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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Romances of the old town of Edinburgh</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Alexander Leighton</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 26, 2022 [eBook #69051]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANCES OF THE OLD TOWN OF EDINBURGH ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="" /></div> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>ROMANCES <span class="allsmcap">OF THE</span> OLD TOWN<br /> - -<span class="tiny">OF</span><br /> - -EDINBURGH.</h1> - -<p>BY<br /> - -<span class="xlarge">ALEXANDER LEIGHTON,</span><br /> - -AUTHOR OF “MYSTERIOUS LEGENDS OF EDINBURGH,” “CURIOUS STORIED<br /> -TRADITIONS OF SCOTTISH LIFE,” ETC.</p> - -<p><span class="large">EDINBURGH:<br /> -WILLIAM P. NIMMO.<br /> -1867.</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_preface.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">PREFACE.</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_t.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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 <i>marasmus</i>. I may be saved the -necessity of such an apology by reminding the -reader that, although I plead guilty to the charge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[vi]</span> -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—<i>fides semper est inevidens in -re testificata</i>.</p> - -<p class="right">A. L.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">York Lodge, Trinity</span>,<br /> -      <i>January 1867</i>.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_contents.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<table> - -<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><span class="small">PAGE</span></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE TWO RED SLIPPERS,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE DEAD SEAL,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_13"> 13</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF MRS HALLIDAY,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_35"> 35</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF MARY BROWN,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60"> 60</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE MERRILLYGOES,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_88"> 88</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE SIX TOES,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_115"> 115</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF MYSIE CRAIG,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_137"> 137</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF PINCHED TOM,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_160"> 160</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE IRON PRESS,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_177"> 177</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE GIRL FORGER,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_190"> 190</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF MARY MOCHRIE AND THE MIRACLE OF THE COD,      </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_214"> 214</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE PELICAN,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_238"> 238</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF DAVIE DEMPSTER’S GHAIST,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_255"> 255</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE GORTHLEY TWINS,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_277"> 277</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>THE STORY OF THE CHALK LINE,</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_299"> 299</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_001.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="ph2">ROMANCES<br /> - -<span class="tiny">OF THE</span><br /> - -OLD TOWN OF EDINBURGH.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/decoline.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Two Red Slippers.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_t.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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, <i>quod est in arte summa</i>, 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> -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 <i>protégé</i>, 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> -did not need them to be applied anywhere but to -the feet?</p> - -<p>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 <i>ennui</i>—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.</p> - -<p>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?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -the sexton of the Canongate to inter the body as -that of a rebel who had been killed and left where -it was found.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -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. <i>Verbum sapienti.</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_012.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_013.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Dead Seal.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_a.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -the day after his arrival he accordingly sent her -a very loving letter, containing, we presume, as -many of those kisses <i>à la distance</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>could</i> there be any -other mode of accounting for it?—and then he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -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:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">A. Morgan</span>, F.R.C.S.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Nor were his feelings ameliorated by the journey, -to remove the tediousness of which, at that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the moon had risen, and was illuminating -at intervals the north-east side of the hill,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> -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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“There is the letter with the dead seal,” said he, -as he handed it over to her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>Mrs Jean read it, and then began to examine it -as if she was scrutinising the form of the written -words.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I wrote to you last night,” said Jean. “You -had posted your letter too late.”</p> - -<p>“And why was not Peggy in the house last -night at twelve, when I came home?”</p> - -<p>“Peggy must answer that herself,” answered -Mrs Jean, smiling, and looking from her husband<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -to Peggy, and from Peggy to her husband, as she -spoke; “but I think I know what her answer will -be.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>solatium</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_034.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_013.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of Mrs Halliday.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_t.