlikely that there would be -not only a dead child, but a dead mother; and then he would come in -as nearest of kin for the tocher of two thousand merks, of all which -speculations on the part of the unnatural brother, Burgess Thomas knew -nothing. But it so happened that Mrs Euphan Lythgow, the most skilly -howdie or midwife in Edinburgh at that time, was the woman who was to -bring the child into the world, and she had seen indications enough to -satisfy her that there was a probability that things would go on in the -very way so cruelly hoped for by the man of the law; nay, she had her -eyes--open enough at all times--more opened still by some questions put -to her by the wily expectant, and so she held it to be her duty to go -straight to Burgess Thomas. - -“I fear,” said she, “baith for the mother and the bairn, for she is -worn awa to skin and bane, and if she bear the heir she will only get -lighter, as we ca’ it, to tak on a heavier burden, even that o’ death. -The bairn may live, but it’s only a chance.” - -Whereat Burgess Thomas looked sad, for he really loved his wife, but it -might just happen that a thought came into his head that death had no -power over the two thousand merks. - -“If baith the mother and the bairn dee,” continued Euphan, “the money -you got by her will tak wing and flee awa to Mr George, her brother.” - -“What mean you, woman?” asked Mr Whitelaw, as he looked wistfully and -fearfully into the face of the howdie. - -“Had ye no’ a contract o’ marriage?” continued she. - -“No,” was the answer. - -“Aweel, ye’re in danger, for ken ye na it is our auld Scotch law that -when there’s nae contract, and the year and the day hasna passed, and -when the mither dees and the bairn dees without a cry, the tocher flees -back again? Heard ye never the auld rhyme-- - - ‘Mither dead and bairn gane, - Pay the tocher to her kin; - But an ye hear the bairn squeal, - Gudeman, grip the tocher weel.’” - -“God bless me, Mrs Lythgow! is that the law?” cried the husband, in a -fright. - -“Indeed, and it is,” was the rejoinder. “You are muckle obliged to -Writer George. If the bairn lives to be baptized, George is no the name -it will bear.” - -“No,” replied he; “if a boy, it will be baptized Thomas.” - -“Tam!” ejaculated the howdie in a screechy voice, the reason of which -might be that her son carrying that name had died during the year, and -she was affected. - -But no sooner had the word Tam passed from her lips, than a large red -cat came from the rug, and looking up in her face, mewed in so very -expressive a way that the sadness which the recollection of her boy had -inspired passed suddenly away, and was succeeded by a comical look; -and rubbing Bawdrons “along of the hair,” as Mr Dickens would express -it, the true way of treating either cats or cat-witted people, she -continued addressing the favourite-- - -“And you, Tam, and I will be better acquainted before the twa thousand -merks are paid to Writer George.” - -“What does the woman mean?” said the burgess. “What connexion is there -between that animal and my wife’s fortune?” - -“Ye’ll ken that when the time comes,” was the answer; “but coming -nearer to the subject in hand, ye’ll take care to hae twa witnesses in -the blue-painted parlour, next to your bed-room, when I’m untwining the -mistress o’ her burden, whether it be a dead bairn or a living ane.” - -“And what good will that do me if both the mother and child should -die?” inquired he. - -“Ye’ll ken that when Writer George comes and asks ye for the tocher,” -was the answer. - -Nor did Mrs Euphan Lythgow wait to throw any further light upon a -subject which appeared to the burgess to require more than the candle -of his own mind could supply if he should snuff it again and again, -and arn’t we, every one of us, always snuffing the candle so often -that we can see nothing? But Mrs Lythgow was what the Scotch people -call “a skilly woman.” She could see--to use an old and very common -expression--as far into a millstone as any one, and it was especially -clear to her that she would deliver Mrs Whitelaw of a dead child, that -death would deliver the mother of her life, and Writer George would -deliver Maister Whitelaw of two thousand good merks of Scotch money, -unless, as a poor salvage out of all this loss, she could deliver the -burgess out of the hands of the writer. And so the time passed till the -eventful evening came, when the wasted invalid was seized with those -premonitory pains which have come right down from old mother Eve to the -fair daughters of men, as a consequence of her eating the too sweet -paradise pippin. The indispensable Mrs Euphan Lythgow was sent for -express and came on the instant, for she knew she had unusual duties -to perform, nor did she forget as one of the chief of those to get -Mrs Jean Gilchrist, a neighbouring gossip, and Robina Proudfoot, the -servant, ensconsed in the said blue-painted parlour, for the sole end -that they should hear what they could hear, but as for seeing anything -that passed within the veil of the secret temple of Lucina, they were -not to be permitted to get a glimpse until such time as might please -the priestess of the mysteries herself. - -All which secrecy has been followed by the unfortunate consequence -that history nowhere records what took place in that secret room for -an hour or two after the two women took up their station in the said -blue-painted chamber. But this much we know, that the house was so -silent that our favourite Tom could not have chosen a more auspicious -evening for mousing for prey in place of mewing for play, even if he -had had all the sagacity of the famous cats of Tartesia. As for Mrs -Gilchrist and Robina, they could not have listened more zealously, we -might even say effectually, if they had been gifted with ears as long -as those of certain animals in Trophonia; and surely we cannot be wrong -in saying they were successful listeners, when we are able to report -that Mrs Gilchrist nipped the bare fleshy arm of Robina, as a sign that -she heard what she wanted to hear. - -“That’s the scream o’ the wean!” said she. - -“Ay, and may the Lord be praised!” was the answer of Robina, in spite -of the nip. - -But neither the one nor the other knew that that cry was verily -worth two thousand merks to Maister Burgess Whitelaw, the father, -who in a back-room sat in the deep pit of anxiety and heard nothing, -and perhaps it was better that he didn’t, for that cry might have -raised hopes--never to be realised--of the birth of a living son -or daughter, who would by and by lisp in his ear the charmed word -“Father”--of a dead wife’s recovery, after so terrible a trial to one -so much wasted--of the saving of his fortune from the ruthless hands -of his brother-in-law. But there is always some consolation for the -miserable, and didn’t Mrs Janet’s favourite, even Tom himself, with -his bright scarlet collar, come to him and sit upon his knee and look -up in his face and purr so audibly, that one might have thought he -was expressing sympathy and hope? So it is: nature is always laughing -at her own work. Even as this pantomime was acting, Mrs Lythgow opened -the door of the blue-painted chamber, and presenting a bundle to Mrs -Gilchrist-- - -“The bairn is dead,” she whispered; “lay it on the table there out o’ -the sight o’ its mother, who will not live lang enough even to see its -dead face.” - -“And yet we heard it cry,” said Robina. “Poor dear innocent,” she -added, as she peered among the folds of the flannel, “ye have had a -short life.” - -“And no’ a merry ane,” added the gossip. - -“Did ye expect the bairn to laugh, ye fule woman that ye are?” was the -reply of the howdie. “Come and help me wi’ the deeing mither.” - -And straightway the three women were by the bedside of the patient, -in whose throat Death was already sounding his rattle, after the last -effort of exhausted nature to give to the world a life in exchange for -her own; and Mr Whitelaw was there too to witness the dying throes -of his wife, with perhaps the thought in his mind that the gods are -pitiless as well as foolish, for what was the use of giving him a dead -child in recompense for a dead mother, and taking away from him, at the -very same moment, the said two thousand merks of good Scotch money. -Wherein, so far, Mr Whitelaw was himself unjust to these much abused -gods; but he did not know as yet that the child had cried, and who -knows what consoling effect that circumstance might have had upon one -who was what Pindar calls “a man of money.” At least, we will give to -any man more than one of these merks who will show us out of the great -“Treasury of Evils,” mentioned by the Greek poets, any one which cannot -be ameliorated by money. And so Mr Whitelaw heard, in the last expiring -breath of Mrs Janet Monypenny the departing sign of the loss of the -three greatest good things of this world--a wife, a child, and a tocher. - -But the moral oscillation comes round as sure as that of the pendulum, -and in accordance with that law Mr Whitelaw was, within a short time -after the death of his wife, told by Mrs Gilchrist that the child had -made the much-wished-for sign of life. A communication, this, very -easily accounted for, but we do not undertake to explain why, when Mr -Whitelaw heard it, he was scarcely equal to the task of preventing -an expression upon his sorrowful countenance which an ill-natured -person would call a smile. Nor, indeed, is there any way of explaining -so inexplicable a phenomenon, except by having recourse to the fact -mentioned by Burns, that “man is a riddle.” A solution which will also -serve us when we further narrate that this small wail of the child -lightened wonderfully Mr Whitelaw’s duty in getting all things arranged -for the funeral, including the melancholy peculiarity of getting the -coffin made that was to contain a mother and her first-born. Nay, it -enabled him even at the funeral to meet the triumphant look of his -brother-in-law, Writer George, as it clearly said, even in the midst of -his tears, “You owe me two thousand merks;” for we are to remember that -Mr Whitelaw, in exchange for the writer’s perfidy in not mentioning to -him the necessity of a contract of marriage, had with a spice of malice -concealed from him the fact of the child having been heard to cry, and -then it was natural for the writer to suppose that the child had been -born dead. - -As money ameliorates grief, business prevents grief from taking -possession of the mind; and so we need not be surprised that within a -week Mr Monypenny served Mr Whitelaw with a summons to appear before -the fifteen Scotch lords who sat round a table in the form of a -horse-shoe in the Parliament House of Edinburgh, or Court of Session, -and there be ordered to pay to the pursuer or plaintiff the said two -thousand merks, which devolved upon him, as the heir of his sister, -in consequence of the dissolution of the marriage within a year and a -day, without a living child being born thereof. Nor was Mr Whitelaw, -angry as he was and withal confident of success, slow to give in his -defence to the effect that the child had been born alive, and had been -heard to scream--a defence which startled Writer George mightily; -for it was the first intimation he had got of the important fact, -and his experience told him how supple Scotch witnesses are--even to -the extent that it took no fewer than fifteen learned judges to get -the subtle thing called truth out of the subtle minds of “the canny -people;” but he had no alternative than to consent to the commission to -Maister Wylie, advocate, to take a proof of the defender’s averment and -report. And so accordingly the proceedings went on. Mr Advocate Wylie -sat in one of the rooms adjoining the court to take the depositions -of the witnesses, and Mr Williamson was there for Mr Whitelaw, and -Mr Hamilton for Mr Monypenny. The first witness called was Mrs Jean -Gilchrist, who swore very honestly that she heard the child scream; and -Robina Proudfoot swore as honestly to the same thing; nor could all -the efforts of Mr Advocate Hamilton shake those sturdy witnesses, if -it was not that, as so often happens with Scotch witnesses, the more -the advocate wrestled with them, the more firm they waxed. Nor need -we say that the philosophical axiom, that the intensity of belief is -always inversely as the reason for it, never had weight with our Scotch -judges. But then came the difficulty about the _causa scientiæ_; for -neither of the two witnesses could swear that she _saw_ the child alive -and after the scream, inasmuch as the child was certainly dead before -they saw the body; so it was only at best a strong presumption that the -cry actually did come from that child. The witnesses dispersed these -quibbles, and insisted that, as there was no other child in that room, -the cry could come from no other source than Mrs Whitelaw’s baby. But -the crowning witness was to come--Mrs Euphan Lythgow herself, who would -put an end to all doubts; and come she did. Asked whether she delivered -Mrs Whitelaw of a child on the night in question, her answer was in the -affirmative. - -“Was it a boy or a girl?” - -“A _callant_, sir,” was the answer; for Scotch witnesses _will_ use -their own terms, let counsel do what they please. “And,” added Mrs -Lythgow, “he was to be baptized after his father when the time came. He -was to be called Tammas.” - -“Just so,” continued Mr Hamilton; “and was he dead or alive when he was -born?” - -“Indeed, sir, little Tam wras as life-like as you are when I handled -him wi’ thae hands.” - -“How do you know that?” was the next question. - -“Ken whether a bairn is dead or living?” responded the midwife, with an -ironical laugh. “Do dead bairns scream, think ye, Maister Hamilton? Ay, -sir, I heard little Tam cry just as plainly as I hear you speak. It’s -God’s way wi’ mony a wean. They seem to ken it’s an ill warld they’re -born into, wi’ so mony lawyers in’t, and they just gie a cry and gae -awa back again.” - -And thus the evidence was concluded; nor did it ever occur to these -hair-wigged and ear-wigged gentlemen to ask the astute howdie whether -there was any other creature in the house (except Mr Thomas Whitelaw -himself, who was out of the question) that bore the name of Tam; -and Mrs Lythgow’s conscience, like many others, sat as easy on the -equivocation as a hen does on an addled egg with a shell like the rest, -which contain little chickens all alive. And the case was virtually -saved, as subsequently appeared, when the fifteen, all ear-wigged too, -pronounced sentence in favour of the defender, Mr Whitelaw. But it was -not till some time afterwards the real truth came out. “The labourer is -worthy of his hire,” and when Mrs Euphan called for fee, on Mr Whitelaw -asking how much, the cunning howdie replied-- - -“Just a hundred merks, Maister Whitelaw.” - -“A hundred merks for bringing a child into the world, which lived no -longer than to give a scream?” - -“Ay, but you forget _pinched Tam_,” replied she. - -Whereupon Mr Whitelaw began to meditate, and thereupon ejaculated--“Oh! -I see. Yes, yes; I did forget pinched Tam; and now I remember, he came -into me that evening after you had ejected him from the bed-room.” - -“Surely, sir,” rejoined the woman; “think ye I was fule enough to keep -him in the room to be seen by the women, after I had got out o’ him a’ -that I wanted?” - -And Mrs Lythgow got her hundred merks. How the incident came to the -ears of Lord Kilkerran, history saith not; but if you are curious, you -may see upon the margin of the said Session Paper the words--“Beware of -pinched Tom!” - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of the Iron Press. - - -The story of the Iron Press hung about my memory for years before I -got it localised; nor do I know very well how it came to me, whether -from the page of an old broad-sheet, or the tougher tongue of an old -dame--the real vellum for the inscription of wonderful legends. However -this may be, it is of small importance, inasmuch as I was subsequently -so fortunate--and the word will be properly estimated by the real -story-hunter--as to find myself in the very room where the recess of -the press was still to be seen. How I did look at it, to be sure! nay, -if it had been of gold--all my own, too--I question if I could have -gazed into the dark recess with more interest; for gold, to people -of my bias, is nothing in comparison with the enchantment that hangs -about the real concrete _souvenir_ of an old wonder. But before going -further, I must apprise the English reader that the word “press”--a -Scotch word of somewhat doubtful derivation (_maugre_ Jamieson)--is -convertible into the more modern designation “cupboard,” or rather -“pantry;” with the qualification that our Scotch term more generally -implies the adjunct of a door with lock and key. - -With which help you may be induced to represent to yourself, as -vividly as the fervour of your imagination may enable you, the house -in Hyndford’s Close, which, at the time wherein we are concerned, was -occupied by a retired advocate called Mr George Plenderleith. You may -see in it yet the signs of its old gentility. There are the panellings -on the walls, the hooks whereon were suspended the flowered and figured -draperies, the painted roofs, the peculiar enamelled sides of the -chimneys having the appearance of china--all so very unlike our modern -house fashions. It may not be that the iron press which was in the -back bed-room, and the recess of which still remains, had anything to -do with the fashion of the time; nor would it be easy to divine its -use in a private gentleman’s house, who had no ledgers, journals, or -cash-books to preserve from fire, lest certain creditors might say they -were burnt to help concealment. Perhaps it was for the conservation of -some great property rights, or title-deeds as we call them; perhaps -state papers--anything you like, but not the least unlikely, it may -have been for the purpose of concealing some unfortunate Covenanter, -who could still boast, in his pathetic way, that he had verily -nowhere to lay his head; for the cell was too small for a reclining -posture--nay, he could scarcely have got upon his knees to offer his -Ebenezer for the preservation of the solemn league and covenant, and -give thanks that he had got out of “the bishop’s drag-net” and into an -iron cage. - -Most certainly, at least, this iron cage was not intended to immure the -delicate person of the beautiful Ailsie Plenderleith, the only daughter -of the advocate--nay, the greatest belle you could have met, displaying -her gown of mazerine and her petticoat of cramosie, from “the castle -on the knowe to the palace in the howe;” or, as the saying went, from -“the castle gate to the palace yett.” We don’t doubt that our Miss -Ailsie deserved all this high-flown praise; only we are to keep in mind -that no young lady that ever figured in a legend, from the time of -the Fair Maid of Troy to her of Perth, was ever anything less than an -angel without wings. And in the case of our Ailsie, she might well have -passed for possessing these appendages too, when we consider that she -would not be behind her sister-belles in the size of those heavy folds -of braided silk they drew through their pocket-holes, and seemed to fly -with. We need not say that such a creature, if amiable in her mind and -affections, would be doated on by such a father as Mr Plenderleith, who -had now no wife to console him, and who would expect from his child at -least as much love as he was willing to bestow on her. And so, to be -sure, it was; he loved his dear Ailsie to what may be called paternal -distraction, but as for how much dutiful affection Ailsie bestowed on -him, we cannot say. - -On another point we can be more sure, and that is, that although her -father had many nice beaux in his eye who had a power to _dot_, and -doubtless on so fine a subject no disinclination at all to _doat_, the -never a one of them would the saucy Ailsie look upon except with that -haughty disdain which, when it appears in a beautiful woman, is so -apt to pique young admirers into greater adoration, mixed, it may be, -sometimes with a little choler--a thing that is not so alien to love as -you would imagine. Nor was the reason of all this cold _hauteur_ any -wonder at all when we are given to know that Miss Plenderleith had one -day, by the merest chance, taken into her eye, and even to the back -or innermost recesses thereof, the figure of a young student of “old -Embro’ College,” called Frederick Lind, a poor bursar of no family, -but blessed with what was ten thousand times of more importance in -the estimation of the tasteful Ailsie--a handsome person, and a fine -ruddy, intelligent face, which was lighted up with an eye as likely to -drink up the form of Ailsie as hers had been to receive his. And no -doubt it may appear very wonderful that Cupid, who is, as they say, -as blind as a bat, and so hits by chance, should have the power of -imparting to the eyes of his victims the faculty not only of seeing -each other more clearly than before, but also of reading each other’s -eyes so plainly, that by a glance they know that they are mutually -thinking of each other. But such, we all know very well, is the fact, -and so Frederick Lind and Ailsie Plenderleith came to this state of -knowledge, and not only so, they came to means of ascertaining, by -actual conversation, whether such was really the case or not--the -consequence of which was just the natural one, that the sympathy of -this knowledge became the sympathy of love; and we suspect that if any -one was to blame for this, it was Old Mother Nature herself, who is -considerably stronger and more dogmatic in her opinions than either -mother or father of earthly mould. - -The connexion thus formed--we are compelled, though sorry, to say, -clandestinely--might not have entailed upon the young devotees any -very formidable consequences, had they been prudent, and confined -their meetings to St Leonard’s Double-dykes, St Anthony’s Well, the -Giant’s Ribs, the Hunter’s Bog, or the Friar’s Walk. Nay, they might -have adventured even less recondite walks; but they had some notions -of comfort which would be gratified with nothing short of a roof over -their very irrational heads, and probably a fire burning by their -sides, as if love could not have kept itself in fuel without the -assistance of so coarse and earthy a thing as Midlothian coal. - -While all this was going forward, and generating confidence in the -ordinary ratio of successful immunity, our good and loving old Mr -Advocate Plenderleith was just as busy with _his_ eyes in endeavouring -to find out among the said beaux of Edinburgh, with their braided -broad-tailed coats and ruffled wristbands, of which Mr Frederick Lind -had nothing to boast, such a one as would be likely to form a suitable -husband to his pretty but scornful, (to all save one,) daughter, and a -promising son-in-law to himself; that is, one who would bring a sum to -the mutual exchequer, and take care not only of Ailsie, but that fine -property of his in Lanarkshire, called Threemarks, from its valuation -in the land-roll being of that very considerable extent. And so he -did his best to invite one or two of them to his house in Hyndford’s -Close to drink a bottle of claret, and see Miss Ailsie through the -charmed medium of the same, being satisfied that a young woman is -seen to more advantage through that medium than through the roses of -the Paphian groves where Venus dallies with her son. But all this -paternal black-footing would not do, because the step went only in -one direction, without a return. Our Ailsie scorned them all--a very -unwise policy in the little rebel, for she might have seen that her -father, who was a shrewd man, would be likely to suspect that the ship -which rides at an anchor, however little seen, is just that very one -which seems to defy most the blustering winds and the rolling waves. -And accordingly Mr Plenderleith began to think that his daughter’s -heart must be anchored somewhere--not so likely on golden sands as -on some tough clay--and _that_ “where” he would have given his old -Parliament-House wig, with all the meal in it to boot, to find out. -Nay, he began to be angry before he could assure himself of the fact; -and being as determined under a restrainer as he ever had been under a -retainer, he was a dangerous man for even a loving daughter to tamper -with. - -But old fathers, probably with spectacles, are not good watchers of -their love-stricken daughters; and Mr Plenderleith, knowing this, -placed confidence in his old servant or servitor, (as these domestic -Balderstones were then called,) Andrew Crabbin, and got him to keep an -eye upon the outgoings and incomings, and companionship and letters of -the unsuspecting Ailsie. On the other hand, she was inclined to place -faith in Andrew--not that she let him know the name or degree of her -beloved Frederick, but that she bespoke his secrecy in the event of his -seeing her with a highly respectable young man, of genteel connexions, -whom her father would be delighted to receive as a son-in-law, but who -was not just yet in a position to present himself in the drawing-room. -Which two confidences Andrew received together, and found means in -his canny Scotch head to entertain both kindly, but with a foregone -conclusion that he would make more money out of the rents and fees of -his master than the pin-money of poor Ailsie. - -Yet Miss Plenderleith was so dexterous in managing her intrigue, that -Andrew had for a time nothing to reveal; but opportunity comes at -the end to patience, and this was the case one night when Andrew was -busy cleaning his master’s long boots in an outhouse at the back of -the dwelling-house; for as he was straining to get the article in his -hand as bright as the “Day and