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Les cartas, planches, tableeux, etc.. peuvent itre film*B A des taux de reduction diffirents. Lorsque le document est trop grend pour «tre reproduit en un seul clich«. il est film* * pertir de I'engle sup«rieur gauche, de geuche i droite. et da haut •n bee. en prenant la nombre d'imagea n«cesssire. Les diegrammes suivants illustrant la mAthoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 Ul 6 32 X AR ^MM~kj BI>ACKW00D ■s STANBARJ) NOVELS'. 2;So ADAM BLAIK. MATTHEW WALD. ARMOUR AND nA..„ >JK, & CO., KINGSTON. •^A*^J 4 In/Ill 'bs and wail- bafklrl'Ih ^^*' """Z *^f "'^^^"'"^ h^"«^'^°ld shrunk back from the door, for they knew that the blow had been stricken ; and the voice of humble sympathy feared tpt^f ^'^%'"*''^'"^'^ j"^* ^* *h^t "foment; he li*. over h? ? 7 '''f ^'' '"^' ^'^S ^'-^t'^fi^d that all was over, he also turned away. His horse had been fastened and led'l'^ •'' ^T . ""''' ' ''' ^-" o-t the bridle, and led the animal softly over the turf, but did not mount agam until he had far passed the outskirts of the Perhaps an hour might have elapsed before Mr Blair opened the window of the room in which his wife Tad rtdt ^:' '''''*'P ?'' '^^'^ '"'^'^ ^or some tin^ie hur- riedly traversing and retraversing the floor , buf «t hst he stopped where the nearly fastened shu tersof the wmdow admitted but one broken line of light n'o he 6 ADAM BLAin, Chamber. Ho throw every thing open with a bold hand, and the uphfting of the window produced a degree of noise, to the like of which the house had for some time been unaccustomed ; he looked out, and saw the external world bright before him, with all the rich colourings of a September evening. The sun had just sunk behind the distant screen of the Argyll and Dumbartonshire h lis ; the outline of huge Benlomond glowed like a blood-red jewel against the wide golden sky beyond : a thick and hazy cloud of mist had gathered over the rich valleys to t^ie westward, through which, here and there, some far-off bending of the river flashed for a moment in a streak of reflected crimson ; near at hand, the tall elms that surround the village churchyard stood with all their brown leaves whispering in the faint breeze of the twilight ; a fine herd of cattle were passing along the neighbouring "green loaning," in a long delibemte line; 1 10 Hum of the village sent an occasional echo through the intervening hedge-rows ; all was quiet and beautiful above and below ; the earth seemed to be clothed all over with sights and sounds of serenity; and the sky, deep- IZ^^ ; ? f ^''" ^"^ ^^'^^' ^^"« overhead, shewed tho earliest of its stars intensely twinkling, as if ready to harbinger or welcome the coming moon! ^ ^Jnn.r^r^'^ ^'"'1 ^'''"'^ ^°' '^"^^ "^^""tes in silence upon the glorious calm of Nature, and then turned with a sudden start to the side of tho room where the wife of irad rr f M Y''^-y breathed ;-he saw the pale dead face; the black ringlets parted on the brow ; the marble han.= extended upon the sheet; the unc osed gla y eyes ; and the little girl leaning towards her mother m a gaze of half-horrified bewfderment. He cried « God ! God !"-a shriek, not a prayed ; he closed the stiffening eye-lids over the soft but^ast^ and then rushed down the stairs, and away out, bare- headed, into tho finld« hofcrc pnv /m. . ,1 1 i 1 • ftoL- «,i,'ui u " '. ■" '^i^e an)^ one cuuld stop him, or ask whither he was going. (!^ 5old hand, degree of some time D external )urings of ik behind irtonshire od like a oyond ; a the rich nd there, moment , the tall I with all !ze of the tlong the •ate line ; ' through beautiful I all over y, deep- wed tho ready to 1 silence led with 3 wife of the pale 5w; the inclosed rds her nt. He nd, and yer; he ghastly bosom, t, bare- him, or CHAPTER I. 7 There is an old thick grove of pines almost imme- diately behind tho house ; and after staring about him for a moment on the green, he leapt hastily over the little brook that skirts it, and plunged within the shade of the trees. The breeze was rustling the black boughs high over his head, and whistling along tho bare ground beneath him. lie rushed, he knew not whither, on and on, between those naked brown trunks, till he was in the heart of the wood ; and there, at last, ho tossed himself down on his back among the withered fern leaves and mouldering fir-cones. Here every thing accorded with the gloom of a sick and shuddering soul, and he lay in a sort of savage stupor, half-exulting as the wind moaned and sighed through the darkness about him, in the depth (as he thought, the utmost depth) of abandonment and misery. Long-restrained, long-vanquished passions took their turn to storm within him— fierce thoughts chased each other through his bosom — sullen dead despair came to banish or to drown them — mournful gleams of tender- ness melted all his spirit for a moment, and then made room again for the strong graspings of horror. All the past things of life floated before him, distinct in their lineaments, yet twined together, the darkest and the gayest, into a sort of union, that made them all appear alike dark. The mother, that had nursed his years of infiincy — tho father, whose hairs he had long before laid in tho grave — sisters, brothers, friends, all dead and buried — tho angel" forms of his own early-ravished off- spring — all crowded round and round him, and then rushing away, seemed to bear from him, as a prize and a trophy, the pale image of his expiring wife. Again SHE returned, and she alone was present with him — not the pale expiring wife, but the young radiant woman- blushing, trembling, smiling, panting on his bosom, whispering to him all her hopes, and fears, and pride, and love, and tenderness, and meekness, like a bride ; and then again all would be black as night. He would start up and gaze around, and see nothing but the sepul- chral gloom of the wood, and hear Jiothing but the cold 8 ADAM BLAIR. blasts among the leaves. In a moment, it seemed as if years and years had intervened since he had become a widower. Every thing looked distant, chill, remote, uncertain, cut off by the impassable wide. gulf of death. Down ho lay again, and, covering his face with his hands, struggled to overcome the strength of delusions, with which all his soul was surrounded. Now boiling with passions, now calm as the dead, fearing, hoping, doubting, believing, lamenting, praying, and cursing — yes, cursing — all in succession. Oh, who shall teli what ages of agony may roll over one bruised human spirit, in one brief hour ! The storm of desolation was followed by a lowering state of repose. He lay insensible alike to all things, stretched out at all his length, with his eyes fixed in a stupid steadfastness upon one great massy branch that hung over him— his bloodless lips fastened together, as if they had been glued — his limbs like things entirely destitute of life and motion — every thing about him cold, stiff, and senseless. Minute after minute passed heavily away as in a dream — hour after hour rolled unheeded into the abyss — the stars twinkled through the pine-tops, and disappeared — the moon arose in her glory, rode through the clear autumn heaven, and vanished — and all alike unnoted by the prostrate widower. He only, in whose hand are all times, and all seasons, and all the workings of the spirit of man, can know what was and was not done within, during thia space of apparent blankness. Not in dreams alone, it may be, does the soul work unconsciously. Adam Blair came forth from among the fir-trees in the gray light of the morning, walked leisurely and calmly several times round the garden-green, which lay immediately in front of his house, then lifted the latch for himself, and glided with light and hasty footsteps up stairs to the room, where, for some weeks past, he had been accustomed to occupy a solitary bed. The wakeful servants heard him shut his door behind him ; one of them having gone out anxiously, had traced him to his CHAPTER I. privacy, but none of them had ventured to think of dis- turbing it. Until he had come back, not one of them thought of going to bed. Now, however, they did so, and the house of sorrow was all over silent. CHAPTER II. It was the custom of the house, that a servant rung a bell every morning at eight o'clock, to assemble all the family for prayers. That morning the old man, whose common duty this was, did not venture to perform it ; but not many minutes had elapsed beyond the accus- tomed hour, ere the bell was rung, and all, so soon as it was heard, entered the parlour with their Bibles in their hands. When they came in, they found that Mr Blair had already taken his seat, and had the book lying open upon the table before him. Little Sarah was sitting on her stool close beside him, and his left hand rested upon her shoulder, while the right was occupied in turning over the leaves of the Bible. The child's eyes were red, but she too was composed, she too was handling her book, and turning over its leaves. As for Mr Blair, he did not look up when ho heard his servants enter, but as soon as they had taken their seats, he uttered his usual preliminary petition much in his usual manner, and then proceeded to read aloud the lines of the 121st Psalm,— " I to tho hills will lift mine eyes, From whence doth come mine aid," &c. in a tone of serenity and firmness, that filled the hearts of those who heard him with a mixed sentiment of sur- prise and veneration,— surprise at the strengtlkexhibited, and veneration for that deep sway of religious feelings, by which, as they rightly judged, such strength in weak- ness had been produced. They had not witnessed the struggle, but they guessed something of what had been ; and they, simple as they were, had sense enough and 10 ADAM BLAIR. i wisdom enough to rovcro the faith which had ]iasscd thvough such fires, to come forth purified, not tfirnislied. After the Psahu had been sung, ho read the 14th chapter of the Gospel according to St Jolni, and conchuled with a prayer, such as none, most surely, but a sorely chas- tened heart, could have conceived, although throughout the whole of it there was no express allusion to the par- ticular situation of the person by whom it was uttered. Once or twice the voice faltered, but ho soon recovered himself ; and when the service was over, and all had once more arisen from their knees, I believe the counte- nance of the young bereaved minister boro fewer traces of trouble than any other countenance in the room. Even in the house of sorrow, the ordinary matters of life go on, for the most part, in their ordinary course ; and I will confess, that to me this has always appeared to be one of the most truly affecting things in the world. The cloth is laid, the meal is prejjarcd, the bottle is brought up from the cellar, the family sit around the table — all these aft'airs go on just as duly the day that the mistress or the master of a family is dead, as any other day in the year. Grief, even the sincerest and deepest grief, occu- pies, after all, when the first triumph of its energies is over, no more than a place in the back-ground. The front of life is as smooth as ever. All this was so within the Manse of Cross-Mcikle ; of course still more so round about its walls. Servants passed to and fro about the occupations of the house, in- quiring friends and acquaintances came and went, the little motherless girl was seen from time to time busied in the garden among the few lingering flowers of the autumn. Mr Blair himself was not visible to any but his own family, and to them only at the hours when the family were accustomed to be together. At other times he was in his chamber alone, or with his orphan by his side — the accustomed volumes lying about him — to the eye the same quiet, grave man, or nearly so, that he had been a week or a month before. The closed win- dows of the chamber in which the body lay, furnished I ClIAPTER II. 11 the only outward and visible sign that death was in the house. Mr Blair was sitting by himself on the evening of the third day ; apparently he had been reading, but the light had deserted him, and his book had been laid down on the table near him, when the door of his room was opened, and some one, as if hesitating to go farther, stood just within the threshold, with his finger on the handle of the door. Mr Blair did not observe, for a minute or two, that the door of his room had been opened, but at last his eye happened to travel in that direction, and ho perceived that John Maxwell, one who had for many years been the oldest among the elders of his parish, was come to visit him in his affliction. " Come in, John," said he ; « so old a friend may come at any time; I am glad to see you — sit down, John ;" and in saying so, he had taken the worthy man by the hand, and was leading him towards the seat from ■which he himself had just arisen. "The Lord is gracious, Mr Blair — the Lord is very gracious. It is he that giveth, and it is he that taketh away. Blessed be his holy name ! Oh, sir, I thought the Lord would never surely leave your father's son, and I see ho has not left you." The old man meant to speak words of comfort, but ere he had done, his voice failed him, and the tears were gushing over his cheeks as he looked in his young mini- ster's face, and wrung the hand that had been extended to him. It was no wonder, surely, that the afflicted man sympathized with his comforter, or that some minutes had elapsed before either of them was in any condition to renew the conversation. Nor shall we trouble the reader with any needless detail of it. Let it be sufficient to know, that on the part of Mr Blair, it was all that could become any man afflicted as he was, and much more than could have been expected from so young a sufFerer. The minister and the elder laid their hearts open to each other ; they wept, they prayed, and they took sweet counsel together. John had been 12 ADAM BLAIR. that " hi! pro^en^^vT.L'^^"?^^^^^^ ^'^^ ^^ '-'« ««'! Blair understood porSyX^^^^^^ fl' ^^^"^^^r." Mr' arose at once, and vv Si \ f ''I'' "'•''" "^^'"^"t. He -ife's remain; were attu to ^ ? 1 ^^^'^ "'^^^« ^^^ a" human view. ^'^ ^"^ ^'^^^^ "P for ever from ^^^Im.:::!:^^::^^ -man except it be a "^ain in the room wh'j^fcffin r ? ^'™'**^'^^ *^ '«" upon a female corpse. Xhi M? n' '' '''^^^^^ ^own ster to the door, tWore b"t^ 7' '"'"'^'^' '"'« """i" orfourvi],a,e matrons onl^^^n^^^^^^^^ Within, three the family, M-ere assembled m"!?''^ ^'"'^'"^ ^^^^'-^nts of them in the midst of T the f. .^ ?'' '"^'^'^--^^^ ^^"nd which it was (and h) tVoLl^'l P'-^^aphernalia with the gloom of the mo s d of tr " i^'^^*'^"^ to deepen ^« he .,3 acquaintd tith^^^^^^^^^^^ Well country-folks, he had ne^r Lf 1^ habitudes of his his imaginati;n aU thatTol ' ^f. '""^^^ to the ribbons, the cushions the^.- V'"^' ^^^ ^«ots, melancholy glitter turned Ws so,?- ^ * "«el-all tha once more he yielded L V '''^ ''^*'^'» h''", and the same enemies. Sadnes ' IT"''' ^l ^'^'''' ^^v to these were now his Sn !' ^3? "f '' ^««rt-sickness-- -hilethe tearsflowirlver his clfr'-P^^^^"^^^^We, One of the old women tC^h th f '•'? ""^^ «"^n«e face might bring him thZfhU ! "" ''^^^ ^^ ^^'^ wife's and she lifted the veT/. Hvln tv "' '' ^^^^^^ ^^ain to no purpose. The man wL Iw^ ^"' °^ "« "««'and «trong-souled Adam bS was * fh /'."""^^^^^^the and he wept on as silent vTnV !^^* ^^"' ^ weanling, than before. They led Z' """"^ "^* ^ ^^it more bitterly allowed himself, %r the r;""''^«^«ting, to his room he Pressed by hand other tha^hir' '' ^'^ "^^> to S ut put to bed, John Mrxwell stoor* ^^*'' ^^ ^^^ ^^en some minutes, whispering «wt' "''"' ^^"^°«* ^^"^ ^r J^° «?°^«ianded all the rest ^r •'"'' ""^''^ "^^•"' He '"^ ^^<'-*. •».» to p4lV;;:2:^,^tSe"f > ,1 ['|l«>T-^ erved again, ere Mr BJair's ear, chamber." Mr in meant. He lace wJiere his ? for ever from except it be a pniitted to re- screwed down iflcd his mini- Within, three lo servants of ed, and found ^ernalia with nd to deepen sions. Well duties of his iilly home to The knots, el — aJI that in him, and fore, nor to -sickness — and feeble, tei" silence, f liis wife's iself again, ^o use, and fved — the weanling, re bitterly room; he to be un- had been i him for ne!" He 3eling by ime sim- CHAPTER II. priest lelt m hia cnni 4K» »<£ .• . . . . 13 The 'i I ««^=/<^«u : ~ . "" '".agu wurunes ot Scotland. The Israel '° ""''^ *^' '^'""""^ ^''^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^der of " Good night, John Maxwell." parte^d!"^ ^^''' y««-God strengthen you!" and so they The next day, no worldly work was done in the parisli tniZ^"'^hu ^* '^'^'' ^'^^^"'^ *''^ church-Ll "e. gan ol , and the friends of Mr Blair were seen walking Tar'd'he^^^^^^^^ inTh. K ^ '^ ^"'^ ^''""'^ ' ^^"« ^^^ rest,assembling mo Irnfn''^'"^ ^•'■'""^' ^^"^^^^ t^^ forthcoming of thf "ted en e?eT^^^^^^ ^""t '' ^^' ^^^" Particularly in! yited, entered the house. One by one they were ushered mto the parlour of the Manse, and not one^proactdlt Sr. *^P "'"^ '" "" moment: Mr Blair stood in the midst of the apartment with a face of such calmness ind r^Z^V ^' '^'^' '^^" *^^ '-'y -- ^" that Sint L ^ ?^ ^^^^ ^"''*' ^^^ ^"t^'-ed the room he went up separately, and extended his hand in silence Not one word was uttered by any one. ha^n'i\*rn\^''i ?'^""i ""^ *^^°' ^ «^I^^r of wine the eiit^f . • "^'^.r^?' ^' ^^^'' himself called upon ng It is ii" tb 'w'' '^!F"^" P^^^^"* *« ^«k a blL- Zt,' I *^'^* ^^'*™' *^at the funeral prayer of the Scottish ceremonial is announced and uttere^d. ^The plr^ no met ?^'" *'i PT^""«*^ '' «^ *^>« ^««-«ion wasTy no means one who had lived on any very mrtinil^r S wi;r^^'^^^^ ^^^^^^ neke^^afhra ; Dournood. He bore, m general, the character of a drv TnmT '' ^"^"' ^"'' '^^"^ -^^ old :;s perso^ h iownfripX^'r'P* "°^^"^*^^ immediate circle of Dr Cr nr V * w r""^'^^'^"^- Yet not one that heard JJr Muir pray that day, would have wished the dutv to have fallen into other hands. The old man had S~Tf experienced the sorrows of life, and 1^:^' '^it 1 14 ADAM DLAin. gmvc. '^'„':,'- '■- cA lost i,ii ;^:oni 1 oi^ru"" """^ ""»* on tho anguisl, of ihe mill ir H„ . ■ "" """"'"" by the side oVl,t J"d |,nZ '"'^'' ""if" '•''''' ''°*° Ho uncovered and bowed biniseKor .hi ""!.""• the last turf was beat down a„d then ?'"™ "'"" arm of Join, MaxwelJ wXll , , ' 'f™'"® "" "'O «ii-t rows of bis PoSplettbfsrudf J L'a '"" dust. On°ho w J oftf"?, '^T ."=<™"""'«J to the same »largon,arbi:;te ,d e?^'r:f"'''>;»^^ labours of Mr Blair's fa,hef,T^' '° f™"" ""> P'ous pastoral ohame of hat mrk! "''" P««'^ded him in the were present fouydstinSfyithH- Tl "^ '"°» ^^o of the good old naan aid « T~f7V'" '■»"«» exhortation But )L.„ ° ^ "' his vo ce in rudely fosLned ,^^ ^ " «'«" head-stone there their "fing r wet p„i,lTJ-':h'''? ? 'P"''»<'' «» -h h veneration. That stTne ml l.Af '"^^ "' y<" '""''^ Blair's grandfather w°s 1,7 ,-"'^, 'P°' '''""<' Mr parishiono who::tTmoot errthrd'tr:T'."' ""> consequence of what h, i„j T had been abridged in when'the cit^LT oU ChrS^^i™ Ln"S /"?'" """y^ whoa';eac,u^.itv:r^ltraK,!::Xh^;g ?, leaning on the lio chiirch-yard nd young stood 'e turned on Mr d of the opened . sent a shudder heard clapping turned away laan intrusion s part, endured Jeen laid down rhaps, at that iheir re-union. 10 grave when 'aning on the y through the n's Manse. em drew near the old were of the same 1 to the same ly adjoining, ordtho pious him in the 'f those who ss the image his voice in stone there, id, to which yet loftier where Mr sant of the ibridged in 'ed in days not sing a eing hewn •ve. They 1 with the CHAPTER 11, -^ feelings, I am sorry os^v i' '''^ '-^ '^' '^''''^''' Such more intense v fell V7' ^^^--f.moro widely spread, and It was to tS/ ' ," tT """ 'ir" ^'"^ '-^^^ "^-• indebted for the dol nVT ''''^.'■'^' *'^^* ^^ ^ ^^^'^ was all hi concerns tramf:^^^ "''V^''^'' '''^ P^^««" «"d the people of his parl^l' "'' ""'' '""'> ^^^^^^^^ ^^ CHAPTER III. Nobody, after that day, ever heirrl Mr ni • his wife's name A i.'f+i ■ V i ^' ^''^'^ mention had been pa nted wh' rhrw"'' '' ''' '" ^^^>^^"' -^'«^ hitherto hung over he 'in,^^'^''^ ^^.''J^ ^""^ ^''•'> ^'^^» it was now removed into thr.;^'''' "/ *^^' P"''^^"'' ^"^ volved upon him - and in fi J. """u"^ '^"*^ ^'-^'^ ^e- oxert himself. After ?nn"/^;'^ duy he continued to room in which he sat tin ^^ !• '^'l'' ''^^"™ ^^^^ ^^e rest. He read to I'r' he t^ k^d'to h'' \' ^^ '' '''''' *« her little stories andfli *'^^^^^ *? ^^^r, he listened to all tions. But houl he ind'T '" '" 5^' ^'"^« «««"P^- delight in hearinf he/sit be fo" T^ '' ''''' "^"«^ now to bid her try eXr ^lAIr' ' ""^^ "'^"' ^'^'^ Sird Marjory^ ovm Ear? nf^n^^^^ ^<^o> or of the favou ite balfL of fw^^^^^^^ Sometimes, indeed when thV ^'''* ^^ *^' «^'^"*'3^- in herchamberheVou dsHn/l /'-^ '^"^'"^ ^'^ ^^^^^^^ seconds behind the door '*f °^^'^*^"'ng *« her for a few be singing in Lr Lher^ h^ *-'^'' "T^ ^"^^ h^rsejf to her vole .lose beside hi i ""^' ""^'^^ ^^^» ^^^^ Joined -lose beside hi« knee m the domestic psalmody. 10 AOAM DLAin. The^^rrvaiits remarked all r'.is and said it was no won- *^. for Jittlo Sarah's .sinj?ing p^t one very innch in tnind of li.*.r mother, when she used to be merry, in the first years of her marriage, by the fire-side. Somo of those, however, who had less opportunity of understanding the character and feelings of the man, were sufficiently inclined to put quite another sort of con- struction on many parts of Mr ]}lair's conduct and demeanour the winter after this calamity befell hini. Iherc are such a number of j,eoplo in the worl.l who cannot conceive of affliction apart from the images of white handkerchiefs, long weepers, and black sealin*^- wax that It is no great wonder this should have been so. Ut all this class of observances Mr Blair was somewhat negligent ; of many of them ho did not oven know that any such things existed : — and accordingly, to give one nistance in place of fifty, the Presbytery to Avliich Mr Hiair belonged, had not met abcvo three or four times before -some one remarking fhat Mr Blair had not yet made his appearance among them since tiis wife's death -another of the reverend brethren made answer, in rather a sneering sort of tone, that the minister of Cross- Moiklo had. It was likely, work enough upon his hand?, It he designed, as was said about Semplehaugh, « to fill up the vacancy" before summer. 1 am sorry to say, that this sarcasm was uttered by the same Dr Muir, whoso _ery different behaviour on the day of Mrs Blair's funeral I have already noticed. But the truth is, the Doctor had taken it a little amiss, that Mr Blair had omitted to .t ■ 1 an answer to a long letter of condolence which h v despatched to Cross-Meiklo the morning after tha. sor-' rowful day ; and was, moreover, somewhat displeased to find that he had been seen often on horseback, and even known to spend the New Year's-day at the house of bem. •h5wgh~ while, as yet, he had not once made his app »ar- o . ; the Manse of Cambuslee. The last part of his s|.^c. ".a. -.oc probably intended to be taken as if mer,^ v. ., .,ny senci meaning; but Dr Muir was never .orry .. have an opportunity of cracking a joke at it was no won- much ill mind rry, in tho first o])i)ortniiity of ' the nu'in, were • sort of con- conduct jind ty bofoll liini. Iio AvorM who tho images of black scah'nfi:- have been so. ivas somewhat on know that f, to give one to which Mr r four times, r had not yet i wife's death 3 answer, in ster of Cross- n his hands, tigh, « to fill y to say, that Muir, whose lair's funeral e Doctor had itted to Utisid iich h h'\r>. er thjii; sor- lispleased to k, and even lie house of 3e made in's ) last part of taken as if ' Muir was ig a joke at ClIAr'TKR IIT. 17 »^fei,^ ES^S '^T™ ^'Ubi.l-t of ok^s^ S"^ ' "' ^!!' r " r^--^^"' ^ favourite become little Sara Hhi.r ll'"'''' "^ objection to Mr All'in I. Li? i . ' ■'^t*^P-"'other. At which joke o^^i^ t^r:^VTf'y^ ^n ''^ Robertson'wa: being at^H a ^ ,nt Mr AH '1' '''^ '' "^"> "^* that ho, Mr IlZrt on !1 . • V .''•"'^ Perfectly well Muir's wel nn!f I ' 'T' I'-'^'^ ^''' addresses to Dr before llrv^St"^^''^ f'""' ^'^^^*^"' ^-^hs Now Jl f : ^ ""''' ''^*-''* *'''»k of renewing them way wiH 1 '' ^^"'''""' J"^^^^ ««^^« ^"ir enough in theTr' »i"^ere clcvJm Tb!? ""'"!""' P"''"''"-'- She was a tender re3LMn;'"' ?"! """'8'' ^^e had a very for h"ow July ^'""1^"^^ fo"- his father's sakeand thought of mrrvi, ' X C"" "??".J"^' "^ '«» ""vo her young m"2™« "" "'""=™'"<' D' Muir himself as as if they believed the 2 ', , \«'''''"' "^"y ""i"^ in>porta„^partlHl,:tV„rer„trt,^? !-."?»-' b-g. For i„sta„ee. if she heard of a ,„ug 7CZZT: B 18 ADAM BLAIR, I I brother retnrning to any family in tho village, her first speech was sure to be — "Poor bodies, poor bodies, I'm very glad to hear it, I 'm very heartily glad to hear it. I hope they'll have something comfortable in the house — It would be a burning shame if thev had not a good supper the night ;" and the end of her'speech would in all probability be a whisper to her butler — « Thomas take down the cauld pye to John Anderson's, wi' my compliments — and say, I'm very glad to hear their callands come back — and stay, Thomas, sino ye 're about It, ye may as weel tak some o' yon finnan haddocks, and a bottle or twa of your ale wi' you too." After which she would resume her usual tone, and say once or twice over again, « Poor John Anderson ! it would bo a crying sm if they had naething but parritch on sic a night for their suppers !" In cases of affliction, Mrs Semple's sympathy was most commonly expressed in the same sort of substantial method ; and accordingly, for some time before Mrs Blair's death, the Semplehaugh errand-boy very seldom rode to the post-town (which he always did once a-week for the newspapers,) without having some can of jelly, or fricassee of chickens, or string of trouts, or something or other, which the good lady thought the sick woman might fancy, to be dropt from his basket in passing the Manse. The day before the funeral, she sent ofi; in the same fashion, a dozen of Madeira and a piece of cake saying — "Poor Mr Adam, I'm sure my heart's wae when I think on him. I 'm sure it's not for him to be gaun down to the cellar, and giving out wine at sic a time as this, and it would not be decent if there was nothing comfortable to be set before his company. He'll have meikle need o' a glass o' wine himsel, poor man, when he comes hame again." — In short, there was no end with her to such attentions as she conceived might be acceptable; and little as most of these might be in accor- dance with the real necessities of Mr Blair's situation, it would have been a poor sign of him if ho had not felt, and, in due time, expressed his sense of the kindness lago, her first ' bodies, I 'm ad to hear it. in the house d not a good !ch would in -"Thomas, on's, wi' my hear their sini J, ye 're m haddocks. After which ice or twice bo a crying a night for ^y was most substantial before Mrs i^ery seldom )nce a-week lof jelly, or mething or ick woman passing the off, in the see of cake, leart's wae ' him to be it sic a time as nothing He'll have nan, when '^as no end 1 might be •e in accor- ituation, it d not felt, e kindness CHAPTER iir. from which, he well knew ^^W nf +j affectionate interest she diti ?''™ Proceeded. The Sarah, was a favour fowhi^h^r^- k" ''^""'^ *^ «*«« if not sincerer grateflJin^s 'In^^^^^^^^^^ '^^ ^^^ along conducted herself in iht \}.^ Semplehadall in the most momXuZ^Z T*/"'"*^^^^' ^^ '^^^'^^> faults what theTStrrd ^^'f ^' ^^"^''^ ^« ^^ was not a man w^S hoi f' t"^*' *^'^ ^'^^^ ^^^^1^) recoils from ^hl sense ofo^'^ *^'*^^ Pfoud man in some th ng buftrh ?' '"»'^* '^^ ^ Inm that ever warred wit?. grtSude °' '"'^^ ^'^"* bee^ Si J, &Sfnl\r ^^^'^^^^^ ^" *^-* ^- and universally bZvoTpnr - ^"r^ '^"'^^^ most unquestioLbl^ra^l^he'n^^^^^^ Semplehaugh marks of attention to Mr Blair t .^ ^^''^" ^"^'^ favoured old man instea dof w ' f ^^ ^'" ''^^ i"" have acknowledg d Wm to k!'"^ ^^at everybody must one. It may norhlri^ % "" '''"^ handsome young men and Zme„ The h /' ^'f'^ ^^'^^ makes both acknowledge at rmesbvtf-'f .'^' ''''''' '^ them, least, if no? by tSlordf 2 '''' a«d actions at the sonal comeliness ; butTf it 1 7^^ ' "^"'' '^ ^'" very common one \nd ) !« k '""'^^^ '^ '' ^^^^'-^^nly a world, and will pr^aWv In^'''' ? ^" ''^" ^^'' ^^ ^he human creatures sS?h« f.""', *^ ^° «°' «^ long as they are and hit te„ ^tr'^^ '"^"^ ^^^^ ^« doing sho followed a rule of '"''''''; "^*^^""-^^^ ^° «o acceptance, Mrs Semnle hers'lf h'^r'"'* ^''' ^'""''^^ confessing that she liked Mr ri'"'^ "^ '''"^^^ ^^out and took so much th^ to ? ""'' '*' "^"«h the better, cerns, becausThVa'an l!^^^^^^ ^"^^"^ ^" his con! looking young man EvriScrlrf ^ '"^"^ ''^""^^^^- enough, would have tTle 'H '''''' f^ ^* ^^^"^3^ countenance been a less Lnl.^ T"" ^^'* ^^^ his of his ideas ; and leZmZlT ^fu"" ""^ ^"^'P^'^^tor 20 ADAM niAtn. all iimos discover likciK'ssos among the objects of tliolr lilviiii,- and accordingly Mrs Si-mple liad not nnfro- quently furnished a little anniseniont to lier old friends, by asking if they did not perceive some cast of resem- blance between the boiniy young minister (so she called him) and her own deceased husband. [Hut she had never, we nuiy suppose, put such a (piestion to I)r Muir • otherwise, in .-ill probability, he might have been tempted to entertain his brethren at the Presbytery dinner with rather a diflerent strain of wit. ] Many Aveeks, therefore, lind not (>lajised befc.re Mr Blair went up to Semplehaugh-IIou,^^, (or, as the country peojde more coimnonly called it, the Castletown,) to pay his respects to this old friend and patroness of his fatnily. It has already been noticed, that the attentions of the old lady to his orphan girl were in a particular manner pleas- nig to hun ; and, indeed, ho would neither have been a very kind, nor a very considerate father, if this had not been so. It was impossible for him, when he had ac- qun-ed some power of reflecting calmly on all that had happened, not to perceive, that, in case ho himself should bo carried ott' early in life, as his beloved wife had been, the friendship of such a person as Mrs Semple might come to be of the utmost conseijuenco in every way to tho welfare of his child ; and ho therefore consi- dered himself as bound, by the duty of a ])arcnt, to give little Sarah every opportunity of being as much as might bo under tho eye of the good lady ; while, at tho same time, he was not at all insensible to the immediate ad- vantages which his own mind might bo likely to derive from niinghng in such society as tho mansion-house atfordod. There was no other family of any rank or worldly consequence in tho parish, nor any one in its immediate vicinity, with which ho had formed habits of tlie same sort of early intimacy and mutual attachment, lenderly beloved as he was by the humbler members of his own flock, and freely as he was accustomed to minalo with them on all occasions, there were times, and °of course, many times, in which his mind felt the want of jocta of tlioir 1 not mifro- T old frioiidfl, ist of rosom- [so slio called Hut she hud to I)r Mtiir ; jveu tcinptod dinner with 1 before Mr ? the country Dwn,) to pjiy if his fmnily. ns of the old anner pleas- have been a his had not he had ac- !ill that had ho himself cd Avifo had ilrs Semplo CO in every eforo consi- cnt, to give ;h as might it the same ncdiato ad- !y to derive ision-house jy rank or one in its d habits of ttachment. iicmbers of I to mingle 33, and. of lie want of CIIAI'TICIl in. 21 ■A an tl et^^^^^ '" " ''T''^ ^'''^'^' "' their situation ; fL I V ' J ' 'y^'^y "f *'''^ "^«"t-^» ^vant, as beneath himself t;;'tl ';'''"'?"?''.• '^-'""'^ •^"IM"----' w n on p.H,s,s,onatc gnef, ho was wise enough to know k oStu'irTl '■" r^^^' ^' ^''" -^'''^'^ '""'^^ ^ "'- Hlwuvs bo „ ' i" '"''^'T '-^''^''^"•'^ ^^ *'•« 'Spirit must Author V;'**^ ''"■'" ^''^•'^^' .stim,.Iants which the aii.l vet wl„.„ L I ■ """"■ ''"™ '*'■■'''' »' ''omo; »»- S', ' ™ y'rLT";;;'/;'"'/;'."'? """"'"^' ^"^ momenfa when ^1,™,! f ? "■" """' """■'' *<"■» I'appyat that time of ".oyorf; , """'',,'" '"'^» ..«t boar, noithor, to think ofl i.,";:: ' S; , f T"''' condemned to m'f ),ir « .