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -been born to help the presumption of that which, -naturally enough, may be taken as granted.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -and even when the ideas began again to resume -their train, their efforts were broken and wild, tending -to nothing but confusion.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>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.</p> - -<p>“Was Mrs Halliday acquainted with Mr Archibald -Blair, advocate, in Writers’ Court?”</p> - -<p>“No,” was the answer of the husband; “and -why do you put the question?”</p> - -<p>“Because Mrs Blair requested me,” replied the -officer. “She is in great distress about her husband, -and I think you had better see her.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span> -the picture of that very misery he had himself endured, -and was at that very moment enduring.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?” she cried, as he approached -her. “Are you come with good news or bad?”</p> - -<p>“My name is Halliday, madam,” replied he. -“I understand you wish to see me.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Too true, madam,” groaned the unhappy man. -“Tuesday was the day on which she was found -amissing.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think,” replied he, “that my wife ever -knew of the existence of your husband. Even <i>I</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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span> -is unnecessary, whether you ever heard that -my wife was in any way acquainted with Mr -Blair?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>All was still in vain; another day passed, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> -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 -<i>could</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Have you the neighbour in the house?” he -inquired.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“It is the same with the slipper,” said he. “It -would seem that both of them had been taken off -the feet of corpses.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And you can suggest nothing to help me to an -explanation of this new mystery?” said he.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>There was not a word spoken by the searchers.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, read,” said Mrs Blair, as she gasped in the -midst of her agony.</p> - -<p>Halliday, holding up the paper so as to receive -the light, read as follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> -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.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Archibald Blair.</span>”</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_060.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of Mary Brown.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_i.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>But, as our story requires, it is the love itself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> -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 <i>more</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.’”</p> - -<p>“And an unsteady one,” rejoined Mary. “And -you may bring something else wi’ you besides the -guineas; may be, a wife.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Stay at hame, Will, and we’ll live and dee thegither.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> -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 <i>mal du pays</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -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—<i>etiam cineres perierunt</i>—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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Who may live here?” said he, in the expectation -of hearing some name unknown to him.</p> - -<p>The answer, in a broken cracked voice, was not -slow—</p> - -<p>“Mary Brown; and what may you want of -her?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“And can ye say nae mair, sir?” rejoined she. -“Is my name a bogle to terrify human beings?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>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 -<i>his</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“There was a Mary Brown,” said he, “who was -once a housemaid in Mr Peter Ramsay’s Inn in St -Mary’s Wynd.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And there was one William Halket there at -that time also,” he continued.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Nor wrote you?” said Halket.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -nor giving in marriage; and my time, too, -will be short.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And what did you do when you found Will -had proved false?” inquired Halket. “Why -should that have been your ruin?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Mary,” said Halket, as he took her emaciated -hand into his, scarcely less emaciated, and divested -of the genial warmth of life.</p> - -<p>The words carried the old sound, and she started -and shook.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“But, O Willie!” she cried, “a life’s love lost; -a lost life on both our sides.”</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Few, few indeed,” answered she. “I can count -only three.”</p> - -<p>“I must know these wonderful exceptions,” said -he, as he made an attempt at a grim smile; “for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -came jumping into the room, and only stopped -when she saw a stranger.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_087.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_contents.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Merrillygoes.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_t.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> -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 <i>may</i> happen in a world -where we do not know why anything <i>does</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -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—</p> - -<p>“What letter was that, Binny, which the letter-carrier -handed in this mornin’?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Did I no see it with my ain een?” was the -very natural ejaculation.</p> - -<p>“No, you didn’t; you only thought ye saw it,” -said the wife; “and thae twa things have a gey -difference between them.”</p> - -<p>“What <i>do</i> ye mean, Robina, woman?”</p> - -<p>“The merrillygoes!”</p> - -<p>“The merrillygoes,” rejoined the wondering -David; “my een niver were in that condition.”</p> - -<p>“<i>You</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Ou, I had been dreaming,” said David.</p> - -<p>“Dreaming with your een open!”</p> - -<p>“That is indeed strange enough,” rejoined -David. “Did ye really see my een open?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Is that really true, Binny? I’m beginnin’ to -get fear’d. But what o’ your father, lass?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Very true,” said David, to whom the affair of -the letter was rather much even for <i>his</i> credulity; -“but still, Binny, lass, I canna just come to it that -I was deceived.”