Martin” of the time would make it, his -attention was directed to a sound from the red-tiled roof. Whereupon, -pricking up his ears, Andrew put his head out at the door, and what in -all this wide earth does he see but two boots disappearing at Ailsie’s -bed-room window! He had never seen any of the two or three pairs his -master possessed going into the house in that way, and probably he did -not need that fact to explain to him the wonderful apparition. Nor was -it any question with him what to do. The hour was late, but his master -was not gone to bed, if he was not yet engaged over his mulled claret, -with a bit of toast done pretty brown in it. - -Having accordingly got, unobserved from above, into the back-door--the -more by reason that he waited till the window-sash came down with all -prudential softness of sound--Andrew made his way up-stairs to the room -where Mr Plenderleith was regaling himself, and probably thinking of -the scornful Ailsie, who would not accord to his matrimonial wishes. -“There’s a young man gone in this minute at Miss Ailsie’s bed-room -window,” said he, in a mysterious way, to his master; whereupon Mr -Plenderleith started up in a great rage, and rushing to a closet -brought forth a long rapier of formidable sharpness. “I will slay him -on the spot,” said he, “for it is hamesucken and a deuced deal more, -and I have law on my side. Come with me, Andrew Crabbin.” But Andrew’s -intermediate views did not accord with the slaughter of Ailsie’s lover. -“Wait,” says he, “till I listen;” and hastening to Miss Plenderleith’s -room, he tirled at the door, so that it might be heard inside, but not -by his enraged master, whose spirit was more in his fiery eye than -his ear; and coming back more slowly than comported with his master’s -fury--“Now’s your time,” said he, “for I heard him inside.” Nor was -there now any time lost, for the infuriated father rushed along the -lobby to his daughter’s chamber door, which, to his surprise, he found -unfastened; and, having entered, he found Ailsie all very much at her -ease, nor was there anything to rouse his suspicions at all except the -condition of the blind, which was drawn up. No more was needed--that -was enough; the angry father accused his daughter with having had a -man in her bed-room. Ailsie denied the charge, but it was of no avail. -Orders were upon the instant issued to get the carriage ready, and in -the course of an hour afterwards Mr Plenderleith and his daughter, with -Andrew and the two female servants in a hired carriage, were on their -way to his house at Threemarks. The house in Hyndford’s Close was shut -up. Mr Plenderleith had in so short a period made up his mind, and -executed a purpose which he considered necessary to his own honour and -his daughter’s preservation. - -Time passed on, and in the meantime Andrew kept his secret, delighted -in his own mind that he had saved the life of the young man. About a -month afterwards Mr Plenderleith came to town alone, and having entered -the house found everything precisely as he left it. But he had an -object--no other than to discover whether Ailsie had left any letters -whereby he might discover the name of the clandestine lover. So far he -succeeded, and having returned to Threemarks, he some time afterwards -despatched Andrew to Edinburgh to make inquiries as to a student of the -name of Frederick Lind. This commission Andrew executed with fidelity, -but all his efforts were vain; no tidings could be heard of the youth. -The landlady with whom he had lodged said that he had gone out one -night and had never returned; and the opinion of his relations, to whom -she had communicated the fact of his absence, was, that he had gone to -England, where he also had relations. With this account Mr Plenderleith -was so far pleased, but he continued from time to time to repeat his -inquiries with no better, or rather to him worse, success. Yet such was -his apprehension lest his daughter should again have it in her power to -deceive him, that he remained at Threemarks for the full space of three -years and more. - -Meanwhile Ailsie, having come to the conclusion that she would not see -her lover again, renounced all thoughts of him except what perhaps at -night would rise up to her fancy, when the internal lights play false -with the reason. The young heart requires only time to renounce the -strongest passion, though a cherished memory will still hang suspended -over the sacred tomb of its affections. And so it was. More time -passed, till at length Ailsie Plenderleith agreed to give her hand to -a young advocate of the name of George Graham, who had good prospects -at the bar. The couple were to be married in Hyndford’s Close, and -the house was put in order to receive them. Ailsie came in a bride. -The ceremony was performed with great _éclat_ and rejoicings. And now -comes that part of the legend which always fits so well to some great -occasion, such as a marriage; but we must take these things as we find -them. The new-married couple were to sleep in the room which had been -the scene of so strange a play three or four years ago. On returning to -take off her bride’s dress, her eye became fixed upon the door of the -iron press. A wild thought seized her brain: she applied her finger to -the well-known spring. The door opened, and the skeleton of Frederick -Lind fell out against her, rattling in the clothes that hung about it, -and striking her as it fell with a loud crash on the floor. - -The explanation of our legend is not difficult. Lind had been pushed -into the press on previous occasions, without the door being closed -entirely upon him. Ailsie, on the fatal evening, had no doubt thought -that she had left the door as she used to do; but in the hurry -consequent on the coming of her father, she had committed the terrible -mistake of imparting to it too much impulse, whereby the lock had -caught; and as the spring was not available inside, the prisoner was -immured beyond the chance of escape. So narrow, too, was the recess, -that the skeleton form had stood upright in the clothes, and it thus -fell out when relieved of the support of the door. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of the Girl Forger. - - -It is a common thing for writers of a certain class, when they want -to produce the feeling of wonder in their readers, to introduce some -frantic action, and then to account for it by letting out the secret -that the actor was mad. The trick is not so necessary as it seems, -for the strength of human passions is a potentiality only limited -by experience; and so it is that a sane person may under certain -stimulants do the maddest thing in the world. The passion itself is -always true, it is only the motive that may be false; and therefore it -is that in narrating for your amusement, perhaps I may add instruction, -the following singular story--traces of the main parts of which I got -in the old books of a former procurator-fiscal--I assume that there -was no more insanity in the principal actor, Euphemia, or, as she was -called, Effie, Carr, when she brought herself within the arms of the -law, than there is in you, when now you are reading the story of her -strange life. She was the only daughter of John Carr, a grain merchant, -who lived in Bristo Street. It would be easy to ascribe to her all -the ordinary and extraordinary charms that are thought so necessary -to embellish heroines; but as we are not told what these were in her -case, we must be contented with the assurance that nature had been -kind enough to her to give her power over the hearts of men. We shall -be nearer our purpose when we state, what is necessary to explain a -peculiar part of our story, that her father, in consequence of his own -insufficient education, had got her trained to help him in keeping -his accounts with the farmers, and in writing up his books; nay, she -enjoyed the privilege of writing his drafts upon the Bank of Scotland, -which the father contrived to sign, though in his own illiterate way, -and with a peculiarity which it would not have been easy to imitate. - -But our gentle clerk did not consider these duties imposed upon her by -her father as excluding her either from gratifying her love of domestic -habits by assisting her mother in what at that time was denominated -hussyskep or housekeeping, or from a certain other gratification, -which might without a hint from us be anticipated--no other than the -luxury of falling head and ears, and heart too we fancy, in love with -a certain dashing young student of the name of Robert Stormonth, then -attending the University more for the sake of polish than of mere -study; for he was the son of the proprietor of Kelton, and required to -follow no profession. How Effie got entangled with this youth we have -no means of knowing, so we must be contented with the Scotch proverb-- - - “Tell me where the flea may bite, - And I will tell where love may light.” - -The probability is that, from the difference of their stations and -the retiring nature of our gentle clerk, we shall be safe in assuming -that he had, as the saying goes, been smitten by her charms in some of -those street encounters, where there is more of Love’s work done than -in “black-footed” tea coteries expressly held for the accommodation of -Cupid. And that the smitting was a genuine feeling we are not left to -doubt, for, in addition to the reasons we shall afterwards have too -good occasion to know, he treated Effie, not as those wild students -who are great men’s sons do “the light o’ loves” they meet in their -escapades; for he intrusted his secrets to her, he took such small -counsel from her poor head as a “learned clerk” might be supposed able -to give; nay, he told her of his mother, and how one day he hoped to be -able to introduce her at Kelton as his wife. All which Effie repaid -with the devotedness of that most wonderful affection called the first -or virgin love--the purest, the deepest, the most thoroughgoing of -all the emotions of the human heart. But as yet he had not conceded -to her wish that he should consent to their love being made known to -Effie’s father and mother: love is only a leveller to itself and its -object; the high-born youth, inured to refined manners, shrunk from -a family intercourse, which put him too much in mind of the revolt -he had made against the presumed wishes and intentions of his proud -parents. Wherein, after all, he was only true to the instincts of that -institution, apparently so inhumane as well as unchristian in its -exclusiveness, called aristocracy; and yet with the excuse that its -roots are pretty deeply set in human nature. - -But, proud as he was, Bob Stormonth the younger, of Kelton, was -amenable to the obligations of a necessity, forged by his own imprudent -hands. He had, by a fast mode of living, got into debt--a condition -from which his father, a stern man, had relieved him twice before, -but with a threat on the last occasion that if he persevered in his -prodigality he would withdraw from him his yearly allowance, and throw -him upon his own resources. The threat proved ineffectual, and this -young heir of entail, with all his pride, was once in the grasp of -low-born creditors: nay, things in this evil direction had gone so -far that writs were out against him, and one in the form of a caption -was already in the hands of a messenger-at-arms. That the debts were -comparatively small in amount was no amelioration where the purse was -all but empty; and he had exhausted the limited exchequers of his -chums, which with college youths was, and is, not difficult to do. So -the gay Bob was driven to his last shift, and that, as is generally the -case, was a mean one; for necessity, as the mother of inventions, does -not think it proper to limit her births to genteel or noble devices -to please her proud consort. He even had recourse to poor Effie to -help him; and, however ridiculous this may seem, there were reasons -that made the application appear not so desperate as some of his other -schemes. It was only the caption that as yet quickened his fears; and -as the sum for which the writ was issued was only twenty pounds, it was -not, after all, so much beyond the power of a clerk. - -It was during one of their ordinary walks in the Meadows that the -pressing necessity was opened by Stormonth to the vexed and terrified -girl. He told her that, but for the small help he required in the -meantime, all would be ruined. The wrath of his father would be excited -once more, and probably to the exclusion of all reconciliation; and -he himself compelled to flee, but whither he knew not. He had his plan -prepared, and proposed to Effie, who had no means of her own, _to take -a loan_ of the sum out of her father’s cash-box--words very properly -chosen according to the euphemistic policy of the devil, but Effie’s -genuine spirit was roused and alarmed. - -“Dreadful!” she whispered, as if afraid that the night-wind would carry -her words to honest ears. “Besides,” she continued, “my father, who is -a hard man, keeps his desk lockit.” - -Words which took Stormonth aback, for even he saw there was here a -necessity as strong as his own; yet the power of invention went to work -again. - -“Listen, Effie,” said he. “If you cannot help me, it is not likely we -shall meet again. I am desperate, and will go into the army.” - -The ear of Effie was chained to a force which was direct upon the -heart. She trembled and looked wistfully into his face, even as if by -that look she could extract from him some other device less fearful by -which she might have the power of retaining him for so short a period -as a day. - -“You draw out your father’s drafts on the bank, Effie,” he continued. -“Write one out for me, and I will put your father’s name to it. You -can draw the money. I will be saved from ruin; and your father will -never know.” - -A proposal which again brought a shudder over the girl. - -“Is it Robert Stormonth who asks me to do this thing?” she whispered -again. - -“No,” said he; “for I am not myself. Yesterday, and before the -messenger was after me, I would have shrunk from the suggestion. I am -not myself, I say, Effie. Ay or no; keep me or lose me,--that is the -alternative.” - -“Oh, I cannot,” was the language of her innocence, and for which he was -prepared; for the stimulant was again applied in the most powerful of -all forms--the word farewell was sounded in her ear. - -“Stop, Robert; let me think.” But there was no thought, only the heart -beating wildly. “I will do it; and may the penalty be mine, and mine -only.” - -So it was: “even virtue’s self turns vice when misapplied.” What her -mind shrank from was embraced by the heart as a kind of sacred duty of -a love making a sacrifice for the object of its first worship. It was -arranged; and as the firmness of a purpose is often in proportion to -the prior disinclination, so Effie’s determination to save her lover -from ruin was forthwith put in execution; nay, there was even a touch -of the heroine in her, so wonderfully does the heart, acting under its -primary instincts, sanctify the device which favours its affection. -That same evening Effie Carr wrote out the draft for twenty pounds on -the Bank of Scotland, gave it to Stormonth, who from a signature of -the father’s, also furnished by her, perpetrated the forgery--a crime -at that time punishable by death. The draft so signed was returned to -Effie. Next forenoon she went to the bank, as she had often done for -her father before; and the document being in her handwriting, as prior -ones of the same kind had also been, no scrutinising eye was turned -to the signature. The money was handed over, but _not counted_ by the -recipient, as before had been her careful habit--a circumstance with -its effect to follow in due time. Meanwhile Stormonth was at a place of -appointment out of the reach of the executor of the law, and was soon -found out by Effie, who gave him the money with trembling hands. For -this surely a kiss was due. We do not know; but she returned with the -satisfaction, overcoming all the impulses of fear and remorse, that she -had saved the object of her first and only love from ruin and flight. - -But even then the reaction was on the spring; the rebound was to be -fearful and fatal. The teller at the bank had been struck with Effie’s -manner; and the non-counting of the notes had roused a suspicion, -which fought its way even against the improbability of a mere girl -perpetrating a crime from which females are generally free. He examined -the draft, and soon saw that the signature was a bad imitation. -Thereupon a messenger was despatched to Bristo Street for inquiry. John -Carr, taken by surprise, declared that the draft, though written by -the daughter, was forged--the forgery being in his own mind attributed -to George Lindsay, his young salesman. Enough this for the bank, who -had in the first place only to do with the utterer, against whom their -evidence as yet only lay. Within a few hours afterwards Effie Carr was -in the Tolbooth, charged with the crime of forging a cheque on her -father’s account-current. - -The news soon spread over Edinburgh--at that time only an overgrown -village, in so far as regarded local facilities for the spread of -wonders. It had begun there, where the mother was in recurring faints, -the father in distraction and not less mystery, George Lindsay in -terror and pity. And here comes in the next strange turn of our story. -Lindsay all of a sudden declared he was the person who imitated the -name--a device of the yearning heart to save the girl of his affection -from the gallows, and clutched at by the mother and father as a means -of their daughter’s redemption. One of those thinly-sown beings who -are cold-blooded by nature, who take on love slowly but surely, and -seem fitted to be martyrs, Lindsay defied all consequences, so that it -might be that Effie Carr should escape an ignominious death. Nor did he -take time for further deliberation; in less than half an hour he was in -the procurator-fiscal’s office; the willing self-criminator; the man -who did the deed; the man who was ready to die for his young mistress -and his love. His story, too, was as ready as it was truth-seeming. -He declared that he had got Effie to write out the draft as if -commissioned by John Carr; that he took it away, and with his own hands -added the name; that he had returned the cheque to Effie to go with it -to the bank, and had received the money from her on her return. The -consequence was his wish, and it was inevitable. That same day George -Lindsay was lodged also in the Tolbooth, satisfied that he had made -a sacrifice of his life for one whom he had loved for years, and who -yet had never shown him even a symptom of hope that his love would be -returned. - -All which proceedings soon came on the wings of rumour to the ears of -Robert Stormonth, who was not formed to be a martyr even for a love -which was to him as true as his nature would permit. He saw his danger, -because he did not see the character of a faithful girl who would die -rather than compromise her lover. He fled--aided probably by that very -money he had wrung out of the hands of the devoted girl; nor was his -disappearance connected with the tragic transaction; for, as we have -said, the connexion between him and Effie had been kept a secret, and -his flight could be sufficiently accounted for by his debt. - -Meanwhile the precognitions or examination of the parties went on, -and with a result as strange as it was puzzling to the officials. -Effie was firm to her declaration that she not only wrote the body -of the cheque, but attached to it the name of her father, and had -appropriated the money in a way which she declined to state. On the -other hand, Lindsay was equally stanch to his statement made to the -procurator-fiscal, that he had got Effie to write the draft, had forged -the name to it, and got the money from her. The authorities very soon -saw that they had got more than the law bargained for or wanted; nor -was the difficulty likely soon to be solved. The two parties could not -both be guilty, according to the evidence, nor could one of them be -guilty to the exclusion of the other; neither, when the balance was -cast, was there much difference in the weight of the scales, because -while it was in one view more likely that Lindsay signed the false -name, it was beyond doubt that Effie wrote the body of the document, -and she had moreover presented it. But was it for the honour of the -law that people should be hanged on a likelihood? It was a new case -without new heads to decide it, and it made no difference that the -body of the people, who soon became inflamed on the subject, took the -part of the girl and declared against the man. It was easy to be seen -that the tracing of the money would go far to solve the mystery; and -accordingly there was a strict search made in Lindsay’s lodgings, as -well as in Effie’s private repositories at home. We need not say with -what effect, where the money was over the Border and away. It was thus -in all views more a case for Astræa than common heads; but then she had -gone to heaven. The Lord Advocate soon saw that the law was likely to -be caught in its own meshes. The first glimpse was got of the danger -of hanging so versatile, so inconsistent, so unsearchable a creature -as a human being on a mere confession of guilt. That that had been the -law of Scotland in all time, nay, that it had been the law of the world -from the beginning, there was no doubt. Who could know the murderer -or the forger better than the murderer or the forger themselves? and -would any one throw away his life on a false plea? The reasoning does -not exhaust the deep subject; there remains the presumption that the -criminal will, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, deny, and deny -boldly. But our case threw a new light on the old law, and the Lord -Advocate was slow to indict where he saw not only reasons for failure, -but also rising difficulties which might strike at the respect upon -which the law was founded. - -The affair hung loose for a time; and Lindsay’s friends, anxious to -save him, got him induced to run his letters,--the effect of which is -to give the prosecutor a period wherein to try the culprit, on failure -of which the person charged is free. The same was done by Effie’s -father; but quickened as the Lord Advocate was, the difficulty still -met him like a ghost that would not be laid,--that if he put Effie -at the bar, Lindsay would appear in the witness-box; and if he put -Lindsay on his trial, Effie would swear he was innocent; and as for -two people forging _the same name_, the thing had never been heard of. -And so it came to pass that the authorities at last, feeling they were -in a cleft stick, where if they relieved one hand the other would be -caught, were inclined to liberate both panels. But the bank was at that -time preyed upon by forgeries, and were determined to make an example -now when they had a culprit, or perhaps two. The consequence was, -that the authorities were forced to give way, vindicating their right -of choice as to the party they should arraign. That party was Effie -Carr; and the choice justified itself by two considerations: that she, -by writing and uttering the cheque, was so far committed by evidence -exterior to her self-inculpation; and secondly, that Lindsay might -break down in the witness-box under a searching examination. Effie was -therefore indicted and placed at the bar. She pleaded guilty, but the -prosecutor notwithstanding led evidence; and at length Lindsay appeared -as a witness for the defence. The people who crowded the court had been -aware from report of the condition in which Lindsay stood; but the deep -silence which reigned throughout the hall when he was called to answer -evinced the doubt whether he would stand true to his self-impeachment. -The doubt was soon solved. With a face on which no trace of fear could -be perceived, with a voice in which there was no quaver, he swore -that it was he who signed the draft and sent Effie for the money. The -oscillation of sympathy, which had for a time been suspended, came -round again to the thin pale girl, who sat there looking wistfully and -wonderingly into the face of the witness; and the murmuring approbation -that broke out, in spite of the shrill “Silence” of the crier, -expressed at once admiration of the man--criminal as he swore himself -to be--and pity for the accused. What could the issue be? Effie was -acquitted, and Lindsay sent back to gaol. Was he not to be tried? The -officials felt that the game was dangerous. If Lindsay had stood firm -in the box, had not Effie sat firm at the bar, with the very gallows -in her eye; and would not she, in her turn, be as firm in the box? All -which was too evident; and the consequence in the end came to be, that -Lindsay was in the course of a few days set at liberty. - -And now there occurred proceedings not less strange in the house of -John Carr. Lindsay was turned off, because, though he had made a -sacrifice of himself to save the life of Effie, the sacrifice was only -that due to the justice he had offended. The dismissal was against the -protestations of Effie, who alone knew he was innocent; and she had to -bear the further grief of learning that Stormonth had left the city on -the very day whereon she was apprehended--a discovery this too much -for a frame always weak, and latterly so wasted by her confinement in -prison, and the anguish of mind consequent upon her strange position. -And so it came to pass, in a few more days, that she took to her bed, -a wan, wasted, heart-broken creature; but stung as she had been by the -conduct of the man she had offered to die to save, she felt even more -the sting of ingratitude in herself for not divulging to her mother as -much of her secret as would have saved Lindsay from dismissal; for she -was now more and more satisfied that it was the strength of his love -for her that had driven him to his great and perilous sacrifice. Nor -could her mother, as she bent over her daughter, understand why her -liberation should have been followed by so much of sorrow; nay, loving -her as she did, she even reproached her as being ungrateful to God. - -“Mother,” said the girl, “I have a secret that lies like a stane upon -my heart. George Lindsay had nae mair to do with that forgery than you.” - -“And who had to do with it then, Effie, dear?” - -“Myself,” continued the daughter; “I filled up the cheque at the -bidding o’ Robert Stormonth, whom I had lang loved. It was he wha put -my faither’s name to it. It was to him I gave the money, to relieve him -from debt, and he has fled.” - -“Effie, Effie!” cried the mother; “and we have done this thing to -George Lindsay--ta’en from him his basket and his store, yea, the bread -o’ his mouth, in recompense for trying to save your life by offering -his ain.” - -“Yes, mother,” added Effie; “but we must make that wrang richt.” - -“And mair, lass,” rejoined the mother, as she rose abruptly and -nervously, and hurried to her husband, to whom she told the strange -intelligence. Then John Carr was a just man as well as a loving parent; -and while he forgave his unfortunate daughter, he went and brought -back George Lindsay to his old place that very night; nor did he or -Mrs Carr know the joy they had poured into the heart of the young -man, for the reason that they did not know the love he bore to their -daughter. But if this was a satisfaction to Effie, in so far as it -relieved her heart of a burden, it brought to her a burden of another -kind. The mother soon saw how matters stood with the heart of Lindsay, -and she moreover saw that her or her daughter’s gratitude could not be -complete so long as he was denied the boon of being allowed to marry -the girl he had saved from the gallows; and she waited her opportunity -of breaking the delicate subject to Effie. It was not time yet, when -Effie was an invalid; and even so far wasted and worn as to cause -apprehensions of her ultimate fate, even death; nor perhaps would that -time ever come when she could bear to hear the appeal without pain; for -though Stormonth had ruined her character and her peace of mind--nay, -had left her in circumstances almost unprecedented for treachery, -baseness, and cruelty--he retained still the niche where the offerings -of a first love had been made: his image had been indeed burned into -the virgin heart, and no other form of man’s face, though representing -the possessor of beauty, wealth, and worldly honours, would ever take -away that treasured symbol. It haunted her even as a shadow of herself, -which, disappearing at sundown, comes again at the rise of the moon; -nay, she would have been contented to make other sacrifices equally -great as that which she had made; nor wild moors, nor streams, nor -rugged hills, would have stopped her in an effort to look upon him once -more, and replace that inevitable image by the real vision, which had -first taken captive her young heart. - -But time passed, bringing the usual ameliorations to the miserable. -Effie got so far better in health that she became able to resume, in -a languid way, her former duties, with the exception of those of “the -gentle clerk”--for of these she had had enough; even the very look of -a bank-draft brought a shudder over her; nor would she have entered -the Bank of Scotland again, even with a good cheque for a thousand -pounds to have been all her own. Meanwhile the patient George had plied -a suit which he could only express by his eyes, or the attentions of -one who worships; but he never alluded, even in their conversations, -to the old sacrifice. The mother too, and not less the father, saw the -advantages that might result as well to the health of her mind as that -of her body. They had waited--a vain waiting--for the wearing out of -the traces of the obdurate image: and when they thought they might take -placidity as the sign of what they waited for, they first hinted, and -then expressed in plain terms, the wishes of their hearts. For a time -all their efforts were fruitless; but John Carr, getting old and weak, -wished to be succeeded in his business by George; and the wife, when -she became a widow, would require to be maintained,--reasons which had -more weight with Effie than any others, excepting always the act of -George’s self-immolation at the shrine in which his fancy had placed -her. The importunities at length wore out her resistings, without -effacing the lines of the old and still endeared image; and she gave -a cold, we may say reluctant, consent. The bride’s “ay” was a sigh, -the rapture a tear of sadness. But George was pleased even with this: -Effie, the long-cherished Effie, was at length his. - -In her new situation Effie Carr--now Mrs Lindsay--performed all the -duties of a good and faithful wife; by an effort of the will no doubt, -though in another sense only a sad obedience to necessity, of which -we are all, as the creatures of motives, the very slaves. But the old -image resisted the appeals of her reason, as well as the blandishments -of a husband’s love. She was only true, faithful, and kind, till -the birth of a child lent its reconciling power to the efforts of -duty. Some time afterwards John Carr died--an event which carried in -its train the subsequent death of his wife. There was left to the -son-in-law a dwindling business, and a very small sum of money; for the -father had met with misfortunes in his declining years, which impaired -health prevented him from resisting. Time wore on, and showed that -the power of the martyr-spirit is not always that of the champion of -worldly success; for it was now but a struggle between George Lindsay, -with a stained name, and the stern demon of misfortune. He was at -length overtaken by poverty, which, as affecting Effie, preyed so -relentlessly upon his spirits, that within two years he followed John -Carr to the grave. Effie was now left with two children to the work -of her fingers, a poor weapon wherewith to beat off the wolf of want; -and even this was curtailed by the effects of the old crime, which the -public still kept in green remembrance. - -Throughout, our story has been the sensationalism of angry Fate, -and even less likely to be believed than the work of fiction. Nor -was the vulture face of the Nemesis yet smoothed down. The grief of -her bereavement had only partially diverted Effie’s mind from the -recollections of him who had ruined her, and yet could not be hated by -her, nay, could not be but loved by her. The sensitised nerve, which -had received the old image, gave it out fresh again to the reviving -power of memory, and this was only a continuation of what had been a -corroding custom of years and years. But as the saying goes, it is a -long road that does not offer by its side the spreading bough of shade -to the way-worn traveller. One day, when Effie was engaged with her -work, of which she was as weary as of the dreaming which accompanied -it, there appeared before her, without premonition or foreshadowing -sign, Robert Stormonth, of Kelton, dressed as a country gentleman, -booted, and with a whip in his hand. - -“Are you Effie Carr?” - -The question was useless to one who was already lying back in her chair -in a state of unconsciousness, from which she recovered only to open -her eyes and avert them, and shut them and open them again, like the -victim of epilepsy. - -“And do you fear me?” said the excited man, as he took her in his -strong arms and stared wildly into her face; “I have more reason to -fear you, whom I ruined,” he continued. “Ay, brought within the verge -of the gallows. I know it all, Effie. Open your eyes, dear soul, and -smile once more upon me. Nay, I have known it for years, during which -remorse has scourged me through the world. Look up, dear Effie, while -I tell you I could bear the agony no longer; and now opportunity -favours the wretched penitent, for my father is dead, and I am not only -my own master, but master of Kelton, of which you once heard me speak. -Will you not look up yet, dear Effie? I come to make amends to you, -not by wealth merely, but to offer you again that love I once bore to -you, and still bear. Another such look, dear; it is oil to my parched -spirit. You are to consent to be my wife--the very smallest boon I dare -offer.” - -During which strange rambling speech Effie was partly insensible; yet -she heard enough to afford her clouded mind a glimpse of her condition, -and of the meaning of what was said to her. For a time she kept staring -into his face as if she had doubts of his real personality; nor could -she find words to express even those more collected thoughts that began -to gather into form. - -“Robert Stormonth,” at length she said, calmly, “and have you suffered -too? Oh, this is more wonderful to me than a’ the rest o’ these -wonderful things.” - -“As no man ever suffered, dear Effie,” he answered. “I was on the eve -of coming to you, when a friend I retained here wrote me to London of -your marriage with the man who saved you from the fate into which I -precipitated you. How I envied that man who offered to die for you! He -seemed to take from me my only means of reparation; nay, my only chance -of happiness. But he is dead. Heaven give peace to so noble a spirit! -And now you are mine. It is mercy I come to seek in the first instance; -the love--if that, after all that is past, is indeed possible--I will -take my chance of that.” - -“Robert,” cried the now weeping woman, “if that love had been aince -less, what misery I would have been spared! Ay, and my father, and -mother, and poor George Lindsay; a’ helped awa to the grave by my -crime, for it stuck to us to the end.” And she buried her head in his -bosom, sobbing piteously. - -“_My_ crime, dear Effie, not yours,” said he. “It was you who saved -my life; and if Heaven has a kindlier part than another for those who -err by the fault of others, it will be reserved for one who made a -sacrifice to love. But we have, I hope, something to enjoy before you -go there, and as yet I have not got your forgiveness.” - -“It is yours--it is yours, Robert,” was the sobbing answer. “Ay, and -with it a’ the love I ever had for you.” - -“Enough for this time, dear Effie,” said he. “My horse waits for me. -Expect me to-morrow at this hour with a better-arranged purpose.” -And folding her in his arms, and kissing her fervently, even as -his remorse were thereby assuaged as well as his love gratified, -he departed, leaving Effie to thoughts we should be sorry to think -ourselves capable of putting into words. Nor need we say more than that -Stormonth kept his word. Effie Carr was in a few days Mrs Stormonth, -and in not many more the presiding female power in the fine residence -of Kelton. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of Mary Mochrie and the Miracle of the Cod. - - -It was said that David Hume’s barber, who had the honour of shaving -the philosopher every morning, was so scandalised by David’s Essay -on Miracles, that he told him to his face--which he was smoothing at -the time--that Mary Mochrie’s miracle shut his mouth. And no doubt -this was so far true, for the shaver took care while he was telling -the story to hold David’s lips close with his left hand, while he -was plying his razor with the other. David, we are informed, used to -tell this anecdote himself along with the story of the modern miracle -appended to it; and as the latter is a good example of the easy way by -which the blind sentiment of wonder groping for light comes to refer -strange things to Divine interposition, and consequently the facility -of belief in those darker times, we may include among our stories for -the amusement of our readers that of the miracle, which, goes in this -wise:-- - -On a fine day in the month of June a certain Miss Isabella Warrender, -the daughter of a respectable burgess, bethought herself of the luxury -of a plunge in the Forth, on the sands to the west of Newhaven, and -with a view to safety, as well as companionship, she behoved to -take with her her father’s trusty servant, Mary Mochrie. The blue -bathing-gowns were accordingly put into the basket, and away they went -on their journey of two miles with heads “as light as lavrocks,” and -thinking of no other miracle in the world than that of enjoyment--a -veritable miracle to many, insomuch as it is to them in this world of -doubtful happiness and real misery miraculously scarce. Nor was it -long, with their light feet, ere they reached their destination; all -things, too, being otherwise propitious, for the sun was shining in a -clear sky, the surface of the sea was as smooth as glass, and like a -mirror reflected the rays of the sun; so that, to speak figuratively, -Apollo and Neptune were on the best of terms, as if they had resolved -to favour specially on that day so fair a specimen of an earthly maid, -who, for a time, was to become a water nymph. So, after looking out -from beneath her curls for Peeping Toms,--of whom, by the way, to -the honour of Scotland, our Godivas in these parts have little to -complain,--Isabella got herself made as like Musidora as possible, in -which condition she remained only for that single moment occupied by -Mary in investing her with the said blue gown. Whereupon, Mary having -also divested herself of her clothes, was as quickly reclaimed from the -searching eyes of the upper of the two propitious gods by her young -mistress helping her on with her sea dress. - -All which sacrifices to _Bona Dea_ are pretty uniform, if we may not -say that, although young women have as good a right to outrage modesty -by splashing about perfectly nude in the sea as the men have, they -know better than do any such naughty thing. Nor, perhaps, was it any -exception, that as they went into the sea they took each other by the -hand, just as Adam and Eve did when they walked hand in hand into a -flood of sin, as enticing to them, too, as the shining water was to our -virgins--a comparison more true than you may be at present thinking. -Then having got up to the middle--that is, in a sense, half seas over, -they got into that sportive mood which belongs to bathers, as if an -infection from the playful element; and, of course, they could not -avoid the usual ducking, which is performed by the two taking hold of -both hands, and alternately or simultaneously dipping themselves over -head, and as they emerge shaking their locks as the ducks do their -wings when they come out of the water. All which was very pleasant, -as might have been apparent from the laughing and screighing which -terrified the Tom Norries there and then flying over their heads; but -it so happened that in one of these see-saws Isabella’s foot slipped, -and the consequence was that her hands slipped also out of those of -Mary, so that she fell back into the water, more afraid, of course, -than hurt; nor was this all, for no sooner had Isabella got on her feet -again than holding out her left hand she cried in rather a wild way -that she had lost her ruby ring--nay, that very ring which a certain -George Ballennie had given her as a pledge of his love, and the loss -of which was so like an augury of evil. And then as it was Mary’s hand -which pulled it off, or rather Isabella’s that left it in Mary’s, it -was natural she should ask at the same time whether Mary had it or had -felt it, but Mary asserted that she had it not, neither had she felt it -when coming off. So if Mary was honest it behoved to be in the sea, and -in all likelihood would never be found again. - -And thus the pleasant act of bathing was interrupted in the very -middle, for how could there be any more splashing and tumbling and -mermaiding with this terrible loss weighing upon Isabella’s heart? She -would not know how to face her mother; and as for Ballennie, might -he not think that she who would not take better care of a love-token -had no great love on her part to be betokened by a ring or anything -else. The very sea which a moment before was as beautiful as a blushing -bride holding out her arms for the embrace of the bridegroom, became as -hateful to her as a Fury, and, hastening to the bank with tears in her -eyes, which, of course, could not be seen, she began to dress. Mary, -who seemed to participate in her young mistress’s sorrow, commenced -the same operation; but when the clothes were on what was to be done? -The tide was ebbing, and an hour, or at most two, would discover the -channel at the spot where the unlucky slip was made, but to remain all -that time would produce uneasiness at home, and there appeared to be -nothing for it but for the young lady to go to Edinburgh, and leave -Mary to wait for the ebbing of the tide, and make a search among the -shingle for the valuable article. - -A plan accordingly carried out. Mary certainly awaited the ebb, and did -make a search among the gravel, but whether that search was conducted -in that assiduous way followed by those who are lighted in their travel -by the Lamp of Hope, it is not for us at present to say. Certain at -least it is that Mary did not seem very greatly disappointed at her -failure in not finding Isabella’s precious love-token, for which want -of feeling we do not require to go very deep into Mary’s breast, or any -other body’s breast, seeing she was a woman, and had a lover of her -own, even George Gallie, as good as Ballennie any day. True, he had -never given her a ruby ring; though, as for that, he would if he could, -and if he couldn’t how could he? So Mary was on a par with Isabella in -that matter; still, we confess, she might have searched more carefully, -unless, indeed, we are to be so ungallant as to believe that she had in -her mind some foregone secret conclusion that the ring was not there to -be found. - -Nor, what is almost as strange, did Mary take up her basket and -commence her journey homeward in that saddened way which belongs to -deep disappointment. Nay, we are not sure but that the words of the old -song of her whose ring had been stolen by a mermaid, were conned by -Mary to herself as she trudged homewards,-- - - “And sair she moiled, and sair she toiled, - To find the ring lost in the sea, - And still the thought within her wrought - That she would never married be.” - -But there was something else in her head when she reached the house, -where she met some very suspicious looks not only from Isabella, but -also from Mrs Warrender, for we may as well confess that the daughter -had told her mother that when the slip of the hand took place she -felt as if the ring had been taken off by the hand of Mary. And then -when Mary appeared with a lugubrious face, and reported that she had -not found the ring in the shingle, the foresaid suspicion was so -much confirmed, that very little more would be required to induce -Mr Warrender to make some judicial investigation into the strange -circumstance. An inauspicious afternoon and night for Mary, and not -less the next day, when she was called into the dining-room, and so -sharply interrogated by Mr Warrender, that she cried very bitterly, all -the time asserting that she never felt her hand touch the ring, and -that it had most certainly fallen into the water and been lost. But Mr -Warrender was not a man who believed in tears, at least women’s; for he -was ungallant enough to think, that as we cannot distinguish _ex parte -rei_ between those of anger and those of sorrow, and as there is a kind -called crocodile, as limpid as the others, and just as like a pretty -dewdrop, so they never can or ought to be received as evidence either -of guilt or innocence. And so it came about, that as the hours passed -the conviction grew stronger and stronger in the minds of the family -that the meek, and church-going, and psalm-singing Mary Mochrie was a -thief. - -Of this latter fact, in the peculiar circumstances of the case, there -could be no evidence beyond the finding of the missing article, either -on Mary’s person or in some place under her power, for Isabella’s word -could not go for much; and so it was resolved that Mary’s person and -trunk should be searched. A very strong step in the case of a girl -who had hitherto held a very good character, and probably altogether -unjustifiable, where so powerful an abstractor of earthly things as -Neptune was apparently as much in the scrape as Mary. Yet this strong -thing was done _illotis manibus_, and, as might have been expected, -with no effect beyond scandalising Mary, who went so far as to say that -Heaven took care of its own, and that God would in His own time and way -show her persecutors that she was as innocent as that babe unborn, who -takes away and places, nobody knows where, so many of the wickednesses -of the world. But then an assertion of innocence in the grand style -of an appeal to the Deity sometimes piques a prosecutor, because it -conveys an imputation that the accused one is better taken care of by -Heaven than he is; and so it turned out here, for Mr Warrender felt -as if he had been challenged to the ultimate trial by ordeal, and he -straightway proceeded to take measures for having Mary apprehended upon -the charge of having robbed his daughter of the much-prized ring. - -These measures were taken as they had been resolved upon, and here -it behoves us, for a reason which may appear by and by, to be so -particular as to say, that the officer was to come in the morning after -breakfast to convey the alleged culprit to the office of the public -prosecutor, for the purpose, in the first place, of examination. Nor -was Mary unprepared, nay, she was not even to all appearance very -much put about, for she had gone about her work as usual, and having -finished what she had to do as maid-of-all-work--cook, scullery-maid, -and scrub--she began to make preparations for cutting-up and gutting, -and scraping, and washing the large cod, which lay upon the dresser -ready for these operations, and which, by the way, Mrs Warrender had -that morning, an hour before, bought for the sum of one and sixpence, -from a Jenny Mucklebacket, of the village of Newhaven--another -particular fact which we are bound to apologise for on the foresaid -plea of necessity, lest we might incur the charge of wishing to -produce an effect by Dutch painting. But Mary’s services as to the -cod were dispensed with by Mrs Warrender, if they were not actually -resented as either a bribe to forego the prosecution, or a cold-blooded -indifference assumed for the purpose of showing her innocence. And so -when the officer came Mary was hurried away to undergo this terrible -ordeal, which, whatever other effect it might have, could not fail to -leave her marked with the very burning irons that might not inflict the -punishment due to robbery. - -Leaving Mrs Warrender with the cod, which is as indispensable to our -legend as a frying-pan to a Dutch interior, or the bone of a pig to -a saint’s legend, we follow the prisoner to the office of the man -who is a terror to evil-doers. Mr Warrender was there as the private -prosecutor, and Isabella as a witness, or rather _the_ witness. On -being seated, the fiscal asked Mary, whether, on the day of the -bathing, she had not seen the said ring on the finger of her young -mistress; whereto Mary answered in the affirmative. Then came the -application of the Lydian stone, in the form of the question, whether -she did not, at the foresaid time and place, abstract the said ring -from the finger of Isabella when she held her hand in the process of -dipping; but Mary was here negative and firm, asserting that she did -not, and giving emphasis to her denial by adding, that God knew she -was as innocent as the foresaid babe. In spite of all which, Isabella -insisted that she had been robbed in the manner set forth. The fiscal -saw at once that the whole case lay between the two young women, and -recommended Mr Warrender to let go the prosecution as one which must -fail for defect of evidence; but that gentleman, for the reason that -he had so far committed himself, and also for that he was annoyed at -what he called the impudence of a servant disputing the word of his -daughter, and calling her, in effect, a liar, insisted upon his right, -as the protector and curator of his daughter, of having the culprit -committed to jail, in the expectation that, through some medium of the -three magic balls, or otherwise, he would get more evidence of the -crime. The fiscal had no alternative; and so Mary Mochrie was taken to -the Tolbooth, with the ordinary result, in the first place, of the news -going up and down the long street which then formed the city, that Mrs -Warrender’s servant was imprisoned for the strange crime of abstracting -from Miss Warrender’s finger, while bathing, the love-token given to -her by her intended. There was, doubtless, about the tale just so much -of romance that would serve it as wings to carry it wherever gossip was -acceptable--and we would like to know where in that city it was not -acceptable then, and where it is not acceptable now. - -Meanwhile Mrs Warrender had been very busy with the mute person of our -drama--the cod--in which, like the devil in the story who had bargained -for a sinner and having got a saint instead, had half resolved to -follow the advice of Burns and “take a thought and mend,” she had got -so much more than she bargained for with the fishwife that she was, -when Mr Warrender and Isabella entered, ready to faint. They found -her sitting in a chair scarcely able to move, under no less an agency -than the fear of God. Her breath came and went with difficulty through -lips with that degree of paleness which lips have a special tendency -to take on, an expression of awe was over her face, and in her hand -she held that identical ruby ring for the supposed theft of which the -unfortunate Mary had been hurried to jail, and as for being able to -speak she was as mute as the flounder in the proverb that never spoke -but once; all she could do was to hold up the ring and point to the -cod upon the dresser. But all in vain, for Mr Warrender could not see -through the terrible mystery, nay, surely the most wonderful thing -that had ever happened in this lower world since the time when the -whale cast up Jonah just where and when he was wanted, till at length -Mrs Warrender was enabled to utter a few broken words to the effect -that the ring had been found in the stomach of the fish. Then, to be -sure, all was plain enough--the cod was a chosen instrument in the -hands of the great Author of Justice sent by a special message to save -Mary Mochrie from the ruin which awaited her under a false charge. The -conviction was easy in proportion to the charm which supernaturalism -always holds over man-- - - “True miracles are more believed - The more they cannot be conceived;” - -and we are to remember that the last witch had not been burnt at the -time of our story. But what made this Divine interposition the more -serious to the house of the Warrenders, the message from above was sent -as direct as a letter by post, only not prepaid, for Mrs Warrender had -paid for the fish; and so it was equally plain that a duty was thus put -upon Mr Warrender of no ordinary kind. - -Nor was he long in obeying the command. Taking the wonderful ring -along with him he hurried away to the office he had so lately left, -and told the miraculous tale to the man of prosecutions. And what -although that astute personage smiled at the story, just as if he -would have said, if he had thought it worth his while, “Was there any -opportunity for Mary Mochrie handling the cod?”