• i " i'""^ ''^"o gin being when »ll tho'^i 'X:.rf„'"t „T "'""'r'^ T"'^ «'""'• of™irthanaf.tifit,;^^Thrat"fr£?lta?r^^ taLg It r'hi ■;;';;r,:"r '=°-''"'';' ""'■ = -"•' well-known path by the river side. as she of course was ralk alons tho The orphan, clad. all in her deepest mourning, did 22 ADAM BLAIR. Hl-i not trip at her father's side i)ast the door of one cottage Avithoiit receiving some pitying benediction from its aftectionato tenants. How different from the joyous and liearty salutations which they had received the last tnnc they trodo together the same path on the same errand ! The sun had almost gone down in the west before they reached the long dark avenue which leads to tho old liouse, and the rooks were alrea.ly cawing loudly among the bleak branches of the tall leafless beeches. After walking for a quarter of a mile beneath the gloom of t^ioso venerable trees, the white turrets and blazing windows of the hospitable mansion were cheering obiects even in the eyes of Mr Blair, and he entered the light and lofty chamber, where Mrs Semple received her com- pany, with feelings, in spite of all that had come and gone, more approaching to a temperate species of eleva- tion, than he had perhaps experienced ever since the day of Ins great calamity. Tho good old lady herself was m spirits of considerable buoyancy ; for her son, who had been absent for more than two years, had come home that morning unexpectedly, and tho whole house was tiled with visible exhilaration by the presence of the young Laird. Mr Blair, who refused his sympathy to nofeeings of an innocent nature, would have thought iimse f a bad man, if he had not done his utmost to Shew that he shared the happiness of his best and oldest mends upon such an occasion as this ; and he had power enough over himself to receive the grave but cordial salutation of Mr Semple in a way that surprised him, and filled the heart of his mother with new delight. Ihere was a considerable party that day ai Semple- iiaugh - Mr Spens of Spenstarvit, a gentleman nearly connected with the family, who lived about ten miles off and his two beautful daughters -- Miss Ogilvie, a fine' cheerful, old spinster, from Glasgow- the blithe Laird of Croscobie and his literary lady, and a variety of coun- try neighbours besides. The huge rifted fir^runks sent a roaring, blaze np the chimney ; the old massive tankards f one cottage, ion from its n tlie joyous Dived the last on the same > west before leads to the twing loudly Hess beeches, th the gloom and blazing ering objects •ed the light v^ed her com- d come and ies of eleva- cr since the lady herself ler son, who I come home Q house was ience of the ympathy to ave thought 3 utmost to t and oldest ) had power but cordial prised him, Blight, at Scmple- [lan nearly n miles off, vie, a fine, lithe Laird ty of coun- runks sent i'e tankards CIIAPTRR III. 23 and salvers glittered on the side-boards ; the venison smoked upon the table ; and the olaret flowed abundantly to the healths of the season. Mr Blair looked round him ; and could not help participating in the genial feel- ings visible on every countenance that met his view. From time to time, indeed, he betrayed in his manner something of that abstraction of thought with which those who have ever had misery seated at the roots of their hearts are acquainted, and the appearance of which furnishes at times so much amusement to the thoughtless people of the world. But, upon the whole, this was a cheerful evening, and the widowed minister partook in Its cheerfulness. The conversation of the young Laird, who had spent the greater part of the last year in foreign countries, furnished new topics of attention and discus- sion. The kindliness of manner universal in the com- pany, had a soothing effect upon the only wounded mind that was there : for the feeling of human kindness is, after all, not the feeblest reconciler to the ways and doings of this feeble and imperfect existence. If any thing threw an occasional damp upon the general enjoyment of the day, it was the presence of a person whom I have not yet named, and who was the only one present that could be said to be a stranger in the circle of Scmplehaugh-House. This was Mr Semple's tutor, who had been on the continent along with him, a smart, and rather pompous-looking young man, of the name of Jamieson, who, having performed the important exploit of a grand tour, had perhaps thought himself entitled to assume more of the external appearances of a man of the world than was, or indeed is yet, common among the probationers of the Scottish Church — and even to hold his head a good deal above such a plain parish priest of the old school, as he rightly supposed the minister of Cross-Meikle to be. Mr Blair, who had never in his life aspired to ape the fashions of a class to which he did not conceive himself to belong, was always in his own character, and therefore always in his own place. The hauteur which peeped through the great superficial civility m 24 A.>AM nr,Am. ;;! "::':'"!:;!::;':" ■!:"'■"" ? —-"« -'•'. '.i.... .n,. „„.. tncr, sinjpic ni.'ui (is hi iM\i s\U t) ^v^ts, ,.s('!ii)(. 'iiM <>l>s('rv}|,fioii. ^\ ns\v...s..i v.'iy s..,.,Mi,|;iry in!ilt,!lf,-f fllMM h,, o.MlM I, tli.'it nioniin.if. n,.;il(|,f„| oapal.I(« (»r. u|„,„ I i'M<' m its avo I'osc from liis l),),| •ally followed l)y li.viKliful i.'i villi? oondii.'h'.l flio ,|t>vo( '>x f( iu-x(^,|.,y fo flio l\r;msv, l.is^lifMo'j.irh| ;!'<'>*''; H.hl Mr lUui,., ,,a "*"^ of Mid IMItIK ivo l.onsol.ol.l, slopt lH>ff,.pM,.,f,„i^i,,,„ ;•>'• '"■••i.y, many lon^ w.vks UToro. M or '■oils and ••••n li<> had *' ivfiinicd d ^l'«'nbrfoivliimon(li,>patli,and !ioifinjf toovory InVh MrsS(Mnplo had civcn 1 "•>""l litflo hook niorry pariy w,>r,> husy r,W,Won M ">«• «<»'• hop (^hrlsfnias-ho tUo l>rid J<\ and ho pauso'd f(u ;:;t,,;''r,.:"''' '" •"'' ''"^"■"'' ""- "■■"- '1* H'C, as ho (| >*«nnon.i.nif,.s,oonto,nplaf,. and progress Siu'h was thi> Now Y.>ar's-,lav d wh it'll had boon so dinner. \u\ '"'HM- at SonipJohaiigh v'n«llyHlludodtoatthol»ro8hyt iry l> i CIIAl'TIIU IV. sioiKil attoiltioiis 1 1 in ,' -"f "'"">' ''«l» °«- existenc... The ,hv „' i ""'°'' "^ '"* '•<'"'•«> ,„„ed ?.'"''.""'•''<= 'Mkwi buck >i,,«„ aftor it had l-.cJ. Above ai,, ,t was a tim.g to be continual > liiiii, rvj|,fi,),|. 'Vlw cvcniiijif 'I f*hii\v in its 'xM'oiiM lijivo ♦"loni hJN \hmI "i'H was nntii- »• •*l'iir, jiftor 'itiicrotis hikI ih;m li(. had "o ro<.nrn(>(I IX ovory now 'iii^ to ovory »*isfinas-I)ox. 'IS ho ci"o.s.s(>(| t'onN'inpIjif,. II 1(1 progrosH )l'ro8l>ytory rn A rrr, II iv. 2/5 tfilkcd ulwMit l.y IiHl(> Small ; and, in HlK.rf, tlio want (if it f(»ini('il a l.iaiik in tho doiiit-stic calendar of Cnm- Mciklo, 'riiowinfiT, tmnTovcr, had hcI, in with inoro than iiniial Hoyority. Diiftcd hik.w dc(-p(>ncd all tho n.ad.s in tho iioiKlilMMirliood, and n'nd(«rcd tlicjn (|iii(« iinpaHsahlr, or very noarly ho, f(»r sc^voral wwU in HnnrsHi(»n ; and tho proCnso thaw which followed, mad(! matters little Letter ill a country where the soil coriHiHtH, in ho great a ineaHiin!, of wet and heavy clay. To travel ahoiit to any distance in the midst of hucIi a HeaNon, was a thing cpiitt; out of the M'lestion with Mr HIair, and n.arly as much ho with the few fiiendK who n^maiiK-d in his neighl.onrlioo.I during that part of tho year. The gay, the hiisy, tin! active, had nil lied to the cities ; anvery-day intercourse of his own huinhh^r [.ari- s iioners, Mr lllair had therefore little to disturb or vary the course of his own solitary life and meditations. It is no wonder that his melancholy sat down ufion him every duy more and more heavily in such a state of things as this ; and that the more heavy it became, his resolution to struggle with it grew so mucb the fainter and the feel.ler. Tho dark and gloomy skies by day, and tho ghostly bowlings of the winds about his lonely walls by iiiglit, harmonized with, and increased, the o[)i)ression of Ills spirits ;— all the dismal sights and signs of bonumbcMl JNaturo afh>rd<'d nutriment to bis grief. It is probable, that Mr Blair'n mind miglit have soon earned to assume a diHerent tone, had ho bai)pene(l to have bis residence in a city, instead of a thinly-peopled country parish. Grief, such as bis, shrinks at lirst from tho busy aspects of man and tlio world ; but human natnro will have its ^^'ay, and the soul cannot long shut itselt against tho impressions of the bodily senses. Tlio man of tho city, besides, can scarcely keep himself unem- ployed, oven if ho have a mind to do so. The work of 26 ADAM BLAIR. the world is about him, and he must take his share in if New sights force thcmsel.cs upon the eye, .-^d new duties' and occupations upon the Iiands ; if new pleasures coZ Its eat to replace it for a season, to make room iV,r ^ agam, ,t may be, -but not to m'ake room7or it such onhel^iri" '^ '''' ""^^^^"^^^^^ -^ ontire'rosseS^n The Sabbith, witli its various duties and requirements --and even this was not without its salutary effect But pd^dT ele't'hisl' T''' T^-^-- 'he^- com^ sight of the rhrJ- "'"^*'''' ^" 'P^*« «f himself, the thV sound o?r^" congregation stimulated his spirit^ hiTheart *d w^ '"?^' ^^"^"^"^^ «^"* ^ t^umpe Deonlp f jfn ' ^"^,^h^» he »-ose to lead the prayers of his ITm^T "^ "" «»"«'-'g=>«»n linger at the po«h Zt having hCd from ..r-'"""' '" 'f """"*'> »«" strain J 1 '"* ''P^ ^""^ noWo and enercroti,. pavement of tomb.t«„e,%aok to.J^/C^U^,; ^^^ There was no one who took a deeper eoneem in the his share in it. , and new duties ' pleasures como >ld sorrow from ike room for it )om for it such iitiro possession 1 requirements, Blair's melan- was compelled nal appearance •y effect. But, , he was com- f himself, the ■ted his spirit ; it a trumpet prayers of his id affectionate t clearly once lich they had iry elevations I by the reac- 1 would some »e porch, that some humble inister, after nd energetic 2d to him to 5 ; but when thin sight of enthusiasm deserted his vind bosom, 5s steps the the broad itary dwell- !ern in the CHAI'TKIt IV. 27 visibly melancholy condition of his minister, than old John Maxwell ; and the delicacy with which ho testified his feelings was such, as those who have lived among the peasantry of most other countries wouldnothave witnessed without some astonishment. No noisy expressions of sympathy, no well-meant offences against the sacred dignity of sorrow, over proceeded from him. His quiet looks, his grave and fatherly smiles, his minute acts of kindliness would have done honour to a heart refined by all that the more cultivated men are pleased to reckon the most potent instruments of human refinement. He came often to the Manse, but he never came without an errand that might prevent his visit from appearing to be nothing but a visit. At one time he had some slips of sweet-briar, which he wished Mr Blair would permit him to put in the hedge about the garden — at another time, his pockets were full of flower-roots — and a third time, his daughter-in-law had thought the Minister might not have a « caller Qgg» for his breakfast at this time of year ; and she had made a point of it, that he should take a walk over with a basket of them. The minister knew John, and felt all his kindness ; but John returned to his tarm, and he to his desolate chamber — where Young's Night Thoughts, or the Boole of Job, lay open on the table rather, it may be, to be looked at than to be read. Wbije his daughter sat and prattled by him, the soothing influence of young and innocent looks could not fail from time to time to make itself felt ; nay, there wanted not moments when the light voice of infancy had power to chase sorrow almost entirely from a father's heart. But at night, after Sarah had gone to bed, there was a long interval of unbroken desolation. Often would he permit the fire and candles to go out unnoticed, and sit musina m darkness and in silence, beside the cold hearth that had once been used to shine so brightly beneath the eyes of a light-hearted circle. At other times he would throw open the window, and lean over it for hours and hours, listening to the sulky ravings of the midnight tempest, or watching the pale uncertain stars, as they drifted hither 2n ADAM ur,Airi. mV''^I^ *''''"'^'"^ my Maker for these very tlnngs, and wishing that Mr Blair were in a way to fall in with the like. Grieved and oppressed as I wfs I couM not be idle-I could not sit .UI day n he house juth nothing but my book to take me iipil was obliged rise with the cock and guide the plo^ - I b'hoved mount my horse and ri.le to the tow„-f I had ba 'ahis to make and fulfil -i ,vas a busy man as I had S cou?d nn.w"^" '^'' '''^^'' «^"^« I -^^« ^^-'-^ried, audi venie^ ?,^^ ' 'r'n ''' ""'^^^ "^* /"^ ^«' *^" ^ "^^^^ con- Imndrl / , .^''' '"^^ ""'^"^^ ^<^'' '*' '^ ^^ had had tWO hundred acres on his hand instead of yon poor starved tl^iy }et. But, oh! my bairns, let us never forget that vessels, over tlio se.'i of clouds. •II, rind liis son's ly tlieii resident ,'etlier, jifter tlio iversatioM h.-ij)- ter leii^rtl, thjin iter and Iiis un- id the old niun, is afHiction, has lio goodness of IV ecjually good -•as not (luito so was ta'on from 1 Jiad been as husband ; and her death, and all Irit I had liink by what \t I Iiavo seen ings that used t i)arts of my iker for these in a way to )d as I was, I in the house 1 was obh'ged — I behoved had bargains I had been aried, and I ' Adam, if it has seldom a more con- liad had two oor, starved, ifferent sort for many a ■ forget that CnAPTER IV. 29 nil these things are ordered from above. Remoml)er who It IS that has said, < Men groan from out the city, and the SOI. of the wounded crieth out: yet f;od layeth not folly to them. L(>t us all hope that our good minister may soon be hnnself again. Jt is a dark Providence to us that has aid !.,m in the \' poplin was ^eS^^^^^^ the the buffalo's hufch was roTn ? ?^'' ' ^'•''•''' ""^ ^''-^^ world for a breaWast relish '' '''' ""''' """^ ^° «'« M JSal^tlltL^SoJt^^*;"^ -ith Which familiar, but which hoTn, ,?V l^""* ^''" sufficiently -in, for severa/ ye'ar^rp^;;^ t ^ SKf^^^^^ '^ " Dear Sir, sv-areoly ^aj, that YS K ;:^ii'';.''?: ""'n''' ' ™'^'' wrest sorrow of tho m.„.t i . * , ' '"-'-''""P of the sin- God to visit ^ollS^y'^Z *",^ rl--'' " ''»^ Ploasod at the samo'^ti^i.n";^,:*'-?,!^^:);'"'' of -pressing, strengthened for "-o siippo^rlh^^l.^™ ^ i^ wTl,^ I It, and who woro nicatioii of some diligence, ■ocoivod in Ediii- ittlo Sarah caino ith a faco full of I ton carrier had ineiklo kist frao rao Edinburgh," ? a now vohmio 3 of tho Idlers, ^ imhlication in prds of black at tho bottom, letters for Mr shall presently ^0 do not think ! place, was ad- antiquo hand- tho expression lato Inquiries ; plain that tho filair, and that it thing in tho ? with which en sufficiently pporturiity of ows : — Scotland, you lot taken an ndeed, I need ?s of tho sin- it has pleased f expressing, and may bo ince we saw ni ™ cnAPTKR ir, codd 1, tie have been expected by either of us ; and I f lluire of the sorrows of this world. I trust your ,lear ht le g,rl !.s as we 1 as I can wish, and that she is mlly your comfort, which I am sure she must be i .Z ^I'' ''^''"' ';'"', ''*'' '"^" ''' ^'^""' •''« t« ^'^ "10 to spend ' TurT T'- ' '•;";'* «*^'"I>lehaugh. and I have accq.t nn V n "'y'*f ""' ^'t''*'"«^ I am sure, there are many things winch nnist render that beautiful part of tlie country a molanclioly quarter for me. 13at Mr Umipbell not being exi)ected homo for better than a twelvemonth, and some of my ow,i friends being out of tlie way, I was really, till La.ly Semplehaugh fpoko to me, something at a loss where I should be^luring tho "'fnir.r'* •"/•'''^ '"f ""'^- ^'^' ^' »'^"^ tJ»« town « tuJ of gaieties and diversions, from which T can carce ly kee,> myself quite disengaged, although I wl me 'u. .f^'f '^^ ^'"^^ *.'""^^- ^^- i^ has'occur":^ to me hat perhaps you might bear with tho company fan Id and sincere friend (though she has been much na tf for'V! ?^' '"^ '' ^'"^^'^ ^^ '^^'' ^^' ««"^« time he t'i no J i fV 'Tf ^''^' *^''^* »»^>«t pass before the time of Lady Semplehaugh's removing to the country comes round. If it be perfectly convLientn slm f ^.erefore, set out for Glasgow next Monday', and bo with you at Cross-Meikle on the following day • but if tabT ^t r *'"^ \' ''"'" '''' ^'^'* -"yw ise'^unaccep table .'} the present moment, I am sure you know me too well at least I would fain hope so, to have anv scruple about saying so. God blessVon, dear X and yours,^says your affectionate cousin,'and very humble l^^mn^ur,k,Fe5.C,l75B. " ^°^^^"^ Campbell. n,'iif"^'~"T?Jf^* ^"^ "'^' """^^^ of Mrs Martha Bell of Bollstown, Libberton's Wynd. " To the Rev. Mu Adam Blair, Minister vj the Gospel at Vross-Meikler »s*% 32 ADAM BLAIB. CHAPTER V. Mr Blair was not a little surprised by the receipt of tliis letter, and by the intelligence it conveyed. Mrs Campbell, though a very near relation, and, in former times, a most intimate friend and companion of his late wife, had not exchanged any sort of communication with him, or any part of his family, for nearly nine years, and having heard of her some time before as being permanently resident in the Low Countries, he had given up, in a great measure, any notion of ever seeing, or even hearing, from her any more. At times, indeed, during the fatal illness of his wife, it had oc- curred to him how much both he and she might have been the better of having under their roof some such active, and affectionate, and cheerful inmate as Charlotte Bell was when she spent some three months with them at Cross-Meikle in the first year of their marriage. But various circumstances had occurred in the intervening space, which prevented him from ever wishing seriously for the return of Charlotte herself to the domestic circle, of which she had then formed the life and the ornament. At the same time, after all that passed, he could not now see once more her well-known hand-writing, without having many kindly feelings again called up in his mind — and after thinking over the matter a great part of the night, the result was, that Mr Blair felt some pain in the idea of being disturbed by the presence of any six-weeks visiter whatever, but was, upon the whole, as much disposed to receive such a visit from Mrs Campbell, as from any other person of her sex who happened to occur to his recollection ; besides, the letter was received on Friday, and as the lady was to leave Edinburgh on Monday morning, there was no time left for any farther epistolary communication on the subject. That she would arrive at Cross-Meikle, on the day she had men- y the receipt of conveyed. Mrs and, in former mion of his late communication for nearly nine time before as y Countries, he ^ notion of ever lore. At times, svife, it had oc- she might have roof some such ate as Charlotte nths with them marriage. But the intervening ishing seriously domestic circle, i the ornament, 5 could not now riting, without lied up in his ter a great part • felt some pain iresence of any 11 the whole, as Mrs Campbell, happened to 3r was received Edinburgh on for any farther ct. That she she hud LueQ- 'M, ■■■^^ CHAPTER v. oo ;rr'°"^ to .„ .„. ,, n'Se t"tsn: the late Mrs Blair ?, 1 ^f' " ""'"'"■"•■'' "n"'" <>' that w.as her Sdo7 "an oHn 1""''' ^f'"'^ "^'^^ ^^"^ winters at the thno vh^n A , \,?™' '"'" ^ *'>■■«<' s^tSe££^B-^--- among women whon fliv ""=' ^"^-^ *^««"^' <^^en somc^time ;^e t^.f,*^nr'^^^^^ "^''^ "°t for attentions wSmr.^C' f""^^/^^^^ther Mr Blair's I believe ferr/einToil T'^^ "'/"'* ^^""^ ^°"«i" ? ^"d accustomed o s e' hem .11 ."'.^ ^'"^•^^' ^"^ ^^^^ but that the Inndsor ^^l'^''.' ^^''^^ "^"^'^ ^^"bt made a pre ty c'sv S T^.f "'?'"-^'''^" ""'^^^ ^^^^ he mignte cL n to f' ' f/^-^' ^"^ kinswomen therefore, that MirCharlotr fe ^' "'* ^"^P°^^^'^^' touch of disappointmenfw f„ 't Z: .ZT'^V fancy was first discovered • bnf til "^ ''^ ""^ ^"« high-spirited girl IT^UTf ™ ^ ^arm-hearted, could be no wondTr th "'^^'^^^ really the case, it generosity enouglf^ltoieth^ ?'"•' ^^^^ ^^^^ ^i**^^' altogether to Lt^ X L ,' t^S^' f' r''' """^' ' occasion in every other noinrS ^ f<^olmgs, on an to give pleasureitjZTlLfyir " "^" ^"^^^^^^^^'^ 9 . J I 34 ADAM BLAIK. She acted as bridcsinai.l at tlio wedding, and as Ins months of thc.r marri,>d lifo beneath the Juimblo and cheerful roof of tlie Manse of Cross-Meiklc. Fmnk ami open „. her imnners- candid, even to a fault, t may bo cordial, affectionate, light of heart, ar.d bu;yanrin C . rMr'TV;;'"'*'""'- '^ \" ^^''-'^'^ ^^^•'^"^'f"' ^'••^^k.eyed i'^ery body tiiat saw her Fncnds in all tlio old sl.o met, and lovers in tho young. Whoever kneu- her then, would have been sorry to think possible that she should be any thing but a happy w^fe ^Kl mother m her time ; but such was not the lestinv that awaited Charlotte I3cll ^ bon L f f'^t^^"''^"' '^'' ^"""'^ t'^'-^t J»«r father had be^n fortunate as to increase his clientage very con- ulerably during the summer, and had hcgul to bVand seern a greater man than heretofore Several r^w rows of green boxes -those external symptoms of I filwl^^^^^^ prosperity -had beenMled L the ohei .rf f ; ^'r''''r^^'> --^"d the appearance of tho other part of tho house had been a good deal improved at the same tune. Mr Bell entertained more com^ ny and hved, m short, in much better style than he luXen used to do ; aiid Miss Charlotte was nothing loth to lend a helping hand in doing all the honours of a now flour- win^' t *;'""" h* ""''"'^ ™ "^^^^ '-^^"^-^d t'^^t Miss Bo ^ f "^T, '"^^••^P^^li^ than tho charming Miss Bell, the accomplished heiress-apparent of all this ship - young advocates of fees - many thought of the black eyes, and more of the rich succession ; and the old lad es laid wagers of ribbons and gloves, that Cha ot e ffav 3s i^/"";'^-"''" ^^^ ^^"^^ ^^"g^^d for several ^y^Zt^r ^!;:;:J!1.?- -7-"f' ^^-t every- body but herself thought and spoke of Um as a boy. ', niid, as has 'i«o of tho first 3 Inirnblo and : Frank and fault, it may id buoyant in ful black-eyed the delight of young. iorry to think Ji happy wife t the destiny visit to the r fatiiof had ?e very con- n to be and Several new nptoms of fi idded to the irance of the al improved '0 company, ho had been loth to lend now flour- imired that e charming of all this of partner- ught of the and the old t Charlotte an end. for several that every- as a boy. CHAPTER V. 35 time until there should bo ^ooms vacant foH^^ "^ dationat THnif^ r„, "/""'"'* vacant tor his accommo- uauonat irinity, Cambridge — on the books of whiph college his name had already been entered Tl.^! 7 gentleman fell i„ love with Miss Rp?)' } \7'''''l^ when ho fir Jid the honours of his taUc, 8G ADAM BLAIR. ' i by tho style and title of Mrs Bell the second -His ac- quaintance with this person, and indeed his intimacy with her, were at the same time announced to bo of some Jittlo standing, by the appearance of tliree or four pretty boys and girls, who addressed the lady at the head of tho table as mamma, and bestowed a name of equal tender- ness upon the respectable senior at the foot of it At this party, although most people could not help connec- ting it m some measure with Miss Charlotte's elopement no allusion whatever was made to that distressing occur- rence. On the contrary, nobody meiftioned either Mr Beauchamp Arden or his lady, more than if there had never been any such persons in tho world ; and here is a circumstance which does, I think, very great honour to the dehcacy and politeness of the jolly-faced bachelors and heart-whole widowers, who that day surrounded Mr iiell s tostive board." Mr and Mrs Beauchamp Arden, by the time this din- ner took place in the Lawn-Market, had spent five days m the then unhackneyed fairy-land of the Cumberland Jakes, and become as heartily weary of the sight of the real meres and mountains as the keenest anti-laker of our own day has of the sound of their names. They skirted Furness, crossed the sands to Lancaster, regained tlie great road, and were soon in the heart of London INoise tumult, glare, produced on Charlotte the same sort of effect which, when visible in the demeanour of a masculine being, is sometimes by the malicious attri- buted to the influence of champagne, and for three weeks once more she thought herself the happiest woman in the world. But at tho end of the month, several new and not, less melancholy facts were forced upon her knowledge. *^ First, Mr Arden's father had announced his resolution never to give his son a shilling unless he got rid of the Scotch Bourgeoise, who had been cunning enough to take him m. [Old Bell, by the way, had written to old Arden m a strain of high indignation about the marriage ; but this only made matters worse, by convincing him "A CHAPTER V. ry, iTt^p^J^f ^^'^ *^''" ''''' *''"* '^'' ^- S- '^'-^d his finger bofro'f'th; f:th^'T'•'™^^'•'"^ ''-'^•^ «^"^^^««'l that, f ° ' , , ^''"^ ^''^}^l\ ^eing thus intractable, he saw no foru^.ble prcpoct of being able to raise the wind forTum- Thirdly, Mr Beanchanip Arden's handsome connfp abundance of her father's house! whether af '; ^ Several months of mingled ennui and care terminited m an unexpected catastrophe. Mr Bca cLnin A'den was mjssed at home, and his wife discovered a era very pamful search and investigation, that a cerl. n SignTra to p!u1 ^''' ^"'" '" ''^* "^ the corner of her carriage lef ittut ifnf '^ '« «<^ldom deiZM^i . r'."* ^'''*' "^ consolation, and the deserted Mrs Arden did not always sigh in solitude M the ena of some eighteen or twenty Months MA ;de,^ beautifu face was seen as beautiful as e ;runon th: streets of Edinburgh. But let it not be Tmyfed tha she had gone thither for the sake of soliciting i . avour of her father: Charlotte hlu p irif bC'e th^t tu [on th;T'''""*' '^^*'^"^ ^-« that'excellent in t* manv W ^'"™'««T^ Court -an institution to wh h many have been, and more have wished to be oSd m our own time. From that semi-reverend TSre Mrs Arden soon procured a sentence of divorce Sst the swam of the Boracci, and the same day on whicf tha 38 AT>Arr m.AiR. annomicod in tho Ciiledoiii.-m Mercury, as havin'r l,o- stowcd lier fair Iiand upon one of that numerous division of tlie human species wliieh may bo sliortly and accu- mtely described as answering to tho name of Captain Campbell. ^ The Captain Campbell of Charlotte was, in almost every respect, unlike the curly-headed boy who had pre- ceded him in her good graces. He was a thick made, square-built, sturdy Highlander, with what are com- monly called heather-legs, {Anglicc bandv). His noso had been blown up a little by snuff or brandy, or both • his eyes were keen grey ; his eye-brows bristlv red • his bob-major dressed a mcrveiUe ; and his Dutch uniform as nne as fivepence. Captain Campbell, being tho second son of one of thefirst fanulies ni Argyll, had, of course, begun the world with a pair of bare legs, and ton guineas. Ho had entered mto tho service of their High Mightinesses, and risen by degrees to the high rank (that of Lieutenant) which he now occupied. Nevertheless, in tho course of some West India services, the shrewd man of Morven had con- trived to foiither his nest ; and if tho possession of several thousand pounds entitles a military man to stylo himself Captain, there is every reason to believe that his proper designation, as well as his usual one, was Captain Camp- bell. With money in his purse, tho gallant hero had returned to Britain for the double purpose of providing himself with a wife and an estate. He was introduced to Mrs Arden at a g-xy party in Kensington Gardens. He heard all her long and touching story in a romantic hour, among ' - "woods and alleys green,* and the result was, that Captain Campbell and Mrs B. Arden set off, in tho course of a week or two, for Scot- land, and remained in Edinburgh together, until the above-mentioned interlocutor of the Consistorial Court of that legal city was pronounced and ratified more solenni. Fortune seemed to smilo upon Captain Campbell ; for as having be- incroiis division rtly and accu- rno of Captain vas, in almost r who had prc- a thick made, vhat aro coni- y). Ilis TiosG ludy, or both ; ristiv red ; his ch uniform a* oneofthe'first le world with had entered 50S, and risen unant) which )nrse of somo rven had con- ion of several stylo himself it his proper iptain Camp- in t hero had of providing s introduced hardens. He mantic hour, and Mrs B. 0, for Scot- % until the rial Court of ore solenni. mpbeli ; for CUAITKU v. no he met with an estate to his fancy, about as soon as he Inn pro J: 1 ' T'"" ^" ''^ '"">'• ^ I'-turcs '^-^*^"^pt I'l.it It V as a raw. Avithin thirty miles. Mrs Campbell had seen G^vZv fair round fingers coald toncli the strinm of tlio Zih, it wa, a th ng rathor t , be bla,n.d than VXrJTlCt *grcttri„r,"'""" -"-"x-'l. with fol gf regret, the jovial mess-room of the Scots regiment -ii^l the good cheer of the Hogan Mogans vZ^Tlt, ' smoked pipes, and long i.ptied bottles^ :' e ,°VeS lum ,n d,m and shadowy pro'cession, and &pL f C™? bell pa,d a touching tribnte to the sensibility of 1 i" ,n ' re" when he requested to have his resp-nf.ble nume n f„n ' whiT' J,"? '""r^"^' "f the'disti,^uird x:"e": which he belonged. To bo brief Mr •iiiH M™ r v ,? had gone over t-o Holland, and iZtV^^ 40 ADAM BLAIR. at Dordrecht, where, or whereabouts, they and th^ r..; which the Campbells had never offered Th! 1 . ! ' for the continent had all the rp^errlnce o'l^i ^final one ; and Charlotte, not to mince matters, was^I.Lcted of deserving to be forgotten, and was in aVai wa^To be so, by her friends in Scotland ^ •tTo It °;'t^^ '-'-"« *^*"^ - ::::;! ofaLr *!'" ■^.Sen.pk, with whom, on a fomer a week „Mwo to Sem'plehaugh-Ho'u'e. ''"' "'"^J"'^ by sirs clmntn L*f, 'T ""^^"^ '»•""«'> -"^ -"'ten oy Mr> Campbell on tl,o day immediately following that ey and the regi- a state of very llshire, obvious iciting the visit, Their departure of being a final , was suspected fair way to be was once more of the comely )urgh, she gave ith whom she , that she had matters in the len he should a few months be considered It was at the ced one even- on a former ikle,) she had iral for Mrs elancholy ac- stened to, as of the wife, I lasting and manly mind. Campbell to a great mind the affliction ind, finally, ilk of going opportunity tl as to spare vas written lowing that CHAPTER V. 41 \ 1 on wh,ch she had the honour of meeting the Lady of Senpehaugh, atul the letter came in the same paU with that exec len person's presents to the minister and JlnH-^K r^.'^^'^l^' ^''""^^' ^'^ '^'^'^ ^W the letter of a Scottish lady preferred any other method of travelling ^0 hat furnished under the provisions of the Post-office? CHAPTER VI. When Saturday came, every thing had been duly nre- unused tot:: "^T'^f ""P*^^'^ = *^^ houseliddfCg unused to any extraordinary exertions, had exerted them selves wirh gladness, and all things without and w thTn the Manse of Cross-Meikle had assumed an air of liTe a^S occupation, such as for many months they had not been called upon to exhibit. The day itself was one of tZe b ight days which about the middle of April announ^ skv wT r''';'' 'P'"'"^ °^ '^'' Scottish spring. T,L sky was clear blue, with here and there gray driftW c ouds that passed and repassed upon the breath of f nori'T; '' *'^ ^'^^P ''''^ ^ '-- -^--«' on- more the hedges about the garden ; the early crocus V rT ri^h'^^'T ' ''f ""'' P'^>'^^ "^^* ^"d elas^c round every freshening branch and bough, and the small birds Mr B at .7/'^ '"'' T'' *"^^'" '''' ^™ ^^^ copses Mr Blair as he came forth beneath the brightening Ca momen^T' ''" ^"'* '''''' ^^^^^'"^ ^"^^ P^^taking renovatPdnTf ' ff ^'"^ atmosphere and influences of renovated nature. He stood for some minutes eniovin^ he su„od„g gladness of all things, and 3 to' K ^"^2^:;:::^:.-^- - youngef r ht^p! The distance from Glasgow is such, that it was natural 42 ADAM BLAIR. for him to expect Mrs CrinipboH's arrival early ; and after the morning liml pas.Mul, it was still tliought impossible but that she must come before dinner. Dinner was deferred from hour to liour, and at last served up, but still she came not ; and Mv Blair, when he perceived that the twilight was thickening apace, began at last to feel some perplexity, and almost to think that Mrs Campbell would not come that night at all. Little Sarah sat with the cups set forth upon the table before her, and the kettle humming by the fire, while he stood at the window looking forth every now and then towards the darkened village lane, and listening to the undulations of the breeze in every sudden rise of whi.h he fancied himself to catch at length the distant rattling of wheels. The night closed, and all exi)cctations being given up, the family were assembled in the usual manner for the purposes of social devotion. The psalm had been sung, the chapter read, and the prayer commenced, when a carnage stopped at the door of the Manse, unheard and unheeded. Mrs Campbell alighting and entering the house heard Mr Blair's voice, and immediately compre- hended vyhat was going forward. She gently opened the door of the well-known parlour, and stepping in, knelt down beside one of the servants-all so quietly, that Mr Blair, being at the other end of the room, with his back turned towards the door, and occupied with his devo- tional duty, had not the least suspicion of what had happened. He continued, therefore, to go on with his prayer as if no s ranger had been hearing it ; and perhaps the effect of what he uttered might have been less powerful had ho been speaking in the knowledge of her presence. More powerful, under any circumstances, it could scarcely have IZVf 7, • .'""'