</p> - -<p>“Weel, weel, stick to it, my man, and mak me, -your ain wife, a leear.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I fear no,” replied Binny. “Ye maun just -pray; but I have heard my father say that it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -<i>on</i>, and the merrillygoes <i>off</i>, he set forth on his -journey.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span> -was not calculated to produce the wonderful effects -expected from it.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I am glad John is at hame,” were David’s first -words.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>“Let me in to sit down,” muttered David, with -a kind of choking in his voice.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Mrs Sprunt,” said he, “I could have sworn -that I saw John working in the yard.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“And yet ye seem to be sober, Dauvit.”</p> - -<p>“As a judge,” replied he. But, after a pause, -“Can I be sure even o’ <i>you</i>?” 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.”</p> - -<p>And making a sudden movement, with his arms<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Did you see Mrs Sprunt even now?” said he.</p> - -<p>“No likely,” answered the woman; “when she -tauld me this mornin’ she was going to Petticur. -She has a daughter there, ye ken.”</p> - -<p>Melancholy intelligence which seemed to have a -logical consistency with the other parts of that -day’s remarkable experiences; nor did David<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>“What poor creatures we are!” said he. “I -came here for a perfect cure, and I gae hame with -a heavy care.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -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 <i>to look</i>,—and -they, the visions, would cease <i>to be</i>. 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?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“You say you see the things that be:</div> -<div class="verse">I say you only think you see.</div> -<div class="verse">Not even that. It seems to me</div> -<div class="verse">You only think you think you see.</div> -<div class="verse">Then thinking weaves so many a lie,</div> -<div class="verse">Methinks this world is ‘all my eye.’”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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 <i>will</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>“Did you meet and speak to any one up the -street there?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Half or hale hanged,” replied David, as he -eyed his friend suspiciously, “I canna be the waur -o’ a jug o’ ale.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And when saw ye Robina?” said David.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>“Not for a good round year, my bairn,” said -the big corporal.</p> - -<p>“Gude Lord, did ye no see her and speak to -her even this day?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span> -put his liquor, and for the good reason that he had -no body to hold that stomach.</p> - -<p>“Waur than the case o’ the letter, or Sprunt, -(hiccup,) or Robina dressed in my claes,” said he -lugubriously, “for I only <i>saw</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon David dropt his uncertain body in a -chair, doubting perhaps if even the chair was really -a chair.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>An advice which David took kindly, though he -did not need it; for, educated as he may be said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>dies -non</i>; 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -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 <i>not</i> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> -not return and ask forgiveness. All which David -heard, and to all which he answered—</p> - -<p>“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>I dinna see you, I dinna even feel your body</i>,” -(pushing her out by the cuff of the neck;) “the -merrillygoes, lass! the merrillygoes!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_114.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_115.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Six Toes.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_a.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Who saves a fee and writes his will</div> -<div class="verse">Is friendly to the lawyers still;</div> -<div class="verse">For these take all the will contains,</div> -<div class="verse">And give the heir all that remains.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>If indeed these gentlemen wondered at all, it was -simply that any poor person living in such a place<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“The thing is patent,” rejoined Father Tron. -“Our lamented elder hath done this good thing -out of the holy charity that cometh of piety.”</p> - -<p>“And a most beautiful example of the fruits of -godliness,” added Father Tolbooth.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> -connexion. And his reward will verily be reaped -in heaven.”</p> - -<p>“We must give the good man a paragraph in -the <i>Mercury</i>,” 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.”</p> - -<p>“A pleasant commission,” rejoined Father -Trinity, as he rose to depart.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Does Helen Grey live here?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“An old saying, Helen,” replied the father.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Let me see it,” he said.</p> - -<p>And the woman having handed him the book—</p> - -<p>“To Mrs Janet Grey,” said the minister, as he -read the inscription.</p> - -<p>“A mistake, for my name is Helen,” said she. -“But it was weel meant in Mr Gebbie, and it’s a’ -the same.”</p> - -<p>“A staff to help her on to the happy land,” continued -the reverend doctor, reading.</p> - -<p>“No ‘The Happy Land’ near bye?” interjected -Helen.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>“Not likely,” continued the doctor with a smile. -“But I have good news for you, Helen.”</p> - -<p>“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 -<i>me</i> had ta’en wings, and floun awa to the young -and the happy.”</p> - -<p>“It seems not,” said he; “for Elder Andrew -has left you a legacy of three hundred pounds.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“Amen!” said the reverend doctor. “I will -speak of this again to you, Helen.”</p> - -<p>And with these words he left the still confused -woman, who would very likely still feel a difficulty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.’”</p> - -<p>“And,” added Tolbooth, “we are also commanded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -to give of our substance to the poor, and -‘do well unto those that are lowly.’”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>A speech which, touching the word stipend, -brought a very grave look into the faces of the -brethren.</p> - -<p>“A most serious, yea, a momentous consideration,” -said Tron, followed by the two others.