--it was only the small -whipcord of scepticism applied to the posteriors of the rhinoceros of -superstition, even that instinct in poor man to be eternally looking -up into the blank sky for special providences. So Mr Warrender, now -himself a holy instrument, got what he wanted--an order to the jailer -for Mary’s liberation. So away he went; and as he went to the Tolbooth -he told every acquaintance he met the exciting story--among others -his own clergyman of the Greyfriars, who held up his hands and said, -“Wonderful are the ways of God! Yea, this very thing hath a purpose in -it, even that of utterly demolishing that arch sceptic David Hume’s -soul-destroying Essay on Miracles. I will verily take up the subject -the next Sabbath.” And thus, dropping the germs as he went, which -formed a revolving radius line from the centre of the mystery--his -own house--the consequence was that the miracle of the cod went like -wildfire wherever there was the fuel of a predisposing superstition; -and where, we repeat, was that not then? where is not now, despite of -David with all his genius--the first and best of the anti-Positivists, -because he was a true Pyrrhonean. Having got to the jail, Mr Warrender -informed Mary of this wonderful turn of providence in her favour, -whereat Mary, as a matter of course, held up her hands in great wonder -and admiration. - -But Mr Warrender was not, by this act of justice, yet done with Mary. -It behoved him to take her home and restore her to her place, with -a character not only cleared of all imputation, but illustrated by -the shining light of the favour of Heaven; and so he accompanied her -down the thronged High Street,--an act which partook somewhat of the -procession of a saint, whereat people stared; nay, many who had heard -of the miracle went up and shook hands with one who was the favourite -of the Great Disposer of events. Nor did her honours end with this -display; for when they reached the house they found it filled with -acquaintances, and even strangers, all anxious to see the wonderful -fish, and the ring, and the maid. In the midst of all which honours -Mary looked as simple as a Madonna; and if she winked it was only -with one eye, and the winking was to herself. Even here her honours -that day did not terminate, for she behoved for once to dine with the -family--not on the cod, which was reserved as something sacred, like -the small fishes offered by the Phaselites to their gods--but on a -jolly leg of lamb, as a recompense for the breakfast of which she had -that morning been deprived. Nay, as for the cod, in place of being -eaten, it stood a risk of being pickled, and carried off to help the -exchequer of some poor Catholic community in the land of miracles. - -But probably the most wonderful part of our history consists in this -fact, that no one ever hinted at the propriety of having recourse to -the easiest and most natural way of solving a knot so easily tied; but -we have only to remember another mystery--that of the gullibility of -man when under the hunger of superstition. Nor need we say that the -maw of a cod, big and omnivorous as it is, never equalled that of the -miracle-devourer’s, possessing, as it does, too, the peculiarity of -keeping so long that which is accepted. Wherein it resembles the purse -of the miser, the click of the spring of which is the sign of perpetual -imprisonment. We only hear the subsequent jingle of the coin, and the -jingle in our present instance might have lasted for twenty years, -during all which time Mary Mochrie’s miracle might have served as the -best answer to the Essay of the renowned sceptic. - -And thus we are brought back to the anecdote with which we set out. The -story we have told is, in all its essentials, that which Donald Gorm, -David Hume’s barber, treated him to on that morning when he wanted to -close up for ever the mouth of the arch sceptic. It is not easy to -smile while under the hands of a story-telling barber, for the reason -that the contracted muscle runs a risk of being still more contracted -by a slice being taken off it by a resolute razor moving in straight -lines, so that probably it was not till Donald had finished both the -story and the shaving, that David dared to indulge in that good-natured -smile with which he used to meet his opponents, even in the teeth of -the Gael’s oath, “’Tis a miracle, py Cot,”--a word this latter which, -in Donald’s humour, might stand for the word cod, as well as for -another too sacred to be here mentioned. - -Yet the philosopher had further occasion for his good-humoured -reticence, with which, as is well known, he declared he would alone -meet the censors of his Essay, for it was really on the occasion of -this great religious sensation in the city that the washer-women at -the “Nor’ Loch” threatened to “dook him,” for the reason that, as they -had heard, he had not only written that detestable Essay to prove -that no miracles (for they were ungenerous enough to pay no attention -to his _very_ grave exception of the real Bible ones) could ever -be, but he had actually gone the extreme length of disbelieving the -intervention of God to save the innocent Mary Mochrie from the Moloch -of the criminal law. We need not be unassured that this additional -bit of gossip, as it spread though the city, would only tend to the -inflammation that already prevailed. Nor need we wonder at all this, -when we remember the play of metaphysical wit, which was received as -very serious by the vulgar,--that David believed in nothing, except -that there was no God. - -But the mind of the Edinburgh public was not destined to cool down -before it underwent further combustion. It happened that a certain -person of the name of Gallie, a common working jeweller in World’s End -Close, was possessed of knowledge which he had picked up on the road -to Newhaven, whither he had been going to bathe, on that very morning -when the miraculous ring was lost, and which knowledge, he thought, -being a knowing fellow, he could turn to account in the midst of the -heat of collision between the miracle-mongers and the sceptics, even -as he might have transmuted by the fire of the furnace a piece of base -metal into gold; and he took a strange way to effect his purpose. -Having first called on Mr Warrender and got a sight of the magic ring, -he next wrote an advertisement, which he got printed in the form of -the small posters of that day of Lilliputian bills. It ran in these -terms:--“Mary Mochrie’s Miracle.--If any one is anxious to learne the -trew secret of this reputyd miracle, let him or her, mann or woman, hye -to the closs of ye Warld’s End, where Michael Gallie resideth, and on -ye payement of one shilling they will hear somethyng that will astonie -them; but not one to tell ye other upon his aith.” - -Copies of this bill Gallie posted on several walls in the most crowded -parts of the city, and the consequence was such a crowd at World’s -End Close as might have been looked for if the close had really been -the last refuge from a conflagration of another kind. The applicants -got their turn of entry; every one came out with a face expressive of -wonder, yet so true were they to their oath, that no one would tell a -word he had heard behind the veil of Gallie’s mystery, so that the -curiosity of the outsiders, who wanted to save their shillings, became -inflamed by pique in addition to curiosity. The secret took on the -sacred and cabalistic character of a mystery, and the mystery feeding, -as it always does, upon whispers and ominous looks, increased as the -hours passed. Nor can we wonder at an excitement which had religion at -the bottom of it, and the vanquishment of the soul-destroying David -for the fruitful and ultimate issue. It was only the high price of -admission which limited the number of Gallie’s shillings, for during -the entire day the stern obligation of an oath proved the stern honesty -of a religious people. It was said--and I see no reason to doubt the -truth of the report--that Dr Robertson and many others of the educated -classes caught the infection and paid their shilling; but we may doubt -if the imperturbable David would risk his body or trouble his spirit by -looking into the mysterious close of the World’s End. - -As to what took place within Gallie’s room, it would seem that the -ingenious fellow, when he saw the heather on fire, set his gins for the -hares and conies in such a way as to catch them by dozens. He allowed -the room to fill, and having administered the oath to two or three -dozen at a time, he contrived during the course of the day to bag more -shillings than there might have been supposed to be fools or religious -enthusiasts even in superstitious Edinburgh. Afterwards, when rumour -became busy with his gains, it was said that he was thereby enabled -to set up the famous silversmith’s shop that so long, under the name -of “Gallie and Son,” occupied a prominent front in the High Street, -between Halkerston’s Wynd and Milne’s Entry. - -But as all things that depend upon mere human testimony must ultimately -be left insoluble, except as belief makes an election and decision, -so even the revelation of the prophet Gallie did not settle the -great question of Mochrie _versus_ Hume, for Gallie could offer no -corroboration of the testimony of which he contrived to make a little -fortune. That revelation came to be known very well the next day, -probably from the softening and tongue-loosening influence of Edinburgh -ale exercised upon even gnarled and cross-grained Presbyterians; and we -need be under no doubt that Donald Gorm, when he shaved the philosopher -next morning, was in full possession of the secret, though we might be -entitled to hold pretty fast by the suspicion that he would not court -another smile from David by recounting to him the destruction of his, -Donald’s, theory of the miracle. - -With an apology for having kept the reader too long from a knowledge -of Gallie’s revelation, we now proceed to give it as it was currently -reported. It seemed that on that morning when the two girls went -to bathe, Gallie had left Edinburgh for the same purpose about an -hour later--a statement probable enough, although not attempted to -be supported by any evidence. When about halfway on his journey, he -met Mary Mochrie, who, strangely enough, though perfectly true, was -his sweetheart. After some talk about the kind of bathe she had had, -Mary showed him a ring, which she said she had bought from an old Jew -broker on the previous day, and which she regretted was too wide for -her finger. She then asked him to take it home with him and reduce it. -Gallie having taken the ring into his hand started the moment he fixed -his eye upon it. - -“That ring,” said he, for, notwithstanding his scheme to make capital -out of superstition, of which he was an enemy, he was an honest -fellow,--“that ring belongs to your young mistress; and the reason I -know this is that I fixed the ruby in it for her not yet a fortnight -since.” - -Taken thus aback, Mary began to prevaricate, saying that Miss Isabella -Warrender had given it to her. - -“That cannot be,” said Gallie, “because she told me it was a present -from her lover, George Ballennie, to whom she is to be married.” - -Words which Gallie uttered in a solemn if not sorrowful tone, and a -look indicating displeasure and disappointment at thus detecting in the -woman whom he had intended to marry, both theft and falsehood. Nor were -these words left unrequited, for the fiery girl, snatching the ring out -of his hand, called him a liar, besides taunting him with a certain -pendulous attitude which his father, old Gallie, had assumed somewhere -about the precincts of the Tolbooth immediately before dying. The -cruel remark was one of those combinations of sharp words which have a -tendency to stick, especially where the brain to which they adhere has -been previously occupied by love, and so Gallie, muttering to himself a -determination to be revenged, parted from her for ever, and proceeded -on his way to Newhaven. - -Things in this world being so arranged that one person’s misfortune -or wretchedness becomes another person’s opportunity, we may see how -Gallie came to his purpose. Perhaps he might not have thought it worth -his pains to expose his own sweetheart from a mere feeling of revenge, -but when he came to find that the woman who had cast up to him his -father’s misfortune, had taken or been put into the position of an -instrument of God’s grace, that the public had been by her precipitated -into a superstitious enthusiasm--a species of feeling which he hated, -(for who knows but that he might have been descended from that older -Gallio who deserved to have been hanged?) and that he saw by the clear -vision of ingenuity that he could revenge himself as to Mary, and make -himself rich at the expense of the fools whom he despised, he fell upon -the adroit scheme which we have so faithfully recorded. - -We have already also said that the oath of secrecy which Gallie had -imposed on his dupes was dispensed with by some of the “loose-fish” -who could not be so easily caught as the devout cod. But this did not -end the controversy, for it immediately took the form of a contest -between the Gallieites and the Mochrieites, and the fury of the contest -having drawn the attention of the officials of the law, Mary was -again apprehended, with the view to be indicted for the theft of the -ring, provided any corroborative testimony could be got in support -of the statement of Gallie, who was forced to make his revelation to -the fiscal, this one time without a shilling. The Scotch people are -blessed or cursed with a metaphysical tendency, and this may be the -reason of their peculiar faith, as well as of their old suspicion of -human testimony in the courts of law. One witness has never been -received in Scotland as good for anything, if standing alone; and when -we look to the samples of humanity that meet us every day, so nicely -poised between truth and falsehood, that the weight of a Queen Anne’s -farthing would decide the inclination to the one side or the other, we -are apt to think our judges rather sagacious. Perhaps they thought of -themselves in these palmy days when they took bribes, and considered -them very good and gracious things, too, in their own way. But be all -that as it may, the evidence of Gallie was not corroborated in any way; -the ring might have been put into the cod’s mouth by Isabella Warrender -herself to ruin Mary. Woman can do such things; and Gallie’s accusation -might have been the consequence of Mary’s allusion to the fate of his -father. The result, accordingly, was, that Mary Mochrie was dismissed. -Yet even here the affair did not end, for some people received her with -open arms, as being a vessel of mercy. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of the Pelican. - - -Though not so much a tradition as a memory still fresh probably in the -minds of some of the good old Edinburgh folks, we here offer, chiefly -for the benefit of our young female readers who are fond of a story -wherein little heroines figure, as in Béranger’s “Sylphide,” an account -of a very famous adventure of a certain little Jeannie Deans in our -city--the more like the elder Jeannie, inasmuch as they both were -concerned in a loving effort to save the life of a sister. Whereunto, -as a very necessary introduction, it behoves us to set forth that -there was, some sixty years ago, more or less, a certain Mr William -Maconie, who was a merchant on the South Bridge of Edinburgh, but who, -for the sake of exercise and fresh air,--a commodity this last he need -not have gone so far from the Calton Hill to seek--resided at Juniper -Green, a little village three or four miles from St Giles’s. Nor did -this distance incommode him much, seeing that he had the attraction to -quicken his steps homewards of a pretty young wife and two little twin -daughters, Mary and Annie, as like each other as two rosebuds partially -opened, and as like their mother, too, as the objects of our simile are -to themselves when full blown. - -Peculiar in this respect of having twins at the outset, and sisters -too--a good beginning of a contract to perpetuate the species--Mr -Maconie was destined to be even more so, inasmuch as there came no -more of these pleasant _deliciæ domi_, at least up to the time of -our curious story--a circumstance the more to be regretted by the -father in consequence of a strange fancy (never told to his wife) -that possessed him of wishing to insure the lives of his children as -they came into the world, or at least after they had got through the -rather uninsurable period of mere infant life. And in execution of this -fancy--a very fair and reasonable one, and not uncommon at that time, -whatever it may be now, when people are not so provident--he had got an -insurance to the extent of five hundred pounds effected in the Pelican -Office--perhaps the most famous at that time--on the lives of the said -twins, Mary and Annie, who were, no doubt, altogether unconscious of -the importance they were thus made to hold in the world. - -Yet, unfortunately for the far-seeing and provident father, this scheme -threatened to fructify sooner than he wished, if indeed it could ever -have fructified to his satisfaction; for the grisly spectre of Typhus -laid his relentless hand upon Mary when she--and of a consequence -Annie--was somewhere about eight years old. And surely, being as we are -very hopeful optimists in the cause of human nature, we need not say -that the father, as he and his wife watched the suffering invalid on -through the weary days and nights of the progress towards the crisis -of that dangerous ailment, never once thought of the Pelican, except -as a bird that feeds its young with the warm blood of its breast. -But, sorrowful as they were, their grief was nothing in comparison -with the distress of little Annie, who slipped about listening and -making all manner of anxious inquiries about her sick sister, whom she -was prohibited from seeing for fear of her being touched by the said -spectre; nor was her heart the less troubled with fears for her life, -that all things seemed so quiet and mysterious about the house--the -doctor coming and going, and the father and mother whispering to each -other, but never to her, and their faces so sad-like and mournful, in -place of being, as was their wont, so cheerful and happy. - -And surely all this solicitude on the part of Annie Maconie need not -excite our wonder, when we consider that, from the time of their -birth, the twin sisters had never been separated; but that, from the -moment they had made their entrance on this world’s stage, they had -been always each where the other was, and had run each where the other -ran, wished each what the other wished, and wept and laughed each when -the other wept or laughed. Nature, indeed, before it came into her -fickle head to make two of them, had, in all probability, intended -these little sisters--“little cherries on one stalk”--to be but one; -and they could only be said not to be _one_, because of their bodies -being two--a circumstance of no great importance, for, in spite of the -duality of body, the spirit that animated them was a unity, and as we -know from an old philosopher called Plato, the spirit is really the -human creature, the flesh and bones constituting the body being nothing -more than a mere husk intended at the end to feed worms. And then the -mother helped this sameness by dressing them so like each other, as if -she wanted to make a “Comedy of Errors” out of the two little female -Dromios. - -But in the middle of this mystery and solicitude, it happened that -Annie was to get some light; for at breakfast one morning--not yet -that of the expected crisis--when her father and mother were talking -earnestly in an undertone to each other, all unaware that the child, -as she was moving about, was watching their words and looks, much as -an older victim of credulity may be supposed to hang on the cabalistic -movements and incantations of a sibyl, the attentive little listener -eagerly drank in every word of the following conversation:-- - -“The doctor is so doubtful,” said the anxious mother, with a tear in -her eye, “that I have scarcely any hope; and if she is taken away, the -very look of Annie, left alone ‘bleating for her sister lamb,’ will -break my heart altogether.” - -“Yes,” rejoined Mr Maconie, “it would be hard to bear; but,”--and -it was the first time since Mary’s illness he had ever remembered -the insurance,--“it was wise that I insured poor Mary’s life in the -Pelican.” - -“Insured her life in the Pelican!” echoed the wife, in a higher tone. -“That was at least lucky; but, oh! I hope we will not need to have our -grief solaced by that comfort in affliction for many a day.” - -And this colloquy had scarcely been finished when the doctor entered, -having gone previously into the invalid’s room, with a very mournful -expression upon his face; nor did his words make that expression any -more bearable, as he said-- - -“I am sorry to say I do not like Mary’s appearance so well to-day. I -fear it is to be one of those cases where we cannot discover anything -like a crisis at all; indeed, I have doubts about this old theory being -applicable to this kind of fever, where the virus goes on gradually -working to the end.” - -“The end!” echoed Mrs Maconie; “then, doctor, I fear you see what that -will be.” - -“I would not like to say,” added he; “but I fear you must make up your -mind for the worst.” - -Now, all this was overheard by Annie, who, we may here seize the -opportunity of saying, was, in addition to being a sensitive creature, -one of those precocious little philosophers thinly spread in the -female world, and made what they are often by delicate health, which -reduces them to a habit of thinking much before their time. Not that -she wanted the vivacity of her age, but that it was tempered by periods -of serious musing, when all kinds of what the Scotch call “auld -farrent” (far yont) thoughts come to be where they should not be, the -consequence being a weird-like kind of wisdom, very like that of the -aged; so the effect on a creature so constituted was just equal to -the cause. Annie ran out of the room with her face concealed in her -hands, and got into a small bed-room darkened by the window-blind, and -there, in an obscurity and solitude suited to her mind and feelings, -she resigned herself to the grief of the young heart. It was now -clear to her that her dear Mary was to be taken from her; had not the -doctor said as much? And then she had never seen death, of which she -had read and heard and thought so much, that she looked upon it as a -thing altogether mysterious and terrible. But had she not overheard -her father say that he had insured poor dear Mary’s life with the -Pelican? and had she not heard of the pelican--yea, the pelican of the -wilderness--as a creature of a most mythical kind, though she knew -not aught of its nature, whether bird or beast, or man or woman, or -angel. But whatever it might be, certain it was that her father would -never have got this wonderful creature to insure Mary’s life if it -was not possessed of the power to bring about so great a result; so -she cogitated, and mused, and philosophised in her small way, till -she came to the conclusion that the pelican not only had the destiny -of Mary in its hands, but was under an obligation to save her from -that death which was so terrible to her. Nor had she done yet with -the all-important subject; for all at once it came into her head as -a faint memory, that one day, when her father was taking her along -with her mother through the city, he pointed to a gilded sign, with a -large bird represented thereon tearing its breast with its long beak -and letting out the blood to its young, who were holding their mouths -open to drink it in. “There,” said he, “is the Pelican;” words she -remembered even to that