^' '"^'^"'^' chastened spirit, poured It e f forth in free, unrestrained, gushing earnestness, and all the humble aspirations of the man rose to, and were overshadowed in, the sublimity of his religion. The voice of affliction was retonod in tliat sacred moment, and trembled with all the fervid eagerness of unbroken arly ; and after gilt inipossiblo Dinner was served up, but perceived that at last to feel Mrs Campbell Sarah sat with her, and the it the window, > the darkened s of the breeze, msoif to catch ing given up, anner for the id been sung, need, when a unheard and entering the itcly compre- ly opened the ing in, knelt etly, that Mr *vith his back itli his devo- of what had 3 prayer as if ips the effect t-erfulhad he ence. More scarcely have nrit, poured lestness, and o, and were igion. The ed moment, )f unbroken CUAPTEU VI. 4,'} faith, while the aft'octions of a father, a guardian, and a priest, flowed fortli all t(»gother in one full, soft, and soothing stream of supplication. lie who, after being brought up in a house where the ancient Scottish system of family worship was regularly followed, has wimdored abroad in the world, and lived among peoi)]e ignorant, careless, or scornful of such things ; and then, perhaps, returned after a \'d])m of many years to the paternal fire-side, there to witness once more those old and venerable observances of villago piety, the effect of which has probably never entirely de- parted from his mind, however little their salutary influ- ence miglit, at times, bo visible on the surface of his conversation and his conduct — such a man, and, I am sure, there must be n.nny such, will have no ilifficulty in sympathizing with the emotions whicli rose an \ la. and, above all, of gentle pity— were the only ones which ■i««irlliM ■ G2 ADAM BLAIR. i .'III his mild spirit harboured, after that first momentary pang had gone by. As a man, it was his nature to pity the errors of a woman, and as a priest, it was his duty to amend them ; and perhaps the most poweriul and sahitary stimulant which could have been applied to such a mind as his in such a situation as this, was furnished by the stroug sense with which the obligatioiis of this sacred duty rose upon him as he pondered, in his retirement, over the melancholy truth which had thus been forced upon his observation. To soothe the heart that had been visited by so many baleful fevers of passion — to calm and con- firm the understanding which had been shaken amidst the tempests of the world— to rebuild the fiiith that had been shattered — to restore the hopes that had been blighted — and to renew, in all its parts, the healthful tone of a mind which had originally been meant for health, and the happiness of health — these were the objects to which his soul, in the silence of meditation, devoted all her energies, and to which he henceforth applied himself, not, indeed, with any visible demonstra- tion of zeal, but with a quiet and affectionate perseve- rance much more worthy of himself, and nnich more likely to secure the attainment of the purpose he had in view. It is not for us to follow Blair into the secret exercises of his sacred calling, nor is it necessary to sug- gest doubts to the present generation, by telling how the doubts of their forefathers were subdued. It is enough for me to say, that die apparent result was such as never fails to take place when knowledge and faith on the one hand, and ignorance and doubt on the other, meet each other fairly and on fair grounds. The un])retending simplicity with which Mr Blair expounded the subjects that had formed the study of his life, did not lead his pupil (for such she was) to distrust either the depth of his study, or the sincerity of his conviction. Religion is a part of our nature, and Mrs Campbell's nature, with all hor faults and errors, was entire in hfr bosom: her feelings, soothed by the presence of sympathy, and CHAPTER VIII. 63 lomentary srrors of a !nd them ; stimulant l1 as his in ;ho strong duty rose , over the upon his 3en visited 1 and con- en amidst h that had had been 3 healthful meant for 5 were the neditation, henceforth lemonstra- te perseve- luch more I he had in the secret ary to sug- ig how the t is enough ch as never on the one meet each [pretending he subjects lot lead his le depth of Religion is ature, with losom : her pathy, and m originally too warm for the purposes cf the sceptic rejoiced in running back into the old channels. Her constant observation of the effects of religion in the person and family, and among the flock o'f Mr Blair, lent the best of all commentaries to the doctrWies she heard explained, and revived gradually all tlic genial aspirations which, even in her worst days, hu.l never entirely deserted her bosom. Without any exclamations any professions, any confident declarations, Mr Blair was satisfied that the good work had prospered, surely though slowly, in his hands. If some momentary feel- mgs of exultation, such as man should never feel, might occasionally pass through his miiul,-if he thanked his God too rashly, and even then gave not to God all the glory,— the man most unlikely to fall into Blair's errors will, I take leave to think, be the first and the readiest to excuse thom. Meanwhile, under the influence of new and continued excitements of so many different sorts, and p.31 powerful in their kind, the mental lethargy into which Mr Blair had for a long time sunk, had gradually been shaken off; and the whole outward appearance of the man bore testimony to the alteration which the state of his spirits had been undergoing. Once more the humble hearth of the Manso had resumed its air of sober cheerfulness, and otten, after fc^arah had retired to her early repose, would Blair and Mrs Campbell sit up hour after hour together, engaged in conversation, which, on whatever subject it turned, had so many charms for both, that neither was willing to think of its termination. The deep and seri- ous subjects to which I have already alluded, paved the way, imperceptibly, for other topics of a nature less solemn indeed, but too profoundly interesting to the one of them not to command the warmest sympathy and attention of the other. Woman, however chilled and reserved by the first sense of strangeness, is, by nature, communicative : it is her fate to lean upon man ; and to mnn slio is never slow to tell her griefs, when she is once sure that her griefs are to bo listened to, not by the pi i' ' WMf 64 ADAM DLAIR. r with the harshness, nor with the gesture of cavil, but gently, kindly, warmly, as it becomes man ever to licien to woman. The openness of communication which had taken place in regard to one set of subjects, led to a similar openness as to others ; and, by degrees, all the long story of Charlotte's miseries — as much, at least, as any woman could tell to any man of such a story — had been told over and over again to Blair, under circum- stances .vhich might have rendered a less affecting story sufficiently dangerous to a man less strongly guarded than he was. There is not, nor eve." • a man in tho world, having the common feelings of d man, who could have lieard such a story with indifference — and Char- lotte had all the power to tell it as it ought to have been told. Her eyes were suflfused with heaviness and gloom, and her cheek burned, as she narrated the early treacheries of the boy Arden, for it was evident that she could not, without shame of the deepest dye, retrace the folly of her own girlish beliaviour — the green enthusiasm which had buoyed her up while she wa; 'boating, with her eyes open, to abandonment and scorn ~tl glowing heart of hearts which she had laid bare to the breath of insult — the confidence which had grown like a gourd, only that, like a gourd, the next day's sun might see it withered to the inmost fibre, and every broad leaf already moulder- ing into the dust cf derision. Her countenance recovered its calmness as she went on, but her voice, although it shook not, sunk as low as ever did the mtense whisper of hatred. " I toiled for him," said she, (it was of Campbell she spoke) — " I toiled for him — I banished myself for his sake — I made myself his drudge, his slave, his victim. I had been bred in abundance, and he was not poor ; yet, because he chose it should be so, I lived as if I had never known what plenty was. But what was this ? What would I have cared for this, had I been requited with affection ? I would have starved myself, — yes, Adam Blair, I would have starved myself, and gladly too, could I have been sure of one kind look — one tender kiss, Adam, when the night closed in upon ciuriER viir. 6.3 cavil, but er to Wzten which had s, led to a cs, all the at least, as tory — had cr circum- sting story ly guarded man in tho who could and Char- 1 have been and gloom, treacheries could not, ho folly of iasm which th her eyes ig heart of )f insult — , only that, svithered to y moulder- recovered ilthough it ISO whisper (it was of 1 banished Irudge, his dance, and auld be so, was. But JT this, had ive starved ved myself, kind look sed in upon my misery. But no — things went on from worse to worse, and to all I submitted. I left Scotland— a weary hateful Scotland it was then to me — and I went to Hol- land, and we were gay, and my husband's face was lighted up, except only when his eyes fell upon mine. Wh3% why should I tell you the weary talc over again ? Suspicion, black, false, detestable suspicion — blacker and falser it was than evrr the devils made hell or found it — suspicion, distrust, scorn, — these are the bitter ingre- dients that have at last made my cup run over. Adam, if I have borne any part of all these last miseries well, it is you I have to thank for doing so. I have breathed more freely since I came back to your shelter : any body else would liave refused such shelter to such a creature as me. I have had many faults, but I trust I have never been an ungrateful creature. Pray for me, dear Adam, I have much need of your prayers." Once more they shed sympathetic tears, and once more they parted. CHAPTER IX. Pass over the few short weeks of a spring, which, on the whole, we may call cheerful, since it followed so dark a winter, and imagine to yourselves the beautiful region all around Cross-Meikle, clothed once more in tho rich- ness and pomp of summer in " tho leafy month of June." The skies are all over bright, dark, sultry blue, without a single cloud ; the trees seem to be loaded and bowed down with the luxuriance of their foliage ; tho shadows lie black beneath them upon the fervid turf ; the brook leaves half its rocky channel bare to the sun, but slumbers clear as some large translucent gem within the deep green pool which it never has deserted. All nature pants beneath the sense of her own excessive beauty, and a still low chorus of universal delight is breathed from the sur- face of all living and inanimate things into the ear of noon. It Wfilf ADAM BTAIB. It was on such a day that Blair proposed to Mr? Campbell that they should take Sarah along with them, and walk over to Semplehaugh, to pay their respecis to the good- old lady, whose arrival, (from acciih r.tal circum- stances, deferred longer than was »ivual,) h'i! taken place the day before, and been announced the san\e ev-ning^ hy a message of kind inquiries to tU? inhabitavits of tiio Manse. Mrs Campbell suiilcd her consent, and the drld, bounding witn childish glee, was soon ready to mn on the way before thexn, and open every little gate they had to pass, in their v-alk tbrough the fields, ere they came up to it. They v ali f d UoM-ly, and were sure never to pass a clump of o! nit, obliging, heartsome lassie, I never met with, i oel ken that nae love can be like a first love ; but oh ! mem, it 's folk's duty to struggle with the evils of our condition ; and Mr lilair is not in the same kind of situation that he would have been in, had he been left at the head of alargefamil} , wi' everything astir round about him. If'> has naething but yon puir bit lassie, little Sarah, and 1 'm sure she has as meikle reason as he has to wish for such a change. Annie Muir must be allowed to be a very comely young woman —she 's no such a beauty as poor Mrs Blair was at her time of life ; (weel I mind her weel-faur'd sonsy face, when she came first to Cross-Meikle ;) but she's a bonny lassie - - a very bonny lassie ; do you no think sae, Mrs Campbell ? And I '11 take it upon mo to say, that the Doctor, honci- man, would have no olMection to the con- nection. -Na, hoot, Mrs Campbdl, 1 doubt ye 're no heeding whnt I've been spying. I^o you not allow her to be a comely young body V ':| #1 H', J 72 ADAM BI.AIR. IIer?_Whom?" s:,,.| ClKiHotto ; «0I,, I bo. your pardon, ma'am it was Miss Muir you wore .peaking^o ' 1 bog your pardon a tl.ousand times. I think sho 's vcr; wol-very woll indeed. Perhaps, if she hud seen a ittlo more of the worM, it might have done her lir „o harm ; but considering every thing, I perfectly agreo with you. 1 think Miss Muir is really very well!! exceedingly Avell indeed. I have no doubt she's very much admired in the country." ^ ^^ " Indeed is ..he," replied Iho Dowager, rather tartly, and ni tho town too, Mrs Campbell. There's young Mr lanholm the Advocate, ho did nothing but dancf after her early and late. I'm sure I've often thought his business maun hao been saiily neglected. And what s mair there was Major Spankie, him that's to bo heir to auld G en spankie, and is very weel to do as it is already At the last Assembly wo wore at, I promise you he danced a hornpipe wi' her, forbye a minuet de la conr and a wheen reels after supper. Annie Muir might haud her head high enough, if she were like some folk • but she s a modest lassie, and I am sure she'll never covet ony thing aboon her own proper condition ; though, let nie tell you the Doctor has been forty-four years minister Of Lambuslee, and Cambuslee's another kind of stipend frae the like of Cro.ss-Meikle here, and he's aye been a quiet-livmg, canny, careful carlo ; and, my word I 'se warrant Annie Muir will hao a braw little penny to her tocher, Mrs Campbell. Do you no think now, mem, it would be a very proper connection ?" "No, ma'am," answered Mrs Campbell, her face flushing with sudden crimson, « no, ma'am, I assure you, 1 think no such matters ; and I assure you it is the last proposal I should have expected to hear from one who knows Mr Blair so well as you do. Whai ! marry AJam Blair to the first pair of red cheeks and blue eyes that happen to cross his path, and this, forsooth, because he is alone, and a sufferer from solitude ! Would it mnVe him teel less solitary to have fifty pretty faces like that taring round It, like so many painted Cupids' heads on a picture frame ? I trust Mr BI Miss Ml iiir will loso no tiiiio CIIAPTKR JX. yg lows himself bettor, and tluit cither witli Mr Fiiirhohn the Ad in !iri-!inging lier amiirs. im.k.e, or son.ehody els. that will suit her^,ett:>r, a < take n.y word for it, make her a happier won.un i n h o long ru,. -Mrs Sen.ple," she adde.l, in a ouiete ami n|ore senous tone of voice, " I have'seer. something o human hfe m my day, more perhaps than it is good for that If there bo one curse that has como to earth as thJ To^t i'tT^'tir'/';'' '" ^'^'""^"^ ^^-- ^' '-^ '- about It t IS that of an ill-assokted maruiaok." an .tr" 'i''''^'''^:**'"^ •":^"'i=^='^' ''" T'oth the old lady, with an air of great surprise ;-" I protest, Mrs Campbell I cannot pretend just to follow you. You go on c. 'at a wonderful rate when onee you be.in. One w'o I ivo supposed that something very horrible had been men! ^oned mem. I believe there .re few youn. 1 drdTou C ydesKle that would turn up their noses'at Annie Mui^ n the way that you seem to think the minister of Cross- Meikle should do, mem. Different people have diffbreiit ways of considering things, mem ;\ul I confes I am something at a loss, -I confess ye dinna just take me with you, Mrs Campbell." "It is no matter," said Charlotte; "and yet," she continued after a moment's pause, «I don't see why I your M T^ • "^ """' f '""^"^*'>^ "« y^- J'--e yours Mr Blair ,s a man of a strong mind, and of s ong feelings. He love.l his wife, and how could e do o herwise, when she adored him as she did ! and yet even hi. wife - even my poor dear Isabel - ev(>n she perhaps was not what Adam Blair's wife should have beeL Hi talents are as powerful as his passions. My God- had he fallen in with one moulded, soul as well as heart in the same cast with himself!" tii as ntart. (( Mrs Campbell," whispered Mrs Semp] hat all this now is iioiiiino- \^1^^■ ..,>» te my opinion w IS nothing but romantic'palavers, it ADAM BLAIR. ' — there could happier 74 My woman, God does not scrimp his creatures ness the way you : couple " She was interrupted by a piercing scream from Mrs Campbell, who instantly rushed from her side, dashed down through among the brushwood which clothed the bank of the stream, and had disappeared from her view before she had the least suspicion of what had taken her away. The old lady followed her steps as nimbly as she could, but It was not an easy matter for her to force her way through the entanglements of the copse, and a minute or two had elapsed ere she gained the brink of the river. A heavy plunge in the water reached her ear betore she gained it, and the sudden sense of something terrible was so strong as to prevent her from being able to cry out, although not to arrest her progress. Ihe first object that met her view was a man's hat float- ing close past her on the surface of the stream, and a hasty glance upwards shewed her, the moment after, Mr Blair struggling deep in the pool with his daughter in his arms, and Mrs Campbell wading rapidly towards them, with her arms stretched out to their utmost extent, and her long black hair already dipping into the water every time she advanced a step farther from the shore. The old lady stood, unable even to utter a single exclamation tor help, shaking all over. Her eyes remained fixed on the water, as if by some horrible fascination, and she saw every thing with that sort of painful, helpless, clearness ot vision, of which we have all been sensible in a shock- ing dream. She saw Mr Blair struggling fiercely, encum- bered with the load of his child, the child herself sobbing audibly; she saw, that his steps were, every instant, tottermg more and more ;~and, at last, a plunge and a cry — and, for a moment, they both sunk under the water. The next moment Mrs Campbell had seized Mr BJair by the hair of the head, and was dragging him at the lull stretch of her arm, him and his child together, back into tl e shallow purt o*" the stream ;— a mist covered her upon the turf 'in CHAPTER IX. 7ZZ:7.1''}'^^^^^^^^^ 75 , - sunk down Javing water upon her face ini n/f a^,'^,' ''''^' ^"^ Mr Blair was sLd ^g upV'ht d n' • "^ T' "''^^ ^«*» head to foot, while Mrs rS 'n f ^"'^ ^" ^^^^ ^'^"^ seemed to beent rplfn! ^''"'j'^^"' ''^ course equally wet, sitting pLt n^ ^t te^^ T^" ^'"'' ^'''^^' "'^^ '^^ over the child soothirn^n f ''' P" ^'' ^"'^^^^ '^t««Pi"g andkisses,and;pp1 enfirauitr"'"'' '" "^*^^ "^' '?-« she herself had IZerZiZ Zr'"^^^^^^ exertions had left hTp;r;on Her f*' " "'"' ^^' already seen, had been flu ^W t the'h '' "' ^'"^ she had lost her ' '' '' '^"^^"* - -- ' a moment, and casthrhk "^ ^"'- ^^ r^^^^d for brief syllables ofTSsgiwr TnTtf ' f ^*^' '^^^^ imprinted a hundred fefvid ki~r '" «t«0P'ng again, tearing herself out of .; k ' "^""'^^ ""'" < 'harlotte from her, fix d her ev s te^'f/'n ' '"' ^"^^'""^ ^""^ '"^ W and began to 2^e Ind . ' !^^f IT" '^^^ countenance, thefirsuime ZiL L tremble all over, as if now, fo; • which tW Ind ail nn, r 'cf ^^^' *" *''^ P'''^^ t'^rough sumising eje -ind nCr .^^'' ^'"^'^^ ^"^ S^^^^> -ith some frfezDll^ , Jf'^'^'^^ immovable, as ff by ^ ireezmg spell, and then fiinein^ herself into his bega weep, sob, and laimh maiiiac. By slow degrees h ■a'-^i !!> wreath, like J ler agony exhausted itself 1' t UUhUU 76 ADAM BLAIR. thou, gathering licrsclf up again, she sat with downcast eyes, siieiit tears pouring over her cheeks, and j)arting the wet curls from oiV licr forelieati with her quivering fingers. Mrs Seni}>le now drew near, and after wliisporing something to Or Mtiir and her son, about Mrs CampboU's appearance, and the propriety of retiring, and desiring Miss Muir to take little Sarah in her arms, she herself raised Mrs Campbell gently from the ground, and began to lead her along the walk towards the upper part of the garden. At first Mrs Campbell walked rather firmly leaning partly on Mr Blair, and partly on the old lady, and tliey wore making i>rogress very coJisideral)ly moro than might have been ex]>ecte(l. But ere long her limbs seemed to fail Jiltogether, and she would have sunk once more to the ground, had not Blair caught her, and sup- ported her in !iis arms. He hesitated for a moment; but Mrs Semple motioned to him what ho must do, and so ho lifted her like a child. She sat in his arms with her flowing ringlets hanging down over his face, and her hands about his neck ; and he, feeble as he had seemed but a few moments before, walked with a steady, though not a swift step, beneaHi his burden. When they reached the house, they found that beds were already prepared by the directions of Mr Semple, who had run home before Uie rest of the party. Char- lotte and the child were conveyed both into the same apartment, where Mrs Semple and her maids imme- diately began to undress them, and to chafe their limbs \yith hot wine, after the most approved f hion in all similar cases. The room was soon darkened, and nobody but the good dowager herself remained to watch over their repose. As for Mr Blair, he was soon equipped in a suit of the young squire's clothes ; but he did not leave the room m which he had shifted his dress until the great bell had been twice rung ; after which he was sum- moned to dinner more effectually by a visit of the old Dutler himself. downcast (\ jj.'irting quivering hisporing .'impbcll's I desiring lio licrself nd bogan art of the r firmly, oitl lady, i)ly nioro icr limbs link once and sup- lent; but and so ho with hor and her I seemed ', though hat beds Semple, . Char- lie same i inime- ?ir limbs n in all i nobody tch over : suit of ave the ho great IS siim- the old titArruH IX. 77 About two hours nnght have passed in tho interim and a great part of that time ho las observed sitt n' Tn the same posture by the window, which, by the wa o mnanded a fine view of the garden terra'ces,'t?. br^ t' r.vei far down among tlu- frees, an.l the waving bank of copsewood on the opposite side of tho glen. ^ ClIAPTKR X. in^hoT '' '''^'^"'^' r'" ''"^' '-^vvkwardness perceptible m the demeanour of people, when, after partaking;^in or even perhaps witnessing, a scene of great excitt ent stances of perfect security and repose. This sort of em clowager of Semplehaugh and her other guests • but 't was very strikingly so in Mr Blair and f 's oinnb.ri the^7ei7oVthf "PP^'-^^""*:^ ^^« much more notice«.! pu on a suit of Mr Semplo's, made in the ;rdinary fasl ^' ot tho t„ne ; but, of course, in colour and in cTi^v otW particular, unlike his own clerical garb. I wa, ^ ' 1T„' suit of brown kerseymere, with but a very lilh ed^ W of sdver, and it fitted his shape very well • bu thi. f<^ fin rsfT^L' ^'^ ^^^^'^^^of a fich ikotlv^^l : men stock was enough to alter him so much that T believe had none of them actually known who he w.. he might have passed any one of L part^ Tntk^ltZl of Edinburgh or Glasgow without any great r sknf h; recognized for tho minister of CrossiJk e Mrs Ca ^f bell on the other hand, after bursung on^ o/two 2" of silk rJoqv^c, f.>.. ii/r.v. nr • . , • » "^ or cwo pairs e... ... A,,.,;, ^,iujr, nad been compelled to oon- iik lammm 78 ADAM BLAIR. ! tent herself w,th what the wardrobe of the dowager an ong the drawers that were laid open for her inspection, with very slender hopes of finding any thing quite worth^ of her wearing. After turning over an inHnitude of b lack and grey dresses, she had recourse to an enormous che.t, ,n which Mrs Sen.ple kept those articles of gayer att.rc, he use of whicli she had discontinued ever since ^e death of her husband : (for in those days, the reader must know, Scottish widows and Scottish grandmothers were not a wh.t ashamed of being dressed like widows and grandmothers:) Here, there was no lack of splendour at least -here was heap on heap, and layer on layer- " The velvet, smooth and rich, display'd Boneatli its fret-work of brocade : The long luxurious fardingalo Of damask dark, or satin pale : And all on end with silver set, The thin transparent tabbinet." Mrs Campbell's only difficulty was to find somethin.^ not over conspicuous, (for even then the rage for costly glare in dress had begun to be something on the decline,) and she, in the end, made selection of a petticoat and train of pnle green satin, wrought over with silken fleurs-de-lis of the same colour, as the most modest set of garments this repository of discarded finery afforded. Her thick tresses 7m i iT"* ^^' ^^*"§^ ^^'orn uncovered, and none of Mrs Semple s ancient head-dresses were such as she could venture to display ; so she tied a veil of white lace round Iter head in something of the same sort of stylo which one still sees retained in the costume of the Parisian Grisettes. Nor, on the whole, did this borrowed attire do any very essential injury to Mrs Campbell's appearance ; for the truth is, tliat it is no easy matter lor a young woman to make herself look old by wearing? an old woman's habiliments, any more than for an old woman to make herself pass for a girl by dressing he-self Jiko one. On the contrary, I believe the general impres- sion of the company was, that although Mrs Campbell I) CHAPTER X. „ health and exorc^t^^^^f^^^^^^^^ '''' ^"" ^"^^^ "f spite both of the puhrZ of 1 7 "'"'"'■' "^^' '» fashioned greon Arb wMnJ ?' /^''' '"'*' *he old- her appea/ev S S V'' ''^"b*' ^"^-1 to make violent agitationile ha r , ""'"'- ^^'' '^'''^' ^^ ^'^^ in a -ttf «utt"r:nre'r:^:irjrr^ ^"^--^'^ deavonred to conceal, and in nr nv f L f "^'"^ '"" complexion. For althoull 1j 1^. , "^ ^''""""S^^^ of ^'C' c/for the miT; :rs„t,^^^^^^^^^^^ met the glance of anv nf Ir f, ^**'^ *''^^" "P a"^ would j.fst cros7C?^ehee 'ml '"''"' '" f'^'^' ^^^'^ them as pale as before n.U "^r* ''^"^ ^^^'' ^^^''^ fine winter eveninf aTn.l^ "''^ ^'""^ '^^"' '" ««">« fleet some ^ofTlIlZ^X^r^^^^^ -^ - then lie, after a monient .' wbl ''"'"^ '""' ''^"'^ sky. They, however sulpo 1^^ '"' "''"'' ''^^^"•^* t^^« sion, a.d tty we^^r ^ 1 'i: d^H tf '" T/"" spare it; Mr Blair alone " « ,f V *''''^ ^°">^1 *« less well-'bred, tha tt restfon' I '' ^ n ^"^^"'^' ^^ I'is eye off he for a Lnent 1 ' 'T^^ ''""'''^y ^'^'^^ eyes met his her uT ' ''^'^''^"gh every time her blush deep r'in ts Iw'^'^^rf '^""«''^«*' -'^ her Blair hims'elfl.d:;im'ot^t:;^t;^ 'T' ''' jnent as the lady. Like her h M, ^//"''^'^"'a^s- in a strange garb • and nhh , ^"""'^'^ ^ ^^'•''^"^*'^'' graceful mJn in I's' d ml^t"'?^^ ^ In "'^T'^ ''* any dress well had he boon n ? '' ^"^""^ ''^'^omo be denied, that the .1 f?^*""^^^ *« ^n ^t is not to ease in a lay ate ^ r -. ? '^''^y''''' ^^''^l^ntly iU at was by no m a s JhrSr f?."''"'""""^ ^"^'^'^' ^^'"«1^ to restore what part of li so f^"'^^ "• '^'' "^"'*^ ^^^^^ or shaken. Besfdes wf't ^'^r'^'"" '^''^^^ ^'^'^'" '««t bad influencfd Mrs' tnSr: " T^'^ ^' ^""^''^*-' imagine that thev' mH^Tl •"^' ^' ^^^ ^^^••'>' taken on this occ?sion\y Mr B^l^. "^ --' ^^^^-> Par- JXi:t'^';i::;ith:tsf;!!t-^^ l,'\ *m 1 80 ADAM BLAIR, service by introducing the subject of the morning's acci- dent. Slic kept off it, therefore, and, indeed, gave it the go-by rather sliarply, when it was once slightly broached by Miss Anne Muir. But the old Doctor, who was deafish, and never more so than when he disapproved of what was said, would not understand any of Mrs Scrapie's considerate hints, and kept up, during the greater part of dinner, a sort of running under-chorus of reniarks and interrogations, and exclamations, every one of which added something to the painful state of Mrs Campbell's sensations. The great praises ho lavished on herself were, above all, extremely disagreeable to her; and, upon the whole, I believe no lady was ever more ghul to leave a dinner-table set in a roar by a party of jolly sportsmen, in the incipient glories of inebriety, than she was to quit that respectable board, surrounded as it was by as sober and decent a company as could well have been brought together in the same room. And, indeed, so intent was the worthy old Doctor on his theme, that I suspect the lady might have found it almost as difficult a matter to escape from his prose, as ever any poor stunned damsel did to get away from the melodious verse of " Bright god Cupid," or " Little Frank was belabouring a broken-down hack," — or •' At five in tlie morning, by most of tlie clocks, We rode from Kilruddury in quest of a Cox." Mrs Semple, however, very luckily for her, was one of those ladies who would have thought it about as strange a thing to witness two circulations of the bottle after the cloth was removed, as to see the sun rise and set twice within the four-and-twenty hours. The female part of the company, therefore, withdrew very early ; and it ■was not long ;ifter their retiring ere a message was brought to Mr Blair to signify, that Mrs Campbell find- ing hersolf not very woll. Mrs Semple had ordered the carriage to take her home to Cross-Meikle, and that she would be ready to set off, if he pleased, in a few minutes. ing s acci- ave it the broached who was proved of i Semple's ?ater part ren);a'ks I of which arapbell's u herself ler; and, iiore gljid y of jolly than she as it was veil have i, indeed, eme, that s difficult my poor nelodious rank was 81 as one of s strange after the 5et twice ) part of ; and it sage was Mil find- ered the md that n a few CHAPTER X. and Dr Muir Z Ih ^^^t^emen of that day did ; not for many yoTrs Mr rti . ? J^ •", '"' "'"' "'•' »' ^<^i as would blylZhTltf n ""'' "' "'""'' ^'n" "0^ raenofhisshmlZ ""If' .""f' impression on most it caused ^oWsfKh '1'-: H!'! ''^ •"■" "^H although was enough, in the sta?e i,^ J • tPr'™"" "" """"«'•' produce a slight degree of ntl^tlf ^' T"'' '"'""'' '» ;^:;«Mer:.ndn"het4Xre:4l-^^^^^^^^^^ carriage, and the ^i/ ff .i ' . *^^ ™°*'<^^ ^f the b. deg^eest ZZ f ^^1:^ Sath""' T ^^ covered from her mnip ^Ji- I, ^^^^' 'l"^*® ^e- the way; the su? h ietigt frU' Te ^"f"^ f" tipon the wide beautiful valley thT^ii ^''*'''? '^^ gently and calmly far below L. "^^^^."T ""'"^^^ cheerfulness was^every X^e "bovf'".'^'"^ ^''^'^ ^^ There was nothing of fJ ^^^ ^ '''"'^ ^'"'^"'^'l them. hoUev- .r. °^"'"^-°t the boisterousness of al«« . i.„* t -..cv. .„,^ ,ei^ ,, ,„ ^,^^ ^^.^^j^ happy-sSte of mind 1^ . „ «! f ■ n. i 4, mmt ' i 82 ADAM BLAIR. to which boisterous glee is as inferior a thing as possible. During the most part of the ride, both Charlotte and Mr Blair kept their eyes on the fine landscape, but every now and then they exchanged silent glances of gratitude and gratulation. The sun had just disappeared from the edge of the horizon, as they reached Cross-Meiklo ; and when they left the carriage, every thing was so beautiful in earth and heaven, that neither of them could think of going into the house. A happy woman was little Sarah, when she Avas desired to go in and prepare matters for serving up tea out of doors, while Mr Blair and Mrs Campbel^ without thinking of the odd dresses in which they were arrayed, sat down together in a low garden chair, beneath the ancient and celebrated hawthorn tree, which stands (or stood) in the centre of the little green before the door of the Manse. This was by far the finest thorn in the whole vale, and its beauty had always been a matter of great pride both with Mr Blair and his wife, — and indeed with every body who had lived there. A few dozen yards off, one might easily have taken it for a small oak, it was so round in the head, so dark in the foliage, so straight and massive in the trunk, and so considerable 111 stature; — but at this time it was in full blossom, mdeed so much so, that it had, at a little distance, the appearance of being quite covered with a feathering of snow-flakes. Nothing could be more charming than the perfume exhaled from this fine tree all around it ; and every time the breeze passed through the boughs overhead, the richest of odours and of garlands came raining down together upon the place where they were sitting. The fervours of the day had gone by, but the reflected glow that still lingered upon the surface of nature, was suffi- cient to make them relish the exquisite coolness of a spot which had been all day long sheltered and shaded from the sun's rays ; — and so there they sat together, side by side, in silence, enjoying, in a sort of half-languid mood, the calm, and the beauty, and the fragrance, of the lovely evening. ! possible. ;e and Mr 3ut every gratitude je of the hen they 1 in earth of going ah, wueu r serving ampbell, iiey were , beneath 1 stands the door 1 in the latter of 3, — and A few p a small foliage, iderable ilossom, nee, the 3ring of han the it ; and erliead, g down J. The d glow fis suffi- f a spot d from side by '. mood, ; lovely CHAPTER X. 83 Neither Mr Bla.r nor Mrs Campbell were aware of any body bemg near where they were sitting, until thev were addressed in a pitiful tone of voice by In ol man^ dad in very tattered garments, who had walked over S turf towar( s them, and was now standing but a few P cat,on Mr Blair was familiar with tl.e foces of almost fttdLrf^^"? ;;'"""" "^"^ '' make their rounds in that district of the country, so that he was a little sur- prised with finding himself addressed in this ma ner by Detore. But there was something in the appearance of in eveTin"''f "'f ^ ''''' -mmanded Tome Tten tion, even in a place where mendicants were many and heir visits frequent, and which could not theSre faH procure him kind looks and words in such a re" on as mg. There was still lingering about his aspect - " Something that spoke of other days, When trumpets pierced the lundling air. And tlio keen eye could firmly gaze Througli battle's crimson glare." f h^u" ^^ ^^^ '"."