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Who are you?” said Trinity.</p> - -<p>“Helen Grey!” replied she. “I live in Leith -Wynd. Mr Andrew Gebbie and me were man and -wife.”</p> - -<p>“Where are your marriage lines?” asked -Tron.</p> - -<p>“I hae nane,” replied she. “It was a marriage -by giving and taking between ourselves—a gude -marriage by the law.”</p> - -<p>“And no witnesses?” said Tron.</p> - -<p>“The deil ane but the Lord.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>“Wh-e-w!” whistled Father Tron, not audibly, -only as it were within the mouth.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, a chiropodist!” said Father Tron.</p> - -<p>“I’m nae corn-doctor, sir,” replied she, with -something like offended pride: “I never cut -another man’s corns in my life.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span> -dune. I am Helen Grey, and I insist upon my -rights.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! she wants to prove the <i>footing</i> 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 <i>paronomasia</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>“That’s just it,” said the woman. “I will prove -that I knew the length o’ his big tae, and may be -mair.”</p> - -<p>“And what more?” asked Father Tron.</p> - -<p>“That Mr Gebbie had six toes on his left foot!” -answered she.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The brethren again laughed at this ingenious -discovery of Father Tron’s, and thereupon began -to veer round in favour of good Nelly <i>prima</i>. 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 <i>secunda</i>, insomuch as it harmonised<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> -with her statement that the friendship between the -elder and her had been kept a secret known only -to themselves.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon Helen <i>secunda</i> burst out into a laugh. -After which, said she, “I will prove it, as sure as I -am a living woman!”</p> - -<p>“The man is dead and buried!” replied Mr -Crawford, with a voice of triumph.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“Then,” continued the agent, “there is only -one thing we can do; and that is, to throw the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> -case into court by what we call a multiplepoinding, -and let the claimants fight against each other.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then stood up Mr Anderson, the advocate of -the first Helen, and said:—</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -no evidence whatever that the elder ever set his -foot—corns or no corns—on the floor of the Helen -<i>secunda</i>. There was no such <i>footing</i> 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 <i>lusus naturæ</i> -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.”</p> - -<p>Then stood up Mr Sharp, the advocate of the -second Helen, and said:—</p> - -<p>“It is no wonder at all why my learned friend -has a difficulty about his <i>locus standi</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>Then the President spoke as follows:—</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_136.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_137.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of Mysie Craig.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_i.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>But we are now speaking of art, while we should -have more to say (for it concerns us more) of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -would not have remained there longer than it took -a shudder to scare the wild thing away.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -but when she got into the presence of Miss Gilroy -she could scarcely pronounce the words—</p> - -<p>“I have brought you the dress, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I have not been out,” said Mysie.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>you</i> -his wife—a working needlewoman; he only fancied<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“And do you stand by this?” said Mrs -Craig.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span> -estimation of whom a man may wish to stand in -a certain degree of elevation.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And that is your answer?” said she.</p> - -<p>“It is; and you need never trouble either my -wife or me more on this subject,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And she will never work mair,” said the mother, -with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“For a hundred years,” rejoined he, more to -himself than to her, and probably in congratulation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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 <i>semiplena probatio</i>, or half -proof, to be supplemented otherwise, and thereafter -George Balgarnie stood before the august -fifteen. He denied stoutly all intercourse with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -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—</p> - -<p>“Did you ever promise to marry Mysie Craig?”</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>“<i>Yes, once—when I was drunk!</i>”</p> - -<p>Words which were immediately followed by the -crack of a single word in the dry mouth of one of -the advocates—the word “<span class="smcap">Nicked</span>.”</p> - -<p>And nicked he was; for the presiding judge, addressing -the witness, said—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>If Balgarnie had been a reader he might have -remembered Waller’s verse—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“That eagle’s fate and mine are one,</div> -<div class="indent">Which on the shaft that made him die</div> -<div class="verse">Espied a feather of his own,</div> -<div class="indent">Wherewith he wont to soar so high.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_159.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_160.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of Pinched Tom.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_i.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>I believe we borrowed it from that great repertory -from which our forefathers took so much wisdom—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -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 <i>one</i>, we also -very sensibly hold that the husband is <i>that -one</i>. 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -and so she held it to be her duty to go -straight to Burgess Thomas.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What mean you, woman?” asked Mr Whitelaw, -as he looked wistfully and fearfully into the -face of the howdie.</p> - -<p>“Had ye no’ a contract o’ marriage?” continued -she.</p> - -<p>“No,” was the answer.</p> - -<p>“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—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first2">‘Mither dead and bairn gane,</div> -<div class="verse">Pay the tocher to her kin;</div> -<div class="verse">But an ye hear the bairn squeal,</div> -<div class="verse">Gudeman, grip the tocher weel.’”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“God bless me, Mrs Lythgow! is that the law?” -cried the husband, in a fright.