hour, for they were imprinted upon her mind by -the formidable appearance of the wonderful-looking creature feeding its -young with the very blood of its bosom. But withal she had sense enough -to know--being, as we have said, a small philosopher--that a mere -bird, however endowed with the power of sustaining the lives of its -offspring, could not save that of her sister, and therefore it behoved -to be only the symbol of some power within the office over the door of -which the said sign was suspended. Nor in all this was Annie Maconie -more extravagant than are nineteen-twentieths of the thousand millions -in the world who still cling to occult causes. - -And with those there came other equally strange thoughts; but beyond -all she could not for the very life of her comprehend that most -inexcusable apathy of her father, who, though he had heard with his own -ears, from good authority, that her beloved Mary was lying in the next -bed-room dying, never seemed to think of hurrying away to town--even -to that very pelican who had so generously undertaken to insure Mary’s -life. It was an apathy unbecoming a father; and the blood of her little -heart warmed with indignation at the very time that the said heart was -down in sorrow as far as its loose strings would enable it to go. But -was there no remedy? To be sure there was, and Annie knew, moreover, -what it was; but then it was to be got only by a sacrifice, and that -sacrifice she also knew, though it must of necessity be kept in the -meantime as secret as the wonderful doings in the death-chamber of the -palace of a certain Bluebeard. - -Great thoughts these for so little a woman as Annie Maconie; and no -doubt the greatness and the weight of them were the cause why, for all -that day--every hour of which her father was allowing to pass--she was -more melancholy and thoughtful than she had ever been since Mary began -to be ill. But, somehow, there was a peculiar change which even her -mother could observe in her; for while she had been in the habit of -weeping for her sister, yea, and sobbing very piteously, she was all -this day apparently in a reverie. Nor even up to the time of her going -to bed was she less thoughtful and abstracted, even as if she had been -engaged in solving some problem great to her, however small it might -seem to grown-up infants. As for sleeping under the weight of so much -responsibility, it might seem to be out of the question, and so verily -it was; for her little body, acted on by the big thoughts, was moved -from one side to another all night, so that she never slept a wink -still thinking and thinking, in her unutterable grief, of poor Mary, -her father’s criminal passiveness, and that most occult remedy which so -completely engrossed her mind. - -But certainly it was the light of morning for which sister Annie -sighed; and when it came glinting in at the small window, she was up -and beginning to dress, all the while listening lest the servant or -any other one in the house should know she was up at that hour. Having -completed her toilet, she slipped downstairs, and having got to the -lobby, she was provident enough to lay hold of an umbrella, for she -suspected the elements as being in league against her. Thus equipped, -she crept out by the back-door, and having got thus free, she hurried -along, never looking behind her till she came to the main road to -Edinburgh, when she mounted the umbrella--one used by her father, and -so large that it was more like a main-sheet than a covering suitable -to so small a personage; so it behoved, that if she met any other -“travellers on purpose bent,” the moving body must have appeared to -be some small tent on its way to a fair, carried by the proprietor -thereof, of whom no more could be seen but the two short toddling legs, -and the hem of the black riding-hood. But what cared Annie? She toiled -along; the miles were long in comparison of the short legs, but then -there was a large purpose in that little body, in the view of which -miles were of small account, however long a time it might take those -steps to go over them. Nor was it any drawback to all this energy, -concentrated in so small a bulk, that she had had no breakfast. Was -the dying sister Mary able to take any breakfast? and why should Annie -eat when Mary, who did all she did--and she always did everything that -sister Mary did--could not? The argument was enough for our little -logician. - -By the time she reached, by those short steps of hers, the great city, -it was half-past eleven, and she had before her still a great deal to -accomplish. She made out, after considerable wanderings, the street -signalised above all streets by that wonderful bird; but after she got -into it, the greater difficulty remained of finding the figure itself, -whereto there was this untoward obstacle, that it was still drizzling -in the thick Scotch way of concrete drops of mist, and the umbrella -which she held over her head was so large that no turning it aside -would enable her to see under the rim at such an angle as would permit -her scanning so elevated a position, and so there was nothing for it -but to draw it down. But even this was a task--heavy as the main-sheet -was with rain, and rattling in a considerable wind--almost beyond her -strength; and if it hadn’t been that a kindly personage who saw the -little maid’s difficulty gave her assistance, she might not have been -able to accomplish it. And now, with the heavy article in her hand, she -peered about for another half-hour, till at length her gladdened eye -fell upon the mystic symbol. - -And no sooner had she made sure of the object, than she found her way -into the office, asking the porter as well as a clerk where the pelican -was to be found--questions that produced a smile; but smile here or -smile there, Annie was not to be beat, nor did she stop in her progress -until at last she was shown into a room where she saw perched on a high -stool with three (of course) long legs, a strange-looking personage -with a curled wig and a pair of green spectacles, who no doubt must be -the pelican himself. As she appeared in the room, with the umbrella, -not much shorter or less in circumference than herself, the gentleman -looked curiously at her, wondering no doubt what the errand of so -strange a little customer could be. - -“Well, my little lady,” said he, “what may be your pleasure?” - -“I want the pelican,” said Annie. - -The gentleman was still more astonished, even to the extent that he -laid down his pen and looked at her again. - -“The pelican, dear?” - -“Ay; just the pelican,” answered she, deliberately, and even a little -indignantly. “Are you the pelican?” - -“Why, yes, dear; all that is for it below the figure,” said he, -smiling, and wondering what the next question would be. - -“I am so glad I have found you,” said she; “because sister Mary is -dying.” - -“And who is sister Mary?” - -“My sister, Mary Maconie, at Juniper Green.” - -Whereupon the gentleman began to remember that the name of William -Maconie was in his books as holder of a policy. - -“And what more?” - -“My father says the pelican insured Mary’s life, and I want you to come -direct and do it, because I couldn’t live if Mary were to die. And -there’s no time to be lost.” - -“Oh! I see, dear; and who sent you?” - -“Nobody,” answered Annie. “My father wouldn’t come to you, and I have -come from Juniper Green myself, without telling my father or mother.” - -“Oh yes, dear; I understand you.” - -“But you must do it quick,” continued she, “because the doctor -says she’s in great danger; so you must come with me, and save her -immediately.” - -“I am sorry, my dear little lady,” rejoined he, “that I cannot go with -you; but I will set about it immediately, and I have no doubt, being -able to go faster than you, that I will get there before you, so that -all will be right before you arrive.” - -“See that you do it, then,” said she, “because I can’t live if Mary -dies. Are you quite sure you will do it?” - -“Perfectly sure, my little dear,” added he; “go away home, and all will -be right. The pelican will do his duty.” - -And Annie being thus satisfied, went away, dragging the main-sheet -after her, and having upon her face a look of contentment, if not -absolute happiness, in place of the sorrow which had occupied it during -all the time of her toilsome journey. The same road is to be retraced; -and if she had an object before which nerved her little limbs, she had -now the delightful consciousness of that object having been effected--a -feeling of inspiration which enabled her, hungry as she was, to -overcome all the toil of the return. Another two hours, with that heavy -umbrella overhead as well as body, brought her at length home, where -she found that people had been sent out in various directions to find -the missing Annie. The mother was in tears, and the father in great -anxiety; and no sooner had she entered and laid down her burden, than -she was clasped to the bosom, first of one parent, and then of the -other. - -“But where is the pelican?” said the anxious little maid. - -“The pelican! my darling,” cried the mother; “what do you mean?” - -“Oh! I have been to him at his own office at Edinburgh, to get him to -come and save Mary’s life, and he said he would be here before me.” - -“And what in the world put it in your head to go there?” again asked -the mother. - -“Because I heard my father say yesterday that the pelican had insured -dear sister Mary’s life, and I went to tell him to come and do it -immediately; because, if Mary were to die, I couldn’t live, you -know--that’s the reason, dear mother.” - -“Yes, yes,” said the father, scarcely able to repress a smile which -rose in spite of his grief. “I see it all; you did a very right thing, -my love. The pelican has been here, and Mary is better.” - -“Oh! I am so glad,” rejoined Annie, “for I wasn’t sure whether he had -come or not; because, though I looked for him on the road, I couldn’t -see him.” - -At the same moment the doctor came in, with a blithe face. - -“Mary is safe now,” said he. “There has been a crisis, after all. The -sweat has broken out upon her dry skin, and she will be well in a very -short time.” - -“And there’s no thanks to you,” said Annie, “because it was I who went -for the pelican.” - -Whereupon the doctor looked to the father, who, taking him aside, -narrated to him the story, at which the doctor was so pleased that he -laughed right out. - -“You’re the noblest little heroine I ever heard of,” said he. - -“But have you had anything to eat, dear, in this long journey?” said -the mother. - -“No, I didn’t want,” was the answer; “all I wanted was to save Mary’s -life, and I am glad I have done it.” - -And glad would we be if, by the laws of historical truth, our stranger -story could have ended here; but, alas! we are obliged to pain the -good reader’s heart by saying that the demon who had left the troubled -little breast of Mary Maconie took possession of Annie’s. The very next -day she lay extended on the bed, panting under the fell embrace of the -relentless foe. As Mary got better, Annie grew worse; and her case was -so far unlike Mary’s, that there was more a tendency to a fevered state -of the brain. The little sufferer watched with curious eyes the anxious -faces of her parents, and seemed conscious that she was in a dangerous -condition. Nor did it fail to occur to her as a great mystery as well -as wonder, why they did not send for the wonderful being who had so -promptly saved the life of her sister. The thought haunted her, yet -she was afraid to mention it to her mother, because it implied a sense -of danger--a fear which one evening she overcame. Fixing her eyes, now -every moment waxing less clear, on the face of her mother-- - -“Oh! mother, dear,” she whispered, “why do you not send for the -pelican?” - -In other circumstances the mother would have smiled; but, alas, no -smile could be seen on that pale face. Whether the pelican was sent -for we know not, but certain it is, that he had no power to save poor -Annie, and she died within the week. But she did not die in vain, for -the large sum insured upon her life eventually came to Mary, whom she -loved so dearly. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of Davie Dempster’s Ghaist. - - -There was once an old saying very common in the mouths of the Edinburgh -people--“As dead as Davie Dempster.” It has long since passed away; -but whether it was preferable to the one to which it has given place, -viz.,--“As dead as a door-nail,” we must leave to those wise people who -can measure degrees of nonvitality in objects which are without life. -Be all which as it may, the imputed deadness of David Dempster may -appear to have some interest to us when we know the story from which -the old popular saying took its rise; and the more, that the story -cannot be said to want a moral vitality, if it has not even a spice of -humour in it. Certain, to begin with, David Dempster was at least once -alive, for we can vouch for his having been a very respectable denizen -of the old city. We can even impart the nature of his calling, that of -a trafficker in the stuff of man’s wearing apparel, which he sold to -those who were willing to buy, and even to some who were unwilling to -buy; for David’s tongue, if not so long as his ell-wand, was a deuced -deal more supple. Nor does our information end here, for we can, we -are happy to say, tell the name of his wife, which was Dorothy; nay, -we know even the interesting particular, that when David had more -Edinburgh ale in his stomach than humility in his head, he got so far -into the heroics as to call her Dorothea; but as for the maiden name -of this woman, who was the wife of a man so famous as to have been the -source and origin of a proverb, we regret to say that it has gone into -the limbo of things that are lost. To make amends, we can, however, -add that Mrs Dempster was, at the time of our story, as plump and well -coloured as Florabel; but as for David, who was ten years older than -his wife, he was just as plain as any man needs be without pretension -to being disagreeable. - -We have said that David Dempster and his wife were respectable, and -we do not intend to offer a jot more evidence on the point, than the -fact that they went to “the kirk” on Sundays, and that, too, with -faces of the normal Calvinistic elongation, and in good clothes; -Dorothy being covered, head and all, with her red silk plaid, and -David immersed in the long square coat of the times, with cuffs as -big as four-pound tea-bags, buttons as broad as crown-pieces, and -pockets able to have held Dr Webster’s--their minister’s--pulpit -Bible in the one, and as many bottles of wine as the worthy gentleman -could carry away at a sitting, in the other; an allusion this last by -no means ill-natured, as we may show by making the admission that, -if David and Dorothy had had heads big enough to carry away all that -their excellent preacher told them, they required no more for unction -and function for a whole week. But, however fair things looked in the -sanctuary, it was otherwise at home in Lady Stair’s Close, where they -resided, for it so happened that our worthy clothes-merchant had got -into debt; nay, there were hornings and captions out against him, and -he stood a chance any day in all the year round of being shut up in -“The Heart of Mid-Lothian,” not nearly so soft a one as Dorothy’s. Not -that all David’s creditors were equally hard upon him, for the laird -of Rubbledykes--a small property on the left-hand side of the road to -Cramond--Mr Thomas Snoddy, who had lent him two hundred pounds Scots, -never asked him for a farthing; the reason of which requires a little -explanation. - -In real secret truth the laird had been a lover of Dorothy’s before she -was married to David, and there is no doubt that if he had declared -himself, with Rubbledykes to back him, he would have carried off the -adorable Dorothy in triumph; but then it was the laird’s misfortune -to be what the Scotch call “a blate lover;” which is just to say, a -belated one; and Dorothy was married to the spruce and ardent David -before she knew that a real laird of an estate was dying in secret -for her. Nor could she have had any doubt of the fact, for Mr Snoddy -summoned up courage to tell her so himself--a circumstance which cost -him something, insomuch as no sooner did David know the fact than he -asked him for the loan of the said two hundred pounds Scots money. Of -course, David being, as we have said, a man with a supple tongue, and -brains at the end of it, knew what he was about, and so sure enough he -succeeded; for Rubbledykes, who would not have lent two hundred pound -Scots to the treasurer of the Virgin Mary on a note-of-hand, payable in -Heaven, was even delighted to advance that sum to the husband of his -once loved, and for ever lost, Dorothy. And in this act the laird was -wonderfully liberal; for in his secret heart he conditioned for no more -than the liberty of being allowed to visit the house in Lady Stair’s -Close on market days, and sit beside Dorothy, and look at her, and -wonder at her still red cheeks--albeit, more of the pickling cabbage -than the rose--and sigh at the loss of such a treasure. Neither in -suffering all this adoration did Mrs Dempster commit any very heinous -sin; nay, being, as a good Calvinist, a believer in the excellent -doctrine (if acted up to) of “total depravity,” she was necessarily in -the highway of salvation. - -Neither did Mrs Dempster think it necessary to conceal any of these -doings from David. Nay, on one particular Wednesday, after the laird -had had his fill of this will-worship, she brought the subject up in -so particular a way to her husband, that we are thereby led to believe -that they understood each other, and could act in concert. The occasion -was the complaint of David that some of his other creditors were likely -to be down upon him. - -“Ah, Dorothy, if they were a’ like Snoddy.” - -Not a very respectful way of alluding to no less a personage than the -laird of Rubbledykes, let alone his kindness; but then David, being -a debtor, did not respect himself, and nothing was ever more true -than the saying, “That our own self-respect is the foundation of that -respect which we pay to others.” - -“But they’re _no’_ a’ like the laird,” replied Dorothy; “and what’s -mair, David, my man, the laird winna be ane o’ your creditors lang -either.” - -“What mean you, lass?” inquired David. - -“I just mean neither mair nor less than that Thomas Snoddy o’ -Rubbledykes, wha should hae been my gudeman, is deein’ as fast as he -can bicker; and that by and by I might have been my Leddy Rubbledykes -wi’ three hundred a year, and nae husband to trouble me.” - -“That’s ill news,” continued David; “for if he dees, the debt will gae -to his brother, a man who would raze the skin frae the mother’s face -that bore him, if he could mak a leather purse out o’t. But what maks -ye think he is deein’, lass?” - -“Deein’!” rejoined Dorothy, with an ill-timed, if not cruel laugh. -“That cough o’ his would kill baith you and me in a year, even if we -should only cough time about.” - -“Ower true, I fear,” groaned David; “and then there’s a’ thae ither -debts upon me. Hark, Dorothy, ye’re a clever dame; could ye no’ get the -laird to discharge the debt?” - -“Maybe I might, were I to kiss him, David,” was the answer, with -another smile. - -“And what for no’?” asked this honest man, who raised his voice in the -Tron every Sunday. - -“Because I am neither a Judith nor a Judas,” replied she. - -“But ye’re a Christian,” was the ready rejoinder; “and what’s mair, a -Calvinist.” - -“As if a body could be a Christian without being a Calvinist,” said -she. “But what do ye mean, David--are ye crazy? Why should I kiss -another man because I’m a Calvinist?” - -“Nae sin, nae salvation,” said he. - -Whereupon the worthy couple laughed at a tenet which, being liable to -a double construction, has always been dangerous to the common people -of Scotland. And what was worse, this laugh was only the prelude to a -further conversation so deep and mysterious, and withal conducted in -so low a train of whispers and re-whispers, that even our familiar, -endowed as he is with the power of going through stone walls, could -carry off no more than smiles and nods and winks, and more and more -of the same kind of laughs. But as the son of Sirach says, “There -is an exquisite subtlety, and the same is unjust;” and “Wrath will -surely search it.” Nor was there in this case much time required for -the retribution, for the very next day a man rushed into the house of -Mrs Dempster with the intelligence on his tongue that David Dempster -was drowned at Granton. The dreadful story was indeed corroborated -into a certainty by a bundle of clothes which the messenger of evil -tidings laid on the table, no other than the suit which David had -put on that morning, including the linen shirt which Dorothy’s own -fingers had adorned with the breast-ruffle, and identified with the -beloved initials, D. D., more precious to her than the symbols of -ecclesiastical honours. All were there as he had left them on the beach -before the plunge which was to be unto death--yea, something after -death, and more terrible, for had not David been a scoffer? If Mrs -Dempster had at first been able to collect her scattered senses, she -would have been satisfied even with the look of the clothes, for she -had heard her husband say, with a blithe look, that he was to go to -Granton to bathe, and she would, moreover, have had some minutes sooner -the melancholy satisfaction that one so dear to her had not committed -suicide. - -But the sudden impression left no room for consolations of any kind. -Struggling nature could do no more than work itself out of one swoon -to fall into another, and how long it was before she could listen to -the inrushing neighbours with their news that he had been boated for, -and dived for, and hooked for, and searched for, no record remains to -tell. But that all these efforts had been made there was no doubt, and -as the hours passed bringing as yet no assuagement of a grief which -is only amenable to time, it came to be known that the coast had been -examined all about the fatal spot with no return but the inevitable -_non inventus_; nor did it require many days to satisfy the unfortunate -widow that the catastrophe was of that complete kind where the -remaining victim is not only deprived of a husband, but denied the poor -consolation of seeing his dead body. - -Yet how true it is that the kingdom of Death is in the land of -forgetfulness, not only to the ghostly denizens who there dwell, but -also to those who are left in this region of quick memories. Wherein -surely there is a kindness in the cruelty; for assuredly there is no -one who could suffer for a protracted period the intensity of the first -onset of a grief of a privation which is to be for ever in this world -and be able to live. And this kindliness of the fates was experienced -by Mrs Dorothy Dempster, who, after a decent period, and amidst the -consolations of friends, felt herself in a condition to be able to wait -upon the creditors of her husband and get them to be contented with -the small stock left by him, and give her acquittances of their debts; -nay, so heartrending were her appeals, and so miserable she appeared in -her weeds, that these good men even voted her a small sum out of the -wreck as a beautiful tribute to pity and humanity. All which went for -its value, so creditable as it is to human nature, and we need hardly -add that the frequent reading of the encomium in the _Mercury_ on the -merits of the deceased--which, of course, proceeded on the inevitable -rule that a man is only good provided he is dead--heaped up the -consolation even to a species of melancholy pleasure. - -And, surely, if on this occasion there was any one _ipsis charitibus -humanior_, it was Mr Thomas Snoddy, the good laird of Rubbledykes. -Nor were his attentions merely empty-handed visits to the house of -the widow, for he brought her money, often, after all, the chief of -consolations. Of the manner in which that might be accepted he probably -suspected there was nothing to be feared; but there was another gift -he had in store, in regard to the acceptability of which he was -not quite so sure--and that was his old love kindled up into a new -flame--probably enough he had never heard or read the lines to the -effect that-- - - “Cupid can his wings apply, - To other uses than to fly; - Serving as a handkerchief - To dry the tears of widows’ grief.” - -But, whether so or not, he resolved upon trying what he himself could -do in that remedial way; and, accordingly, he began with a small dose, -the success of which urged him to a repetition; and on he went from -small quantities to greater, till he was overjoyed to find that the -patient could bear any amount he was able to administer. Nor could it -be said that the aforesaid cough made any abatement from the success -of these efforts, if we might not rather surmise that it entered as an -element in their recommendation--at least it indicated no hollowness in -Rubbledykes. - -We all know that “the question” once meant _torture_. At the period of -our story, and we hope not less in our day, it meant _rapture_; and it -is not unlikely that Mrs Dempster on that market-day, when the laird -sat by the side of the parlour fire in Lady Stair’s Close, enjoyed -something of that kind when the words fell on her ear. - -“Now, my dear Dorothy--to come to the point in the lang-run--will ye -hae me for your second husband, wha should hae been your first?” - -“I hae no objection,” replied Dorothy, as she held away her head and -covered her eyes with her handkerchief; “_but_----” - -And Mrs Dempster stopped short, with an effect almost as great on the -astonished suitor