^"^ ^'' *^^^' ''^"d received their alms tore them God bless you, sirs !" said he ; « God bless you my bonny lady { - You and your young goodman win no sit there beneath your auld tree togefher Th^ bonny gloamm the less pleasantly for havin| helped a puir body in hi. need ; no, nor yet when ni|h comes will ye sleep the less soundly, wi' your head inT^ bosom because you have gotte'n an au^d maS^llng ZJ^7^: I ^'F^' ^' ^^PPJ^' «"•«> ^^'^"Je you can. I m nd the day when I had a canty wife o' my ain and a bit garden too, and a bower, and a tree, and^a' The lav^ o t in a puir way; but that's lang gano by sirs ind dark face of things as weel as a fair onP. a^d .:-'. t-t- bunny lady, I wish you baith a sweet sleqi, an .i^ fill ( •: 84 ADAM DLAIR. pleasant dreams. Take care ye dinna stay out ower lang, now the sini's gane down." " Good night, good night, old man," said Mr Blair, rather hastily ; and then ho added, after a little pause, " wo 're not man and wife, as ye take us to be, friend, —but wo are not the less obliged to you for your good wishes." " I crave your pardon, sir," said the old soldier, bow- ing himself very low ; « and I crave the bonny lady's pardon— I am sure I meant nae harm ; but,"— (and the old man smiled as he spoke,) « but I see I have wauk- ened mair blushes than I should have done, and I'm very sorry if I've said any thing that's disagreeable. But though you're no man and wife now, ve'll maybe be sae ere yon braw thorn shakes down a' its white blossoms ; and then ve '11 no hae ony leisure to be angry at the auld man's nii^-:- ire. Good e'en again I wish you both, and God bles^ } <.■; for your kindness." Mr Blair follosvoU Imi with his eyes for a minute or two, for there was ; lutething or other that made him avoid encountering Mrs Campbell's looks just at that moment. Sarah joined them immediately, however, and then that feeling, whatever it was, passed away! If Charlotte had indeed blushed while the old soldier was speaking, there was no blush upon her cheek now ; nay, in truth, she was paler than she had been even during the former part of the afternoon. She sat sipping her tea for a long while in perfect silence, and trifled with the spoon after the cup was empty, not heeding, as it seemed, one word of all that little Sarah prattled at . her knee. Mr Blair watched her looks, and perceiving that she shivered once or twice, as if from cold, said, he was afraid she might injure herself by sitting out any later. She rose when he said so, and that so feebly, that It seemed as if she should scarcely be able to walk even the few paces to the door without assistance. He offered his arm, therefore, and he felt her trembling and shiver- mg more than ever, as she leaned upon it across the green. On entering the house, she said, in a faint tone CHAPTER X. Q- ner tliat she had better g„ and attend to Mrs Camnbe)? and then ,ak„,g his hat, passed out into the open ^ and walked away .,.„n, the house, without castin/one^'^an;' tte Man" "h" "f',' "W?' '"'"^ '■'"« tin.e entS luo manse. He sat down by h nisei f under the ol,l b,„ ™" s7/ nT' there leaning on hi/elt; tuh ,' ftini that supper was on the table. Little Sarah hn,l If quite alone, and it mms the first evonin^ iV ^ ,v €v X ^ '^A" ^'^ > Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)872-4503 ^ ^M^ <;^ .^^ l/u ^ 86 ADAM BLAIR. CHAPTER XI. It was long ere Mr Blair fell asleep that night, but exhausted nature at last sunk under the burden of reflec- tion ; and, for several hours, he lay buried in slumber as profound as had ever visited his eyelids. He awoke, sitting bolt-upright in his bed, his hands clenched violently together, his nightcap off, his hair on end, and the sweat standing in big and palpable drops upon his forehead, and the sound of his own screaming voice in his ear. He clasped his brows, and staring wildly about him in the dim chamber, strove instinc- tively, rather than consciously, to retrace the outlines of what ho now felt to be nothing but a dream, although he was still too much agitated with its delusions to be able to enjoy the sense of reality and repose. Every thing, how- ever, as he looked back, seemed to become darkened the moment his mental eye approached it ;— every strong and distinct image seemed to vanish, and leave but a vapour behind it, and it was in vain he endeavoured to make out any consistent or intelligible notion of what had passed — although a sort of confused and distorted "cloudland" of terrible things still continued to lower above the whole surface of his imagination The black river— the sob of his child — the water gushing into his eyes and ears, and then closing with a rushing sound over his head— the agony of mortal terror— the joy of sudden deliverance— the tears of joy— these had all been with him, and he felt that they had been with him as vividly as during the waking hours of the eventful day before. But other images had followed these, some of them as dark and as terrible, but the whole texture of which seemed now to elude the grasp of his remembrance. He had a sort of obscure sense of having been fighting, wrestling, combating fiercely, hand in hand, with some strong adversary J— whether he had stood or fallen he CHAPTER XI. 87 could not tell, but there was such a mixture of the feel- ings of wrath and sorrow, that this was as nothing : — " Fantastic passions! maddening brawl ! And sliame and terror over all ! — Deeds to be hid wliicli wore not hid — Which, all-confused, he could not know Whether he suffer'd, or he did :— For all seem'd guilt, remorse, or woe — His own or others', still the same. Life-stifling fear— soul-stifling shame." What did not diminish, but much strengthen and in- crease the pain and horror of all this, was, that a sort of voluptuous, languid, sultry air, seemed to hang over the whole mass of the retrospect : Red setting suns-broad calm purple skies -mighty trees, loaded with leaves and blossoms-these were the strange accompaniments —strangely jumbled together and ill defined, it is true— of screams and battles, and headlong peril, and blood, and death, and misery. Beautiful women's shapes, smiling eyes, and burning blushes, darted in glimpses here and there from amidst the thickest of tumults. Every thing was waxing every moment obscurer and dimmer, as he gazed back upon it. - lie leaped from his bed, flung aside the wiudow-curtains, and the last faint traces seemed to vanish before the first gleam of the open day- He leaned over the window to inhale the mornii... air, enriched as It came to him through the sweet-briers tha clustered all about th? window ; and while !,is eve wandered away over the bright fields, on the face of which every tree had flung its long westward shadow, or rested i^nto tnl!nT ^^ '':^r'^ ^vas sv.iftly clearing and kindling into splendour as the sun advanced, the memory not only of his troubled visions from which he had so recently ^tarted but even of the pain they had left behind them passed far avvay into the back-ground, and mingled with the thousand and ten thousand dreams that had sent their shadows thither long before from hours both of sle^p-ng and of waking 11 fu. 1^? ni 'iv r i lf|| ', i 1 f l\ twlff 88 ADAM BtAIR. vole ;! °s„„f '?raf Tf r",'' ■"'' ^"•'="«"' "f her reco^red f?om*J 1. ■f.."'"' """>■ '"""' Perfectly been perceSe n h^rT ""''" "^ '"'""" "'™l' ''"^ baS, "^ '"'"' "*■='• " ™ "'« -ell-know" „7d *ould have thought of 1 hisTd L 7 ^"T' '"' " Rev. and Dear Sir, had it been in ml ^a»"pbell more t.meous notice me set off withourdeiry Ts ? !'i '"' ^'"';' ^'^'^'^ ^^-^"^^^^ urffencv ThpTf! t^ V '^ ^"siness Jt concerns is of urgency. Therefore, I hope the blame of arriving so CHAPTER TT esteo™, yCoredL't s^mw; '"'" ^"' <"»' «''' -«■> " Duncan Strahan." tne seal, and the laconic and somewhat dignified strain of the epistle itself, could not fail to make Mr Blai cas" snent'Tw^rT' '' *'" '''' ^^^^ I>uncan S ahan fepent twelve hours out of the four-and-twenty on a tlu ^ree-legged stool in the most dismal corner of old Mr Monypenny's writing-chamber, and thought himself a fortunate man if he could command cash cfoughTo con- so^ the evenmg of his busy day with a welsh rfbb, ^ : ^ \^^ ^""^y '™'" twopenny at thi: coffin in the wall Most wonderful," quoth he'to himself, "mostTonder-' Bu part, at least, of this not unnatural, nor, to say the truth very origin' 1 exclamation, might have been smred or altered, had Mr Blair known thit DunLn Strahan who received his first pair of shoes and stockings from S Monypenny's bounty, and in the sequel rose" to be ll master's partner only through the continued exercise ? gCt eSrn -d kindness on the part of that old Ictor'T.'^ ', ;i* ''"^ y^^'' ^"^^^^' ^««" J^i« bene- tactor s head laid in the grjive, and proceeded to sliew his respect forhis memory by devising and executing a scheme h^^l 7T^"^ "^""* *^" y'^'' ^^^'' i» the total ridn of Ins son and family. Taking advantage of the youth and mexperience of his old patron's repfesentatlve, he had ferrof r '"" '' ^'"'^"^* *^ '^^^ altemtion of he terms of the co-partnership, and the upshot was that Monypenny and Strahan" soon became one of the'finn that had been, while " Duncan Strahan, W S " was bk zoned in single brightness on door, ledger ar^d stroTr.box' Young Monypenny having ere long bLue ?ood"^ gun: I . •II. m I • 111 1 if n 'I iw^r 90 ADAM BLAIR. powder on the banks of tlie Rhine, he and liis storv h-id '^Z"'%FT'^'^''''^''y together into obl"^^^^^^^^^^^ S nr,\''' P''^^^^^^'^"'-^! J'0"ours, had already Voe iaird of the very acres on which iJucomc „ , , , " Tlie Iirnw bairn Had of old tended sheep in the coui>ty of Nairn ;" and begun to regard it as the reverse of improbable that Thr^^^^-T^ab^'^^^^ '' ''- "-•- ^^^^^^^^^ Sucli was tlie great man whose arrival was scarcelv Firr'^'^ "' Cross-Meikle, ere it actually oorXe'^ IZil fv": "'* ^-^P^^ting Mr Strahan to come before ~ariot, .ntaining the importaL pe^I^o/ t^l^ Duncan had not fed on the fat of the land for ten years without exhibiting the natural effects of his cheer fn hft countenance. Instead of a pale, yellow-faced youth wh fustian sleeves, there stept forth a portly rosy fIceS gentleman clad in a handsome suit ofU S/w Uh lac^ ruffles, and a neat tie periwic ' ^^^ of it t'''!^ *^' P^'*"'*'" *^''P»* "P 1»« horses in a voice of great authority, and then approached the door of fh^ Manse with not a little of thaV condescending 2 wh Lh great men are sometimes good enough to display whet hey enter the dwellings of people whom theySlIsed to consider as their inferiors pieased to^dTn "'-f''^ ^^: ^^'^^'''' '^^^^' the civility due lervi„n;;!'"*""r^"P' ''^^^'^^"^^'^ *•- minister, W Observing the countenance of Mrs Campbell wh le .h« was reading the letter, had already formed 'no sender suspicions that the visit boded little good to her, ^"^^^^^ story liml, on ; while cly, in the ly boconie bable that mitate'' of 3 scarcely 'ok place, ine before telligence 'uld have bad just ising the leels was tolerably 'Duncan en years, er in his ith, with >sy-faced ^ith lace I a voice !• of the r which r> when pleased ity due r, from lile she slender ,--and Ci£APTER XI. (jj Mrs cZ!t'^/"' ^T" ^''"^ ^'•"'^^^'^ "^*^^ '*« occurrence. vor d as to be able to suppress her own private feelin-s teor noH "''"'''" 'n*'"^' '-^"^^ «h^ "^^t Strahan's cour! tcous, perhaps even fawning, salutation, with all the apparent ease o a peyon having „o reason either to hope or to fear any thing from his arrival. Breakfast being served up almost immediately, there was no opportunity Z\^T^ ^t once on business, and the meal passed ajmdst a succession of such common-places as usually fill the room of coiiversation between people who have been long acquainted with each other, andSiever dreamed of LtW with thT r "^;? ""^^* ""''^^ >'^''^- ^' -P-'-^^- San wh ^^^ 1"V''"* .sometl.ing ought to be said tonTc of tlirT F^''"'"', predilection in favour of one topic of table-talk more than another. The dulnesses of Edinburgh and the Middle Ward of oZJ^ttri T'."^ ^''" exchanged, and the proper quantity of boiled eggs, oat-meal cakes, and honev-comb consumed, Mr Strahan kept his seat in' silence for aTw econds, and then rising, said with a low bow, that hi had to crave the honour of a few minutes' conversation n private with Mrs Campbell. "Certainly, oh cer" rence ; « I shall fetch my bonnet, and if you please we may walk round the garden together." Having said To shaS'lr' "i *'! "T' '-^"^ "*"^"-^ bonnftted and shawled, although not perhaps quite so quickly as might have been expected from t^ie style of heJ exit. She had a^so a ong black veil in her hand, and it did not escape h^r utV "'!'•'' *^"* ''^^*^'^"«^'^ *'"^ ^^^"^^d no part of d!nh ! /'^^"'^ '^'*""^"' '^ h^^ ^^^en '-^^ged very deliberately, so as to cover the whole of her face and neck- before she and her attendant had proceeded more thai! three steps over the green. Mr Blair followed them with his eyes, until the thick col Mhemi '^^^ "'^^'^ surrouncLd'the garden, con' coaled them from his view. While thev continued withm sight, their pace was leisurely, and they seemed, iWiif 92 ADAM BLAIR. If- !nvorst--wh,ch I am by no means inclined to do- rose as f to set off his oath, " I can't say that most people sTruc nn' "^Tf-^'^"'? '' P"* '^'' "^^^^ «haritabli con- struction on things for having seen what I have seen shluldT'"f "' f^' lady -no, nor (damme! why yourlelf'' "^"""^ '' ""^-^ ^'' ^^^* ^ ^''"^^ «««" ^n He ended with a very firm compression of his lips, and ^inting his eyes like two darts upon Mr Blair's face, ^id, or seemed to say to himself, that he had given the minister his ,.eV,«. Blair gazed back upon him fo ! moment or two m silence, and this with an air of such smiple surprise, that he began to doubt the penetrSion of lostly, what r? A rich , how long on, Blair?" 0(1 Adam ; re rapidly, m nood not u'vo given thoy be, I jf her face Ik — What lling " ill ?" inter- led you of ilous wave m ? what ? speaking ith whom ommands t? — You I suppose IS delicate it at the to do — lis colour )st people ible con- ave seen le ! why seen in lips, and ir's face, iven the m for a of such 'ation of CIIAPTEH XI. Ofi ■ (I his own craft. The instant after, however, a deep flush iJ a rs tace to the very oycs, and the Writer no doubt r .if "^ '" ''''' ^^'" '^'^ ^'^'^^y ^f «»'^"''o and guilt forhs count..nance in.niediately relaxed into V< rfn f hov i i'; Z """'^ "''^*''^'^' my intentions/ l"S nou t ,s, but upon my soul you are sufc-perfectlv . fo, dainn.e ! - We're all flesh and blood : a nine ' s s' rl" but " " ^"' •*"' ^'""•^""^" ''^ -^ />- ;^«..i to be! Oman stn, "" ""'T' ''*'"' '' «"^' ^^'^»^^"'' ''' ^^^^y fine m u n.l- 'fl ^''" ^.""""r- ^^""'»^' ^«»'t l^^ afraid, no ;J^ ^ ''"'■'' ''''*'' ^''"'^"''^» «t»-ahan. I would p'^ish H.^' "'^"'/^.'t'^«"»'^ y-^ l^ad kissed half your K ni;i r "^'' ^^'"";' ''' '''' ''^' i""»cdiatelv, for tampbcll gave mo no law in the business- she must JUS put up with the old tower till Uigness comt h^t^f .ml who can tell but they may com! toge^ and i^' to7lowZrT"' "^" '''' "^'^^ suspicio/has gotlhli:. - " Sif '^Mr^n '' "' ^t' f "'"'^'^ ^"^ ^' immovable, hn, — Mr Duncan Strahan, — I tell you sir ro.,r suspicions, or his, or whose soever they be,lre fal^' Cl black as hell ! - 1 call God to witness _» ' * It was Sarah that interrupted him. She came moving as suMftly as her feet would carry her, over the grec"' and catchmg her father -; the hand, 'cried, "Papa 'mi^ a™' n ? "^ 7 *'"\"""^ ^^''^«^"'« her 'trunk.' Come riV^L^te."'"' *^ '-''^'''^ Campbell will .0 The moment the child began to speak, Mr Strahan turned upon his heel, and walked into thi garden with a firm and deliberate stop, whistling to hiSf . h went Mr Blair suffered his daughter to liL him' towards the house but made no answ'er to the nnum t able questions she kept putting to him all the way. She kept her hold of his hand, and conducted him up stai ^ The door of Mrs Can.pbell's room was wide open,'and he I '(1 I 06 ADAM DLAin. saw lior with hor b.ick turned towards lii.n, kticolinff on the floor over a largo travdling trunk, into which slio was flinging gowns, petticoats, linens, in haste and mani- fest disorder. She did not seem to be auan. of their presence, until the child wont round and knelt down he- fore her on tho other side of the trunk; and then turning r «l'i •'.' Z '''"^'^ ''' ^''" ^^ '^^'^•'>'' g>«^^"'g ^^'^--l-'t! but fille.l with such a mixed expression of anger, scorn and sorrow, as ho had never before seen on any set of buman features. She looked at him for a moment, and ^. ri"'^ 'T ^'" ':' *" ''"" *" '''''''' '^^'Vod down S ^7«••^^■•t'' Sront.r pertinacity and zeal than before IIo turned away, and as he descended tho stair heard her sobbing bitterly and tho child crying ' He remained under tho porch for some minutes in a state of nmch bewilderment, until the carriage was driven round, and di-awn up dose by where he stood. St .a S sued from the garden the moment he heard it, an to^oV7y '^'\ ^''''' '''^'''^^y' ^^^''^^ t« t«>k aloud to tho postilion, but avoided even meeting Mr Blair's M^'c ? Tl "'?"^"*' *''« '''^^^^'^ brought down Mrs Campbell's trunk, and Strahan was busy in helpZ .l"st tied, when Charlotte herself was heard running nduio tho prost>iu'o and tho po\v(>r of tho very person whoso suspicions had insulted h(«r. Whon ho pioturod hor to himself, sittin^r all day lonj?, shut up in a oarna,^:o with that rude and heartless man, oltlijjod to listen oither to his odious sneers, or his more oilious flatteries, and provented by tho natural timidity of hor sex from sayinjj; or tloing any thin^^ to defend herself; or whon, looking farther on, he thought of her loft all alone in a desolate place, by the sea-side, to brood over the unironorous treatment with which Cam|)bell had re- quited her atVections, and from weary day to day contrast her situation at Uigness with tho kind society sho hud just abandoned — ho could not help being lillod with regret, that sho should over have como to Cross-Moiklo. But then all tho long pleasant walks thoy had taken together — tho interesting convorsatiiuis which had boon hold — tho conscious restoration of his own mental soro- nity — the charming, kind looks of Charlotte — and last, not least, her heroic resolution oxhibited but tho day before— all these images rose again fresh on his memory, and he sighed as he thought within himself how many delightful weeks would have, but for Charlotte, passed on in tho same dreariness and desolation with those that bad preceded them. The longer ho mused on all that had happened, the more jiensive he became, and tho more hopeless for poor Charlotte- while as to tho rest, ho could not help accus- ing himself of having behaved in a most unmanly and foolish manner, in not having como to some open and distinct explanation with Strahan, ero he sufT'cred Mrs Campbell to quit the protection of his roof. " Child ! fool ! coward !" said he, " that I am ! what occasion had I to be thrown off my balance by a few words of mean and knavish insult, uttered by a num whom I despised from the moment he entered my bouso? What pre= / 00 crrAiTKR XI r. '"'™ .l-*" «!' >y tluj lovely oy,^ ir 1 ™, 1 '" fisln-ng'S inl .Trfr. /^ ^'vcr and by that time the a ml «,.,?r ° " ""' ™»" «"»««=' "f Cnii«trio-fa I f ^1- mmt I 100 ADAM BLAIR. in which tlio river rolls on after its fall ; and after stay- ing till his ears were half stunned, and his eyes giddy in his head, he at length bethought him, from the appear- ance of the heavens, that the day must bo well-nigh spent, and began to retrace his way homewards with slow and cheerless steps. He found Sarah sitting on the turf at tho end of the lane which leads to tho Manse, and John Maxwell stand- ing beside her. Tho child sprang up, and ran forward to meet her father as soon as she saw him approaching, while John, taking off his bonnet, said, " Oh, sirs, Mr Adam, ye'vo gi'on tho puir bairn a fright, I trow! Wharo hao you been a' day, sir? I'm sure it's lang since we've heard of you trying tho fishing, and this was a bonny-like day to begin the trade again, when the waters aro as clear as a drop in a glass, and there 's no a fish would think of risin' that had sense enough to ken its head frae its tail. But ye've left your rod behint you. I dare say ye thought better when ye got to the water-side, and laid it by at Tarn Ogilvie's." Mr Blair told John what had been the fate of the fishing-rod. Tho old man smiled as ho heard him, and said, shaking his head, " Weel, Mr Adam, I Ml lay a saumon to a par, that I 've read your thoughts for you. It 's nae wonder that ye took nao tent to the bit fishing- rod, when yo had sae meiklo to think about. I 'm sure it 's been a wao heart to me to hear the puir bairn and I dinna doubt ye 'ro amaist as vexed yoursel as she is wi' the loss o' yon canty cheerfu' face, that did a' body meikle good to see it — to say nothing of you that had mair of her company. Mr Adam, I hope she '11 soon be back again amang us. But there's my callant that has been down at Glasgow, has just jcome hame, and he has brought a letter for you , he tauld me she gied it to him wi' her ain hand, just as she was setting off for Greenock. She'll be gaun back to the Highlands, I 'so warrant — nae doubt her goodman will be some of the Argyll's folk." John had been fumbling all the time he was speaking CHAPTER XII. 101 Mr about his grca black leather pocket-book, and at length having succeeded in extricating it from amidst I know not now many Aberdeen almanacks and market-bills he presented the letter in question to Mr Blair Ilfl received it eagerly; looked for a moment upon tho scrawled and blotted address, pressed tho seal to his lips frl ^t' 1 '''V^^alked away to some little distance from John and Sarah, ero he camo to tho end. The letter was as follows : — «T X,.. , , " Glasgow, Fridat/ afternoon. I CANNOT think, dear Mr Blair, of leaving this town without saying a word on matters which I could not speak of when I was leaving you this morning, and which, perhaps, I could not speak of now, were I restored to the protection of your roof at this moment. Do not suppose that I can think without horror, as well as shame, of the misfortune to which you have been exposed, in consequence of your great and truly Christian kindness to tho most unfortunate of women. For mo, I have been well used to tho misery of distrust and injustice, and any new msult of that sort rather sickens than irri- tates me, as far as myself am concerned. But when I think of you, and of what I have brought upon you, God knows how imsuspectingly, I cannot find words to ex- press what I feel. It is my consolation that the world Will give to you what it has long denied to me, and that the insults of a fool and a knave together, cannot possibly be productive of any lasting injury to you. Mr Strahan, I think, says he informed you that it was his orders to Mr Tr i"" ,V'^"f' ~"^*'""^ ^^^^' '* ^^^"^«' ^vill satisfy Mr Campbell. I once went to Uigness with a li^ht .hnu\ 1 ! *^^"/,?o™forts me, that when I am there I shall at least be delivered from this base man's presence Every word he says, is, in one way or another, an insuli to me; but his flattery and fulsome smoothness are ?ar tho worst I have to bear with. Dear Mr Blair, I think i: Bm mmi m 102 ADAM BLAIR. Strahan as soon as possible ; ho talks of going to Edh> burgh as soon as he has seen me at Uigness, and I Tea Iv would humbly suggest that you should go into the town on purpose to see him. There is no saying how far su^h a man may suffer himself to proceed/unfes TomethW be done m proper time to stop him. I hope ymi wh! soon see Inm, and I am confident he will be I umbTed when he hears what you saj-, more quietly than Zd be expected even from you this morning «I hope you will write to me, if agreeable, and let me know how my dear little girl is/and how altl^^ls L^! werca'l -r ?°^^^-^^^^^^- Dear Cross-Meuiri m^; well call It and you may be assured that I shall think If I may not ;speak of it. Little did I think when we were sitting together beneath that beautifu ItC - Bu? why should I think of such things? Mr bS I am rafw^^b^'f ^^^^^^^^^ ''^^ ' '^'' '^ -n« - " Your humble and affectionate servant, " C. C." I have said that Mr Blair had walked to some distance affaiSfro^ t^ "? ^' '*""^ '*'"> ^"^ read it over agam from begmning to end, thrust it into his bosom and proceeded straight towards the Manse, withoutTurn* fteT.Uh:tar- J^«^/^"-<^^ him/andZ'ndhim from the wfnli'* ^T^/^, ^^e servants, who had seen him redlp ? ^y^.'^7>i^ad already served up the long-defer- led nieal. Little Sarah took her place opposite to him thewiwth-^l ^rf many hours before, stood T; had beon T ^'"'^'^ ^"* "P"" *h^ ^'•^«°- Mr Blair had been for some minutes eating rapidly apnarentlv withou knowing well what he was swafowrgrwhen naugh coach turning down the lane. ^ tion wftrfh' ^ •'' *'^'" "° ^^'^"'"^ '^'""g i« thai direc tion, with the view of making her inquiries after Mrs CHAPTER XII. 103 Campbell and little Sarah, who, she supposed mi^ht have caught cold from their wetting of yS daV and Dr Mujr and his daughter, who had staid aulht at ^emp ehaugh, now accompanied her in' her visitt the ^T'i-J '''''y'''''^y ^« supposed that they expressed no a httle surprise when they found that m/s Can pb^^^^^ manner'" n ' M^'''^ "^ ^"^'^ ' ^"^^^» ^^^^ unexpected manner Dr Muir threw out several hints which told pretty plainly that he wished to hear a li tS more than had been mentioned about the cause of an event lo ^ veint M'^r'-'',","^"^^'^ ""'' ^-^ enough to per! cevethat Mr Bhur had no inclination to beterycom- mumcative on this head, and politely gave the goZ tl hinrtll'S'.^ "^«"^«'"^ ^' ''^'^'^- condition touching the relative merits of the gooseberry wine of Cross-Meikle, and the liquor of the fame denon nation sf^ito't "^^r r^^^^ ^' ^^^- Air Tc r that ever grateful theme for some minutes with his usual te"; on '1''''' '"^;'" ^""^^^^^' ^» *^- -i^dl oL Sen- tence on observmg that Mr Blair was paying no atten tion what he was saying. He rose fron? the ^ible' StyTlafi'^T ^-I^^-y--ething about the '^ro! wishpd 1 f ^ "''"''"' ^^-^''sperod into Blair's ear that he wished to have a moment's talk with him in private if agreeable, before quitting the Manse. ^ ' '^ m J.'^ n' immediately conducted him into his librarv fire.iH ^^^V"''/'"*^"^ '"'"«^'f i« ••^» elbow-cha r bv the fireside, coughed twice gr thrice by way of prenar vdon fnend, Mr Adam,^,tn' n^I t Z'^'^^^^ STn this hSv7 '"T^^ ^'^^^ ^^^ ^-'^"^Pb'^^"'^ off- fimLV In y ^'''^''°" ^'^s made every thing look a es Now ?:T''''t'''r' -^^"^ ^-" ^'- --"/the rest Now, look ye, Mr Adam, I hope it's no offtnce but I really must say, as a friend and a brotl er th"t f am heartily glad the bonny lady is gone. A bomiy lady : . 1 ... t-'i r. ; mmt 104 ADAM BLAIR. She is, and I hope, a good one, which is better --but -and real y Mr Adam, you must not look Xm at me for saying ,t,-there are folk in the world who make no bones to lightly her a little; and what with irbei"« away from herain goodman so long, and what wilh vnnf as I can but I'faith man, there was twa or three ill ongued bodies about the country that had begun to make" some bits of jokes about you and her ; and meikle as I de pised them and their jokes, we a' ken fu' wee that sichke stories are never tardy travellers • nrJ -n If ;!„! -V • !u f *'' ™''' 'al^e my word for 't, ye '11 1,0 re iTh. ; t li'^rt-bi-oken man has nac want of excuse Mr Blair heard the old man out in perfect .ilenre o^r "Dr Muirrri'"^''" "■" '»'"»""": "iifeij, Ur Muir, I thank you. I perceivp whnf ,r«„ mean, and I won't be the fool to deny^ri doTo GoS knows sir, how little I have deserved such su'pTcion^ as you allude to I trust I shall be able to bear h^a^^^^^ have borne other things." ^ " Spoken like a man,"' said Dr Muir ; « dinna be an^rr now, Adam, but I tell you yeVe gien me m^ir pi asSe with the wa or three words ye 've just been saying than I can weel express. I see it is as I thought, and aid and was sure it was. But there's an awful text sav. 'Let him that thinketh he standeth take Id Lt he CHAPTER xrr. fall ;' and God foraivo r^ '^ -'y heart. G'X-e„"»-en"' I™ "J"-" '» '"o you and your bairn will ® ™' ^f' Adam ; I hoM -o'il see What „T™j" Z7 T[ *» Cambu^lee'aS «wa tili .he ., g„„ ™ j» » 1 v,rt the teio for a uiy or Sofvmg, the ohi gcntlonnn „T?t ',°f '""■ ""'''"'■" and the evening bcinl T"a" ""''l'^ ''<»"' -'taira again, of the party wore ^on^ their w ' Y'?'' "'» "^ole hangh. "" "■' ">«ir way back to Semple- Mr Blair M'as Ipf/- ■ '"ind to muse'over the fetter^ h "? P''?'^"^^^' «*«*« of Campbell; the friendly -indwi^i received from Mrs communication of DrMuir and. '"Tf' ^"* P^^"^"! from which both of th"se h;.! •'''^''^"^^•^^^«^««*s earlier than usual to lis hpJ ? ^"Sfmated. He retired ;n the dark, buried in IdtroT' '"l?' ^'^ '^^ '"^^ ^^'- ^ S'de in a fever of doubf.ml ^' ^""'"''^ fr«™ side Reviewing every thing in* re^ToJ'^jf^"' -^^^^-'^ '-^"^ the end of it was th.,f hi ^ Possible point of view • ^^^ «^-uId be Sd t LeVn^r ^™"^^ ^^^^ ^^S Why not pursue him at onl ' 'f ''''' ^^'' ^trahan ^ho had not ye?;re !n7"'^ h'« old serving-man -iththeutmos^lfpTie eS^ ^"'"- '---' first, to fetch a light toUTpdh' "'-^^t^r's command to saddle his horse BnZ ^^'I'^^^^^^r, and, secondly ^r Blair after he it^d Z^f,:'^ ^ ^^-^ ^-e upo'n "Mission, as if „ot able to iSn ^''* P'"^"* "f liis com- ears had played himt rfc",r' ''T'' '"^'^ ^^^ mand was repeated and T.n, \ f '^^^"^- The com- -e^t, proceed'ed to the stable "' ^'^'"^^ ^'^ ^^^^ -« ^e down' at h- rritfngS''^ H^'' ''T' ^"'"-^^^ -^ -t for Mrs Semple, anot er f;r 2r M '*' ""f ''^^'^ ^ ^«"er Janneson; and ere 1 e Ind fin^r V' n^ ' *'"^^ ^^^ ^^Ir ^"'^'"''^--'---ri:d^:-i-:''- H, li i m ^i lOG ADAM BLAIR. I'li .'!! room in which Sarah slept. He stood for a few moments by the bed-side, gazing on the beautiful creature, as she lay half uncovered before him, and smiling in her sleep. " God bless my orphan child," said he, stooping to kiss her brow ; and then left the apartment as silently as he had entered it. When he came out, James did not assist him to mount his horse without expressing his astonishment at a journey begun at such an hour. Mr Blair made no answer to his interrogations, except that he expected the letters he had left on his table should bo delivered before breakfast on the following morning. He then rode off at a leisurely pace, which, however, James could ascertain to be considerably quickened ere the horse's tread was beyond hearing. The moon was already set, or at least the drifting clouds concealed her, but it was still a fine, bright, star- light night, with a high and whistling wind. The minister of Cross-Meikle, pushing his mare into a good round trot, was soon far beyond the reach of his servant's ears. " He '11 be in Glasgow in no time," quoth James to himself, as he shut the door; "I never heard him ride at sic a rate, and at sic an hour too ! Good guide us, I 'm sure the minister has heard some black news." CHAPTER XIII. It is unnecessary to trouble the reader with transcribing the three letters which Mr Blair's servant delivered next morning at Semplehaugh-house, while the family were seated together at the breakfast table. Dr Muir having laid down his with a face of utter astonishment after he had read it, turned to Mrs Semple, and saw on her coun- tenance the expression not of astonishment merely, but of astonishment mingled with regret, sorrow, perhaps something of indignation to boot. He rose from table, and drew the old lady into the deep recess of a window, moments ro, as she her sleep. g to kiss itly as he to mount I journey iver to his otters he breakfast off at a lertain to •ead was drifting ht, star- d. The ;o a good servant's li James ard him Sfuide us, ■s." iscribing [•ed next ily were p having after he er coun- ely, but perhaps m table, ivindow, CHAPTER XIII. j^y versed there in whL.l V '^P^'-tment. They con- they rejoi^d tCrtr^rSe'^^^^^^^^^^^ r' "^'^^ its usual beniffnitv Tf ii ^fn^Plef face had recovered sufficiently eXute "'*^"-'^ ^' "^^^ ^ti" subsidP.? ^^,;,"^"^ ™ ^»«r surprise had not altogether rreakfS Mr/r"? ^^ ""'"^'''^ i-nmediatel/ after a^dt'StlitrsfrirdV^^^^^^ back in it. Dr MuiranJ hi! . I "^ ^«<^«mpany her ease and the kindness of a second home "^^ rolling near him ir. J;^ '""'^™"""g or the great stream repose. Ihe animal he rode seemed to fp^l ti,^ • • nting breath of the chill atmosplCra^^the rot 7L winds, amidst the starry and clouded skv .« f^ pathy with his master, and neSr hor ^ '" Gr- eyer for a moment pan ed or flaS SwJfH i"'^" ^'^ through the blackiLs of tl'St '-Z'lH S here and there skirt the margin of the rZl S %T,?^ pursued his course over moor and lil ^1^^^ ^^ swiftly still when the opeS ClvdTl ' ^.* "^"'^ and broader on the right beShtJ ,^ "''^'""'^ ^'^^^^' and the mighty nfout'ii sTt ^ "^^^^^^^^^ the dispersing mist and haze in wh Ziw h """"^"^ had been enveloped. For tl ^k f • ^^ '""'""'^ i-ptu. J^ or tiie last SIX or seven miles the t: t'iifj II I!:j 108 ADAM BLAIR. path Jay along a narrow stripe of sand, ^vhicll intervenes beneath the nver and its high and craggy bank- where lors^fhoor" .)"'.*!"" ^^"' "•' ^^^''•-^'^ ^^-'t t^ ri Ihi Z \^"^^ T' ^''""'"« rapidly upon the sand BI i,r, sitting back firmly in his saddle, kept his from W .T"'^l"r' '^' brightening waves, while trom t ne to time his lips uttered an unconscious echo to the hollow sweepings of the breeze among the tall ferns tut flung themselves out from the face of those rifted and half impendent rocks. He reached the bay of Greenock about seven o'clock • bin '""'"If rf "P .