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No,” replied he; “if a boy, it will be baptized -Thomas.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>“And you, Tam, and I will be better acquainted -before the twa thousand merks are paid to Writer -George.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>“What does the woman mean?” said the burgess. -“What connexion is there between that -animal and my wife’s fortune?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And what good will that do me if both the -mother and child should die?” inquired he.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll ken that when Writer George comes and -asks ye for the tocher,” was the answer.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“That’s the scream o’ the wean!” said she.</p> - -<p>“Ay, and may the Lord be praised!” was the -answer of Robina, in spite of the nip.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -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—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And no’ a merry ane,” added the gossip.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> -of belief is always inversely as the reason for it, -never had weight with our Scotch judges. But -then came the difficulty about the <i>causa scientiæ</i>; -for neither of the two witnesses could swear that -she <i>saw</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“Was it a boy or a girl?”</p> - -<p>“A <i>callant</i>, sir,” was the answer; for Scotch witnesses -<i>will</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Just so,” continued Mr Hamilton; “and was -he dead or alive when he was born?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, sir, little Tam wras as life-like as you -are when I handled him wi’ thae hands.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>“How do you know that?” was the next question.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>“Just a hundred merks, Maister Whitelaw.”</p> - -<p>“A hundred merks for bringing a child into the -world, which lived no longer than to give a -scream?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, but you forget <i>pinched Tam</i>,” replied she.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_176.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_177.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Iron Press.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_t.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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 <i>souvenir</i> 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 (<i>maugre</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>dot</i>, and doubtless -on so fine a subject no disinclination at all to <i>doat</i>, -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 <i>hauteur</i> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>his</i> 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -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 <i>that</i> “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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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;”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Time passed on, and in the meantime Andrew<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Ailsie, having come to the conclusion -that she would not see her lover again, renounced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -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 <i>éclat</i> 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.</p> - -<p>The explanation of our legend is not difficult.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_189.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_190.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Girl Forger.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_i.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Tell me where the flea may bite,</div> -<div class="verse">And I will tell where love may light.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span> -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, <i>to take a loan</i> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You draw out your father’s drafts on the bank, -Effie,” he continued. “Write one out for me, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>A proposal which again brought a shudder over -the girl.</p> - -<p>“Is it Robert Stormonth who asks me to do this -thing?” she whispered again.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -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 <i>not counted</i> 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.</p> - -<p>But even then the reaction was on the spring;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>the same name</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And who had to do with it then, Effie, dear?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, mother,” added Effie; “but we must make -that wrang richt.”</p> - -<p>“And mair, lass,” rejoined the mother, as she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Are you Effie Carr?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“<i>My</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“It is yours—it is yours, Robert,” was the sobbing -answer. “Ay, and with it a’ the love I ever -had for you.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_012.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_013.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of Mary Mochrie and the<br /> -Miracle of the Cod.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_i.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -stories for the amusement of our readers that of -the miracle, which, goes in this wise:—</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>All which sacrifices to <i>Bona Dea</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“And sair she moiled, and sair she toiled,</div> -<div class="indent">To find the ring lost in the sea,</div> -<div class="verse">And still the thought within her wrought</div> -<div class="indent">That she would never married be.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> -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 <i>ex parte rei</i> 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.</p> - -<p>Of this latter fact, in the peculiar circumstances<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> -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 <i>illotis manibus</i>, 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>the</i> 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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> -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—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“True miracles are more believed</div> -<div class="verse">The more they cannot be conceived;”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Yet the philosopher had further occasion for his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -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 <i>very</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>versus</i> 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.