as that of the memorable answer given by a certain -Mrs Jean of Clavershalee to another laird, whose property lay not far -distant from Rubbledykes. - -“But!” ejaculated the laird, with an effort that brought an attack of -his cough upon him. “You maun ‘but’ me nae ‘buts,’ Dorothy, unless ye -want to kill me. I aye thought I had a better claim to you than David. -Heaven rest his body in the deep waters o’ the Forth, and his soul in -heaven!” - -“Ay,” continued she, as she applied the handkerchief again, as if this -time to receive some tears which ought to have come and didn’t; “but -that just puts me in mind o’ what I was going to say. You have seen -how David was ta’en awa. What if onything should happen to you? What -would become o’ me? Rubbledykes would gae to your brother.” - -“The de’il a stane o’t, Dorothy,” cried the laird. “It will be a’ -yours. I will mak it ower to you; tofts and crofts, outhouses and -inhouses, muirs and mosses, pairts and pertinents. Will that please -you?” - -“Ay, will’t,” answered Dorothy from behind the handkerchief. - -Whereupon the laird took her in his arms with a view to kiss her; but -there is many a slip not only between the cup and the lip, but between -one lip and another; for no sooner had Thomas so prepared himself for, -perhaps, the greatest occasion of his life--even that of kissing a -woman, and that woman the very idol of his heart--than that dreadful -cough came again upon him, and Dorothy could not help thinking that it -was now more hollow, or, as the Scotch call it, _toom_, than ever she -had heard it. - -“I will awa to Mr Ainslie and get the contract written out at length,” -he said, to cover his disgrace. - -Nor was it sooner said than done. Away he went, leaving Dorothy -virtually a bride, and the lady _in esse_ of an estate, albeit a small -one, yet great to her. At all which she laughed a most enigmatical -laugh, as if some secret thoughts had risen in her mind with the effect -of a ridiculous incongruity; but what these thoughts were no one ever -knew. Nor shall we try to imagine them, considering ourselves to be -better employed in setting forth that shortly afterwards Mrs Dorothy -Dempster was joined in the silken bands of holy wedlock with Thomas -Snoddy, Esquire, of Rubbledykes, and that by the hands of Dr Webster -of the Tron, who accompanied the happy couple in the evening to the -gray-slated mansion-house, where he made another celebration of the -event by draining a couple of bottles of good old claret. Strange -enough all these things; but the real wonders of our story would seem -only to begin with the settlement of Mr David Dempster’s widow in -the mansion-house of the veritable laird; even though, consistently -with the manners of the time, there was a duck-pond at the door, a -peat-stack on the gable, and a midden gracing the byre not five yards -from the parlour window; spite of all which Mrs Dorothy was a lady, -while David lay with glazed eyes in the Forth among the fishes scarcely -a mile distant from his enchanted widow. - -We think it a strange thing that mortals should laugh and weep by -turns, yet we think sunshine and showers a very natural alternation; -and surely it is far more wonderful that we often weep when we -should laugh, and laugh when we should weep--of which hypocrisy, -notwithstanding, there is a hundred times more in the world than man or -woman wots of. And we are sorry to be obliged to doubt the extent of -the new-made lady’s grief when she saw the laird’s cough increasing as -his love waxed stronger and his lungs grew less. Nay, we are not sure -that when she saw that he was dying, and hailed the signs with grief -in her eyes and joy in her heart, she was under the impression that -she was acting up to the amiable tenet of her religious creed--total -depravity. Be all which as it may, it is certain that though Dorothy’s -tears had been of that real kind of which Tully says they are--“the -easiest dried of all things,” they would not have retarded the progress -of the laird’s disease. It was not yet three months, and he was -confined to bed, with Dorothy hanging over him, watching him with all -the care of a seeker for favourable symptoms. But one evening there was -a symptom which she was unprepared for--nay, she was this time serious -in her alarm. - -“I have done that which is evil in the sight o’ God.” - -The words came as from a far-away place, they were so hollow. - -“What is it, Tammas?” asked she. - -“I have seen David Dempster’s ghaist,” said he. “It looked in at that -window, and disappeared in an instant; but no’ before I kent what the -een said. Yea, Dorothy, they said as plainly as een can speak--‘Tammas -Snoddy, ye made love to Dorothy Dempster when I was alive in the body, -and her lawful husband.’” - -And the laird shook all over so violently that Dorothy could see the -clothes move. - -“Just your conscience, Tammas,” said she. “Ye maun fley thae visions -awa in the auld way. It is the deevil tempting ye. We maun flap the -leaves o’ the Bible at him, and ye’ll see nae mair o’ him in this warld -at any rate.” - -And Dorothy, taking up the holy book and opening it at the middle, -flapt it with such energy that more dust came out of it than should -have been found in a Calvinist’s Bible. - -“Ye’ll see nor hilt, nor hair, nor hoop, nor horn mair o’ him,” she -added, with, we almost fear to surmise, a laugh. - -And Mrs Snoddy’s prophecy was of that kind--the safest of all--which -comes after knowledge. - -“Then I will dee in peace,” said the relieved laird; “for I hae nae -ither sin on my conscience.” - -“Nae sin, nae salvation,” added Dorothy. - -“A maist comfortable doctrine,” sighed the laird. - -And comfortable, surely, it must have been to him, for two days -afterwards the good laird slipt away out of this bad world as lightly -and easily as if he had felt the burden of his sins as imponderous as -the flying dove does the white feathers on its back. Nor did many more -days elapse before the mortal remains of the good man were deposited -in the churchyard of Cramond, leaving the double widow with her -contract of marriage and her tears for a second husband lying in the -earth so near the first, deep in the bosom of the Forth. But, sooner -or later, there comes comfort of some kind to these amiable creatures -in distress, especially if they are possessed of those cabalistic -things called marriage contracts. We do not say that that comfort comes -always from the grave in the shape of a veritable ghost, but sure it -is that if we could in any case fancy a spirit visiting the earth for -any rational purpose, it would be where a comely widow was ready to -receive it, and warm its cold hands, and wrap the winding-sheet well -round it, and treat it kindly. All which we may leave for suggestion -and meditation, but we demand conviction, and assent, as we proceed, -to set forth that the very next evening after the funeral of Laird -Tammas, the ghaist of David Dempster, despising all secret openings, -and even giving up the privilege of keyholes, went straight into the -house of Rubbledykes, and entered the room where Dorothy was sitting. -Extraordinary enough, no doubt; but not even so much so as the fact we -are about to relate--viz., that Mrs Dorothy was no more astonished at -its appearance before her than she had been when she heard the laird -say that he saw the face of that same spirit at the window; nor did she -on this occasion have recourse to the Bible as an exorcist, by flapping -the leaves of the same, to terrify it away, in the supposition that it -was the devil in disguise. It is very true that she held up her hands, -but then that was only a prelude to the arms being employed in clasping -the appearance to her breast; an embrace which was responded to with -a fervour little to be expected from one of these flimsy creatures. -Nay, things waxed even more enigmatical and ridiculous, for the two -actually kissed each other--a fact which ought to be treasured up as a -psychological curiosity of some use, insomuch as it may diminish the -fear we so irrationally feel at the expected visit of supernatural -beings. But worse and more ridiculous still-- - -“When had you anything to eat Davie? Ye’ll be hungry.” - -“No’ unlikely, Dorothy lass,” answered the wraith; “for I didna like -the cauld fish, and there’s nae cooking apparatus in the Forth.” - -“Ye would maybe tak a whang o’ the round o’ beef we had at the laird’s -funeral yesterday?” - -“The very thing, woman,” answered the ghaist; “and if ye have a bottle -o’ brandy to wash it down, it will tak awa the cauld o’ the saut water.” - -“Twa, an ye like, lad,” responded the apparently delighted widow, -as she ran away to set before the visitor the edible and drinkable -comforts which had been declared so acceptable. - -And you may believe or reject the whisperings of our familiar just as -you please, but we have all the justification of absolute veritability -for the fact that this extraordinary guest, or ghaist, if you so -please, sat down before the said round of beef, brandishing a knife in -the one hand and a fork in the other, and looking so heartily purposed -to attack the same, that you might have augured it had not had a chop -since that forenoon when in the embodied state it went down to cool and -wash itself in the sea at Granton. Nor need we be more squeamish than -we have been in declaring at once that it did so much justice to the -meat and the drink, that you might have thought it had been fed for -months on Hecate’s short-commons in Hades. And then a text so ample and -substantial could surely bear a running commentary. - -“It would have been o’ nae use, Dorothy. If ye hadna been as gude a -prophetess as Deborah, I might hae been obliged to conceal myself in -England lang enough.” - -“It didna need a Deborah, David,” answered she, “to see that nae human -body could stand that cough mair than a month or two. Ye hadna lang to -wait, man; and though ye had had langer, _there_, see, was your comfort -at the end.” - -And Dorothy put into the ghaist’s hand the marriage contract--a worldly -thing which seemed to vie with the junket of beef in its influence over -mere spirit, insomuch as he perused the same by snatches between the -bites and draughts, both processes going on almost simultaneously--the -eye fixed on the paper, while a protruding lump in the cheek was in the -act of being diminished. - -“A’ right, lass,” was at length the exclamation. - -“Ay; but ye maun be gude to me now, Davie,” said she; “for ye see it’s -a’ in my ain power: Rubbledykes is mine, and I hae wrought for’t.” - -“And so hae I,” ejaculated the other. “You forget my banishment and -difficulty of living, for I took scarcely any siller wi’ me; and, -mairower, how am I to face the people o’ E’nbro’?” - -“And the gude Calvinists o’ the Tron?” added the wife. - -Notwithstanding which difficulties the visitor contrived to make a -hearty meal; nor was he contented with the brandy taken during the -time of eating, for with all their spiritual tenderness, there was a -crave for toddy--a request which was complied with by the introduction -of warm water and sugar. How often the tumbler was tumbled up to pour -the last drops, which defied the silver toddy-ladle in the glass, we -are not authorised to say; but we have authority for the assertion that -any man of flesh and blood could not have perpetrated that number of -tumblings without changing almost his nature--that is, being so far -spiritualised as to be entitled to say, in the words of the old song by -Pinkerton-- - - “Death, begone--here’s none but souls.” - -And therefore the spiritual nature of David Dempster, in his new part, -was not so wonderful after all. But the doubt recurs again, as we -proceed to say that Mrs Dorothy Snoddy helped her visitor to bed, nay, -she actually went very blithely into that same bed herself, where they -both slumbered very comfortably till next morning. - -We may add that these same doubts were liable to be dispelled by -another fact we have to relate. The visitor, it will be remembered, put -the question to Dorothy, “How was he to meet the people of Edinburgh?” -a question which implied a mortal presence, besides no prescience. We -say this last deliberately, because in place of the fear of meeting -being on his side, it was altogether on theirs. It happened that, two -days after the occurrences we have described, an object bearing the -figure of David Dempster was seen on the Cramond road by a carrier -called Samuel Finlayson, who had had transactions with the dealer in -corduroys--an occasion which had the inevitable effect of raising -Samuel’s bonnet along with the standing hair, besides that of inducing -him to whip his horse to force the animal on, just in the way of -another animal of cognate species under similar circumstances. He, of -course, took the story of a ghaist, all cut and dry, into the city. -On the same day, Andrew Gilfillan saw the same figure on Corstorphine -Hill, and flew past the seat marked “Rest and be thankful,” without -even looking at it. He, too, carried the same tidings. George -Plenderleith encountered the identical object in the village of -Corstorphine busy eating Corstorphine cream--that is, cream mixed with -oatmeal, (a finer kind of crowdy,) and he hastened to Edinburgh with a -speed only to be accounted for by terror. He, too, told his tale; the -effect of all which, added to and inflamed by other reports, was, that -Edinburgh was stirred from the Castle gate to the Palace yett, by the -conviction that David Dempster had returned from the kingdom of death -to this world of life for some purpose which would most certainly come -out; but, in due time, whether with or without a purpose, here it was -proved that ghosts were no dream, and David Hume no philosopher. Many -people sought the Cramond road, and hung about Rubbledykes to get their -scepticism or dogmatism confirmed. The end of these things is pretty -uniform--_res locuta est_; the people began to see where the truth lay, -and the laughter came in due course, to revive the hearts that had been -chilled by fear. - -We would be sorry if we were necessitated to end our story at the -very nick of the triumph of vice. Happily, we have something more to -say--nothing less, indeed, than that James Snoddy, the brother of -the laird, raised a process--that is, instituted a suit before the -Court of Session, to have his brother’s contract of marriage with -Mrs Dorothy Dempster annulled and set aside, upon the grounds of -deception, circumvention, and _prava causa_; nor had he any trouble in -getting a decree, for David and his wife made no appearance, neither -could they make any appearance in Edinburgh. Their only resource was -to take advantage of that kind of bail called “leg;” an easy affair, -insomuch as there is no bond required for appearance anywhere. It was -at the time supposed that they had gone to America, that asylum of -unfortunates, where one-half of the people cut the throats of the other -in the name of liberty. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of the Gorthley Twins. - - -It was the custom at one time in Edinburgh for the proprietors of large -self-contained houses to give them the names of the properties they -had in the country--hence our Panmure House, Tweeddale Court, and so -forth--and among them there was Gorthley House, of which no vestige now -remains; nay, we are by no means sure where it was situated, beyond -the fact that it was somewhere in the Canongate, but gone as it is -according to the law of change, its name will always be associated -with the law-plea Bruce _versus_ Bruce, which contained the germ of -the little romance we are now to relate in our way. And to begin in -order, we take the state of matters at the time when the plea began. -John Bruce of Gorthley had died, and left a widow and three daughters, -two of whom were twins, and the third was the youngest. The names of -the twins were Sarah and Martha, who at this time were two fine girls -verging upon majority, and as like each other as two white peas; and -surely if we might expect, in this world of strife and contention, -that there should be found real love and friendship anywhere, it might -be in the case of two sisters who had lain so close together for nine -months, and who had drunk their milk at the same kindly fountain of a -doating mother’s breast. But so full is the moral atmosphere of our -fallen world of the spores of hatred, that you may as well try to keep -a cheese from the seeds of green mould as the human heart from the -germs of ill-will. And so it was that these two young ladies hated each -other very heartily, for a reason which we will by and by reveal, to -the astonishment of the reader; and this hatred was the counterpart of -a contention that had embittered the lives of the father and mother, -even up to the time of the former’s death. - -All which will be better explained by following the course of events -after the death of Mr Bruce, beginning with a visit on the part of Lady -Gorthley--as she was called according to the custom of the time, when -titles were held in such regard that the common people even forged -them for the great--along with her favourite daughter, Martha, to the -office of Mr James Pollock, the agent for the family. That her ladyship -was bent upon some enterprise of considerable moment might have been -guessed from the look of her face, which had that mysterious air about -it belonging to secrecy, nor less from that of the daughter; and no -one could have doubted that, whatever they were bent upon, the other -twin, Sarah, was not to be let up to the secret. Perhaps the time of -the visit to the writer was opportune, insomuch as Sarah had gone, as -she had said, with her cousin, George Walkinshaw, advocate, to take a -stroll by the back of St Leonard’s as far as “the Cat Nick,” and come -home by the Hunter’s Bog; which couple, we may also say, had their -secret too, in addition to their love affair, if that secret was not -connected with the very same subject we have referred to as that which -divided the family. Be all that as it might, we are going right along -with the facts of the plea when we set forth that in a very short time -Lady Gorthley and Martha were seated each on a chair in the writing -office of the said agent, Mr Pollock, and the very first words that -came out of her ladyship’s mouth were these-- - -“Has Sarah or her cousin called upon you since the death of Gorthley?” -by which she meant, according to the custom of the time, her own -husband. - -“They are even at this moment in the other room, madam,” said he, with -a lawyer’s smile on his face. - -“Indeed,” said her ladyship, with an expression of both surprise and -anger. “Why, she told me an hour ago that she was going to take a walk -by the ‘Cat Nick.’” - -“And so she has,” added the writer, still smiling, “for my door may not -be inappropriately so called in the circumstances?” - -“Only, I presume,” said the lady, “I am not, I hope, to be included -among the cats. I will wait until you have learned what the impertinent -girl has got to say, and then you will have time to hear me and Martha.” - -“I already know that,” said he; “but, as I believe our conversation is -about finished, I will despatch them in a few seconds, and then return -to hear your ladyship’s commands.” - -“But you will say nothing of our being here.” - -“The never a word, madam,” said he, adding to himself as he went away, -“I don’t want a battle of the cats in my office at least; they do best -when they put the cheese into the hands of the ----,” and he did not -add the word monkey, insomuch as it looked personal. - -“There, you see, Martha, the gipsy is determined to stand by her -rights,” was the remark of her ladyship after Mr Pollock had left the -room. - -“But we’ll beat her off, mother,” rejoined Martha, with a spirit which -Mr Pollock or any other lawyer might have admired; “and,” continued -Martha, with a smile, “we will say nothing about the _strawberry_.” - -“Nothing, dear,” rejoined the mother; “that strawberry is worth all the -lands of Gorthley.” - -Of which enigmatical strawberry they said no more; but that is no -reason why we should not say something of it when the proper time -comes, of which, by the rules of our art, we are the best judges. -Meanwhile Mr Pollock, having despatched the other feline, returned. - -“And now, madam,” said he, as he took his seat, “I am ready to hear -you.” - -“You know, Mr Pollock,” resumed her ladyship, “that the entail of -Gorthley provides that the property shall go to the eldest heir female -in the event of there being no heir male.” - -“We all know that, madam,” said the writer; “and if we had any doubt of -it a certain paper in that green box there would very soon clear up our -vision. But the question is, which of the two young ladies, Sarah or -Martha, first saw the light of day?” - -“No question at all,” rejoined the lady. “Martha was the first-born.” - -“Yes, madam, I know, and knew before, that that is your opinion; but -you are perhaps not aware that Gorthley himself told me, some time -before he died, that Sarah was the first-born; and so we have here, so -far as the testimony goes, one witness against another.” - -“And what knew he about it?” retorted she, sharply. “He was not present -at the birth to see; while I fancy you won’t deny I was.” - -Whereupon Mr Pollock, getting into the mistake that her ladyship was -drolling, and being a droll himself, said, laughing, “Why, madam, no -man could deny the necessity of your being present any more than in the -case of Girzel Jamphrey, who said to the people who were pressing on to -see her burnt as a witch on the sands at Dundee, ‘You needna be in sic -a hurry; there will be nae sport till I come.’” - -Whereat Lady Gorthley tightened the strings she had allowed to get -loose. - -“It’s not a matter to joke about, sir,” she said. “Though I am not a -witch, I say, and will maintain, that I am a better witness to the fact -of which of the twins was born first than Gorthley could possibly be.” - -“Still, madam,” continued the writer, “I fear it is only a comparison -between the value of two ciphers; the one may look bigger than the -other, but each is equal to nothing. It is true that we men don’t -know much of these things, yet--I beg pardon, the subject is a little -delicate--we know that when a lady bears twins she doesn’t take the -first and mark it before she bears the second; and then if she doesn’t -mark it in the very nick of time, it’s of no use, because the two -babies get mixed in the bath, as an Irishman would say, and their being -so like as one strawberry to another, no one can say that the one is -not the other, or the other not the one.” - -At which mention of the word strawberry, Lady Gorthley looked to -Martha, and Martha looked to her, and they seemed puzzled. - -“But however all that may be,” continued the lady, “what can you say to -the evidence of Peggy Macintosh, the nurse, who will swear that Martha -came first into the world?” - -“I cannot answer that question,” said he, with the caution of his -profession, “until I see Mrs Macintosh and examine her. There is also -Jean Gilchrist, one of the servants, who was present, I have her to -examine also, and then we will see where the truth lies. Oh! but I -forgot there is Mrs Glennie, the midwife, the woman whose word will go -farthest, because she had a better _causa scientiæ_.” - -“I know nothing about Latin,” rejoined her ladyship angrily; “but as -for Mrs Glennie, she’s dead years ago.” - -“Ah, indeed,” said Mr Pollock, “if that is true we will have only the -nurse and the servant for witnesses, and if they oppose each other, -the one for Sarah and the other for Martha, and as it is true that -you always treated Martha as the eldest, and Gorthley always insisted -on Sarah as being the first-born, we will have an undecidable case, a -thing that never occurred in Scotland before, perhaps not in the world, -for you know Solomon would not allow any impossibility in deciding the -case of the baby with the two mothers. But, madam, allow me to say, -that as your husband, Mr Bruce, left directions that I, as agent for -the family, should get Sarah served heir, and as you insist upon that -being done for Martha, it will be necessary that you employ a man of -business of your own, so that we may fight the battle fair out.” - -“Well,” said the lady with an expression of bitterness in her face -not much in harmony with her words, “since Gorthley has left the -continuance of the strife as a legacy to his widow and children, I -shall go to Mr Bayne as my agent, and authorise him to protect the -rights of Martha, and fight it to the bitter end--bitter, I mean, for -Sarah Bruce, who will never be Lady Gorthley.” - -And with these words she left, accompanied by Martha, directing their -steps to the office of Mr Bayne, who, as her ladyship’s private agent, -knew very well of this most strange contention which had so long been -maintained in Gorthley House. Nor, probably, was he displeased at it, -any more than Mr Pollock had been. Gorthley estate was a large cheese, -the cats were fierce, and there was plenty for even two monkeys, so he -listened attentively to her ladyship’s statement that the nurse, Mrs -Macintosh, would swear in favour of Martha, but she said never a word -about Jean Gilchrist. - -“The nurse’s evidence will go a great way, madam,” said he, “seeing the -midwife is dead; but it will be satisfactory if Mrs Macintosh could -condescend upon some mark which she noticed immediately at the time of -the birth, for the two young ladies are really so like each other now -I often confound them, nay, they confound me so that we cannot very -well imagine how they could be distinguished when brought together soon -after birth.” - -“Look here, Mr Bayne,” said the lady in a whispering way, as if she -were to reveal something wonderously