^"' ^""''^ '-^"^ swallowed a crust of biead, walked down immediately to the shore to iniiuire W «/ '^"f • ^ ^" *^^'" ^^y^' "^ ''Snlriv packets, (far Irl nT.7"^''*'' ''.f''"^ *''" ''^'^' «f those Highland arms of the sea at all times accessible to the traveller :- but It happened that after some search. Mr Blair dis- ZZt" r' ,"'^'^''^' *'" "^''''^ ^f ^'"«h had come to Greenock with a cargo offish, and said, that although his business was not quite completed, he would, as the TfftlTAT' ^'^ •" ^ ^^^^^' ^^^ him b^^s'tt ng off immediately on his return to Inverary,- provided the gentleman had no objections to remunemto himTde- quately for any loss he might sustain from departing under such circumstances. Mr Blair was in no mood f^? being startled wth trifles, so a bargain was soon struck or rather an mstant assent was given to the by no means aTlckTlt?h'''P''t ?V'' ^'^PP^^- Four stout lads, all clad in the same dark tartans of the Maclachlan were ere long assembled by the whistle of the master! ^Bla took his place near the helmsman, who offered him an trZr "' ^tPj"^^*« ™P himself in ; and the sudden Wbacl^ to a naked beach and a sharp sea-breeze! might well render this courtesy acceptable. Covered over with the coarse and thick garment he reclined himself at all his length upon a layerTchests and barrels, with which the stern part of the boa w^ intorveiies k — where about the upon the , kept liis ves, vvliilo us echo to ! tall ferns lose rifted 1 o'clock ; a crust of to inquire il for any ;kets, (far Highland veller ; — Blair dis- had come although d, as the >y setting provided him ade- leparting mood for I struck ; 10 means out lads, an, were •. Blair him an J sudden 3rcise on I- breeze, lent, he >f chests oat was cmrTER XIII. j^ Sle?and\\:"^^ *« '--e the fa.our- begnn to chaunt, in a hoaleLr • "" ^^^Imsman nidc ancestml ditties with wh? f F T"'' ^"° «^ ^^oso of the Gael ar^a rusTolj t' 1 1? ["""^"^ ^^''^^"^^n Deep. The vounrr^T • '^^*^ *''^ ^^"'"s of the every slenLpSirf?T^'";'^^" ^''•^ «'''^"'«. «nd quiver like a human ^1 n h ""^f 'T ^^^^">' '''^<^^ to ti.eir "m^VaMm^> ^'"^^' ^'"^^"^ '^'' «*'""'g music of soo?re'!!ter,;:t1icrh'r-'fr5''^^- '' -> -- which the k erXLl *^^^^^^ swiftness'with sleep, and the strong 1 . ^ '^^^''- ^'^^ ^^nt of which he hldVefforLd hXl r '' "^"*^*'^" ""^- haps to make him hZZ li J J^^^^^^y* conspired per- not l,ave bet ~Vr^^^^^^ ^-'«*-^ -J'at he co'uld • effectually. His evlTrll^ 'T^^.^l^^^^^st'-^nccs to resist countless'g,itte;ofX^" t^^LdLt"^^^ ^""'^* *'- mingled stupor and bewiWement 1^ . f '".v^ '*^*' "^ sional flashes of a dizzy deStalMh "'* !^^*^«'^* ««ca- were running right beforrlh ' ^ , *^ "^^'^^^ *'^»* ^^'^7 Dunoon. ^ ^ "^^""''^ *^^ ^^"'^ *« the headland of tranS;:/'^ tS 1'^^ P^^^^^^"' ^"*-t the beautiful cLt\i^^twards'TherhT^ ''l '^'^ '^' of Bute on the left contr^'^fa i -f f ^l^ ""^^^^''^ ^^^^^d hills of Argyn on th« H^ ! '*'f T*^ *^^ ^^''^ ^^athy every side betwe n gtanf 1' r^^ *^' ''"' ^^^^^^ ^^ <>^ tories, displavlc no?Th« ^"'^'^^^"^ ^^^*^d^^ P^omon- smooth andSysu^^^^^^^^^^^ aspect only, but the and sweetly theZ^v^tTJL ^'^f'^^ ^^^^' Calmly and Adam BlaL lu[Sn5 K?*^ ^""'^ ^^^"^ ^°^ards ; of the tranfp^^n^ 1 4rrd L'^ *'' ^^"*!^ ^^^^""^ unwearied boatmen W'"l ^^i"? ^^'"'^ «^ ^^« and refreshing slumbpr p^i i.'^'^^'^^ *^^"^^ i« deep the mouth "fhL^hfoVw^^^^^^ ""'"''''^ ^""^ -? He was roused by the bustTe nf f. r '' 'T'' ™ ^^"°d- shippin.. the oar^ I ' of furling the sails, and un- IP o the oar., aim saw the wide arm of the sea r m 1' 1 W^ 1 Mir' I': \m i|! |& Htt'^f If'^ ■1''.' 1 1 * if^'ii 1 Fl imii ■ no ADAM nLAIR. glrnming beneath the nulianco of a splendid .s„n%t as it AH aroun.l was silent as the fi:ravo, except the regular •la.sh of the oars, and now an.] then some ihito sea'n ew Hcreatn.ng as they passed it, where it fioate.l with the ^v•avo-or the far-off cry of the unseen goat, borne l/ril over the waters from the echoes of his solitary ro k rijo near surface of the sea was bright, and tho tall' yo low crags lashed by the sweeping wLVlon Irigt ! through the spray that foamed against them, and tinged he r..ng and falling sheet of valour with a 1 li " wn hues of nchnoss But Blair sought rather to gaze on tTio purple nils, which seemed to swell away in inter^irbe Highland solitudes ; or on the remoter wastes of water over which their eternal shadows lay brooding ar^ Daylight was all but gone, and tho moon had alreadr begun to sluno feebly through the fleece of white Ss which rested on the summit of the hills eastwa d, when as they were ghd.ng along close to tho shore, M Bla' r' who was standing upright in the stern, contemplatii^ ?he rirhTii'r:: t "^"^ "^^^^ ^""^' -^ ^^^^ a laugh, which at the moment sounded to him as if he had heard it before. Casting his eyes upwards on the beach, he saw a horseman on the brink of ?he rock scarce twenty yards off. and was satisfied tk,.t the sound h.i proceeded from h.ai. The boatmer V,, . on £. Zt "" ; T ,f P^^*^*'«» th'-^t the suaager would addre them ; but the moment they paused, he turned hs horse's head, and rode some paces in the direction onno srte to that m which they had been movTng! E looked anxiously and keenly; but it was impof iblf for «oncei4? fmJfnr ^'^' ^''" mistaken in having conceive', .imself to be acquainted with the voice. The Ill cuAFrnR xni. boatmen, after the mimo nf ^ e^ t'.oir labour, nJtll^Z^l:, ni "hr"':' '"""^^'^^ strangcT, hearing the clash of fif '""^'""- '^^^« «'-'iF>I'infe' Hpnr. to I Uh.. ^ I*""" ^''^*^''«' ''^'''^ then appeare.1 from view In, T ^ ^'^^r*''!;'' ''^^'' ''° ''«^ ^^^^r his destinaf in B^dr ;Llin^ '""'f .*'" ^^^^^ «^ prepared to leave tt' boat loVlb^ ''' ^'''' ""^ leaped up to his middJp in ;i . .*^° ^"^""8^ ^^'^o" having taken Mr Sr.nr ''"*'' ^^ *''^ P'«^' '-^"d weigm had bee, that of . / ', ?""' '"' '"'">^ ^« ^^ *»«« yards wif^zhir and ill!, t-'^'""^"/ ^^«"* ^ ^ozen of Uigness. ' '"''"^ ^"" ^" ^^^^^^^ «" the beach roct wSh'^y^I^e;' *'". ^'^?^ ^-^--t« of gray lain there eve7sine^t T /'l' ^'"^^ ^« ^^ ^hey had brow of the hLendinl r^iJ'? ^^«" «^»^««r«d from the sion of Nature Ho ^ . ^ '^"'' P"™^^^^ «on^"l- eonveyed h Hmife SiM ", r"" ""''' "^^^^ ^^^ view behind a low ; "I ;* ^''''^'^•'^PP^''^^^^ from his runs far out into 2 « ""^ ^^oo^-covered land which then he It "fed 'tl' r' '^"'^ ^''*^^^ "P' ^"^ «^«^ sound of ""rlX .!''"' ?"''"'"' ^''*^"'"^ *o the "^'^"^^ ""•-" ^'»^'ir iast retreatiL^ echo had lih: (i ■I 3 ■ , «' , 112 ADAM BLAIR. ■ quite died upon his car. It >vas then that ho arose from his seat, and began, though with slow and lingering steps, to ascend the narrow path which the moonbeams shewed him winding up the face of the cliff. Often he paused and turned round again to the sea, and once or twice he felt as if he would fain follow the boatmen and abandon the object of his voyage at the moment it was vvithm his reach. These, however, were but the passing tremors of a mind somewhat shaken by so many un- wonted species of excitement. TJio purpose for which he had come, he said to himself, -vas both an honest and a kind one ; and why should he fear to act that which he had not feared to plan ? He approached, at length, the pte of the tower, and knocked upon it with a firm hand. No answer was made to him, although he repeated the signal more than once. At last ho heard distinctly the opening of a door, and the tread of a foot within the house, and knocked again more loudly than before. Immediately afterwards, a window over his head was drawn up, and he saw a naked arm stretched out, and a Y.f P?"^ «f steel flashing bright in the moonlight. Who is there ?» cried a voice,-and he knew the voice to be Charlotte's, although he had never heard it in the same tone before-" Who is there? If you be come back to insult me, to torment me farther, look up, scoun- drel, dastard, and see that I am armed. Go, fly, base- born villain, and tempt not too far blood that is already too hot for fear." ^ 1 ^l ^l^K ^^ ^^ ^"^'^ astonished at the words he heard Charlotte utter, that he could not, for a moment say any thing to interrupt them. ' " Charlotte," he said, at length, in a calm voice, « in the name of God, what say you? It is I, Charlotte - It J your friend -it is Adam Blair that has come to see She leaned over the window, and, clasping her hands together, lost her hold of the weapon, which fell close to him on the pavement of the court. She screamed aloud arose from I lingering iioonbearas Often he 1(1 once or atmen and ent it was ;lio passing many un- for whicli lioncst and hat wliich at length, dth a firm peated the inctly the /ithin the in before, head was out, and loonlight. the voice I it in the be come ip, scoun- fly, base- is already tvords lie moment, >ice, " in irlotte — lie to see er hands I close to ed aloud 113 CHAPTBR xxir. ^th:arr:lt^:i'r^^'•^-'^^-'-^ J^ini. A moment after the ^^7 "''"'^^. '' ^'''^ »"«««J door sprung open, Tnd b t,"^?^^ ^^f .withdrawn ; the deserted me J^but now I irV'"^"'*--^^^ ^^' "ot -ith me, and I shlrfl n^Sil""!/"^,/ ^^^ ^- convulsive laugh, and added n^L , ' ""'"^^ ^ '^^'^ shall not bo afraidnf u * 1 ^ whisper, " No, no, I " Be calm, be cafm dLr r^''^ "^^ ^''^'^^'^^ now." Jf ve you 'to S that hti'"'*'' ?' ""''''' " -^^t should you be thus dtomtsedT\*: 'T""' ^^^ friend-your brother is her7 I nL ^ ^'^re-your be composed, there cin nn I -i P ?^i/°^ ^'® comforted, in,» ho added, "the nLht .« , , nf^" >^""- ^^^^ "« go proachmyself if youSVt ^^'^^^■^""'^--I '^'^^i rl for this I" cried ^he ' f h '' ^'/ *'""''"-" ^'^e worse you say it is olldfli f^^Z^" f *'"^' ^^^"^ '' - ^'^ warm. Come in,* comet a ?~~,^V^"'^ ^^^-^^ «««« be round him, and S ew7fri^"nfo iT' ^^'' ^^'^ '''' ^'"^ flight of stairs which led f.. ' ^''*"'^* *"^ "P ^ dark a single taper wa buVnfnff,^" ^^^"^^^^^^^^ "^ -h'«l^ the fireside, and imSftSl i^' ^''' ''^*^^ ^^"^ by turf and tiniber above thf^i ^'^^" P'""^ "P ^ogs of stooping on her W :he'"bl''' '' 'I'' ^--^^ : 'then easily excited, and tim l '^' ^"^ *^^^ ^^^^^ was 'uddy light. ShTturndrtTd tiT,-'^^^' "^^^ *^« them between hers ^n^ T ' i '^*^ '"' ^'^"^s> cubbed Are; and then, .tf^^^^'thtfil/r '^'''^ ""''^'^ *° ^^^^ thing of herself, hasti ^ran « J L '*'^' remembering any She re-entered after . litHn. ^^' '-^Partment. i«g-gown, the long fo ds of wh'T' "'"'^^^^"^ "' ^'^' ^ress- trod, and bearing fntthll^^'^TV'^ '7^ f ^^^ Faced on a table, and drev.' i IZTl'^J'. ^^^'«h ' r^ i H she u to Mr Blair. "Come, m I i 114 ADAM BLAIR. Adam," said she, " you were cold but now, and you , must bo hungry too. Eit and drink, dear Adam, we shall have timo enough for talking and thinking here- after. Drink," and she poured a large glass from a flask of wine as she spoke, « drink, and I will pledge you, I will pledg. you once more— Come, Adam, for your own sake, or for mine." Mr Blair swallowed the wine she poured for him, and she poured glass after glass, and would take no refusal ; and whether from that, or from the great heat of the fire she had kindled, in a room that would at any rate have appeared warm to him, after being so long exposed to the sea-breezes, or from whatever cause, it seemed to him, in a mon^ent, as if he could not breathe without difficulty. He 'rose and threw open the window of the apartment, and leaned over it to inhale the breeze. She followed him, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, gazed out along with him upon the wide silver lake, stretched out far below, and the glorious moon, which had now risen high in the heavens, and was beaming resplendent amidst all her attendant millions of twink- ling stars. While they gazed, a white radiant cloud floated nearer and nearer, and at last gathering over the face of the beautiful planet, blotted her light from heaven. The sky was darkened, and the lake seemed to he like a sea of ink spread out wide and far, with scarcely one solitary star here and there reflected on its surface. The winds, too, seemed all to have subsided ; and, for a moment, earth, sky, and sea, were alike black* and alike silent. Mrs Campbell took Blair's hand, and withdrew him from the window. She reseated him by the table, poured another glass of wine, and again forcing him to swallow it, began to tell him, in broken syllables, the story of hor insults. Had she never told that story, perhaps Adam Blair had never been a fallen man — nor " The moon hid her light I'rgm hif lieaven that night." ^ CHAPTER XIV. 115 ^ Blair CHAPTER XIV. ginlt, walked out of the house and fn lV„ ^j 1, ^hen he had reached tL ro k ^umm^^ i"'? ^''^ lam, and saw nothing but a narrow circuit of hnnfj^ stony desolation ; and in the centrl of t o i '^ '''"^ theatre a small dark mountain tfrn h!v T ""'^^'"■ of whiel rejected nothing rt\;re^*rtdit^ and that so truly, that he stood almost on the maraino^ hej^d^ d.covered that there was any thinrbu^eal This melancholy tarn, formed where three hills descend nto the^ bosom of the earth together, is of such d"th tha. nu i^luuimet could ever sound it, and it shelves fro n „ I, JWA^! Ilil lit 116 ADAM BLAIR. the very brink sheer down into this unfathomable black- ness. The sea-mew rests her weary wing there, when driven by the fierce tempest from the breast of ocean • the wild-deer, that has escaped from the hunters of some distant forest, pants in security on the untrodden heath beside It ; the eagle, sailing far over-head, casts a passing shadow upon its surface ; the stars visit it with their gleams — long before any human eye can distinguish their presence in the heavens from the brow of the neighbouring mountain. But no living thing was near when Adam Blair took his seat upon one of the great shapeless fragments of stone that here and there gird the heath, and lean their bare masses over those dismal waters — and though the bright sky of noontide hung far above m its beauty, the black mirror below him reflected nothing of its azure. Blair sat there gazing upon the pool, with his arms lolded on his breast, until the multitude of his agonizing tlioughts had totally perplexed the clearness both of his mmd and of his vision. Once and again he strove to trame his lips to prayer, but the syllables stuck in his throat, and he gasped for breath, as if a great weight had been squeezing in his bosom. At last, he knelt with his lorehead low down in his hands upon the stone, and struggled inwardly till every limb of him shook and quivered ; but still no drop of tears would gush from his throbbing eye-lids, no Christian ejaculation would force Itself through his dry lips. He felt as if he were wrapt m some black and burning cloud, which would not let in one ray upon his misery of thirst and scorching, and became at last utterly bewildered with a crowd of the most horrible phantasies. Black loathsome creatures seenied to sit close beside him on either hand, polluting the breath ere it reached his nostrils, scowling upon him with faces of devilish glee, pawing upon his head with hot talons, fanning his temples with wiry pinions, which stirred the air, but lent it no coolness. Wide glaring eyes fastened upon him, and held him fixed ai their prey. — At one moment it seemed to him as if the CHAPTER XIT. jjy ch«rch-yard of Cross-Meiklo were the scene of his tor- ments. He saw the tomb of his father, with filthv things crawling up and down upon the flee of th« Sr - Z'^^' ^'""'^ ^^'' poisonous breath if fiends frfend "'old ;: '" ,f ^^^ 'r ^"^*- He saw his living eyes Liti^rnr/ 7V'^'''' ^^*^ ^^'"^"ghty, angrv hss' farther ^,7'!,'*'" V' ^7 ^™' P^^^ and motion- crowded n J ff' r "^^'J^' ^^ ^"^ congregation were S scorS ' '^'"' *''" ^°°' ^^ *^« «^^"r«'^> and he hr/elt w h ^ 'T1 "^^«^^«d-- These vanished, and oespair, as if he were once more alone with the ill- IbXned"^^"*^ .\^r" ''' ^-- himself to bo imon thefr'al ^''''^ ^'"'^ '^''^^" ^'^^^ ^""«» ^ead eyes iipon their gleaming countenances of wrath and iov dis them n:"n"-'""/"^'^' *^^^*^^^- H« Wwiirup n them, as If daring them to do their worst. They screamed aloud with harsh horrid voices _ pounced upon hTm!^ lifted him up into the air, and then flung him dTwn again as if in sport, and he their plaything' H^ strove mol't ","7' ^'^^'^ ^'''''' ^"'-' h^ Suld open hi mouth, the holy name itself passed away from his reco - lection, and they stooped nearer and nearer to h m and peered into his eyes with looks of triumph 'a iT'thev had read hs thoughts, and knew he was^ baffled from withm — without their working. In his agony, he shook the stone beneath him and it heaved on its crumbling foundation. A spasm of 'na"uri terror made him spring to his feet, and he leaped back wards upon the heath. The big gray stoneitTJn^^^^ accelerated by the action of his fe^X^se" d tsd The next moment and tumbled headlong into the drear^ waters over which it had toppled perhaps for centurLT Down it went with one heavy pluJge ; L iL ea that* w th the bottom of the tarn. Ring after ring circled and glistened wider and wider on the face of thellck mere and all was again black, motfonless, silent as before. ' i I if 'l! i; WAy I 118 ADAM BLAIR. Mfhn . 7- ^'''^ ""^ "'^''^' ^"d then stretching forth horror "ir r ' ^''*'' '"^^ ""*' ^^"^ ^ -<^i«« of pferig utterl^ wL?'' JY.^^.'^^^* *^^«^ ^^««^ted m! m V ii .w ^ '^'"^ ^ ^''''^ ^'•^"^ the trembling rock ? Z^^l- ^^t'^'T^ ""''' "^"^^' which is useless, worth: ess, miserable, lost, lost for ever! God, God look tZV' ^^-1^-^-" •' - -y -i-y is greate'r than I can He was in the very act of springing - the next moment would have been his last, whfn he was se^zec fn hs^arT '«^f "^"'/'^ ^^^^^ ^^ Charlotte'thrillel m nis ears "Stop, rash man I what dost thou ? Wilt thou slay hyself- Look back, faint heart I Look back on me ! Art thou alone miseiiblo ?" Blair turned round and met her wild eves-- "Lost woman," said he, shaking himself from her^p " wh. dost thou? What brings thee here? wlt Lu no leave me to myself-to my misery? It is all thou hast « m^'*^™ ^^^^'' '^hat hast thou left to me ?" To fly, woman, to repent -- to weep, — perhans not to weep for ever. For thee there may be hope." * For me ! why not for thee !" mvlS™'"* ""'^ "° ^^'^^''' ^ P^e««hed to others - myself am an outcast. Once more leave me. -Fare- likettaJ."^'"''' ^'"' ^"'"'^ ^^'"'' 5^""' fi"S^^« hurn his"b^eCr'A"~"'^^T^^"'°^'" ^"^^ Adam, smiting lis breast. A moment after, he covered his fLce with hisjianc^ kneeled at Charlotte's feet, and wept audrbly' ~savt'h?,?v T ^'' ^'* ^""'^^^ ""'' before you go -say that you forgive me, Charlotte, before we /art for UffY/'"'*^'?- ^' ^t for ,»e to offer forgiveness 2 Oh CufZI-A r" ""^^ '^''''^'''' •" - ^"d «he knelt on the dt n ^^^;^ ''''' *-« -^^^^' - they rolled CIIAPTEU XIV. 119 "My God !" said Blair, " my God ! bruise me no larther -Oh Isabel, my Saint, my wounded Saint, my Isabel ! Wife of my bosom ! my only, my virgin love • look down m pity, if thy pure eyes behold me ! Look down ni pity, sweet Saint, upon frail, sinful dust and aslies ! If angels weep, weep for me, my Isabel !" Charlotte sprung up, and dashing the tears from lier eyes said, " Adam Blair, we part, and part for ever ! — unt 1 go not until you have promised — until you have sworn by the God who said, « Thou shalt not kill,' that you will do yourself no harm. Selfish man ! would you heap sorrow on sorrow, till the heart break beneath its burden, with all its guilty blood unpurified within it 2 fepeak — promise — swear, while you are on your knees betore me, — and remember that God is present to hear you — even here in this wilderness " " I swear," he said, casting his eyes upwards, but with- out looking on Charlotte, «I swear that I shall wait God s time. God grant it be not long! God shield me trom presumptuous sin !" When he had uttered these words, he stooped his head downwards again, and remained for some moments with Ins eyes fixed upon the ground, — but without any motion either of sobbing or of weeping. When he arose again, his face was filled, not with the turbulence of contending passions, but with a fixed and desperate calmness. " Charlotte," said he, « we should part 1 n sorrow, not in anger : Let each keep for solitude, what m solitude only is fitting. - Farewell, Charlotte,- once again, farewell, and for ever !" Charlotte's tears burst once more over her burning cheek, as she answered, " Farewell !» She extended her hand towards him, but instantly drew it back ; and stood with her eyes fixed upon the water, while he, with quick and violent steps, walked away from her along the mar- gin of the tarn, and then up the face of the heath, in the direction opposite to the path by which he had co ne thither from Uigness. lie liad j)roceeded at a rapid though uneven pace for ^ 1 I (- ■ r ! ■ . m llll I* ?.' Di 120 ADAM BLAIR. mmmm from thorn bv tlw JZJ'^ * l ^ ^^"^° ^'^^ ^hut course ]a %hoJu^T. "" '''''^' ^^^'""^ ^^'^^^ h^^ hei/hnr 1 . '^^ ^*'*'* ^^'0 sat down amon■« to pity. weat i,od ! look down upon mo in comn^inl, Jesus, Saviour, gentle Saviour, pity nei heaTthe ^i^ of a bruised lieart!" > i^ i ti,, near tne cry wnl.^r?!"^ ^!""° '»<•'' P'--*"" among the troubled . tn^ot^^r''!™:"'' Sh' Tl '"' "'»"«'"^ "-^ ^ other, and hurjIhe^lrorh^^-tVoSr™,- CHAPTER XIV. J2I listened to the splasliing sounds sho was herself ereath.«^«ould be restored Iil£ - theo too have I in ured- thee too liave I robbed Tf theer^a t:;,.errCtTm:tt;"' A T^,"* '» '»™ -rnrLriat .^—^ ?«^mr^i:u rsrtei^oai r r :t.f had been the victim. Wretch! Hew ntfrl Celt has gone Jrom me for ever, and I never knelt hf=, rx wirhi^-n'" fl'-r '''^-^^ -"^'s fTX!.T* ^^™-I intruded on his anguish -I di!- « iii 122 ADAiM BLAin. CHAPTER XV. Feeble indeed she was, but the stun^ mind lent it. ior a moment, and then she resumed her way with idfli SrSrS; i"'" T,"'^ -^y«''- .f the u!,: uuutn neatn tore lier ankles until the b'an.l hnr f rt T f «^'"^«-^ut she never hetie 1^^^ f most p ol^ taLHif ' '" "''^^ ^''"'^*^'^" '^^ ^^J wide over .In V .'"?"''"• ^''' ^^'^^ wandered cTeep%n7ro,L f ,'^ "^^""tains, divided every where by eep and rocky glens, down which, in every direction She stiamed her vision to the uf.nost, could she descfv any human dwelling, far less any human form " I shJll never see him," said she to herself, «I shaTl* never see h m more - he is lost to me for ever - 1 sin ZJor^nA r 7:t'' f ^""^'^ «f-ountains'' 'ir Jst;' Zlvin'lnnt^ 7'"' '"P^^^^ *^^" «^^r ^0-" tie She ying bank, and ran on in that sort of blind agonv sw lien" r? 7"' Tf ' '/ ^ ^^°^^' -'"«h hldS svujllen mto a torrent by the storm of the preceding She followed its course, having no power to cross if. waters; nor if she had been able to do sof any predi ec i^n ^erUe];'tn^:K;s t^ ttri^in^^h^-t^^^^^^^ rhoi-i^t*^ I • . ,, "^*"* ^' ^lo^s. dust there, however Charlotte descried the mark of a man's foot as f relenlK; ^tamped on the wet sand, and she knew t was BiS and went on, with.,ew strung nerves, although it w^ CUAPTEU XV. 123 i lent its ith which ice before and then itli addi- ' the un- od burst le smart. I cast her I he had i'andcred k'here by irection, , though e descry "I shall 3ver see ver find so say- mi the 1 agony ad been seeding ross its lection ducted nbjing )r any led for svever, cently Hair's, t was sometimes necessary for her to leap from one wet stone to another, on footing as uncertain as might have arrested a hunter in the full career of the chase. The dark pass opened upon a little hitherto-unseen glen, down the purple waste of which a green line wind- ing from side to side, and here and there a solitary birch tree, mnrkcd the progress of the streamlet. At the further extremity, perhaps a quarter of a mile off, her eye discovered a little desolate shieling perched on an elevation of rock over the margin f the brook. A pilo of dried turf stood immediately beyond, and was only to bo distinguished from the human dwelling by the want of the heavy wreath of smoke, which was seen issuing from the centre of the roof beside it. A bare pine tree, with a few ragged branches, leaned over the shieling ; and a little patch of broader verdure on the other side of the brook, betokened the scanty agriculture of the High- land shepherd who tenanted that remote abode. The shadows were, by this time, beginning to fall eastward, and it immediately occurred to Charlotte, that in all probability, Mr Blair would not think of going beyond this place until the return of day-light ; or at least that, if he had passed onwards, the people 'of the cottage would be able to give her some information of the direction in which be had bent his steps. The shiel- ing, therefore, was her mark, and she continued to move towards it by the side of the stream ; but insensibly, as she drew nearer to it, her pace was slackened, and she lost that spring of excitement which had hitherto carried her bounding over bog, rock, and heath. Slowly, and with lingering steps, she went over this last part of her way, and she paused entirely, and sat down by the side ot the brook, when she had reached a point from which her eyes could see, with distinctness, the low door of the shieling— its solitary milk-cow grazing on the small space of grass in front of it — and an old bearded goat rednnng on the turf of which its roof was composed, and nibbling the few ears of barley that had found room to grow there among the layers of heath. I . (1 ' m -/v ' ?1 ' t'l 4 I r 1- 1 124 ADAM llLAin. She kept l.er oycs fixed upon these poor symptoms of hnman hal^tution. endeavouring in vain to smnmon up courage enough to carry her into their presence. At la t '•owever, an ohl won.an came out to carry in fud'uu' as she was .I.out to stoop and re-enter the ho se t iZ pcned that she threw her eyes up the glen 'it Tv easily be suppose.l that she started' on seeing a lady c"aJ m wlnte, .ttu,g by herself close to the nu.rgin o'f the The old woman paused for a mon.ent at her door flung down her bundle of turf, aiul began to walk 4' Mrs cU:,'n ""'' ^-'-".1, towards the phce tte " she I^, h %m>-'^<^K rose from the stone on which ^^^l^^r:^^:''' ''''''''-'' ''''''^' '''' '^'^'^ vilulf'f!:"'''^^ wifo at once recognized the Lady of Uigi CSS, although she had not seen her for many years, nor heard any thing of her return to that pa f of t ,e ZeZno aid^'f?"'^' '" ^"'^*^^^>' ^' her salut'n CnaHl" I ''''"^""=^ *^ '''^^' itself understood, as Cnarlot e knew no nioro than a v^^ry few words of the healer '^'"[""/"^•••^tio" ^^^ at an end almost before It could be saui to have begun. The old woman, how! SyXt ;r'"' '"'''''''' ^'^^'^^^""'^ comprehend dis- 'nd In H n '7 ''''', f«'»«t»»»g -rong in the shieling, enterW i/^^ T ^/^ '""^^''"''^ ^^^^"^ ^^ immediately tntenng ,t along with her. The anxious pointing of her enough, and Charlotte, not without some suspicion that Mr Blair was already there before her, summoned unS orhe^lur^'"' "^"^ -dilyaccom^anied'trl^t?.^] twf Init moun.!!'' ""'" " '"'^^ ^"^^•^^ constructed from her and entered ; but, for a moment, the dark atmol CHAPTER XV. y^inptoms of iiiiiiinon up ;o. At last, n fut'l, and, use, it Iiap- It may a lady clad rgiu of the her door, io walk as laco where meantime, < on which still with 3 Lady of my years, irt of the salutation rstood, as ds of the )st before !in, how- lend dis- shieling, lediately ng of her epljiinly Jion that d up all motions ed from soon at m every e forth, 3d after atmos= 126 phero, and the pungency of the turf-smoko, rendered her eyes quite nicapablo of discovering any object in the interior. She rubbed her smarting eyes and saw Blair lying pros^trate on the floor, with a plaid wrapped over part of his hgure, close to the fire, which bla/ed under its canopy of sinoko in the centre of the place. One of his arms lay- stiffly by his side; the other hand covered his eyes and lorehead ; ho seemed to be in a state of stupor, but every now and then all his limbs quivered and shook beneath the tolds of the garment which enveloped them. Char- lotte stood in silence by the old woman, who koptpoint- ir.^ towards him with her finger, and whispering all the while into her ear discordant and unintelligible sounds ot alarm and fear. After a pause of some minutes, during which nothing indicated that Mr Blair was aware ot any one being near him, she at last spoke these words in a whisper, " Adam — Adam Blair, you are sick, you are ill. Do not shrink from me ; alas ! you need not ; M "^' '"^"^ ^^^^^ *^ "'^' '^"^ *^^^ "'^ ^^^'^* you ^ccl." Mr Blair uncovered his eyes, looked wildly through the smoke, and, uttering a deep hollow groan, turned lumself with his face towards the earth on the floor of the shieling. Charlotte stood for some space in the same attitude in which she heard his groan, and then perceiving that his silence was either obstinate or involuntary, she drew near to him, knelt down beside him, and seized one of his hands in hers. The moment he felt her touch, the sick man started to his feet, and leaped backwards from the place where she was kneeling. "Off; off^— torment me not — woman, torment me not! —Wilt thou never leave me? Shall the curse cling to me for ever ?" He said these words in a tone of voice, low, indeed and feeble, but nevertheless quite distinct and fervid' and then made an eff^ort as if he would have escaped towards the door; but the exertion was beyond his strength; ho reeled, he staggered, and sunk once more ( 1, I': I ) : ':: { < *i ^1 ■m } 126 ADAM BLAIR. to the ground, on which he would have fallen with all his weight, had not Charlotte been there to receive him in her arms, and support him gently into the plaid upon which he had before been stretched. She wrapped its folds once more over him, and he seemed to coil himself up in a knot below them, while a spasm of more convul- sive shivering agitated the whole of his body. Ho stretched forth his hand at the moment when all his limbs were shaking with violence, drew one of the cor- ners of the mantle right over his face ; and in a moment lay at her feet as motionless as a log. Charlotte watched him for a few minutes in silence ; and then flinging herself on her knees again beside him, uncovered his face, and gazed upon his closed eyes and pale features. She took his hand, now unresisting, lifted it up, and pressed it to her lips, and when she quitted her hold of it, saw it drop down as heavily as if it had been part of a dead man. With that she sprung up, and seizing a wooden vessel which lay near, ran out swiftly from the shieling. She returned, and kneeling down again, began to lave water on his face. He opened his eyes heavily on feeling the coolness ; but instantly the lids relapsed, and not one word or motion farther attested his sense of her presence. She was still in the same posture, when, after the lapse of half an hour, the old herdsman entered tlic hut along with one of his sons who had been owt with him all day on the mountain. Charlotte recovered herself the moment they entered, and addressed them with an earnest interrogation, whether it were not possible to inako a sort of litter, and carry Mr Blair as far as Uigness. The 3'oung man, as it happened, understood a little Eng- lish, and as soon as he had comprehended the purport of her speecli, he said something in Gaelic to his father, and they both quitted the place immediately, making signs that they would bo back again ere long. They had not been long away, when Mr Blair shook the plaid from above him, and sat up supporting himself on his hands. He regarded first the old woman, and en with all receive him s plaid upon wrapped its coil himself lore convul- body. Ho hen all his of the cor- 1 a moment in silence ; beside him, d eyes and sting, lifted she quitted IS if it had mg up, and out swiftly iling down opened his stantly the ler attested , after the 3d the hut with him red herself n with an possible to IS Uigness. little Eng- purport of Father, and king signs Hair shook iig himself iman, and CilAPTElR XV. 127 then Charlotte, with his dull eyes, and srid to the latter, in a low and broken whisper, " Charlotte, I have used you ill — even now I have used you unlike a man. For- give me, Charlotte, I feel that my mortal offences will soon be over — I feel that within which cannot deceive me. I am sick, I am sick to death. Farewell! for God's sake leave me. I shall die here ; I shall be buried here in this wild place. Let no one know where I have been buried." Her tears flowed abundantly as she listened to these calmly spoken words; but a moment afterwards his cheek began to glow again, and his eye to flash, and another ague-like shivering passed over his whole frame, and he sunk prostrate once more on the ground, appa- rently as helpless as before. It was just then that the young man re-entered the shieling, and invited Mrs Campbell to come and look at the litter they had formed. It consisted of three or four pieces of timber wattled together with withes plucked from the low green willows, which here and there grew among the rushes by the side of their brook. A layer of heath was arranged over this rude frame ; and Charlotte having seen her own shawl and the men's plaids added, desired them both to come in and lift her friend. They obeyed her, and Blair seemed to be quite uncon- scious of what had happened, until they had borne him out into the open air. He then opened his eyes again, and looked about him for a moment, but still without appearing to take the least notice either of the men or of Charlotte. They laid him at length on the litter,-— wrapped the plaid over him, and began to bear him like a child along the path M-hich both he and Charlotte had already traversed. He lay as they walked, with closed eyes, and Charlotte began to hope that the motion had perhaps lulled him into a slumber, that might in the end prove salutary and refreshing. These mountaineers, burdened as they were, moved on so nimbly over their native heathSj that Charlotte had some little difficulty in being able to keep up with them. i 'M Ik: t'll A >j mmi 128 ADAM BLAIR. They were too well acquainted with those glens, however, to follow throughout the same track by which she had penetrated into their retreat. A shorter cut over the hill brought them, in not much more than an hour, to a summit from which the expanse of Lochfine could be descried ; and, in half as much more time, Charlotte could see the old tower of Uigness breaking the outline between and the bright waters. When they had reached the lower eminence immediately above the house, she hastened her steps, passed the bearers, and had gained the door of the tower before they had finished the descent. Mr Blair never opened his eyes until the litter on which he had been conveyed was let down on the floor of the chamber which Charlotte had already prepared for his reception. It was then that he started up from his prostrate posture, and gazing wildly around him, seemed to be waking as from a dream. Charlotte motioned to the men, and they began to undress him ; but, although he kept his eyes open while they were obeying her directions, he appeared to have as yet no knowledge either of where he was, or of what they were doing with him. In silence, he suffered himself to be stript, nor did he offer any sort of resistance when they lifted up and bore him towards the bed which had been made ready to receive him. A moment after, he sat upright in the couch, and fixing his eyes on the window, which was wide open to the air, seemed to be agitated all over with some new and sudden shudder of bodily anguish. He leaped from the bed with the activity of a mai. in full health and strength, escaping, or striving to escape, from a mortal foe — rushed towards the window — leaned over it naked as he was, uttered one deep groan, and sunk backward upon the floor of the chamber. He was quickly lifted up again, and borne back towards his bed, but when his hand touched the sheets he wrestled so violently, that the men were compelled to lay him down upon the ground. « Not there .'" he cried with a voice of thunder — « not there — no, no — not there/ , however, h she had over the hour, to a I could be Charlotte le outline id reached louse, she ad gained ished the litter on the floor spared for from his u, seemed tioned to although j^ing her nowledge ►ing with t, nor did i up and ready to t in the lich was ver with ish. He in full pe, from ned over ad sunk le back heets he ;d to lay ied with t there! CHAPTER XV. 129 Spare me that last agony, ye avengers of guilt ! — spare me, spare me, lay me any where but there /" With these words he hud exhausted his energy, and ho lay once more feeble and helpless as an infant before them. But Charlotte dashed away the tears that had sprung into her eyes, and motioning with her hand to the bearers, led tlio Avay into an upper chamber, where another bed was hastily prepared. JIo tossed from side to side fiercely, stared round and round him with glazed, hot, burning eye-balls, but neither spoke a word after he had been laid there, nor made the least effort to lift his head from off the j)i]low. The moment Mrs Campbell felt satisfied that he was too much weakened to attempt any farther violence, she despatched the younger herdsman to Inverary, having desired the father on no account to quit the tower. She made every one leave the room, and closing the windows agjiinst the bright moonlight, she took her place in silence and in darkness, beside the couch of Blair. ' CHAPTER XVI. It was about noon, on the seventh day from that m which these things happened, that Adam Blair opened his eyes after being buried for fifteen hours in a deep sleep, and, gazing about the chamber in which he was lying, began to make his first faint endeavour towards consciousness. He was so feeble that he could not lift his head from the pillow without being oppressed with a dizziness, under which he was immediately com- pelled to submit, and it was not until after many efforts, that he so far recovered himself as to be sensible that he was Ipng alone in a half-darkened room, and that many days must have passed over his head since any distinct miage of any kind had been retained by his memory. A dim, confused, languid, dream of interminable dura- tion, seemed to have been hanging over his faculties, and m if'-''. iP l.