</p> - -<p>With an apology for having kept the reader too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Taken thus aback, Mary began to prevaricate, -saying that Miss Isabella Warrender had given it -to her.</p> - -<p>“That cannot be,” said Gallie, “because she told<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -me it was a present from her lover, George Ballennie, -to whom she is to be married.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_159.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_160.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Pelican.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_t.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>deliciæ -domi</i>, 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>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.</p> - -<p>And surely all this solicitude on the part of -Annie Maconie need not excite our wonder, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> -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 <i>one</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span> -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:—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>“I am sorry to say I do not like Mary’s appearance -so well to-day. I fear it is to be one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“The end!” echoed Mrs Maconie; “then, doctor, -I fear you see what that will be.”</p> - -<p>“I would not like to say,” added he; “but I fear -you must make up your mind for the worst.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Well, my little lady,” said he, “what may be -your pleasure?”</p> - -<p>“I want the pelican,” said Annie.</p> - -<p>The gentleman was still more astonished, even -to the extent that he laid down his pen and looked -at her again.</p> - -<p>“The pelican, dear?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>“Ay; just the pelican,” answered she, deliberately, -and even a little indignantly. “Are you the -pelican?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, dear; all that is for it below the -figure,” said he, smiling, and wondering what the -next question would be.</p> - -<p>“I am so glad I have found you,” said she; -“because sister Mary is dying.”</p> - -<p>“And who is sister Mary?”</p> - -<p>“My sister, Mary Maconie, at Juniper Green.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon the gentleman began to remember -that the name of William Maconie was in his books -as holder of a policy.</p> - -<p>“And what more?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I see, dear; and who sent you?”</p> - -<p>“Nobody,” answered Annie. “My father -wouldn’t come to you, and I have come from -Juniper Green myself, without telling my father -or mother.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, dear; I understand you.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I am sorry, my dear little lady,” rejoined he,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span> -“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.”</p> - -<p>“See that you do it, then,” said she, “because -I can’t live if Mary dies. Are you quite sure you -will do it?”</p> - -<p>“Perfectly sure, my little dear,” added he; “go -away home, and all will be right. The pelican -will do his duty.”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span> -than she was clasped to the bosom, first of -one parent, and then of the other.</p> - -<p>“But where is the pelican?” said the anxious -little maid.</p> - -<p>“The pelican! my darling,” cried the mother; -“what do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And what in the world put it in your head to -go there?” again asked the mother.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>At the same moment the doctor came in, with a -blithe face.</p> - -<p>“Mary is safe now,” said he. “There has been -a crisis, after all. The sweat has broken out upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span> -her dry skin, and she will be well in a very short -time.”</p> - -<p>“And there’s no thanks to you,” said Annie, -“because it was I who went for the pelican.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You’re the noblest little heroine I ever heard -of,” said he.</p> - -<p>“But have you had anything to eat, dear, in -this long journey?” said the mother.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span> -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—</p> - -<p>“Oh! mother, dear,” she whispered, “why do you -not send for the pelican?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_136.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_137.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of Davie Dempster’s Ghaist.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_t.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span> -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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span> -a believer in the excellent doctrine (if acted -up to) of “total depravity,” she was necessarily in -the highway of salvation.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Dorothy, if they were a’ like Snoddy.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“But they’re <i>no’</i> a’ like the laird,” replied Dorothy; -“and what’s mair, David, my man, the laird -winna be ane o’ your creditors lang either.”</p> - -<p>“What mean you, lass?” inquired David.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span> -Rubbledykes wi’ three hundred a year, and nae -husband to trouble me.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Maybe I might, were I to kiss him, David,” -was the answer, with another smile.</p> - -<p>“And what for no’?” asked this honest man, who -raised his voice in the Tron every Sunday.</p> - -<p>“Because I am neither a Judith nor a Judas,” -replied she.</p> - -<p>“But ye’re a Christian,” was the ready rejoinder; -“and what’s mair, a Calvinist.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Nae sin, nae salvation,” said he.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>non inventus</i>; -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.</p> - -<p>Yet how true it is that the kingdom of Death is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span> -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 <i>Mercury</i> -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.</p> - -<p>And, surely, if on this occasion there was any -one <i>ipsis charitibus humanior</i>, it was Mr Thomas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span> -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—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Cupid can his wings apply,</div> -<div class="verse">To other uses than to fly;</div> -<div class="verse">Serving as a handkerchief</div> -<div class="verse">To dry the tears of widows’ grief.