mysterious, “look here, sir,”-- - -And taking off Martha’s cloak and turning up the kerchief that covered -her neck and the top of her shoulders, she said, “Do you see that?” - -The writer complied by a pretty narrow inspection of a very pretty neck -of (a strawberry being in question) the appropriate colour of cream. - -“A very decided mark of a strawberry,” said he; “and, really if it were -a proof that Martha has the right to succeed to Gorthley, it might be -said to be the most beautiful beauty spot that a young lady could -bear. How comes that mark to be there?” - -“Why,” replied the lady, “Gorthley threw a strawberry at me when I was -in the way, you know, and thus made a mother’s mark, as they call it, -just as if he had intended to point out the true heir; and you know the -Scotch say that these marks are lucky.” - -“But you forget, madam,” replied the man of the law, who did not -believe in special providences, except in special cases, when he -received payment of his accounts. “You forget that Gorthley was against -Martha, so that if he had had any intention in the matter, it must -rather have been to make a blot; besides, our judges might probably say -that the mark, for aught they knew, was intended to show that Martha -was not the heir; in short, unless we can identify the mark as having -been seen on the first-born, I fear, though it is very pretty, it will -do us no good.” - -“But Mrs Macintosh can do that,” replied the lady. - -“Ah! you have hit the mark now,” said he; “and I will see Mrs -Macintosh, and any other witnesses who can speak to the point.” - -And so having, after some more conversation, despatched his two -clients, Mr Bayne proceeded that same evening to the residence of Mrs -Peggy Macintosh, whom he found very busy spinning, little prepared for -a visit from a man of the law, with a powdered wig on his head, and a -gold-headed cane in his hand,--an apparition which even the wheel could -not resist, for it stopt its birr instantly, as if through fear. - -“Mrs Macintosh,” said Mr Bayne, as he took a seat alongside of Peggy, -“do you remember having been present at the birth of Mrs Bruce’s twins?” - -“Indeed, sir, and I was,” answered she, “and a gey birth it was.” - -“And could you tell which was which when the infants were born?” - -“Weel, sir,” answered Peggy, “if you will tell me which is the which -you mean, I’ll try to satisfy ye if I can?” - -“Why, I mean, which was Sarah and which Martha?” continued the writer. - -“How could I tell ye that, sir,” answered Peggy, with a look of true -Scotch complacency, “when the bairns werena christened?” - -The writer, acute as he was, was a little put out, but he rallied. - -“Why, Peggy, you surely understand what I mean; did you not know the -child which was afterwards called Sarah from that which was afterwards -called Martha?” - -“I would have liked to have seen you try that, sir,” was again the -answer. “How the deil--I beg pardon, sir--was I to ken what they were -to be ca’ed when their names werena even fixed by the father and mother -themselves?” - -“I see you don’t understand me, Mrs Macintosh,” continued Mr Bayne, who -had got a Scotch witness on his line. - -“I think it’s you that doesna understand me,” retorted Peggy. - -“Look here,” continued Mr Bayne, smiling, “you know Sarah Bruce and -Martha Bruce?” - -“Ay, when they’re thegither,” replied Peggy, “and they tell me their -names; but just put them an ell or twa asinder, and I’ll defy the -horned Clootie himsel to say which is which.” - -“Worse and worse,” muttered the writer. “Look you, Peggy, was there no -mark on either of the children by which you could know it?” - -“Ay was there,” replied the woman; “but we’re just where we were; for, -whether the strawberry was upon the ane or the ither, or the ither or -the ane, is just what I want you, since you’re a man o’ the law, and -weel skilled in kittle points, to tell me.” - -“Worse even yet,” muttered the discomfited precognoscer. - -“But I can mak the thing as plain as the Shorter Catechism,” continued -she, with a sharp look, which revived the sinking hopes of Mr Bayne. -“Mrs Glennie that night was in a terrible fluster, for she began -to see that there was likely to be mair bairns than she bargained -for--twins, if no may be trins; so Jean Gilchrist was brought up to -help in addition to mysel. Then the first are cam’ in a hurry, the -mair by token it kenned naething o’ the warld it was coming into, and -Mrs Glennie pushed it into my hands. ‘There will be anither, Peggy,’ -said she, ‘and look gleg;’ but there was only flannel for ane; and I -gave the wean to Jean to wash, while I ran to get happins. I was back -in less than five minutes; and, just as I was entering, ‘Here’s the -other ane,’ said Mrs Glennie. I took it frae her, and gave it to Jean, -and took frae her the ane she had washed, in order to wrap it, and so -I did; but before I was dune I saw Jean wasna doing the thing as she -ought; so I gave her the ane I had, and I took hers to wash it better; -but before it was dune Mrs Glennie cried to me to come to help her with -the lady; so I put my bairn into Jean’s arms alang side o’ the ither; -and when I had finished with the lady I took the last ane frae Jean -again; but before I had completed the dressing o’t Jean cried out, -‘This bairn is deein’.’ ‘You’re a fule,’ said I, ‘give it to me;’ and -so she did. Then I ran and got some cordial, and poured it down the -throat o’ the creature. By this time Jean had hers upon the settee, and -I laid mine alang side o’t; but in a little time the mither was crying -to see the weans; and Mrs Glennie took the ane, and I took the ither, -and showed her them. Then Mrs Glennie took mine away to lay it down on -the settee again; and I took hers and laid it down by the side o’ its -sister. That’s how it was, sir, and sure I am naething can be plainer.” - -“But what about the strawberry?” said Mr Bayne. - -“Nane o’ us saw that till the bairns began to be mixed,” was the -answer; “and then they were changed, and changed again sae aften that -my head ran round, and I lost a’ count.” - -“But haven’t you said to Lady Gorthley that the mark was on the -first-born?” asked Mr Bayne. - -“Indeed, and I did that same,” was the ready answer. “My lady gave me -five gowden guineas to tell her; and, as I couldna be sure, I thought I -couldna do better than to make safe and sure wark o’t; so I took five -shillings out o’ the five guineas and gave it to the Carlin o’ the -Cowgate, a wise woman, frae the very native place o’ thae far-seeing -creatures, Auldearn, Auld Eppie, as they ca’ her, (they were all -Eppies,) and she settled the thing in the trice o’ a cantrup; so you -see the fact is sure that the strawberry belanged to the first-born.” - -“And did you tell Lady Gorthley you went to Eppie?” inquired the -discomfited writer. - -“Gude faith na, she might hae asked back the five guineas,” answered -Peggy; “and besides, if she got the truth, it was a’ ane to her, ye -ken, where it cam’ frae; and you’ll be discreet and say naething.” - -“Did you ask from the old woman the name of her who bore the mark?” -rejoined Mr Bayne. - -“Ay, but she said she didna like to spier that at the auld ane--Nick, -ye ken--because he might have got angry and told her a lee, and that -might hae brought me into a scrape wi’ her ladyship, who knew hersel -which o’ her daughters bore the mark.” - -“Very prudent,” muttered again the writer, as he rose, “this is a most -satisfactory witness.” - -And carrying this satisfaction along with him, he proceeded to the -small garret occupied by Jean Gilchrist, the direction to which he had -got from Mrs Macintosh. Believing as he did the statement made to him -by the latter, he had very little hope of getting anything satisfactory -out of his present witness, and wishing to keep her more to the point -than he had been able to effect in the prior case, he assumed her -presence at the birth, and came straight out with the question, -whether she knew if there had been noticed on one of the children the -mark of the strawberry. - -“The strawberry?” said she, “ay, wi’ a’ wondered at that, but then it’s -no uncommon things in weans to be marked in that way, so we sune got -ower’t.” - -“And was this mark on the child which was first born?” inquired he. - -“I’ll tell you that, sir,” replied she, “if ye’ll tell me first which -o’ the twa cam’ first into the world.” - -Whereby Mr Bayne found himself where he was, in the hands of a Scotch -metaphysician, for, was there not here an example of the _à priori_ -argument, to use the old jargon, wherein the cause is assumed to -prove the effect, and the effect is then brought forward to prove the -cause--a trick of wisdom we are yet in the nineteenth century playing -every day? - -“That is just what I want to know, Jean,” said he. - -“And it’s just what I want to ken, too,” rejoined Jean, “for to tell -you God’s truth, sir,” she continued in a lower tone, “I hae something -on my conscience, and yet it’s no muckle either.” - -“And what is that?” said he, expecting to get at something on which he -could rely, whatever it might be. - -“Just this,” answered Jean. “Years agane, Gorthley came to me, and -said, ‘Jean Gilchrist, here is something for you,’ and I took it--it -was a purse o’ gowd,--and then he said, ‘I would die happy, Jean, if I -could think that Martha Bruce, who bears the mark, was the second born -of my daughters;’ and, looking at the purse, said I, ‘Weel, sir, if -that will mak ye happy, ye may be happy, for it was even so.’ Then said -he, ‘Will you stand to that, Jean?’ And I said, ‘Ay, will I, through -thick and thin;’ and when he went away, I began to consider if I had -dune wrang, but I couldna see it, for doesna the Bible say, that man -and wife are ane flesh? and if that be true, how could their children -be separate flesh? Weel then, whichever o’ the twa, the first or the -second born, carried the mark, they baith being ane flesh, behoved to -bear it, and so, if the ane bore it the other bore it, and if the other -bore it the ane bore it. Besides, wha doesna ken that twins are just ae -bairn cut in twa? They’re aye less than the single bairns, and isna a -double-yokit egg just twa eggs joined thegither into ane.” - -A kind of logic common at the time, and which, indeed, touched upon -the most obscure question of metaphysics, and not very satisfactory to -Mr Bayne, who, however, knew the subtle character of the Scotch mind -too well to try a fall with so acute a dialectician. So, altogether -disappointed with his precognition he left and came away, meeting in -the passage Mr Pollock, who had been with Mrs Macintosh, and was now -on his way to Jean Gilchrist. They were very intimate, and did not -hesitate to compare notes, the result of which was that the case was to -realise once more the truth of the toast generally drunk by Edinburgh -practitioners at the end of the session, “The glorious uncertainty;” -and if Mr Pollock thought so before he examined Jean Gilchrist, his -opinion must have been pretty well confirmed by what she said. The -case, in short, was not one in which there is conflicting evidence, -and where the judges can make out the weight by a hair of prejudice; -it was a case in which there was no evidence at all as to which of the -girls was the heir; but, then, it was just on account of this equipoise -that the two claimants, Martha, helped by her mother on the one side, -and Sarah, supported by her lover, Walkinshaw, on the other, waxed the -more bitter; and the contention which had so long raged in Gorthley -House became hotter and hotter. Nor need we fancy that the writers -would try to get the right compromised in some way, where they had so -good a chance of making a money certainty out of a moral uncertainty; -and so the case went into court under two competing briefs, that is -just two claims by the daughters, each insisting to be served heir. -The witnesses, whose precognitions we have given, were examined; and -a great number of servants who had been in the family, who swore that -Gorthley himself always called Sarah Miss Bruce, and Mrs Bruce always -called Martha by that dignified title, so that the servants tried to -please both master and mistress by calling the one daughter or the -other miss, just according to the chance of being overheard by the -heads of the house. When before the sheriff, and when the claims were -equally suspended, a strange plea was set up by Sarah’s counsel, Mr -Fotheringham, to the effect that, taking the question of priority of -birth to be doubtful, the doubt could be resolved by a kind of _nobile -officium_ on the part of the father as the head of the house, and that -as Gorthley had declared for Sarah this should be held as sufficient; -but Mr Maitland answered this by saying that the question being one of -fact, and that fact coming more within the presumed knowledge of the -mother, ought to be settled by the voice of the mother, who declared -for Martha; and here again the argument being nearly equal, the judge -on the inquest was nonplussed. And thus it came to pass that the old -irony of the ancients, directed against a sow coming in place of -Minerva as a judge of some very fine matter of truth, turned out to be -in this case no irony at all, for the sow was here as good a judge -as Minerva. The scales were so nearly balanced that the mere breath -which conveyed the doubt might disperse the doubt by moving one of -the scales--a very fine irony in itself, in so much as all truth may -be resolved, in the far end, into the mere breath of man’s opinion. -At length the sheriff gave the cast of the scale to the side of the -mother, as the “_domestic witness_.” - -But Sarah was, of course, dissatisfied; or, rather, Fotheringham, who -advised her to take the case before the Fifteen, by what is called an -Advocation, and so to be sure these lords got a burden thrown upon -them which cost them no little trouble. They got the case argued and -argued, and were in the end so mystified, that if they could have -decided that the question was undecidable, they would have been very -glad to have hung it up among the eternal dubieties as an everlasting -proof of “the glorious uncertainty;” but they could not agree even to -do that, for the entail could not be compromised or set aside, and so -they behoved to decide one way or another. Meanwhile, the case having -made a noise, a great number of people were collected in court on the -day when the judgment was to be finally given. And given it was so far, -for seven judges were for Sarah, and seven for Martha, so it came to -the president, who said, “I have read of a case somewhere in which -the judges drew cuts, and decided by the Goddess Chance in place of -justice; and, indeed, if the latter is blind, as they say she is, we -may take the one as well as the other as the umpire of the right or -the wrong. But there is one consideration which moves me in this case, -and that is, that as it is the wife’s duty to bear the children of the -family, so it is her privilege to know more about that interesting -affair than the husband, who is, as I understand, never present at the -mysteries of Lucina, and, therefore, I would be inclined to declare -that Martha was the first-born.” - -“It’s a lee, my lord,” cried a shrill screaming voice from the court. -Whereat the judges directed their eyes with much amazement to the place -whence the scream came. - -“And who are you,” said the president, “who dare to speak in a court of -justice?” - -“I deny it’s a court o’ justice,” cried the voice again. “My name is -Janet Glennie, and it was me that had the first handlin’ o’ the bairns, -and I tell your lordship to your face, that you’re clean wrang, and ken -nae mair about the case than Jenkins did about the colour o’ the great -grandmother o’ his hen. I tell ye it was Sarah wha came first, and -Martha wi’ her strawberry came second, for I saw the mark wi’ my ain -een.” - -A speech followed by the inevitable laugh of a curious audience, and -the better received that the people had always a satirical feeling -against the fifteen wise wigs. Nor was this late testimony too late: -Mrs Glennie was subsequently sworn, and the judgment went for Sarah. It -turned out that Mrs Glennie had been absent for a time from Scotland, -and, having, upon visiting Edinburgh, heard of the famous trial, made -it a point to be present. Nay, there was a little retribution in the -affair, for Lady Gorthley knew she was alive, and had reported her -death to serve her own ends. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Story of the Chalk Line. - - -For the truth of the story I am now to relate I have the word of a -godly minister of the Church of Scotland, whose father had been in the -house in Burnet’s Close, and had seen the two females and examined “the -chalk line” in the middle of the floor. I do not say this to conciliate -your belief; for perhaps if this were my object, I should be nearer -the attainment of it by asserting, as Mr Thackeray used to do when he -wanted his readers to believe him, that there is not a word of truth -in the whole affair. There is a certain species of fish in the Ganges -which is never happy but when it is pushing up against the stream; and -people, as civilisation goes on, find themselves so often cheated, that -they go by contraries, just as the old sorcerers divined by reading -backwards. But surely in this age of subtleties it is a pleasant thing -to think that you are so much the object of an author’s care as that -he would not only save you from thinking, but think for you; and so I -proceed to tell you of the personages in Burnet’s Close, leading from -the High Street to the Cowgate. - -In a room of the second flat of the third tall tenement on your left -hand as you descend lived Martha and Mary Jopp. They were, so far as I -have been able to discover, the daughters of a writer of the name of -Peter Jopp. You cannot be wrong in supposing that they had been once -young, though, in regard to the aged, this is not always conceded by -those who are buoyant with the spirit of youth. Yes, these aged maidens -had not only been once young, they had been very fair and very comely. -They had passed through the spring and summer flowers without treading -upon the speckled serpent of the same colour. They had heard the song -of love where there was no risk of the deceptions of the siren. They -had been tempted; but they had resisted the temptation of some who -could well have returned their affection. Nor was this the result of -any want of natural sensibility; if it was not that they had too much -of that quality, which, if it is the source of pleasure, is also that -of pain--perhaps more of the latter than the former, though we dare not -say so in this our time of angelic perfection. - -To be a little more particular upon a peculiarity of our two ladies, -which enters as rather a “loud colour” in the web of our story, there -was a sufficient reason for their celibacy. They had a mother who, as -the saying goes, was “a woman of price”--such a one as Solomon excepts -from so many, that I am afraid to mention the number. She was a good -Calvinist, without insisting too much for election and predestination. -She was affectionate, without the weakness which so often belongs to -doating mothers; and she possessed, along with the charm of universal -kindness, a strength of mind which demanded respect without diminishing -love. No wonder that her daughters loved her even to that extent that -neither of the two could think of leaving her so long as she lived. -An inclination this, or rather a resolution, which had been confirmed -in them by certain experiences they had had of what their mother had -suffered from having been deprived by death of an elder daughter, and -by marriage of a younger; the latter of whom had gone with her husband, -a Mr Darling, to Calcutta, under the patronage of Major Scott, the -friend of Warren Hastings. - -But there was another reason which kept the sisters from marrying--one -which will, I suspect, be very slow to be believed; and that was, -their love for each other. But I am resolute in urging it, because, -in the first place, it is not absolutely against the experience of -mankind; and, secondly, because, while it forms a part of the story as -narrated to me, it is necessary as one of the two sides of a contrast, -without which I could not answer for a certain effect in my picture. -Certain, at least, it was that more than one external revolving body -in the shape of lovers came within the sphere of their attraction for -each other, and could produce no deflection in the lines of their -mutual attachment. It was said that one of them had been jilted. I do -not know; but the circumstance would explain a fact more certain that -the sisters, in their then lively humour of young blood, used to sing -a love-defiance song, which might have been both sport and earnest. -My informant gave me the words. It is a kind of rough mosaic, with -borrowed verses, yet worth recording:-- - - A farmer’s daughter fair am I, - As blithe as May-day morning, - And when my lover passes by, - I laugh at him wi’ scorning. - Ha! ha! ha! fal lal la! - Ha! ha! fal lal laldy! - - There came a cock to our father’s flock, - And he wore a double kaim, O; - He flapt his wings, and fain would craw, - But craw he could craw nane, O. - - A braw young man came courting me, - And swore his wife he’d make me; - But when he knew my pounds were few, - The rogue he did forsake me. - - Gae whistle on your thumb, young man, - You left me wae and weary; - But, now I’ve got my heart again, - Gude faith, I’ll keep it cheery. - - There’s world’s room for you to pass, - And room enough for Nan, O; - The deil may tak her on his back - Who dies for faithless man, O. - - There’s still as good fish in the sea - As ever yet were taken; - I’ll spread my net and catch again, - Though I have been forsaken. - Ha! ha! ha! &c. - -A better medicine, I suspect, than an action of damages. But to -continue. The sisters read the same books, took the same walks, wrought -at the same work as steadfastly and lovingly as they worshipped the -same mother, and revered the memory of the same father--a remark this -last which helps us on to a point of our story; for the father had been -dead for some years, leaving the mother a competent annuity, besides a -residue, which would afford at least so much to the daughters as would -tocher them to a kind of independence, though not to a husband with -much hope of being benefited in a money point of view by marriage. But -the time came--as what time does not come, even to those who think in -the heyday of their happiness it will never come--when there would be -a change, when the charm of this threefold relation should cease. -The mother died, and with her the annuity; and the attraction she had -exercised over the daughters had just drawn them so far past the point -of the shaking of the blossoms of youth and beauty and hope, that their -affection for each other stood now no chance of being broken by even -one of those moral comets that burn up more incombustible bodies than -old spinsters with very small competences. - -And so, with bleared eyes of uncontrollable grief, and no hope, and -a trifle of twenty pounds a-year each to be paid them by Mr David -Ross, writer, their father’s agent, our two spinsters took up their -solitary residence in the foresaid room in the second flat of the big -tenement in Burnet’s Close to which I have alluded. Even at the first -moment of their retreat they seem to have shaken off with the blossoms, -which, in the human plant no less than in the vegetable one, alone -contain the beauties and sweets of life--the stem being, alas, only -at best the custodier of an acid--much of their interest in the busy, -gossipping, scandalising, hating, and loving Edinburgh; but so far this -resistance to the charms of the outer world only served to make them -live even more and more to each other. And then, had they not the sweet -though melancholy solace of that Calvinistic tenet which imparted such -mildness and equanimity to the face of their beloved mother--even that -mysterious scroll which contains the ordination and predestination of -all things which shall ever come to pass? Yes; but even this solace was -modified by the regret that the portrait of that mother, painted by -no unskilful hand--a pupil of George Jameson’s--was not, as it ought -to have been, in that room hanging over the mantelpiece; the more by -reason that that picture had been surreptitiously taken away by their -sister Margaret when she sailed with her husband, Mr Darling, to India. -And would they not have it back? Mr Ross might tell them when he was -there on a certain evening. - -“You have as good a right to it,” said the man of the law, “as your -sister; for I believe it was never given to her by your mother.” - -“No more it ever was,” said Martha; “for did not our mother write -herself for it, but it never came; and she was to have got herself -painted again, but death came at the predestinated hour, and took away -her life, and with it all our happiness in this world.” - -“Not all your happiness, Miss Martha,” rejoined the agent; “for have -you not your mutual affection left?--ay, and even your love for her who -is only removed to a distance--even among blessed spirits?