>.«/i ii>fe m mm I IGO ADAM m.Ain. 1 1 'I 111 even now he could scrircely satisfy liimsolf tljat its oppres- sion had passed away. During that long drearv night what sufferings had ho not undergone? Whitller had his spirit wandered ? Whence had it returned ? Pain had been with him ; burning pain had racked every thew and sinew of his frame. Chill icy pangs had been with linn also ; even yet his limbs were stiffened with the sense of cold, creeping anguish. But over all alike what ji cloud of blackness, utter impenetrable blackness, had been wrapped aiul folded ! Troubled visions had passed before him, glaring through the enveloping darkness - strange unearthly sights, mixed up with human faces he knew not of ivhoni - strange hollow whispers, hands grasping him, and blindness, and helplessness, and dumbness, and deadness, suspended all the while like weights upon his bosom. His feeble brain reeled under the exertion his faculties were making to retrace some- thing of what had been during this blank interval, and he closed his eyes because the lids felt so heavy that it was a pain for him to keep them open. Body and mind had been alike shaken, alike unstrung, by the fever through which he had passed ; and he lay in a state of total languor, as if expecting some new assault of a mighty foe whom he had no longer either the power or the hope, or even the desire of resisting. Suddenly, there came to his ear the echo of mournful music; and although it seemed to him at the first m.iraeut, as if it were produced quite close to him, he became sensible, after listening for a few moments, that the notes came from some considerable distance. It was a wild, plaintive strain, played, as he fancied, on a single pipe — and he could not help imagining, that the same sounds had been heard by him more than once during the long trance from which he had just been roused. Never was such a deep melancholy clothed in sweet sounds ; never was melody so fit for feeble dying ears. The breath of it seemed as if iu were wafted from . some world of unearthly repose, some sphere of nen^ive majesty — above joy, too calm for sorrow. The tears CHAPTER XVI. 131 flowed softly, slowly, healingly, over the sick man's cheek as he lu^tened to those sounds, which seemed to be every moment rece.ling fartlier, and dropping fainter trom tlie wings of the light breeze that bore them. ■^f i^^ -""/"^ ^*<^P* ^^ suddenly as it had commenced, and Mr Blair felt as if all his illness were returning with its cessation. He, after one or two vain attempts, at last succeeded in quitting his bed, and finding that he could by no means support himself on his feet, he crawled like an mfant towards the window. With much difficulty he opened a little piece more of the shutters, but shrunk back from the increase of light, as a strong man does trom a torch held close to his eyes. By degrees, however, ho could not only endure the light, but, as if moved by some strong instinctive thirst lor the fresh air, he opened the casement also, and admitted the healthful breeze to play upon his worn and wasted frame. The balmy breath of Nature did not come to him m vain : it calmed his fluttering pulses, soothed every racked and wearied nerve, and sent renovated life into every exhausted vein. Nevertheless, the exertion he had made, had, for the moment, overtasked his forces and I believe he would have sunk to the floor in a faint' when a new impulse was lent to his eff'orts by the recommencement of the same melancholy music, which had already enticed him from his bed of sickness. He leaned his elbow on the stone frame-work of the window, and bent his" eyes in the direction from which as it appeared to him, the music proceeded ; bat he saw nothing except a single boat r^>wing away outwards into the Loch. A moment after, tvu other boats followed from behind a projection of the shore, not far from the place where he himself stood ; and when he perceived that they were all moving together, he was satisfied it was in one or other of them that the musician was playing. Slowly he followed with his heavy gaze the retreating course of the three boats, but he was iiltogethcr unable to distinguish any thing either of the number of persons . : u".; V'J U 4% W} mmi 132 ADAM BLAIR. I i l\ in them, or of their quality. At last he saw them glide one after the other close upon the little islet of Inchree, which lies nearly half way between Uigness and the opposite coast of Lochfine. He observed, that none of them omerged again upon the water beyond the wooded island, and concluded that their object had been to fish under the shelter of its rocks. A moment after, however, it flashed upon his mind that he had once lieard some dark and mournful story, the scene of which was laid in that desolate land. Who had told him that story? — Strange to say, it was so that the first idea of Charlotte was that day excited within his mind ; but, oh ! with that idea what thousand thoughts "f grief, shame, terror, misery, floated into his bosom, like the black lashing waves of some returning and irresistible sea ! In an instant, the whole mystery of his malady lay clear before him ; he remembered every thing that had happened on the day after that night of darkness as if it had occurred but a few hours before ; he remembered the image of the distant glen, and the black shieling, and Charlotte there bending over him unexpectedly, and the bier on which he was carried, and the motion of the bier, and the faces of the men that conveyed him. He re- membered his being carried into the house ; — his spasm of horror when he felt himself on that bed, seemed as if it had scarcely left his bosom. Then he remembered something more confusedly, of drink being administered to him by Charlotte, and of his dashing the cup from her hand, and lying before her, burning with thirst, cursing her with his eyes. Then it seemed as if she had kissed him where he lay motionless with cold lips, which glowed at the touch — and then, all at once, she vanished, and there was nothing behind except one mingled mass of dream and delirium — dull dreary images, all huddled together, alike obscure, alike painful. Where was Char- lotte now?— What had become of her? — Why had she deserted him ? — Had he driven her from him in anger ? — Had he in madness insulted her ? — Had she ' fled from him in wrath?— All these thoughts, and CHAPTER XVI. in3 hundreds more, flashed in rapid succession over his mind ; and the weary hody, yielding at last to the unequal conflict, sank altogether helpless, and almost as insensible as helpless, upon the floor. He was lifted from it again after the lapse of a few moments, and onoe more recovering himself, he found that he was in the arms of an old woman, and of a young man clad in black, and having something the appearance of a gentleman. He said nothing until they had laid him on his couch, and folded the bed-clothes over him ; and then he asked feebly for something to drink. The old woman reached a glass to him ; ho drank and closed his eyes. CHAPTER XVII. Exhausted nature asserted her privilege, and once more Mr Blair's senses were steeped for a long succession of hours in the profoundest forgetfulness. The clamour of turbulent voices, with which the chambers below him resounded, during a great part of the evening of that day, had no power to rouse him from this deep and motionless slumber ; and when he at length awoke again about the rising of the moon, every thing about him was silent, his brain felt cool and composed, and he fixed his eyes stead- fastly upon a human figure kneeling alone at the foot of the bed on which he was lying. The feeble twilight was not enough to shew him any thing more than the general outline, and he continued gazing on it, for some time, ■without betraying, either by word or gesture, that sleep had deserted liis eyelids. At last he said, " Friend, who are you ? — who is here with me 1" in a whisper ; and the moment he had said so, the kneeling man arose slowly, and bending over him, and taking hold of his hand, made answer also in a whis- per, " It is I — it is John Maxwell — Heaven be praised that you see me !" ''ml •%'• ''1 m mm l'*^^ ADAM BLATU. Mr Blair drew his h.ind from between tlio old man's oliisping fingers, and pulled the sheet over his face, and replied, groaning deeply, "John Maxwell, John Maxwell, you know not what you do, you know not whom you bend over, you know not for whom you have prayed !" " Dear sir, dear Mr Adam," replied the old ni'an, '" I pray you bo composed ; look at me, an t to impossible for thorn to remain any longer together, by some circumstances trivial enough in themselves, and with the relation of which I shall not therefore fatigue the reader's patience. Charlotte left: Holland, and came to Scotland by herself. The first news Campbell received of her was through the channel of Mr Strahan ; and we have already had abun- dance of leisure to observe what consequences were pro- duced from the malicious view he had given of Charlotte's residence under Mr Blair's roof at Cross-Meikle. But when Captain Campbell received the sudden in- telligence of his wife's death — and the moment after, contemplated with his own eyes the cold remains of the beauty he had once worshipped — a crowd of thoughts which he had for years banished, and which had never been so utterly alien to his mind as they were but a few seconds before, rushed into a bosom not by nature devoid of generous feelings, nor incapable of reflection, and over- came and vanquished all the fiery passions with which his soul had been so deeply and so recently filled and agitated. In a single moment, the image of all his own early conduct to this unfortunate woman rose clearly on his memory ; the harsh, and causeless, and visible tran- sition from love to aversion, by which he had chilled and checked all her young affbctions, was, for the first time, remembered with a self-reproaching acuteness ; and Campbell, bending over the lovely corse, smote his bosom, and accused himself of having been the true cause of all. The feelings of shame and sorrow which mingled in his breast left little room for anger, and this very moment, when, for the first time, he was certain of having been CHAPTER XIX. with her him into 'hich had led every '■ with an equer her jments of ught to a r them to I m stances slation of patience. y herself, rough the lad abun- were pro- harlotte's dden in- 3nt after, ns of the thoughts lad never but a few re devoid and over- ith which [illed and his own ilearly on ible tran- lilled and irst time, Bss ; and lis bosom, use of all. ed in his moment, ing been 145 injured was also that in which he, for the first time, felt himself to be capable of forgiving an injury. ^ I have spoken of Campbell as certain that* ho had been dishonoured ; and he was not the less so because he had no positive legal proof in his possession. That deficiency, he, under any circumstances, would have despised ; now It scarcely ever occurred to him. -Doubt he had none • he would have scorned himself had one shadow of it crossed Ins fancy. His mind was, as to this matter, as hxed and settled as it could have been, had he realli, seen ai that had really happened. _ Indeed, had this been otherwise, it is very possible he might have gazed with a harder eye on Charlotte's remains. The favourable accounts he had formerly heard of Mr lilair s character, even from Mr Strahan himself, recurred to him, softened as he was ; and when he had conversed with John Maxwell, and so ascertained to what a depth ot yener9,tion the regard of Mr Blair's parishioners for t..eir Minister in reality amounted, we must do Mr Campbell the justice to say, that he began to contemt.late even tho guilt by which his own honour had been wounded, with emotions rather of sorrow than of wrath. Aware as he was that a blot which the world would hav^ thought comparatively little about in any other man, could not be discovered in the character of a minister of the Church of Scotland, without bringing along with it utter ruin, both of reputation and of fortune, and having no longer any personal advantage to expect from proving the guilt of his wife, but rather good rvason to wish that all her faults should be buried in oblivion, Mr Campbell's feelings were entirely adverse to any public exposure of mr J31air. He was a hot, a violent, a vain, and in many respects a rude man, but we must give him credit for both feeling and acting on this occasion, in a style of which a great many more polishea characters might have been altogether incapable under similar circumstances. He determined to have some private conversation with Mr 13 air, as soon as he should be so far recovered as to be able to listen to him without bodily hann, and then Mp il'' i If i"^ wm ' 'i Jl^'i '''li t 41 Li m f 1 1 1 I 1 l^t^r^^iF^^H ( SB \\} imi iffi,«-vn V il! y i'. 146 ADAM BLAIR. ii having delivered him from those fears, with which he. hastily to bo sure, hut not unnaturally, supposed he must ho labouring, to dismiss him from Uigness in safety. And as soon as he should have done this, it was his in- tention once more to quit Scotland, and rejoin his regi- ment abroad. Mr Blair, on tho other hand, was well aware that Uigness could have no proof ; nay, more, tho unhappy man had been led to conceive, from the report John Maxwell made of Captain Campbell's behaviour, that his suspicions had either been originally less violent than Mr Strahan had represented them, or that he had dismissed the a from his Vosom, in consequence of some circum- stances to himself unknown. With such feelings, wo may easily suppose how Mr Blair's sensitive mind, more especially now, enfeebled as it was by bodily illness, shrunk and recoiled from the idea of meeting the man he had so deeply injured. But, to say truth, there was so great a cloud of deeper sorrow on that anxious and shaken mind, that this was rather an occasional visitant than one of its continual burdens. With tho restoration of his bodily health, he recovered, of course, in some measure, his command over his con- duct ; but while there was that in him that made him feel every kind confiding look the good old Maxwell threw upon him as if it had been a dagger th. :.t into his heart, ho was nevertheless as yet quite incapable of summoning up the courage requisite for a solemn and deliberate confession of his guilt. Hour after hour, while the pious old man sat reading aloud by his bed-side, he lay brooding over his own unseen miseries, and striving to nerve himself for disclosing what he could not endure the thought of keeping concealed. Yet, whenever e had framed his lips for uttering the fatal words, his heart died again within him, and he was fain to defer the effort, even although he in part felt that the longer it was deferred, it would in ttie end bo the more painful. Perhaps this continual uneasiness, harassing as it was in itself, might nevertheless be of some advantage to Mr CHAPTER Xlir. ]4^ tT.n t T '^'"'''''■^' *" "'^'^'^ ^^'« ^'-^^ venture „o n re In f T "^ 'P""'*"''^^ .•ib.'iTulonment. II id there been ,o hou^hts of a lo.ss awful, however nainfu nature sunkS ;?• '^' '^*''«'' '•* ""»^J «uch as his might not have Xt over 'IV ''^'^T' ^" '''' ^^^'"^ ^f -^"^'' it t- oiten Jioveied? Ihe weight of human sorrow, like that lt;r ^77'^ ? '^"^^" '^^ ^--^ .Hvided-and h tho^ mnJst of Ins chastisement, mercy was present with in which' ;1'7/''^'** '"^ '''^'''''''^ ^'^^t'''' ^^ *''« «tato forThe L^ •'' ","" ' """'^^ ^^•'«' ^^'^'«" thev met ver) slowly on the smooth sand by the sea-shore sun ported h, J,, ,, ^^^^^ J listeningt"'to I Tnto hi.trT r/ Vr\' *^" ^^^'^ "^''^" -as'whispering ou d of ?"'' "^?" ?^ beach, -when suddenly the John In L r? ^'""^^ '"''^^ ^'-'''^ ^^^hind them, and h s mi 7 ^"^*'^' '""^ ^""P^^^' Campbell, slackening h^ pace as he approached, saluted Mr Blai; with verf grave courtesy. Blair, on his part, with some difficul v to Mr Campbell s eyes, a head, the hair of which had in gray, under the mmgled influences of mental and cor- iStSfn,"'" ^'^ f ^^^"- -^^^ -hich thiSa^^e had taken place, was of course unknown to Campbell • but even without being aware of that, there was enoS he appearance of Mr Blair's countenance as well as fifure to astonish one who knew the shortness of the pS du mg which he had been confined. His mind became unconsciously more and more softened as he gazed on the wan and wasted form before him, and that face on which the darkest melancholy seemed to sit enthroned in the iDidst of languor and feebleness ; and he felt so much ' m Pin m m; I .■■■'Vt 148 ADAM BLAIR. 1| i \ J compassion, that he certainly would have passed on with- out speaking, had he not believed that hat he had to say must tend to restore something of the tranqv'Uity, the absence of which was so visible. He dismounted, and placing the rein in John Maxwell's hand, requested him to pass on with the horse to a little distance, as he had something which he must say in pri- vate to Mr Blair. John, though hesitatingly, obeyed ; but not until he had spread his plaid on a large stone, and seen Mr Blair seated there in safety. As soon as John had walked fifty yards ofF, Captain Campbell, who had hitherto looked downwards, fixed his eyes on the pale leountenance which Mr Blair had not the power at that moment to avert from his gaze, and broke silence in a tone but little above a whisper. " Mr Blair," said he, " seeing you so imperfectly re- covered, I should scarcely have stopped you, unless I had hoped to give you in so far relief. I am perfectly will- ing, sir, to give you my solemn assurance, that I shall not only do nothing against your character, but that I shall do whatever I can in your behalf, if need be. — Sir, you are a young man, and I believe you have already repented of your offence. I forgive you, — I forgive you, freely, sir. Go back to your own country, and guard yourself better. The grave has swallowed up all my resentment. — I hope yow have not had so near a look of it for nothing." Mr Blair shook from head to foot like a child, and kept his wide eyes fixed steadfastly on Campbell while he was saying this ; and when he stopped, he gasped and gazed on, without being able to utter a single word. Captain Campbell paused for a moment, and then re- sumed, " Sir, I am afraid I have agitated you more than I thought for. When you are left to yourself, you will remember what I have said; and remember that you may rely upon it, as much as if I had sworn by the God who hears us, whether we swear or not. Sir, I hope you will recover yourself, and not betray any thing of this new emotion to your old friend when he rejoins you. — CHAPTER XIX. 149 I have ordered a boat for you, according to what the Doctor said, and it will bo ready in the morning. I wish youhealth, sir. — Farewell." With this, Campbell parted from Mr Blair, remounted his horse and returned to the place from which ho had come John Maxwell led his trembling Minister into the house again not suspecting any thing more than that the increased agitation he observed had been pro- duced by the sight of a person, whose appearance could not fail to be instantly associated with the image of the buried lady. And, indeed, after a little time, Mr Blair recovered his composure in a singular degree, and gave directions about preparing all things for the voyage of the morrow, in a manner so quiet and distinct, that the kind old man heard him with feelings of refreshed hope — 1 had almost said of cheerfulness. Little did John Maxwell, -little did Captain Camp- bell suspect, what were the secret workings of Adam Blair s mmd, during the last night he spent in the tower of Uigness. si: tt' CHAPTER XX. They embarked next day, beneath a warm atmosphere and a bright sunshine ; and, perhaps, it was so much the better tor the convalescent man, that there was not wind enough to fill the sails of the ^oat in which he lay blowly they made their progress by the strength of oars; and, with difficulty, reached Rothesay-bay ere the evening closed. It was another long day's voyage to Greenock ; and during the whole of the time, Mr Blair had reclined in the stern of the wherry, wrapt up from the air of the sea, and preserving the same aspect of silent dejection with which he had quitted the shore of Uigness. Nor after a time did his aged friend interrupt his meditations by many words ; for lie perceived, that any answers he could extract, were things uttered merely m ^m^t 150 ADAM DLAIR. at random, and rightly judged, that whatever disease remained was in tlio mind, which must slowly work out its own euro for itself. The third day, Mr Blair took his station in a passage- boat for Glasgow, after coninntting the care of the horse, which had been loO all this time at Greenock, to the charge of John iNIaxwell, — ho, on his part, rode on early in the morning, that he might reach the city in time to prepare accommodations for his Minister. Mr Blair held little communication with any of the persons who travelled in the passage-boat along with him ; and, indeed, after a little time, shut his eyes as if asleep, that he might the better escape from their notice. As the river narrowed before him, however, it was evi- dent that he partook in that sort of excitement which is generally diffused over any set of i)eople, when they feel that their journey is nearly at an end. Ho did not, indeed, mingle in the conversation which was going on round about him, but he sat up in the stern of the boat, and every now and then fixed his eyes eagerly in the direc- tion of the city to which he was approaching. He saw, at length, the high towers of the Minster rising far above the woods which clot" e the left bank of the stream ; and from that moment, he never ceased to gaze towards them. Once or twice he rose from his seat, sat down again sud- denly, and then rose again, all in the space of half a minute ; insomuch, that the man beside liim, who had the direction of the helm, was obliged to request him to lessen his impatience, lest he should injure the balance of the boat, adding, that in a very short time he would be able to see the Broomielavv, without stirring from his seat. And they soon reached that little hamlet by the river- side, which the progress of half a century has converted into a crowded line of quays in the heart of a great city. John Maxwell was already- waiting for them on the pier; and as soon as Mr Blair had stepped ashore, he informed him that he had provided a bed for him at the house he generally frequented in the High Street ; and, m CHAPTER XX. 151 in the meantime, ordered some dinner, which wouUl be ready b.v the time they walked tlirough the town. John added that ho suspected it was a Presbytery day, for that lie had passed more than one of the neighbouring mnnsters, although none with whom he was personally acquainte(l. Mr Blair leaned strongly on his arm when he lieard him say this, and began to' walk towards the city, at a pace which, though unequal, was on the whole so rapid, that it a g(jod deal surprised the old man. Mr Blair w;is obliged to sit down and rest himself more than once before he reached the heart of the old town of Glasgow ; but ascended the long street with ^^•hlch 1ms journey terminated, even more swiftly than he had l)egun his walk. After he had entered the inn, his ftrst questions to the landlord were, whether or not this was a day on which the Presbytery had a meeting, and It he had seen any thing of Dr Muir of Cambuslee. Ihe man replied to both in the affirmative : he ad.Ied that the old Doctor had proceeded up the hill to the lligh Church some hours before, and that he expected him and the rest of the clergymen to diffe in his house alter their business was concluded. The remarks which the publican and his wife made in relation to the " awful shake" Mr Blair had evidently iiad while he was in the Highlands, were in number, and perhaps in expression, such as might have been ex- pected, but It did not escape Mr Blair's notice, that the looks with which these people regarded him had, in tneir turn, undergone some change also. The landlady in particular was visibly fluttered, and there was a chill- ness over the whole surface of her civility, altogether unhke what he had ever observed before in the same quarter. Mr Blair eyed the pair keenly and in silence, while he sat for about ten minutes by their fire-side ancl then rising once more, said to Maxwell, « Come John, I must have your assistance yet a little farther! 1 must go up the hill to the Presbytery." ^ " If it be not for the length of the wnlk » said John "I'm sure ye '11 be meikle the better tor' seeing your -m nn %•<■ i*' 1 I] ■'M I I J I , ! • ^- .: \':J2 f^ imni l\ 'a ,1 if U2 ADAM BLAIR. friends nil about you again ; and I 'ni sure they *11 bo as glad to SCO you, as you can be to see tliein." With this they were leaving the inn ; but just boforo they jiaased out into the street, the landlord ran after them, and drew back John IMaxwell, whispering into his ear, that ho had something particular to say to him. John followed the man to a little distance, conversed with him in whispers for a few minutes, and then re- joined his Minister. When ho did so, tliere was a burning spot on each of his old cheeks, and his Ijps were white as marble : but Mr Blair took not, or si. ined not to take, any notice of all this, and once more leaning upon his arm, began to walk up the steep hill on the brow of which the catluidral is situated — although not with quite the same celerity of motion which had excited John's surprise a little while before. As they walked on, several persons stared very much at Mr Blair, and many stood still to look at him after he had passed them ; but ho met no one who seemed to bo personally acquainted with him, until ho had reached the great and spacious churchyard, which lies stretched for many a rood round about the cathedral. As they were passing over the tomb-stones towards the eastern gate of the edifice, two or three beadles or church-officers crossed their path, and Mr Blair, when ho percei^'ed how much they stared at seeing him, could not help observing to his attendant, "Surely, John, this illness has sorely changed my aspect. These people scarcely seem to know me again." John replied, lifting his eyes hastily from the ground, Tis a grand place, sure enough, a very awfu' place ; but I like our ain kirk at Cross-Meikle far better, though it be nae bigger than one of the side aisles here." In those days, the ecclesiastical courts of that district were still held in the ancient Chapter-house, a chamber of very lofty proportions, situated close to the eastern extremity of the nave, and approached through what was formerly the Lady-chapel, immediately behind the great altar of the Cathedral of Glasgow. In this now deserted <( ) ',( CHAPTER XX. 153 chapel, serving as a sort of aiiti-clmmbcr to the Presby- tery, a number of the ecclesiastical attendants wo'ro pacing backwards and forwards when they reacheoved that the court slloud bo cleared, as ho had to call the attention of his brethren to a subject which, in its present state, ought to be dis- cussed with closed doors. ^ fio7fl'"/ *';•« ^'•lergyman, by name Stevenson, was satis- tied that all s rangers had rotired, he addressed the chair in a Jong and elaborate speech, for the tenor of which almost all who heard him were sufficiently prepared before he opened his lips. He exi>atiated at great lingth on h i^own uijwillmgness at all times to open his ears to scandal, more particularly against the character of any <^ his hitherto respected T.rethren, ~ explained, however, th t, under certain circumstances, it was everv man's duty to overcome his private feelings, -and ihcn en- tered into a serious, circumstantial detail of the many rumours which had been for some time afloat, concerning the coiKluct of Mr Blair of Cross-Meikle. He concluded with moving a string of resolutions, which he held written out on a card in his hand -the general purport of which was, that the scandal concerning this member ot their court had already amounted to what, in the name of a Fama Clamosa ; and that, therefore, it was the bounden duty of the Presbytery to take up the mat- ter qmmpnmim, and appoint a committee, with powers to commence a precognition— ,,r,,\ that such and such persons ought to constitute the committee in questil^; His motion was instantly seconded by another person on the same side of the house, who, however, in doin^ so expressed his own firm belief that there was no founda- a'inlt MrT/"*'"i1!^^«"'^^ *^^ publicly circulaled ?S ) ^ '' 'T^ *^''''*' «" "" I^^'^l^*^^ investigation, ^h.ch, for the sake of Mr Blair himself, ought to take fortV:; rrV'"? '"*'" ^^'--^^'^ '' ^^-^"^^^ ^--^^^ -li- test to all, that a few casual imprudencies, m i sin tori reted CIIAPTEn XXI. 155 by the ninlicious, were all that could be laid to his cliai-ro Ho concluded with an eulogium on Mr Blair's nrcvi«ms character and conduct, both of which, he said, had always been regarded with the deepest respect, even by those who diflered most widely from him in opinion as to matters of inferior moment - and by none more so than himself. When this speaker sat down, there ensued a pause of some moments, during which, those on the opposite si,l it whs tl.ci only ho wo,.M ™ "r;" ^>'7"'^i-*— n'>'o n. this L:n\:^" v.