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>We all know that “the question” once meant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span> -<i>torture</i>. At the period of our story, and we hope -not less in our day, it meant <i>rapture</i>; 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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I hae no objection,” replied Dorothy, as she -held away her head and covered her eyes with her -handkerchief; “<i>but</i>——”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, will’t,” answered Dorothy from behind the -handkerchief.</p> - -<p>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, <i>toom</i>, than ever she -had heard it.</p> - -<p>“I will awa to Mr Ainslie and get the contract -written out at length,” he said, to cover his disgrace.</p> - -<p>Nor was it sooner said than done. Away he -went, leaving Dorothy virtually a bride, and the -lady <i>in esse</i> of an estate, albeit a small one, yet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“I have done that which is evil in the sight o’ -God.”</p> - -<p>The words came as from a far-away place, they -were so hollow.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Tammas?” asked she.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>“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.’”</p> - -<p>And the laird shook all over so violently that -Dorothy could see the clothes move.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll see nor hilt, nor hair, nor hoop, nor horn -mair o’ him,” she added, with, we almost fear to -surmise, a laugh.</p> - -<p>And Mrs Snoddy’s prophecy was of that kind—the -safest of all—which comes after knowledge.</p> - -<p>“Then I will dee in peace,” said the relieved -laird; “for I hae nae ither sin on my conscience.”</p> - -<p>“Nae sin, nae salvation,” added Dorothy.</p> - -<p>“A maist comfortable doctrine,” sighed the -laird.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span> -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—</p> - -<p>“When had you anything to eat Davie? Ye’ll -be hungry.”</p> - -<p>“No’ unlikely, Dorothy lass,” answered the -wraith; “for I didna like the cauld fish, and -there’s nae cooking apparatus in the Forth.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>“Ye would maybe tak a whang o’ the round o’ -beef we had at the laird’s funeral yesterday?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“It would have been o’ nae use, Dorothy. If -ye hadna been as gude a prophetess as Deborah,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span> -I might hae been obliged to conceal myself in -England lang enough.”</p> - -<p>“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, <i>there</i>, -see, was your comfort at the end.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“A’ right, lass,” was at length the exclamation.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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’?”</p> - -<p>“And the gude Calvinists o’ the Tron?” added -the wife.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding which difficulties the visitor -contrived to make a hearty meal; nor was he -contented with the brandy taken during the time<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span> -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—</p> - -<p class="center">“Death, begone—here’s none but souls.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span> -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—<i>res locuta est</i>; 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>prava -causa</i>; 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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_115.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Gorthley Twins.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_i.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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 -<i>versus</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span> -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—</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“They are even at this moment in the other -room, madam,” said he, with a lawyer’s smile on -his face.</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” said her ladyship, with an expression<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span> -of both surprise and anger. “Why, she told me -an hour ago that she was going to take a walk by -the ‘Cat Nick.’”</p> - -<p>“And so she has,” added the writer, still smiling, -“for my door may not be inappropriately so -called in the circumstances?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But you will say nothing of our being here.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“But we’ll beat her off, mother,” rejoined -Martha, with a spirit which Mr Pollock or any -other lawyer might have admired; “and,” continued<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span> -Martha, with a smile, “we will say nothing -about the <i>strawberry</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, dear,” rejoined the mother; “that -strawberry is worth all the lands of Gorthley.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And now, madam,” said he, as he took his -seat, “I am ready to hear you.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No question at all,” rejoined the lady. “Martha -was the first-born.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span> -so we have here, so far as the testimony goes, one -witness against another.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.’”</p> - -<p>Whereat Lady Gorthley tightened the strings -she had allowed to get loose.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>At which mention of the word strawberry, Lady -Gorthley looked to Martha, and Martha looked to -her, and they seemed puzzled.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>causa -scientiæ</i>.”</p> - -<p>“I know nothing about Latin,” rejoined her -ladyship angrily; “but as for Mrs Glennie, she’s -dead years ago.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, indeed,” said Mr Pollock, “if that is true -we will have only the nurse and the servant for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Mr Bayne,” said the lady in a -whispering way, as if she were to reveal something -wonderously mysterious, “look here, sir,”—</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>The writer complied by a pretty narrow inspection -of a very pretty neck of (a strawberry being -in question) the appropriate colour of cream.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span> -the most beautiful beauty spot that a young lady -could bear. How comes that mark to be there?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But Mrs Macintosh can do that,” replied the -lady.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And so having, after some more conversation, -despatched his two clients, Mr Bayne proceeded -that same evening to the residence of Mrs Peggy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, sir, and I was,” answered she, “and a -gey birth it was.”</p> - -<p>“And could you tell which was which when the -infants were born?”</p> - -<p>“Weel, sir,” answered Peggy, “if you will tell -me which is the which you mean, I’ll try to satisfy -ye if I can?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I mean, which was Sarah and which -Martha?” continued the writer.