--from whence -she is at this moment looking down upon you to bless that love which -you bear to each other, and which, I trust, will never decay.” - -“I hope not,” said Mary, calmly; “but I remember how, when the evil -spirit took hold of us, and made us fretful and discontented with each -other, she calmed our rebellious spirits by a look so justly reproving, -and yet so mild and heavenly-like, that for very love of her we would -dote on each other the more. And now I think if we had that picture, -with the same eye as if still fixed on us, we would be secured against -all fretfulness; for O sir, we are all weak and wilful. Will you write -for it, Mr Ross? It would hang so well up there over the fire, where, -you see, there is an old nail, which seems to have been left by the -former tenant for the very purpose.” - -“I will,” replied Mr Ross; “but I may as well tell you I have little -chance of success, for Margaret, I suspect, would nearly as soon -part with her life. Nor do I wonder at it; for the countenance of -your mother as there represented seems so far above that of ordinary -mortals, both in beauty and benignity, that methinks,”--and here Mr -Ross smiled in his own grave way,--“if I ever felt inclined to put down -six-and-eightpence against a client in place of three-and-fourpence, -that look of hers would bring back my sense of honesty. You know I have -Mrs Ross over the mantelpiece of my business room; and though she -never approached your mother in that peculiar expression, which your -father used to say to me, in a half-jocular way, humanised him into -that wonderful being, a conscientious writer, yet I have been benefited -in the same way by the mild light of my Agnes’s eyes.” - -And Mr Ross stopped, in consequence of feeling a small tendency to a -thickening in the throat, which he seldom felt except when he had a -cold. - -“And you will write Margaret, then?” resumed Martha. - -“That I will,” said he; “but I do not say may Heaven bless my effort, -because you know Heaven has made up its mind on that and all other -subjects long ago.” - -“Even from the foundations of the earth,” sighed Mary. - -“Even so,” rejoined Mr Ross as he departed, leaving the sisters to -their small supper of a Newhaven haddock, each half of which was -sweetened to the receiver by the consciousness that the other was being -partaken of by her sister. And thereafter, having said their prayers, -they retired to the same bed, to fall asleep in each other’s arms, -without a regret that said arms were not a little more sinewy, or that -their faces did not wear beards, and to dream of their mother. - -And it would have been well if affairs in Burnet’s Close had continued -to go on as smoothly as we have here indicated. Nor did there seem any -reason why they should not. The sisters had a sufficiency to live on; -they had no evil passions to disturb the equanimity of their thoughts; -they were religious, and resigned to the predestinated; they were among -“the elect,” that is, orthodoxically, they elected to think so, which -is the same thing. They had their house in order, and could afford to -have Peggy Fergusson to clean out the room occasionally, and to go the -few messages that their few wants required. But Time is a sower as well -as a reaper; and he casts about with an equally ready hand the seeds -of opinions and imaginations, the germs of feelings and the spores of -mildewed hopes: some for the young, some for the old, but all inferring -change from what was yesterday to what is to-day; from what is to-day -to what will be to-morrow. As the days passed into years, they appeared -to get shorter and shorter--a process with all of us, which no theory -can explain, if it is not against all theory; for if time is generated -by ideas, it should appear to go more slowly the more slowly those -ideas arise and pass, and yet the practical effect of the working is -the very reverse. But whatever were the changes that were taking place -in the habits and feelings of the two sisters, they were altogether -unconscious of them. The indisposition to go out and mix with their -friends was gradually increasing, as they felt, without being aware of -the feeling, that they had less and less in common with the ways of the -world; and the seldomer they went out, the seldomer their friends came -to see them, nor when they did come, did they receive any encouragement -to repeat the visit. - -In all this I do not consider that I am describing human nature in the -aspect in which we generally see it; for we more often find in those -who are advancing into age a felt necessity for enlivenment, were it -for nothing else than to relieve them from solitary musings and the -perilous stuff of old memories; but here, as it will by and by be seen, -I have not to do with ordinary human nature. These sisters were fated -to be strange, and to do strange things. The indisposition to go out -degenerated in the course of some years into a love of total seclusion. -They never passed the threshold of their room; and as time went on, -their friends gradually renounced their efforts to get either of them -to change a purpose to which they seemed to have attained by the -sympathy of two natures exactly similar. They probably knew nothing of -the words of the poet, nor would they have cared for them:-- - - “The world careth not a whit - For him who careth not for it: - One only duty and one right, - That he be buried out of sight.” - -But amidst this strange asceticism the one still remained to the other -as a dear, loving, and beloved sister; and if all the world should be -nothing to them, they would still be all the world to each other. The -seclusion had lasted five years since the death of the mother, and -still no decay of their mutual attachment could be observed. - -It is here that commences the wonderful part of my story,--so -wonderful, indeed, that if I had not had at second-hand the testimony -of an eye-witness, confirmed by the traditions of the Close, I could -scarcely have ventured the recital I here offer; not that I consider -the facts as unnatural, but that the causes which change love into -hatred, and superinduce the latter often in a direct ratio to the -former, lie so deep, and are altogether so mysterious, that we cannot -understand the meaning of their being there, and far less how they -came to be there. Some strange and unaccountable change came over -these hitherto loving sisters, not only at the same time, but without -its having ever been ascertained that there was any physical or moral -reason for it. It began to show itself in small catches and sharper -rejoinders; minim points not discernible by their former love became -subjects of difference. Then the number of these increased where -the points of contact were, as one might say, infinite. They assert -that nature resents too close an affinity of affection; nor is this -altogether theory, for we see every day friendships which are so close -as to merge identities flare up into terrible hatreds; and we have -scriptural authority for the wrath of brothers. A plain man would -get out of the difficulty in a plain way. Those sisters had become -discontented because they had rejected that natural food of the mind -which is derived from an intercourse with the world; and who does not -know that discontent always finds a peg somewhere whereon to hang a -grievance. Where you have many people about you, you have a greater -choice of these pegs; if you are cooped up in a room with only one -human being within your vision, you are limited; but the pegs must -be got, and _are_ got, till the whole of the one object, a miserable -scapegoat, is covered with them. - -Probably the plain man is right. I leave him to the philosopher, and -keep to my safe duty as a narrator. - -The spirit of fault-finding once begun, waxed stronger and stronger -upon the food it generated by its own powers of production. Almost -everything either of them did appeared to be wrong in the eyes of -the other; and though for a time they tried to repress the sharp -feelings, which were wonders even to themselves, yet the check would -come, the taunt would follow, and the flash of the eye--an organ once -so expressive of love--succeeded within the passing minute. People who -merely meet may be supposed to seek for objects of disagreement. In the -room in Burnet’s Close the occasions were the very actions of natural -life; the movements of the body, the words of the mouth, the glances -of the eye, the thoughts of the mind, the misconstrued feelings of the -heart. Nor could they, as in most cases people who disagree may, get -away from each other. The repulsion which they felt towards a world -which offered them only reminiscences of past joys, was as a wall -enclosing the arena where these gladiatorial displays of feeling went -on from day to day, scarcely even interrupted by the holy Sabbath any -more than if they had come within the excepted category of necessity -and mercy. - -According to my information, which descended to the minutest -particulars, this domestic disease went on for years, without any other -alteration than changes consistent with the laws of bodily ailment. -There were exasperations which, expending themselves in gratuitous -vituperations, receded into silent sullennesses, which lasted for -days. If it happened that no grievance could be discovered by the -microscopic vision, there was recourse to the grievance of yesterday, -which was called up to occupy the greedy vacuum; and then the changes -of aspect, of which, to the jaundiced eye, it was capable, were rung -upon it till they were physically wearied of the strife: while the -weariness only lasted till a renewed energy became ripe for another -onset. But however high the exasperation ever reached, they never came -to any violence. All the energy expended lay in the tongue, and the -eye, and the contorted muscles of irascible expression. It might have -been doubted whether, if any third party interfered, the one would not -have defended the other; but only to retain her as valuable property -for the onset of her peculiar privilege. And what is not less strange, -their religion, which was still maintained with the old Calvinistic -dogmatism, in place of overcoming the domestic demon, became subjected -to it, and changed its aspect according to the wish. Though incapable -of inflicting any bodily pain upon each other, they felt no compunction -in fostering the opinion that, while each was among the elect and -predestinated to everlasting glory, the other was in the scroll of the -reprobate, and ordained to eternal punishment in the brimstone fires, -and the howling horrors of the pit which is so peculiarly constituted -as to have no bottom. Each would read her Bible in her own chair, and -shoot against the other glances of triumph as she figured herself in -heaven looking down upon the torments of her sister in hell. And all -this while neither could have with her own hands inflicted the scratch -of a pin upon the body of the other. It was enough that each could -lacerate the feelings of the other as a vent to the exasperation which -embittered her own heart. - -Still more remarkable, there were none of these reconciliations -that among relations often make amends for strife, and maintain -the equipoise so insisted upon by nature. We all know how these -ameliorations work in the married life and among lovers. In these cases -the anger seems to become the fuel of love. Not so with our sisters. -The worm was a never-dying one. But even in this desperate case there -was not wanting evidence of nature’s efforts towards an amelioration. -It was true they could not separate; they were objects necessary -to each other; nay, even if Mr Ross, who witnessed the working of -the domestic evil, had contrived to get them into separate rooms--a -proposal which was indeed made, and morbidly resisted--they would have -pursued each other in imagination with perhaps even more misery than -that which they inflicted on each other. - -At length they came to a scheme of their own, so peculiar that it has -formed the incident of that story which has made it live in Edinburgh -through many years, and even to this day. The plan was, that they -should draw in the middle of the floor a distinct line of chalk, which -should be a boundary between them, over which neither the one nor the -other would ever set her foot. To make this plan workable, it was -necessary that the two ends of the room should be each self-contained -as regarded the necessary articles of household plenishing; and this, -by the aid of Mr Ross and Peggy Fergusson, was duly accomplished. One -of these articles was a big ha’ Bible for Martha, to stand against that -retained by Mary--in explanation of which I may inform the English -reader that the old Calvinists had nearly as much faith in the size -of their Bibles as in their contents. Nor was the strength of their -faith altogether irrespective of the kind of cover, and the manner -in which it was clasped. There was a great virtue in good strong -calfskin--sometimes with the rough hair upon it; and if the clasps were -of silver or gold, the volume had a peculiar merit. It was necessary, -therefore, that Martha’s Bible should be as big as Mary’s; and the -latter having been adorned by old Peter Jopp with silver clasps, so the -former was equally orthodox in this respect. - -And so the chalk line was drawn. The only difficulty regarded the -fire; but this was got over by some ingenuity on the part of Peggy and -a workman, whereby the grate was altered so as to hold two cranes; -and so minute were the engineers, that the end of the chalk line came -up to the hearth, dividing it exactly into two halves; so that each -crane could be got at without overstepping the mark. This arrangement -lasted through eleven years; and if to that period we add the five -years of prior strife, this domestic war endured for sixteen years; -nor, according to the report of Mr Ross and Peggy, with that of the -good many curious visitors who contrived through various excuses to -get a view of the domestic arrangement, was that magic line which thus -separated two hearts once so loving ever transgressed; nay, it seemed -to become a point of honour in the two maidens. They might read their -Bibles on either side of it, and send their mute anathemas across it, -so as to reach the unhappy non-elect; but not a foot of either ever -trod upon the mark. The foot of time might dull it, but the ready -hand of either revived the line of demarcation, even as the feelings -were kept alive in undying vividness; all which may easily enough be -conceived; it contravenes no law of nature; but I fairly admit that I -must draw a strong bill on the credulity of poor modern haters of the -Armenian kind, when I state what was on all hands acknowledged, that -after the chalk truce--that is, for eleven years--the residents of -this room, divided so against itself, never interchanged a word with -each other. I freely admit that all traditions become incrusted by -the marvellous. We do not reject port wine because it has undergone a -certain process. Yes; but we do not swallow the crust, which is only -deposited sugar. So be it; and you are welcome to your advantage, -provided you admit that the raciness you admire is the consequence -of the deposit; and so, in my case, you may reject the eleven years’ -silence of Martha and Mary Jopp, yet you cannot get quit of the tang of -the reported marvel. For my own part, I am a little sceptical myself; -but then I cannot prove the negative of a popular statement; and I -rather doubt if there are many religions in the world which are founded -on anything better than this defiance. - -Towards the end of the eleventh year a new incident arose to change -perhaps the tenor of this strange drama. Martha Darling, a daughter -of the sister Margaret who went to India, was sent home to Mr Ross to -be educated in Scotland, where she was to remain till the homecoming -of her parents, who had become rich on the spoils of Cheyte Sing, or -the Begums of Oude, or some other unfortunate Indian victim. The -girl was generous, and full of young life; and Mr Ross became hopeful -that by introducing her to her aunts some instinctive feelings might -be called up in the breasts of the sisters which would break up the -old congelation. He told her the story of the chalk line, and got a -scream of a laugh for an answer, with the threat that she would force -her aunts to embrace, and weep, and be friends. Next day the visit -was made, and, designedly, without any intimation that the niece had -arrived in Scotland. On opening the door, Mr Ross found the two ladies -in that position in which he had so often before found them, each -sitting stiffly on her own side of the chalk line, and looking out of -her window into the close--for, as I should have stated before, the -room was supplied by two windows. - -“Your niece from India--only arrived yesterday.” - -No more time for prologue, for the girl flew forward, and taking -her elder aunt round the neck, hugged her very lovingly after the -Anglo-Indian fashion, and thereafter, making a spring over the line of -chalk, she ran to Aunt Mary, and performed the same operation upon her, -but with no emolliating result; the old petrefactions, which had become -harder by the passage of every wave of time, were not to be dissolved -or softened by the sparkling rill from the green sunny mountains. They -looked strangely only because they looked unnaturally; but that was -no reason why Martha the younger should change her nature, and so she -rattled away, every now and then casting her eye, with a laugh, at the -line of chalk. - -“If I had you only in India,” she went on, “where the natives, when -they drink bang, dance such strange dances, you would laugh so. Shall I -show you?” - -And without waiting for an answer, she began to make very pretty but -somewhat irregular revolving movements on the floor, whereby in a short -time, by the rapid motion of her small feet, she contrived to efface -the line of chalk. - -“Now you can hardly see it,” she proceeded with shortened breath; “and -now, the nasty thing being gone, you are to cross and shake hands, and -kiss each other.” - -But the good-natured girl’s efforts were useless. The sisters sat as -stiff in their chairs as if they had been the figures in a pagoda -irresponsive to the dance of the worshippers. Even the confident -will-power of youth, which under-estimates all difficulties, was -staggered by the resistance offered to its efforts, and the young -Martha was obliged to leave without attaining an object over which she -had been dreaming the preceding night. Next morning the chalk line was -renewed, the still air of the room in Burnet’s Close had recovered -its quietude from the oscillation produced by the young girl’s laugh, -and the demon of obstinacy sat enshrined in its niche which it had -occupied for so many years; nor had the after visits of the younger -Martha had any better effect towards the object that lay nearest to -her generous heart. And now a month had passed; a particular morning -rose--not marked by an asterisk in the calendar, and yet remarkable for -opening with the thickest gray dawn that had been observed for a time. -And here you may already see I am getting among the mists, where old -Dame Mystery, with her undefined lines, is ready to assume the forms -forecast by brooding fancy. The gloom in the old room still hung thick, -as the two maiden ladies moved slowly about, so like automatons, each -preparing her cup of tea. So sternly had custom occupied the place of -primary nature, that it would now have appeared more strange and out -of joint for them to speak than to be silent. And so, as the minutes -passed, the gray mist of the morning gave way to the struggling rays of -the sun, and now there was something to be seen--nay, something that -could not be unseen. Nor this the less by token that the eyes of both -our Martha and Mary were fixed as if by a spell upon that part of the -wall over the mantelpiece. There was hanging bodily, in the old frame, -and radiant with the old light, the real picture of their mother, for -the possession of which they had sighed for sixteen years. We may -easily conceive that it could not fail of an effect, even as free from -the connexion of any mystery as to how it came to be there. But the -question, if put by either to herself or her neighbour, could not be -answered in any way consistently with natural causes, for neither of -them had been out of the room--nay, neither had been in a condition -which could have been taken advantage of by any one who wished by a -trick to take them by surprise. Then how catching the superstitious -when it plays into the hand of our fears! As they looked with -spell-bound eyes on that apparition, and read once more the expression -in that blessed countenance that spoke peace and love,--reproof enough -to those who for so many long years had disobeyed her injunctions to -treat each other as sisters, and love each other even as she loved them -and they her,--they never doubted but that some unseen hand placed that -picture there for the end of chastening their rebellious hearts, and -bringing them back to that love which was enjoined even by Him whom -they worshipped as the very God of Love. It seemed as if they shook as -they gazed, and each one at intervals sought with a furtive glance the -face of the other. A charm was working among the old half-dead nerves -that for years had quivered with the passions of the devil. The revived -feelings of that olden time, when that mild loving mother was the -centre of their affections and bond of love between themselves, were in -a tumult below the hard crust of mutual hatred, that was breaking under -the touch of the finger of God; they were both of the elect, since God -took the trouble to chide them and recall them to their duty and their -obedience. The relentings in the hard faces, the rising tears in the -eyes of both, the tremors in the hands, all spoke eloquently to each -other; nor did they speak in vain; they rose as if by sympathy. “O -Martha!” “O Mary!” No more; the words were enough, and the two sisters -were locked in the arms of each other, drawing long sighs, and sobbing -convulsively. - -A scene all this which, being apt to precipitate one of my disposition -into the gushing vein, I must leave. I shall be on somewhat safer -ground as I proceed to say what truth and probability equally require, -that the paroxysm being over, and the two having begun, even as they -had done of old, to make and sugar each other’s tea, to butter each -other’s bread, and even to break each other’s egg, or bone each other’s -small haddock--most delightful tricks of love, which selfishness knows -nothing of, and cannot compensate by any means within its power,--they -gradually began to doubt whether some kindly hand of flesh was not -concerned in producing the phenomenon of the picture. They had both -been sound asleep till nine o’clock, and Peggy Fergusson had in the -gray dawn been in the room doing her duty to the fire. But what -although the Indian elf, who had likely brought the picture home with -her from India, had been put up by Mr Ross to a little deception, and -had slipt in in the wake of Peggy, and hung it on the nail which had -been so generously left by the old tenant? nay, these spinsters, apart -from the delusion produced by the demon of obstinacy, were sensible -women; and in the pleasant talk that now flowed like limpid water down -a very pretty valley with flowers on either side they came to the -conclusion, with--Oh, wonder!--a laugh fighting for utterance among the -dry muscles, that the fact was just so as we have stated it. What then. -Was not the effect admirable--yea, delectable? - -A conclusion this which derived no little confirmation from the fact -that the young Anglo-Indian came bouncing into the room about eleven -o’clock, crying, in her spirited way, “Ah, I see it is all right,” and -yet never saying a word of the said picture; but, indeed, the fairy had -some work to do other than of revealing the secrets of Titania to her -victims, for she straightway set to work with a wet cloth to eradicate -every trace of that devil-invented line of chalk which had so long kept -asunder good amiable spirits. Nor was she contented with even this, for -to satisfy her impish whims, she got her now changed aunts, nothing -loth, to cross and recross the place of the now defaced line, till all -notion of the division was taken out of their minds. - -It is a pleasant thing for me to have authority to say that this -miraculous change was not destined to be merely temporary. The flow -from the once secluded fountains of feeling continued its stream--nay, -it seemed as if the two old maidens could not love each other enough, -and they had been often heard to confess that one hour of pure nature -was worth all the sixteen years of factitious opposition to her -dictates. So true it is that, let us deplore as we may the many ills -of life, we shall never diminish them by damming up the fountains of -feeling and driving the emotions back upon the heart. Then fortune -favours those who are true to nature, who is the mother of fortune, and -all other occult agencies. The nabob and his wife came home the next -year, and set up a great establishment in our old city. The spinsters -were gradually drawn out again into that world which they had so -foolishly left--we use the word deliberately, for hermits carry with -them into their cells a worse world than they leave behind, however -unsteady, however cruel, and however vain, that may at times seem to -be;--nay, we can say with a good conscience that our two sisters became -the very darlings of a flock of young nephews and nieces; sometimes -danced in a reel of ancient maidens; gadded gaily about; sipt their -scandal, and helped like good citizens to spread the sweet poison; and -passed many years as happily as can be the fortune of those who are -contented to live according to the laws of nature. - -[Illustration] - - -_Ballantyne & Company, Printers, Edinburgh._ - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - - The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is - entered into the public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANCES OF THE OLD TOWN OF -EDINBURGH *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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