«'i.s r n.l clifimcter^oxortod a vory ,,„w,.rf„) i„fl„o,K. TZlw" ;•""? '"*'' ^^*'"^«« with who,,, UoZ^Z Lom of f. 7' ^'"' " ^^"'•^'''^•'•••'•>'« ti.no, what had H r , / :"''''"''''>^ '"'?" '''"'-•''•■ if« ''.'t'l avoided >^ g M^^^ hy any one who was acquainted with him offic ^a I 7m"'"^. "'''^•'' ^"""^^"' '•■'^ resi,M,ation of h^ « i;oss.ble to himself. Mrs Semple of Semnlehau^h i Sirir; Trf '"* ^'^^ ''^^^ receitc:;^:^'^, ; T ire we e r c7w'^ T" '"'^'^ "' ^'"''"^'^^ '-^^ ^'^f-ro ''Khgnation, when they were informed of this last cir! :: I: imnii i, 160 ADAM BLAIR, cunistaiic^ ; but none of those persons vo -o so bold as to say a word of the matter in the pi; seitco of the gu^^d Dosvagcr. The innocent chlM hers* if war, tola by tUo <>1«1 Lady, that her papa had been ver^- mi well, but that he was gettitig bctler, and she should soon see him again ; and, uf course, Mispected nothing of the true cause of his continued absence from Cro^b-Meiklo. By and by, however, it became nc!,essi?ry that she slioi.-Jd bo fnrtlKr informed ; and she was by demns hA t - believe, that her father had sunk into a stito of liinlth so feeblo,' as to render it unlikely that he : hould bo al>le to resume ti?..' duties of his clerical office. Often after she had been mau'o to suukrstand this, the poor child would be found y eeping alone in some remote corn or of the house ; and, h\ tvnth, it was more easy for Mrs Scmplc to weep along M ith her than to bid her dry her tears. Dr Muir was, in the meantime, uvt negligent in com- plying with the requests with which Blair had ventured to trouble him. He disposed of tht furniture of the Manse to Mr Jamieson, who, it was soon announced, had received Mr Semple's presentation to the living-— retaining no ing but a few of the simplest articles, and some two or three dozens of volumes out of the library. He paid off and dismissed the other servants ; but trans- ferred to his own household the old man who has already been mentioned, and who had spent the greater part of his life in the service of Mr Blair and his father. These arrangements it was easy to make without attracting much notice, except among the persons more immediately concerned in them ; but Dr Muir had other matters to attend to, which could not fail to excite the curiosity of Blair's late parishioners in general. It has already been mentioned more than once, that Mr Blair's grandfather had lived the lifo of a peasant in the parish, of which two of his • endants became ministers in the sequel. The two c ^e acres of land whi'-V had formed this old ms-'s p> ^aony, and by the cult . : ion of which he, like a) J ; , . -^efathers, had' sub- si&ieu, dtill remained in the vo ;ession of the family; bold as to ' tlut trans- is already If part of r. without ons more had other xcite the )nce, that easant in I became s of land id by the had sub- family ; CHAPTER XXII. 161 but for a long time they had been let to the occupier of a considerable farm immediately adjoining; and the humble cottage, which stood among five or sx ancient af?ar:a;d1ad7 " *'^« -'^«* ^f^Blair's pXiTalS at Sargard, had for many years been uninhabited, and tl tho f '"'"• u^r^ ^'^^"^'•' '* ^°^" ^^^'"e known, nto Dr T"" Y ^V'"" "P ^^' ^«'"^i" J^r of his lease into Dr Mu.r's hands, and that, under the Doctor's aboat to receive some repairs. And from the time when these circumstances transpired, it came to bTpTetty generally surmised, that the fallen man intended either ^on or, at least at some future period, to take up his ^es^dence m the long deserted dwelling of the old Adam to^IlMhn? ;!"J^'.' ™'"'f *' '''*"'*' *^^* '^^ly dwelling to all that It had ever been. In the course of a very few days, a new roof of thatch replaced that which had for years become pervious to the rain ; the crevices in the eastern gable were filled up, and the windows?whi h had been wide to the blast, received new casements Ihe mterior accommodation consisted of but two very small apartments, the one opening off the other • and these, perhaps, had never been so well furnished as' they ^ZZ"l* mZ'-1 ^'^ *^'"^^ ^^'«h ^^d not been dis^ f2. ./ V^' ^^T^' ''''''''^' ^^ ^^'^ removed thither oveT 1 ^^"«7^.C'o««-Meikle. As Dr Muir was riding over one day to inspect what had been done in these matters, It occurred to him, for the first time, that he had neglected o give any orders about redigging and remclosing the little old garden behind the house.^ But had .n.' •'TV^,'^'. P^"^^' ^' ^«""d tl^at some one had anticipated all his wishes. The hedge had been tnmmed and all its gaps filled up. The ? hole of l^e 80,1 had been carefully trenched ; the t^irfen walk down the centre pared and shaven ; the deserted willow arbour^ Lmlnf/r^ ^ "'T* '^^ '*^^*"^' ^'^^ o»«« ^ore asTVhnlM''^'* and many new slips of such plants as m those days constituted the wealth of the Scots 1.1 m 'k 4;i5| 162 ADAM BLAIR. cottar's potager, had been recently arranged by the hand of some experienced gardener. The Doctor inquired by whom all this had been done ; but all the people who had repaired the roof could tell him was, that none of them had meddled with these things. He called, on his way to Cambuslee, on the farmer who had tenanted the field, and asked him also whether he had done any thing as to the garden. The man replied that he had not done so, nor heard of any thing being done : but added, after a pause of a few moments, that he had seen old John Maxwell the Elder passing his door of late very early in the morning. The truth is, that John and his son had risen before the dawn of day for some seven or eight mornings, and laboured together in a work, of which, although they wished to do it in secret, they neither were nor had any reason to be ashamed. One evening, about the close of the autumn, Dr Muir came to Semplehaugh-house, and having said a few words in a whisper to the old lady, took little Sarah Blair in his hand, and walked with her towards the cottage of Sargard. He prepared the child, as they went, for meeting her father — knocked at the door — saw her enter — and withdrew without witneiiing their in- terview. By this time, Mr Jamieson had been, for several weeks, exercising the office of the ministry at Cross- Meikle; and although neither his personal manners, nor his style of preaching, were exactly of the sort most likely to be in favour with the country people, the events which had happened in that parish had taught some lessons of humility to young and old, and the new clergyman was, on the whole, meriting and receiving the respectful attention of those committed to his trust. The circumstances under which he had come to the living were such, that he must have been a very foolish man indeed, had he not been modest in aP his de- meanour. And Mr Jamieson, though by nature a person neither of warm feelings, nor of very profound under- ' HI CHAPTER XXII. 163 Standing, had both feeling and sense to conduct himself quite as he ought to have done in a situation, which ddic"" *"" ^^^^ ^^^" ^"^ ^^'^ extraordinary Next day being Sunday, the Minister of Cross-Meikle walked as usual through his congregation in the church- yard, and they had all followed him into the church and taken their places, and he had just begun to read the words of the Psalm with which the service was to commence, when Adam Blair, with his child in his hand, entered by a side-door, and walking forwards slowly, without once taking his eyes from off the ground, seated himself oppo- olL ll Clergyman, in the darkest and remotest corner of the western aisle. Every eye followed him to his place; and not a few of them were suffused with tears, as the fallen man was seen turning, with an un- steady hand, the leaves of his Bible, and pointing out to his daughter the passage the Minister was reading! But niter the first moment-such is the grace of that natural cour esy which politeness never surpasses, and seldom equals -there was not one grown up person there who did not endeavour to avoid looking towards the comer in which Adam Blair had taken refuge. The children only of the congregation, kept gazing all the while upon mm — and there was a superstitious terror in some of those young eyes, which shewed how deep an impression had been made by the few broken and mysterious hints they had heard -about the guilt, the punishment, the penitence of him, whom from infancy they had been taught to look upon as the pattern of all excellence. Adam Blair sat with his head bowed down ; but when they began to sing, he was heard joining in the Psalm, with low and trembling notes, while the clear shrill voice of his child rose from beside him in a stream of gladsome melody. It is difficult to say which of those sounds sei- the deeper thrill into the ears that heard In like manner, throughout the whole of the service, Mr Blair continued to keep his eyes fixed upon the If mmi 164 ADAM BLAIR. r gronnd. W hen the final blessing had been pronounced, lj)een reading, and walked forth vil' ht. I know rot whether, when hoi he had made up his mind as to the direction in which he would go ; bit so it was, that he wandered over the fields until he had come very near the place where John Maxwell lived. In those days it was the custom of many of our godly peasants, and among the reit it was the custom of John After his child down the book !• by himself in tii- he passed his tb CHAPTER XXII. 166 Maxwell, to pray aloud out of doors, nioniing and cvon- /«' J «nia»ness of their houses, and the impossibility of finding places of retirement within these, had probably od at first to this practice, and it did not then enter into tli^ mmd of any body to connect its observance with any notions of Pharisaical display. ^ When Mr Blair, therefore, had come within a few paces of tho old beechen hedgo at the foot of this man's JZl iThad H\'''P"f ^'^-^^ '^^ ""''''' Insvoic^tmong the shade. He knew, from the low, fervid solemnity of he sounds he was utter in., that they were addressed to no human ear, and he u..w back to some little distance et .f n/^/i^^i* "'* ^'' ^y "^^■'^^"*' ^» •»tr"^J«'' "Pon tho thn 1 . '*Jfr'^~^"* ^*""^ still, within reach of the sound, until he was satisfied that the good old man had made .n end of his prayer. He then app la heS more nearly, and opening the wicket, had gone up clo^o to John Maxwell ere he was aware of his approach. The old man gazed in his face in .ilenco for some space, and then received him in his anns. - « My son," said he Joa hath chastened severely. - You luve kissud the " ' kiss the rod," answered Adam Blair • <' this div mv bo hath shaken off something of its l^ad 1 1 ve J against them, yet I see that they pity me." We have all wept for you, Mr Adam ; _ this dav I hope -almost, I rejoice." ' ""s aaj, i "Some light at length breaks my darknes -Jo)!.^ Maxwell, you are my friend, what must I do 2" My son God will enlighten ; his Word is our omv lamp. Hitherto you have done well " ^ So saying, the old man led Mr Blair towards the door of ns house, and he followed him beneath its roof with out hesitation. Young Maxwell and his wife ieclived him at first with some awkwardness : but The humbled broken the conversation flowed easily, althou-h he modestly spoke far les. than the rest. ^He S with mmt^' 166 ADAM BLAIR. them at their social devotions, and shared their meal, and said, as he rose to withdraw, " My friends, I thank you for yoT r kindness. Would I were worthy to live among you, us my fathers did !" The next morning's sun had scarcely sent its first rays into the valley, ere Adam Blair was up and in the field. Ho lahoured for many hours alone, and ate and drank cheerfully at evening with Sarah — his only hand-maid — his only household. The fire was then blown into a blaze upon the hearth, and the father resumed his old occupation and delight in hearing and instructing his child. The toil of the day had prepared him for repose, and he retired early to bed, where onco more healthful slumbers awaiteil him. Humble, silent, laborious, penitent, devout — it was so that Adam Blair began the life of a peasant. Seldom, except on the Sabbath day, did he for many months quit the narrow precincts of the field to which he had returned. He was poor, but his hands could win him bread ; he was fallen, but he repined not at his fjill. His former associates came not near him, but he had reason to believe that they did not stay away from unkindness. His beautiful child smiled upon him in his solitude ; and from day to day his heart acquired strength to endure all the bitterness it had pleased God to mingle in his cup of existence. CHAPTER XXIII. Let the reader imagine for himself what might be the natural effects of this lonely life of penitence and labour, persisted in, without deviation, during a period of ten long years — and then come with me to the conclusion of this story. By this time Sarah Blair had ripened into womanhood, and was the most beautiful girl in that part of the country. She was seldom seen beyond the little valley f CHAPIER XXHI. in which hor fnth 167 cottage was situated, and ahnost never apart from her father, to whom slie was evidcntiv devoted in the whole depth of her affections. It has already been said, that she was his only hand-maid : throughout all this oourse of years she had performed the humblest offices about his humble habitation : neverthe- less, her mind had been cultivated and improved, it is not improbable, much beyond what it might have been, had she lived in the midst of the society of which she seemed to liave been born to form the ornament ; and her demeanour, amidst an excess of bashfulness, betrayed abundantly the elegance of her mind. She was extremely shy and reserved, if, at any time, she was thrown under the observation of strangers ; but at home, when alone with her father, a sober maiden-Iiko cheerfulness sat on her brow. In solitude she was a melancholy girl — and no wonder — for, by slow, very slow degrees, as her understanding opened with her years, and the power of observation giew along with the capacity of feeling, Sarah, pure and innocent as she was, had divined something of the cause of her father's altered condition in life. One of the first discoveries she had made, and indeed she had made this long before she ceased to be a child, was, that the mention of a certain name never failed to produce a momentary shudder in Mr Blair's bodily frame, and she had very soon desisted from doing what she found to be invariably connected with this painful consequence. Her father's own broken and mysterious expressions of humi- lity had, by some accident, come to be linked in her mind with the idea of th^t forbidden name ; and, per- haps, in the course of so many years, she might casually have heard something drop in conversation from some of the neighbouring peasantry, sufficient, if aught was want- mg, to supply the d'-fect in her own train of associations. A pensive gloom, therefor';, hung upon her lovely coun- tenance—and was dispelled only when she exerted her- self in presence of her father, or constrained herself before the eyes of others. \- m jf '.J ■It 168 ADAM BLAIR. II J I I i Adam Blair, on tho other hand, had for a long time recovered, amidst the healthful exercises of the field, the original strength and activity of his person. His hair, which had become tinged with untimely grey, was now almost entirely white : beneath tho sun and the wind his countenance had assumed a hue of deep rustic brown • but his eye had recovered, if not all its youthful bright- ness at least all the serenity of his earlier manhood, liis dress had long been the same with that of the people mto whose rank he had descended; but the suit of village grey he wore, was always perfectly neat ; — every thread of It had been woven by his daughter's fingers, as she sat by his side during the long days and nights of the dark and solitary season of tho year. In all his out- ward appearance, Adam Blair was a peasant living among After two or three years of his penance had gone over his head, he received a letter from Mrs Semple, inviting him to come and see her, with his daughter, at Semple^ haugh. He handed the letter to Sarah, and after she had read it, said, « My child, I see what you would say : I shall write to Mrs Semple immediately." — He did ^'o • he expressed great gratitude to the Lady for the return of her good opinion-and the deepest sense of all the kindness he and his family had in former days received at her hands ; — but concluded with requesting, that he and his daughter might be excused from again mingling in society which no longer became their condition in life! n ^^ ^^ Semplehaugh appreciated Blair's humi- lity ; and though she subsequently took many ways to shew that she still kept her eye of kindness upon them both, she never afterwards obtruded any offer of personal communication upon them. She respected them and their lowly retirement, and said to herself, that the time had not yet come. Several years had elapsed after this communication took place, when Mr Blair, as he was digging one beau- titul spring morning in his garden, received a message CHAPTER XXIII. 169 from his ancient friend Dr Muir, which immediately stopt him in his labour. The old man had for some months been unable to leave his own house ; but although Mr Blair was aware of the increase of his infirmities, he was not prepared for hearing, as he now did, that the last energies of nature were at last entirely exhausted • and that neither he nor his medical attendants expected he could outlive two days more. The dying man ex- pressed an earnest desire to have some conversation that naorning with Adam Blair; and I 9, under such circum- stances, was not likely to require a second bidding. He quitted his spade, therefore, and having told the news he had heard to his daughter, immediately accom- panied Dr Muir's servant to Cambuslee, which lies at about the distance of six miles from Sargard on the other side of the river. When he approached the Manse, he saw Mrs Sample's carriage in waiting near the entrance, and his first im- pulse when he observed it, was to walk aside for some time, and defer his visit until hers should have been finished ; and indeed he had already turned himself from the house, and begun to retrace his steps towards the neighbouring wood, when he heard himself called upon by name from behind. It was Mrs Semple herself, who was looking towards him from one of the upper windows ot the Manse — and she instantly repeated her address in a tone which took from him all thought of disobeying it. fc>Iowly, therefore, he drew near; and when he had stepped over the threshold, the same domestic who had conducted him beckoned to him from above, and led him on to the door of the chamber in which his master was lying. When he entered, he found himself not in a dark place, as chambers of sickness are used to be; the windows of the room were both of them wide open, not only to the light but to the air. Mrs Semple was alone with the old man, sitting by the side of his bed, and watchmg over him, while, as h seemed, he slept. She i imiii 170 ADAM BLAIR. extended her hand to Mr Blair, and he advanced, tread- ing softly, no longer hesitating to receive the symbol of kindness. Dr Miiir opened his eyes at the same moment, and fixing them upon Mr Blair, while a faint smile passed over his lips, said in a low but audible whisper, " This is right — this is quite right. I bless God that I have lived to see this day. Adam Blair, my son, draw near, and kiss my lips ere I die." He obeyed in silence, and immediately the dying man resumed : " Adam, your two old friends have been both thinking and speaking of you this morning ere you came. It has pleased God to be very merciful to you and to us all. You must promise not to resist in that which we have designed for your good, and the good of many. You must come back to the vineyard. You will be a better labourer in it now than yoU were in your best young days." "I am not worthy," said Blair, — "lam contented where I am — I fear change." "Adam Blair, I shall not see yon sun go down. I would fain leave my people in your hands." Mrs Semple whispered earnestly into his ear at the same instant, " Yes, Mr Blair, the time is come ; you will not hang back when all unite in entreating you." Mr Blair bowed himself low, and answered — " You are both too good— too kind ; but I know myself, and I know my place. Permit me to die in my cottage. I have tried both, and that lowly life is the better for me." Having said this, he withdrew towards the window and seated himself there, apart from his friends. Dr Muir kept his eyes upon him for a moment, and then whispered something he ould not hear to Mrs Semple. She replied, and they conversed together for some time in the same manner. After which, the old man beckoned Mr Blair once more to approach his bed — and when he had done so, he made him kiss him once more, and then said, "My friends, you must now leave me. Adam CHAPTER XXIII. 171 Blair, there is one thing you will not refuse me. My child IS far away from me. I have no kinsman near — you will lay my head in the grave." He added, after a brief pause, «I see you will obey me — and now, God blcso you, God bless you both — I would fain turn my face to the wall. Now I fain would be alone." They left the good man, as he desired, and waited in silence together below, until it was announced to them that all was over. Mrs Semple stood by Blair, while he closed the good man's eyelids. 1 , . 1 I »UE CHAPTER XXIV. Mk Blair discharged the duty bequeathed to him by this venerable man's parting breath, amidst a numerous asseniblage of the neighbouring gentry, and of the whole members of the Presbytery to which the parishes of Cambuslee and Cross-Meikle belonged. He received their salutations with modesty, but without any apparent awkwardness ; and parting from them at the churchyard, walked home to his cottage. His daughter and he were sitting together quietly by the fireside the same evening, when a knock came to the door. Sarah rose and opened it, and in a few moments, the cottage was quite filled with the same clergymen who had been present at the funeral. Mr Blair stood up to receive them ; but he had not time to ask them the purpose of their visit ere the eldest of those who had come, addressed him in these words : — " Mr Blair, your brethren have come to speak with you on a very solemn subject ; but there is no occasion why your daughter should not hear what we have to say. It appears that our departed father, Dr Muir, had ex- pressed a strong wish, that you, being reinstated in the ministry, should succeed him at Cambuslee, — and that the family who have the patronage of that parish, were I )i iW^t 172 ADAM BLATR. exceedingly anxious that his dying request to this effect might be compl-d with. You, however, have declined to accede to their wishes. We, your brethren, have this day held a conference with the family at Semplehaugh ; and another arrangemert is now proposed to you by them through us. If Mr Jamieson becomes Minister of Cambuslee, will you return to your own old place? Will you once more set your hand to God's work here at Cross- Meikle?" Mr Blair's daughter turned aside and wept when she heard these words ; buf, he himself stood for a mon'ont m silence before them. It was then that John Maxwell, who had been bed-rid for three years, was borne in a chair into the midst of the assembly, and said, « Mr Blair, we, tho Elders of Cross-Moikle, are all present. We are all of the same mind. Oh, sir, fear not ! we have all witnessed the purification ! let me not die until I have seen you once more in your father's place !" The tears at length gushed over a face that had been long too calm for tears ; and Mr Blair, altogether over- powered, submitted himself to the will of his brethren. His friends perceived that he would fain be left alone* and they all departed. Sarah rushed into his arms and wept, but not bitterly. A moment afterwards, she also withdrew, and Blair was left alone to meditate upon his pillow concerning all these things, and concerning more than these. il CHAPTER XXV. Shortly after, the necessary formalities having been complied with, Mr Blair resumed his office, and he con- tinued, during a long series of j-ears, to discharge all its duties m the midst of an affectionate and confiding people. He did so, however, with a modesty — a humi- lity, such as became one that had passed through such CITAPTER XXV. 173 If I; ,1. scenes as I have attempted to narrate ; and one thing, in particular, did not fail to make a very strong impression among the people of his flock. In those days, persons guilty of offences against the disciplme of the church, were uniformly, after confession, and expression of penitence, rebuked from the pulpit after divme service on Sunday in presence of the congre- gation. Whenever Mr Blair had occasion to discharge this duty, which is, perhaps, under any circumstances, one of the moat painful that fall to the lot of the parish priest, he did it with deep and earnest simplicity ; but he never failed to commence his address to the penitent before him, by reminding him, and all present, of his own sill and its consequences. I have said that this pro- duced a strong and powerful impression on the minds of his people ; I might have said, with equal truth, that it exerted a most salutary influence upon their conduct. Ihat primitive race were generous enough to sympathise with generosity, and I believe not fow among them tound an additional safeguard against guilt in the feeling, that by their guilt, the old but deep wounds might be re- opened m the bosom of a man, whose own errors, fatal as they were, and fatal in their effects, they had uncon- sciously come to look upon somewhat in the light of a mysterious and inscrutable infliction, rather than of common human frailty. 1 ^^ *l'^ ""'"^^^ ^^ *^'^ ^^°^ People, Mr Blair at last Closed his eyes upon all earthly scenes, after he had laboured among them during a space of not less than twenty years after his restoration. His daughter, fair and lovely as she was, had, in her time, received the addresses of many wooers, but she never would listen to any of them — continuing to devote herself in all things to her father. Soon after his death, she retired once more to the Glen of Sargard, the lowly cottage of which she had not ceased to visit from time to time, with a view, It may be supposed, to that which she executed in the sequel. ■I f >m V u:f^ iwm'f ^74 ADAM BLAIR. Sarah Blair spent the evening of her days in calmness, meriting and receiving every species of attention at the hands of her late father's parishioners. Not many years have passed since she died. With her, the race of the Blairs in that parish ended — but not their memory. I have told a True Story. I hope the days are yet far distant when it shall be doubted in Scotland that such things might have been. THE END OF ADAM BLAIR. THE HISTORY OP MATTHEW WALD. Wc talked with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true ; A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. Wordsworth. ii ! hi f mm I THE HISTORY 'i OP MATTHEW WALD. CHAPTER I. I NEED not begin this story, my dear, since it is addressed only to you, with a full account of my pedigree. You know the antiquity of the family, with which you are so closely connected. You are aware that we came into Scotland towards the middle of that interesting period, which learned people talk of under the name of " the Anglo-Saxon colonization." In fact, the tree was Norman originally, and, had scarcely taken root in England ere it was transplanted hither — where, upon the whole, it may be said to have thriven. The estate which my ancestor received from King Robert's bounty was not indeed large, but one or two prudent marriages augmented it considerably in the course of the century ; and as the father and eldest son always adhered to the ancient rule of taking different sides on every occasion of public tumult and political dissention, while the younger branches were invariably portioned off with a sword or a eruciiix, there was little chance of the barony's suffering 1 ' * * • f i ^1 M m t r 170 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. '> >l auy reniarkablo curtailment during several bubsequont ages. Wo were so lucky as to see through all the abomi- nable errors of the Popish s} stem earlier than most of our neighbours, and our timely conversion was not unrewarded even in this world. Wo were also good enough to stick by the Covenant, so that although the estate was given to an English officer in 1679, we recovered it in 1688, much improved by the management he i.ad bestowed on it. Besides hedges and ditches, before un imagined, he had built a good house, and fur- nished it in a handsome maimer ; and I have even heard it whispered, that there was some money in the cabinet, which he never had any opportunity of claiming, other- wise than by letters from Spain, — for the gentleman was pleased to take service in that country immediately after the Revolution. At the commencement of the last cen- tury, then, our affairs may be said to have been rather in U f/!"osperous condition. 'My grandfather in due time succeeded to the property ; ••■ gave his hand to a young lady of great merit, who b;i(|jpened to be heiress of a farm that had often and often bfcoa talked of as lying in to the estate, and was now (it was indeed high time) legally united to it for ever ; and in process of time begat a great many more sons and daughters than would have been at all consistent with prudence, had vaccination or cleanliness been at that period naturalized in our part of the globe. They all died young, except John, Matthew, and Dorothy. The cadet was my father; and I need not inform you that you have the honour to be the lady's grandson. As little need I tell you that The Union was, at the time when it took place, and long after indeed, extremely unpopular in this part of the island. Some few approved of it from the beginning, because they were shrewd enough to foresee the benefits which it has eventually conferred upon commerce and younger brothers, and many more supported and applauded it for reasons of a more private nature. My grandfather despised the name CHAPTER I. 170 of traffic, wonld have preferred to see five sons in their shrouds rjither tlian one Wald in a furred gown and gokl chain, and was too inconsiderable a person to bo bribed, so that his voice was with the majority. And in this faith he religiously educated his children. John, the first hope of the house, adhered to his father's prejudices ; so firmly, indeed, that ho - pushed matters considerably farther tlian the old Neman's nerves would have approved of. In short, my uncle was one of those excellent protestants and patriots who quite forgot James II., in the immediate contemplation of Scotland degraded to a provin.'c of England. My father, on the other hand, was a soldier and a stout Hanoverian ; and the two brothers first argued, then quarrelled, and ended with avoiding each other in calm and deliberate aversion. 1 hoy had, though living scarcely ten miles apart, refrained entirely from visiting each other during the three or four years that preceded my birth. Both were men of stern temper and high passions, i^ach had married, each had become a parent — one (my father) had lost a wife in the interim ; yet neither had, i» joy or in sorrow, made the least advance towards a reconciliation. The two proud men were become stran- gers ; they had hardened their hearts, and erased, to all appearance, every trace of sympathy. My father had heard, without surprise, that the Laird had joined Charles Edward at Edinburgh, and gone with the Highland army into England. He had heard also, tJiat this proceeding was extremely disagreeable to his brother's wife, who, being a lady of the west country, abhorre ' the names of Pope and Pretender from her cradle ; and who, moreover, was said to be, at this par- ticular time, far advanced in a condition, which, however interesting and amiable, has never been celebrated for disarming contradiction of its sting. At last came the full accounts ^of the catastrophe at Culloden. My father learned that his brother's corps had been almost entirely put to tlie sword, and nobodv dreamt that he, a man in ^1 situations distinguished for r 1 ' m\ I < ■ ,! »' m IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) A M^ ^% "^^ '' ^'^^'^ «» '"'^ 'emple, shanifoZ , ''" !7"'^ *" «"P liim-but never Shall I foiget the change that was on the face. My father ntdlic'wTT '""-^^'^^^ "^"' *'- eheekV and colour'f n ? «0"»t«!'''»"ce almost, of a dark red colour, the general expression fiery and vehement R„f cr;d";ntjb7'' "'^^ ''-' '^^" ^^^^^' n^r^rLtfr carved in marble more serene. In truth, I shoul.l never have known it to be the same face Jevery line was softened, every passion asleep. I feel now, i„ tMnkhJ of Jt, somewhat of the same awe that checked nrjte" f nhctl ft'^''' *'""'' "' ^^ '* ''"^ ^^^" ««"^« fearfully placid th ng seen m a dream. I remember sobbing inyself asleep that night, and when I awoke Tn hf TZy^ ""^ """"* '"''' ''"'"^ ^y ""'y ^e^^id^' ^ith little Katharine weeping and lamenting on her knee My father had been much respected, and all the gentry of the country, along with our own tenants and neigh- bours, came to his funeral. God forgive me!