</p> - -<p>“How could I tell ye that, sir,” answered Peggy, -with a look of true Scotch complacency, “when -the bairns werena christened?”</p> - -<p>The writer, acute as he was, was a little put out, -but he rallied.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I see you don’t understand me, Mrs Macintosh,” -continued Mr Bayne, who had got a Scotch -witness on his line.</p> - -<p>“I think it’s you that doesna understand me,” -retorted Peggy.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” continued Mr Bayne, smiling, -“you know Sarah Bruce and Martha Bruce?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Worse and worse,” muttered the writer. “Look -you, Peggy, was there no mark on either of the -children by which you could know it?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Worse even yet,” muttered the discomfited -precognoscer.</p> - -<p>“But I can mak the thing as plain as the Shorter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span> -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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“But what about the strawberry?” said Mr -Bayne.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But haven’t you said to Lady Gorthley that -the mark was on the first-born?” asked Mr -Bayne.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span> -is sure that the strawberry belanged to the first-born.”</p> - -<p>“And did you tell Lady Gorthley you went to -Eppie?” inquired the discomfited writer.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Did you ask from the old woman the name of -her who bore the mark?” rejoined Mr Bayne.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Very prudent,” muttered again the writer, as -he rose, “this is a most satisfactory witness.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span> -straight out with the question, whether she knew -if there had been noticed on one of the children -the mark of the strawberry.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And was this mark on the child which was -first born?” inquired he.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you that, sir,” replied she, “if ye’ll tell -me first which o’ the twa cam’ first into the world.”</p> - -<p>Whereby Mr Bayne found himself where he was, -in the hands of a Scotch metaphysician, for, was -there not here an example of the <i>à priori</i> 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?</p> - -<p>“That is just what I want to know, Jean,” said -he.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And what is that?” said he, expecting to get -at something on which he could rely, whatever it -might be.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span> -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 <i>nobile officium</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span> -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 “<i>domestic witness</i>.”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span> -“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“And who are you,” said the president, “who -dare to speak in a court of justice?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_176.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_299.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="antiqua">The Story of the Chalk Line.</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <img class="drop-cap" src="images/dropcap_f.jpg" width="75" height="75" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>To be a little more particular upon a peculiarity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span> -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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A farmer’s daughter fair am I,</div> -<div class="indent">As blithe as May-day morning,</div> -<div class="verse">And when my lover passes by,</div> -<div class="indent">I laugh at him wi’ scorning.</div> -<div class="indent5">Ha! ha! ha! fal lal la!</div> -<div class="indent5">Ha! ha! fal lal laldy!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There came a cock to our father’s flock,</div> -<div class="indent">And he wore a double kaim, O;</div> -<div class="verse">He flapt his wings, and fain would craw,</div> -<div class="indent">But craw he could craw nane, O.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">A braw young man came courting me,</div> -<div class="indent">And swore his wife he’d make me;</div> -<div class="verse">But when he knew my pounds were few,</div> -<div class="indent">The rogue he did forsake me.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span> -<div class="verse">Gae whistle on your thumb, young man,</div> -<div class="indent">You left me wae and weary;</div> -<div class="verse">But, now I’ve got my heart again,</div> -<div class="indent">Gude faith, I’ll keep it cheery.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There’s world’s room for you to pass,</div> -<div class="indent">And room enough for Nan, O;</div> -<div class="verse">The deil may tak her on his back</div> -<div class="indent">Who dies for faithless man, O.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">There’s still as good fish in the sea</div> -<div class="indent">As ever yet were taken;</div> -<div class="verse">I’ll spread my net and catch again,</div> -<div class="indent">Though I have been forsaken.</div> -<div class="indent5">Ha! ha! ha! &c.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span> -bear to each other, and which, I trust, will never -decay.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And you will write Margaret, then?” resumed -Martha.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Even from the foundations of the earth,” sighed -Mary.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“The world careth not a whit</div> -<div class="verse">For him who careth not for it:</div> -<div class="verse">One only duty and one right,</div> -<div class="verse">That he be buried out of sight.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span> -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 <i>are</i> got, till the whole of the -one object, a miserable scapegoat, is covered with -them.</p> - -<p>Probably the plain man is right. I leave him -to the philosopher, and keep to my safe duty as a -narrator.</p> - -<p>The spirit of fault-finding once begun, waxed -stronger and stronger upon the food it generated -by its own powers of production. Almost everything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Your niece from India—only arrived yesterday.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span> -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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_114.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="tiny" /> - -<p class="center"><i>Ballantyne & Company, Printers, Edinburgh.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> - -<p>The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is entered into the public domain.</p> -</div></div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROMANCES OF THE OLD TOWN OF EDINBURGH ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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