_bu^in the midst of all my sorrow for my father, was „ot wiScT thaT/i'^l^^r' f'' -^1 -nsequence,Tli"tL wretch that I was,) when I saw the 'respect that everv taken Ttrl"^' '''''\ '°"*V '' '''' '^^^''^ servants hai taken strange ways to comfort me, and some of their y^.ip. 186 THE HISTORY OP MATTHKW WALD. ( clnnvirr"" ''""'•'''i- '^''*''* ^" ^^"^° ^■•^^'^ f'-on^ the ? r ; iTT''""'"'' ,;"^^"*''^''''^ repositories, in case Inn; '"{ ^V"-'-^"*! I l-avo understood sinco^ that almost every body wn.s nstonisl.ed wl.en they dis- covered one. You may suppose what they thouglit of it (rectvnd en t, re upon Katharine - hunUn.ed, however, as t ere"?'"; '''"'''T ^^ 'f^'" "'^^her- just, in short as If there had never been either a rebellion or a for- feiture ;- and that his own original patrimony as a younger brother of Blackford, was all that re.Sed for HIS o" II son. I was told of this the same evening by an old friend of my father's, the then Grahame of Bogfoun. lie saw that I was able to understand him, and he explained the whole matter to me ; and I must now do nysel 1 e justice to «iy,that when it was explah.ed, I was com' pletely satisfied. "Your father,'' said this ancient gentleman, " has indeed acted like a gentleman, a sS a.id a brother ; and in the upshot, my lad, it ;ill be a 1 as well for you." I went to my own room, however, with me """^^^''"^"'^^^ ^^''' J'« l^ad done speaking mxt^^f^V^ "1'^'"." f "^' "^^* ^""y I ^'-^s sitting by m5 self at the side of the river, when I found a soft little hand init suddenly into mine. It was Katharine. "Mv dear Ma hew,'' said tlie child, «do you know they say s not that you 're to be the Laird, but that I 'm to bo the Lady. But how can that be, when you know it was always said about the house that we were to be married when we turned man and woman ? Are you noTgdng to be my goodman now, Matthew ? I 'm sure it would s:^";f^;^r^' !^''' "^"^p^^^^^ ^^^ ^ds, poor uttio ttiing,) if he heard you say that." But enough of children and their talk. We were both sent to school again next day, and were catching butter- flies together on our way home. I thought I CIIAPTKU III. 107 ck from tho ries, ill ciso rstood sinco, '11 they dis- lioiight of it, 'd tho estate d, however, ist, in short, >n or a for- mony, as a oinained for n old friend n. lie saw plained tlio myself tho I was com- lis ancient II, a soldier, will be all I, however, 3 si)oaking sitting by I soft little lie. « My V they say I 'ni to bo low it was )e married not going it would >oor little were both ig butter- ii I CHAPTER III. A FKw years after my father's death tho old minister of our parisli died, and a preacher, who had been tutor in the patron's family, came to us in his place. The new minister was a stron> WM I ■ iwmi 190 THE HISTORY OP MATTHEW WALD. " Calm !" quoth ho, " yea, indeed, my lovo, I shall bo calm enough. Well, I will let tho night ho over ere 1 do any thing." "Do!" said I; (his voice and look had maddened me;) " what do yon talk of? I'm sorry we're so late ; but what is all this doinr; for?" " Do you brave mo, sirrah?" said he, and his oyes flashed. 1 made him no answer. " To your room, sir ! — tp your room !" cried he, and stamped violently on the floor. I did not stay to bo bidden twice, but made directly for the door. " And you, miss," I heard him continue, " I must say, this is pretty behaviour in a young lady. What has torn your frock? Upon my word, Mrs Mather, tho girl is getting a great deal too old for this sort of thing. She will be a woman oro long. Come hither, Katha- rine, and tell me what you have been doing with your- selves." The room was a long one, and I had time to hear so much ere I gained tho end of it. I looked round from the door, and saw Katharine sobbing, with her hands on her face, before them. Her long jet black hair was hanging in silken ringlets, sorely entangled, over her shoulders. I saw that some thorn had wounded her beautiful white arm in our flight, for it was bleeding. A new feeling of wrath sprung up at that moment within my bosom ; but I was forced to gulp it all down, and bury myself in my bed-clothes as soon as I could. I remembered, after I had been some time in bed, that I had not said my prayers, and got up, and knelt on the floor ; but some improper thoughts crowded into my mind the moment I was in that posture, and I flung myself into my bed again without being able to do what I had intended. CHAPTER IV. iQ-^ CHAPTER IV. dho V '1 ^7'Posuro, desin-d „.o to get up imrnc dutcly lie took ,no by the liand, aiul, without lotting i«o put ou any thin.r but r„y shoes led no down ta rs and so out to the orchard behind tl.o house. lie Ud S «ay a word to mo until wo were in the nndst of ho trees. He then took a handkerchief out of one pocket and a small riding whip out of the other, and, s .Ing my two hands m one of his, began to cast u kno over fhem with Ins handkerchief. My aunt had often corrected mo in former dav^- but not recently, and Mr Mather had nevc-r bef<,rc'o ?eml o nko me oven with his hand; so that my surp . It this behaviour was as great as n.y indignat on. ^ saW to him, almost choking, « Unhand me, sir ! What you^mean? Who are you, that you 'should il'u nt head to a bough of a tree, and flung my shirt over mr Winded ""Tr' 7'''' ••^" '''y "^•^'^*' ^"t I was now had kicked \r^^ T' '"* '""'' ^"'^ '^'^' "«t ^ntill had kicked both my shoes ofF. He drew his whip liirhtlv once or twice over my back, and then laic on S everal deliberate stripes, that cit the skin clean though att^flr.^lT'^*^^:"''V'^""^^'•^^•^^• ^ screamed out the two last ' "* "'''' ^'"'"'"^ '" ^"*« ^^S« "«^«' « This will teach you to brave me again," he whis pered m my ear ; and I heard his footsteps r^treatil A minute after, the footman came out of the house half l"d 'rff "" • \ ^'' ^^'^-^^"^^ ''' --' and theTd mo swallow a glass oi water, and put me to bed again. ) 'i' !l!'> mr I' m -'■ , 1 i mmi 192 TUE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. He sat by mo until my back had stopped bleeding, and then dressed it for me with a little linen and lard, in vain endeavouring all the while to get me into any talk whatever. Seeing that I was preparing to dress myself he now left me ; upon which I put on my clothes, stole down stairs as gently as I could, caught my pony, and saddled him, and so off to the hill as hard as my heels could make him gallop. I had been several hours on the hill ere I thought of any thing but my rage — but I now began to feel very hungry, and thought 1 might as well go down to a village which I saw below me, and get some breakfast from an acquaintance whose house was there. Accordingly down I came ; but just as I was turning the corner into the village, whom should I meet but Mr Mather. I was close at his side ere I saw him. He was in his whiskey, (our great man had brought one from Edinburgh with him after the last General Assembly,) driving a very tall and bony white horse, which had once been my father's favourite. He stopped the moment he saw me, and called out, " Here, sir ! 1 desire you will go home, and instantly. Do not imagine that these monkey tricks are to go on any farther — Home, sir, I say, home !" I reined up my pony, and answered him, grinding my teeth as I spoke, that I would follow my own fancy, not his ; and that I did not know what he talked of as my home. The proud priest made a cut at me with his whip, and though I sprung my pony to one side as quickly as possible, the end of the lash hit me sharply across the face, just below the eyes. I had a gully knife in my pocket, and I instantly, un- clasping it, made my pony leap past him, and seized the rein at his horse's head. He saw my design, and lashed at me furiously, but I took it all, and divided the leather close by the bit. I then gave the old horse a bitter cut or two under the belly with my switch, and reinforcing this with the utmost power of my voice, saw him fly, as if seven devils were within him, right through the village. CHAPTEH. IV. 193 I galloped my pony after him, and enjoyed his shouts of alarm, until ho was past the houses. A moment after his wheel took a huge lump of coal that was lying on the road, and I saw him projected into the heart of a quick- set hedge, from which he rebounded into the ditch. I saw that he lay quite motionless, and hearing people behmd me, leaped the hedge myself, and regained the nill. I got into the wildest part of the moor ere I stopped, and then sat down on a stone to consider with myself what was to be done. I had revolved many different plans, of going to Glasgow, to Edinburgh, and I know not what, when suddenly the thought s^ k mo that it was very likely the Minister was dead, aua if so, that I was certanily a murderer. Upon the first flash of this I got to my pony again, and rode farther into the heath, convnicuig myself more and more, as I went on, that the thnig must be so. I had tasted nothing since yester- day s noon, and my throat and lips were dry with exhaustion and agitation. It was a dark October day -- how different from yesterday was the lowering sky ! The wind began to howl over the heath, and every thing looked gloomy, far and near. I thought of my aunt and the chddren, and cursed myself for what I had done. I thought I should have no peace any where, and that the only thmg I could do was to surrender myself, and take whatever might come. I was riding slowly homeward with this intention, when two men, farm servants of our own, came up with me, and made me their prisoner, without resistance. ihey told me the Minister was not dead, but sadly hurt — and something of my burden was taken off; but they would say little more, and seemed to regard me with a sort of horror as they walked by me, one on each side of the pony. Seeing this, I did not much trouble them with questions, but sat doggedly in my saddle, suffering them to take the whole management of the animal. On reaching Blackford — it was now twiliglit — I was led at once into the presence of my aunt, who received mo, 1.1! r r:i ! i i'-'i N :! 194 TIIK IIISTOUY OV MAVrirKW WAI.n. to my inrmitc astoiiisliiuont, with very niiioli lu>r usual inaniior, somewhat moro sorlously, perhaps, hut not n whit more sternly. She sijr,i(<.l fo'mo to sit down, hikI I oheyoil her. " MaUhcnv," saiii sh(>, •' you expt-ot severily her(>, but you will iind your»(>ir .pii'le mistaken. Vou hiivo not u hoy's trieiv today, and aro not t(» Im treated as if you had. Consider 'with yours<>lf, and I hope (Jod will touch your heart, and enahle yon (o ho thankful that my bairns aiv not fatherless. You havo been starving on the hill all d, and wo will see what is to bo said to-nuurow." With this she went »uit of the rocun, leaving mo alono. I oat a erust of dry bread, drank sonui milk, and got into my bed imnu'.liHtely. The lad who had dressed my back for nu^ ciune in sonu> time after, and look.>d jit. it again. He satisfied nu« that there was no danger in the minister's ft'iso ; ho had been stuniu'd and bruised, but they had bled him direotly, and ho was now asle(-p, without symj^ttuns o'" fever. Notwithstanding all this, however, yoii may supp,)so I had no very easy night. Jt was no ordinary day that had passed, and" 1 lay under tho oppression of indistinct exi)ect:itions. CHAPTER V. Thk next day and the next again passed as if nothing had happened, except that Mr Mather kept his room'^ and both his wife and Katharine wero alnu)st always Tip stairs. With the latter, iiuleed, 1 had no oj^portunity of holdin- any private conversation ; but tho coTistraint and unhappiness of her looks wore sutViciently nuirked by me, and I believe by all tho house bcsitios. On tho third nuirning, a note was put into my hands as I was getting up. It was in my aunt's hand-writing, and consisted of a single sentence, which I beliovo 1 can give you vcrba- fim : — " It is Mr .Alather's dosiro, th.at, when he appears CltAI'Tt-.H V. |{,,»j to-ihy, n.,(l,in^ wl,..,(.>v,.r umy hv w.i.1 iti aI|„sio.t f„ hU, I .l.-<.-niiiiM..| fofi.IlMT.. fod.iMn.I,, „ins(, ri.'i.lly. uri.l oil o,.(,,.nM^ (IM. |.,v;,kn,sl, p,Mlour, s,-,l„(,..| ^l,■ M.-uIht win, was „ln.,..,|y s.-af,.,! at. tl,„ l;.l.|,., „s .......rly ;.s wh^ Hws.l.l,, >,, (l.n s;,,... „,,,„„<.,• I sImh.I.I |.,,v„ ,U,u. >, w.-k •-fnro. I .; Mls„ ,lis.s..,„M..|, tho„«|, „„( uuy ,nor„ r.-u. , suU {<,e Uuui in.., with an air ,.f «r,.af, in-liniivncc. J5.it, how ,|,,,.lly ,,alo wuH his rlm^k ! an.l on.;., or (win, viMM. iny ^r|,,„,,. was .Irawn towar.ls hin. si..|.|..nly un.l fnrt.v..iy, I s;,,vv (h.. r.r„ thaf, was ^loui,,. ,|,.,.p .loin i,, h.s hxr.l .>y,.|,;,||s, un.l .nark-.l Ui., .,Miv,.ri„;r ,„,,|i<., ,hat j^tnifr^'h.l w,(h a fainf, sn.ii., upon his Hps. Th<, Moo.l '»^ ''"M mo that hers we^ .'oin- on in the o .1 way. She whisp.-re.l this to me one .lay when I inct her .,n the staircase with her h.jok in h.T han.l 1 oor Kathanne ! Jier eyes yvero oft.-n re.l. She di.l not conio out an.l play or walk with me aiiy more; bnt I saw Ave! enou;;h what ^vas at the bottom of all this. Mv aunt was always civil. ^ «f/!n* A '"" /''"''"^ nonsense, John. Why shoiil.l I attempt to make you comprelien.l things that necessarilv require a senso of their own -a sense of which, I am euro, you are fortunate enough to be entirely .lestitute ?- I in.gh as well expect the bir.l on the tree to be up'to alJ the little minute nn-sories of one in a ca-e as you to understand any thing worth tho mentioning of what it I ; ■ ,/'li \li. 100 Tim HISTORY OF MATTriKW ^/A^D. is to 1)0 the boy in an unkind liouso. I nm not thinking of t!io a Mat) to Mhfcr Matthew, or perhaps, for variety's sake, Mister Wald? It was this mixture of boy's treatment aiul man's trentnuMit that did tho most to madch'u me— this solemn civility of insult, mixt up with the most odious potty meaniu>sses. I h;id heard, I kiu)\v not from whom, when Mather first camo to tho parish, that his father was a barber. Conceive^ how often this recurred to mo now — conoeivo ho\t I grinded my teeth, as I lay counting hour after hour through the night, upon tho sweet idea that I was trodden under foot by tho spawn of a villago shaver — that ho had whipped mo — that I had borno the marks of him upon my back ! Conceive tho intense perceptions I now had of his ineradicable baseness — conceive the living disgust that crept through mo wlicn- ovor ho coughed or sneezed — above all, when ho laughed. His slow, deliberate, loud, bra/en, lla! — ha! — ha! — what a sound that was! His tino largo white teeth scorned to mo as if thoy belonged to somo overgrown unclean beast — somo great monstrous rat. Every, tho very least motion, spoke whole volumes of filth. What exquisite vulgarity did I not soo in his broad flat nails, bitten to the quick ! I thought I could have told what ho was merely by tho coarseness of his skin ! And all this time, a distant, sorono, hauteur of politeness, for- sooth ! " Mister Matthew's plate. Perhaps Mr Wald would like a little of so and so. My dear, would you seo what Mr Wald is doing." I can never make you com- prehend the five-millionth part of what I suffered during this period. There was a sort of half-choking feeling about my throat that I shall never describe. Anger, rage, contempt, scorn, hatred, — you may have known all those ; but I can scarcely give you the credit of having CHAI'TKIl V. ^97 loathed! Tl.at Is my wor.1- that, w.-iHrny fooling. I was nu,lrri\uH uvuu Tl.nt U tl.„ ,),.i„t,. I us.mI to .In-am of Hooinn; 1,,,., planto.I cl.in-.lor,, in u.u.l- p.-ltod with lilth a.ul v.rnnn ! J know n<,t what ah.,nm.ation8 passcl thro„;rh ,ny ,ni.„|. Y.s, I on™ lan^^hed .nysolf uwako at s«.oing him spinning round lui.lur a gibbot - gown, bands, and all ! ' Kvon thrir (•hibiivn woro no longer tho same to mo. 1 ha. nst'd to he .■xtrc-n...Iy f„nd of ono of thon,~tho J.ttio boy. Ifo was oHrn brought into my r„om, boforo J was ,.,, ,n th.. morning, to play with mo in my bod, mid hear my horribh. attempts upon tho fiddle, for I was just beginning it then. This little fellow now pouted wlicnovcr I spoko to him ; and once, when lie ^vas oroiig ht into tho room where we were all sitting together a tor dinner I saw him eye me for u moment, \nd then sliriiik into his mother's bosom, and heard him miimblo something m her car about ])utting aat m;ina,irt'i-, knowing in the cookery hook, and the hest maker of a little noggin of hot punch I havo ever met with to this hour. Two youtig students, besides ntyself, were boarded in tho Iious(> ; ;ind certainly we had no reason to complain of our fare. Kxcept at m<>al-times, wo wen^ oiir own masters ; nobody gavi> us the least trouble : And 1 must 8Jiy, that, in our turn, wo were good boys, and gave them, on the whole, as little annoyance, or disturbance of any kitid, as could reasonably havo been expected. Miss Patterson often praised us all for our behaviour; but I was her favourite. Sho had been very pretty, and was still very good-looking, though rather too fat, and rubi- CTind. She liked to havo a young gentleman to attend her when she walked out on tho streets ; aiul though tho plainest of tho three, I was selected for this more fre- quently than any of tho others. Sometinjcs m'o oven extended our ]>romenados into tho country In short we became jirodigious friends. Sho was fond of senti- ment and poetry ; I flattered her on her taste ; and, in return, she flattered mo on my parts, ay, and, ludicrous as the notion may appear to you, even on my person. This last amused oven myself at first ; but, though I smiled at her in my sleeve, I am ashamed to say that her compliments nevertheless took effect. I am quite con- scious that her words first blew into life that spark of coxcombry, which I suppose few bosoms of that age do not cither shew or conceal. She chose my waistcoats for me ; made mo havo my hair dressed according to the fashion ; carried me with her to tho principal tea parties of tho place ; and openly, upon every occasion, called tho little cross-made hero her dear beau. By help of so much oil my rustic awkwardnesses wero gradually rubbing themselves off; and, taking courage to ClIArTKIl VT. 203 flirt ono ovoinng with a pretty Rirl of ,noro fon.lor mo tl.»t 1 was to ho ,„ani..,l to Miss Uuhly ; a I.IinV w t, ° C(Mn,>a.s,sw,nato si,l, f l.at sl.o I.,,,..! tl.o 'r.port wa^tr o nv!l''"n'*'''*''''r" '"'' ""^ •'^''•■^'"' "'>^ o1,s..rvation, and I . CM ho la.Iy .s fan,.y ,n..ht ho in rospo.t of yoarw, still r„ • '" /"■ ''""" J"''g'"«"t i" the ,ni. St her cvo ;; ''• f r'"^ '''^' ''"'"'^"^^ ' ''••^'' ••-•-^•d. »" - eve mno,.,.„t, ,,,,,ever ainiahle, was now recalkMl tC servo as e p,n for son.o n.(,.st e,i?regious connnentary of self- 3; 'r''T \''T'^''^^ '' "^' ^'-'^ '•""'« ^"'^t very n'gl.t, how heav.Iy she leant upon n.y arn.-set v m tl..; College." '^ AiiC ' i.-ver saw M** Mackay 1" us. CIIAPTKK Vr. 205 ri ••If "No, my dear, ho has boon awny good tcr- years teaching a school in tho north : and, to toll you tlit- truth, I had almost begun to think the world was to ho against us, and tho tiling never to be. It is many a day"sineo John ami I n. •,. iirst ao(iuainted. IMit now wo shall do very w< 11 ; for ^t heos is a comfortable little place ; and I have laid by no less than thirty pounds, which will be .1 groat lain to the manse. I liavo not bought a now gonji these five years but one, and that was mournings lur my brother, tho lieutenant, — poor Bob! — that per at the Professor's, and tlioy in whoso honour the entertainment was given, were neither denied the oppor- tunity of partaking in it, nor compelled to partake of it longer than was consistent with the proprieties of the occasion. These nuptials were celebrated within a few Aveeks of the end of the session, and, as yet, I was entirely in tho dark as to what was to become of me during the months of the long vacation ; for, although I heard every now and then from Mrs Mather, and sometimes had a few moro acceptable lines from little Katharine, not - word had ever yet been dropped as to this matter. In short, tho College was within a week of its breaking up ere I was informed by the Professor, that he had heard from Mr Mather, and' that it was arranged I should stay all tho summer where I was. Tho other lads went away home ; and I was thus left quite alone in the house. And a dull, a very dull house it was ; for old Patterson was de- generating rapidly, his excellent housekeeper removed from him, into a sloven ; and every thing about his esta- bhshment partook, of course, of the effects of his indo- lence and inattention to common afiairs. However, I in so far profited by all this. I had spent but an' idle winter ; and, having now no companions to dissipate with, I set seriously to my books, and made considerable Jirogress in my studies. The next winter found me in possession of habits of greater diligence ; and I did not, to any very culpablo extent, depart from them. I was, on the whole, a hard reader, and, at tho end of my second course, received marks of decided approbation from the teachers under whom I had been placed. I had lived a life almost solitary, and in general cer- tainly very simple and innocent. The lads there were mostly poor, and had few means of signalizing themselves by any folly. Our greatest diversion in tho way of sport was a game at golf; and we had little notion of any debauch beyond a pan of toasted cheese, and a bottle or two of the College ale, now and then on a Saturday night. lononr the tlio oppor- rtiike of it ties of the V weeks of •ely in the i months of y now an(i few nioro word Ijad short, tho ere I was I from Mr iy all tho ay home ; ). And a •n was de- rcmoved t his esta- his indo- ever, I in t an idlo dissipate isiderablo habits of culpable le, a hard received }rs under II era! cer- icre were 1 cm selves ? of sport n of any bottle or ay night. CHAPTER VI. 207 I, to bo sure, had at my first entree been admitted to some of the parties among the town's peoplo ; but, after ^.e departure of my dear patroness, my acquaintance with that sphere of gaiety, such as it was, soon dwindled away to nothing. I began to feel a strong -a strengthening -an impa- t.cnt des.re to revisit Blackford ; but, hearing nothing from thence that looked as if my presence was expected! had set It down as fixed, that I was to pass another soli- tary summer at the University. But let me hurry over all this. At tho end of tho t.hird season I found myself in precisely the same situa- tion, winch I have been describing as mine towards the end of the second : with this exception, however, that I something of a man, and, of course, to contemplate, with great and increasing bile, the state of uncertainty to which my conccrn.s^ and prospects of every sort, had every appearance of being abandoned, whether from contemp- tuous indifference, or from total aversion. A thousand suspicions of dark, settle.l, deliberate malevolence, began to overcloud my thoughts. Even Katharine - even ?he, 1 said to myself, was becoming a stranger to me. How loiig was tins to last ? What was to be' the end of it ? -I Why not go at once, however uninvited and unexpected -wiiy not go at once, and get categorical answers to questions, which, in my boyhood, I could scarcely have been expected to think of putting- to what authority, mony hould I look on myself as ultimately master? Upon these things, it was sufficiently evi.lent, the shap- ing of my future education, tho whole complexion of my lortunes and hopes, ought to depend. It may be, after all, possible that I deceived myself >vhen I supposed that these things formed tho real objects ot my heart-seated anxiety. Certain it is, that the anxiety itself existed : Some uncontrollable yearning drew me ; and, if I could not analyze, I at least obeyed It. 1 detcrminod not to wait for tho formalities of the r •■J i ^^H 1 H i : 1 " ^^1 i ! - > ^1 1 j 1 j 1 1 i im^i 208 THE HISTORY OF MATTIIKW WALD. academical dispersion — I detcnnincd not to wait until the letter, which I had made up my mind to disobey had come. Having packed my trunk, and left a note on my table for Dr Patterson, I let myself out of the house one night after all the family were gone to bed, and hud walked near tliirty miles ere I thought there was any chance of my evasion being discovered. CHAPTER VII. I HAD great strength and activity, and by help of these, and an anxioUs mind to stimulate them, I got over the ground, so as to sleep the second night within sixteen miles of my journey's end. I over-slept myself, how- ever, and it was near eight o'clock next morning ere I saw the smoke of Blackford over the firs. I was startled just at that moment with hearing a most sonorous voice, exerting itself apparently quite near me in some lofty declamation. I halted for an instant, and recognized my good old Dominie, who was coming towards me through the wood, engaged iu his usual morning's walk, to his favourite tune of • ' Peliaco quondam prognata? vcrtice plnus. " The worthy enthusiast w\as so deeply occupied with the book he contrived to hold in his hand, that he was close upon mo ere he noticed that any one had crossed his walk ; and even then, the sun being in his dim eyes, I believe he would not have recognized his pupil, had I not saluted him with another fragment of the same strain — " Teque ego sape meo, te carmine, compellabo !" — On hearing which note, the play of his wooden supporters was arrested with such hasty energy, tliat the spectacles almost dan.ced off his no,?c ; while strenuously shaking ii CHAPTER Vir. 209 uuioe lib a ! _ Mr Matthuw liimsc f, as I sliall aiisw,.r t aomm 0, dropping a i„o„s tt-ar, informed mo thut l,,. i.n^ some tin,c ago laid his n.otl.or'in the gra^. d t t^ h^ was nnw 1 cr.i;f.,«.r 1 • • ,i b^'^^i^j 'I'lu mat lie «.aid ho .] . ^ ^ '"'^ '" ^''' ^^'^^'- " As to Blackford " w i\i!t Kf '■•"■"'o ri,l„,g ,,ast my window ycstonlay ab.ad,„e.io„.-.fV,;:l'ii::;:;->';-i;;^;^>jy The answer was satisfactory enourii Tl,7 r ab eGeorgo Lasceiyne l,a.I been^oStted n t ^ „Z of h,s ancent preceptor for more than a year pas Kecollecting myself, or cndeavourin" to 1„ .f'r my friend to understan.l, that I had heard tl.dcfr stance before and allowed it to slip out of my me™" Ine knowledge, howevpr t]i.>t ivr- ai *i '^'""'y. iii„ 1 /. , *=,' """^-^tr, in.it Mr Matiior was omf if th"'f tt;"^ ^^Ithough perhaps I wa. not consci If this at the moment to its full extent, far more than sufficient to counterbalance any feelings of Zct.nce ^hich could arise out of the prospect of mlin. .vk^^^^ stranger, even an honourable s ranger tl ler^ . ! T i - J=a naa nocr seen a ^ewmarket sprig before, had ■^,^•r . 1 '1 mmi 210 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. an air so decidedly knowing, that I was satisfied at one glanco tliis must bo t/ic thhig. My annt liapponcd to bo at her window, and, I believe, both saw and recognized nic long ere 1 was very near tlio gate. She was tliero to receive nie when I came up ; and, I must own, nothing surprised mo so much as tho littlo surprise she exhibited upon tho occasion. I take it for granted, that, finding herself without appropriate in- structions from her lord, she had at once formed tho resolution, that ho should find res iyitegras upon liis arrival. Had my name not been Matthew Wald, I should say, my i-eception by tho lady of Blackford was better, than, under all the circumstances, I ought to have looked for. But, to tell truth, all tho time sho was speak- ing to mo my thoughts were wandering. Katharine had heard my voice in the lobby, and sho ran out immediately. There was such a flush on her face, and such a sweet confused flash of joy in the first glanco I met, that I saw nothing but my own old Kate, and felt all my soul kindle and melt at once as I embraced her. But tho moment tliat was over — tho moment my eyes rested upon my cousin, I perceived so great a change, that I could not help wondering that had not been the first thing I did see. After gazing at her three seconds, I durst no more have offered to kiss her again, as I had just done, than to fly. From thirteen to sixteen — from a child to a woman — what a leap was here ! — And such a creature, John ! — I was awed into very dumbness ■when I contemplated tho glorious, tho gorgeous flower, into which my dear, quiet, little bud had expanded — the elastic, bounding, loveliness of the formed figure ! — the rich luxury of those deep-set eyes — those lips, on which a thousand new meanings vibrated and hovered — tho lofty modesty of mien that sat in the place of blush- ing bashfulness — the unconscious reserve of conscious beauty — tho innocent instinctive majesty of young womanhood ! — To think of that moment almost brings boyhood again into my brain and my blood. — But I CHAITKRVrr. 211 Sited nt "'''''""'/ ^'""^'^^-'"^ «f ^""'J »^"itl.er vor? 1 « ^' Y'*'' '"''l'"'''^ '''* "'•«^' '-^"^1 afterwards w tli a SrL with" )M '' '"'!"'- *'^^ ^-"P'«t« ease ofl ;' cou n W -7 ;''; ?^ J'-"ourable youth treated n"y m tjungs that interested ,ne 4 more than'th so In a tions, I could not help two rising suspicions from ™ w jng my heart within n.e. The first of them °^.,? hli breakfast, and I .hmk up stairs to my own old garret in a mood of considerable sulkiness. I flung im^ef fashioned hanging mirror, which, by a great crack t !i r ' J -I '■* mmf 2'2 TIIK HISTORY C? MATTHEW WAT,D. through the iniddlo, rccii'Iod to my rocollcotioti an unfor- tunato game at liliiuhnan's Huff that took placo scvoral roars boforo, when my beautiful cousin was a match for myself in every species of romping. FroTn th(o you not see, that your complexion is as black as a gipsy's, — your growth stunted,— every thing about you as destitute of grace as if you were hewn out of a whin- stone? What a pair of shoulders that bull's neck ia buried in 1 Tho sturdiness of these legs is mere defor- nnty! Shapeless, uncouth, awkward, savage-looking ragamuflin that you are, seeing yom- own reHection as you do, how could you dream that any thing in tho form of a woman could ever fancy these grotesque pro- portions?" ' I heard voices under my window at this moment, and, pccpuig out, saw Mr Lascelyne and my cousin standing together in conversation beside the dial-stone. He had laid aside his robc-de-chambre, and was dressed for rid- ing. A short green frock, and tight buckskin breeches, descending, without a crease, to the middle of the leg, iisliibitcd the perfect symmetry of his tall and graceful ClIAl'TKIl VII. ir IS profil person. surpass tlio bri^ri.t |,io(„„ of i 213 was tho easy, (lcp;agcc air of tl purely Grt-ek, — nothing could "'lis coinploxioii. Hut it was ofoyor'vuHU,"}^ ""."■ :.'"' ^"^'''^'"''-tlio fan Itloss grace ot every itt.tudo an. act.<.n, that cut n.o .locpost. I saw It alJ.-l.a.n would 1 havo not soon it;-il tric.l to docavo n.y«df; ,,„t 1 could not ho hiin.l. J_ l Lt sn^s II. '" '"' 'y.^^^''-"'^'--! «lovoun.d their suulcs. He took her gaily hy the hand, and they dis- appeared round tho c(,rner of the house ^ I sat down again, half naked as I was in niv chair It hit the In.o of the old crack ; a.ul the spct where it gl ted hocan.e the centre of a thousand stralgling 'li oU.^rv.,.so than w.th sorely broken fractions of my sweet went into tho wood ; and, although I hoard mvsclf caned on several tin.cs, did not think ,u-opor to beSy urry to reaj.pear. After an hour h ul passed I hea J horses' feet near n.e, and, getting to the I.Llge. pie " Mr Wlyno and n.y cousin riding togothtr' down the I can't'l'f "f '?'''^ Katharine, "this is of Matthew! lie would have rode out with us." ..^Z' ,^"^r, '''^""' *'" >'«"*'•' "J'« >'»« ffOHo to visit some of h.s old acjuaintarice, I H nil than she had done when left to herself Katharine had come back from her ride some time before this ; and she now made her appearance in a dif- ferent dress, which even improved the charms of the morning. Mr Lascelyne also came down stairs in an evening garb of the most fashionable cut of the day ; and even the Minister had not disdained to unpaper his most brilhant pair of buckles. I felt internally that I was the shabby feature in the assemblage ; but, as I had re- solved I swallowed my sensations as well as I could. Une thing was too obvious not to bo seen ; and being Zl' m'T Tl^ ^*/''^ *" ^^''''' "^^^ I '^'^^" the plea sure that Katharine received from seeing the good- humoured- way in which Mr Mather and I were behaving to each other. As we were passing from the drawing to the dimng-room, her feeling of this was spoken in a single side-glance, that, I know not how, seemed to soften my whole heart within me. Had we been alone I could have _ I know not what. Mr Lascelyne, mean- time, though a beau of the first water, a coxcomb certainly was far too highly bred to say or do any thing tnat could offend any one in possession of the slicrlitest reason. In a word, the dinner went off with remark- able ease, and even gaiety. An excellent bottle was produced; and a special toast dedicated to my honour upon my return. « Give me leave," cried Lasceh^ie, to crave another bumper. Mr Wald, (turning to me,) I propose the health of the new Principal '» " Pf "^'"Pal J what Principal ?" said I, smiling, I saw Mr Mather drop his eyes, and began to suspect something of the truth. But, after a little pause, Mr Lascelyne explained the whole. " You have not heard, then, your friend's candidate- ship? You will be happy, sir, to hear that there is almost no doubt of his success " ^ *' Nay, nay," interrupted the Minister, « you must not just say so neither, Mr George. But, surely, whether ■ I J\'J\ I >' !. 21G THE IIISTOnV OP MATTHEW WALD. t..o thinff bo or bo not, I and my family sball always know wlu.ro our warmest gratitudo is due. Come, ladies you must sharo this toast- A bumner to my good Lord !" ^ ' Tl.o wholo minutiro of tho affair wore now discussed at lull Icn-th, ami I was no longer at a loss to account for some part at least of tho Tinexpected beingnity with ^vhich r h:i,l been looked upon by Mr Mather. I per- ceived that he was too full of expectation and triumph." to have «.iy le.sure for ol.l disgusts. I profite.l, in otlaT words, by tho same happy influences which induce the for unato gamester to fling his guinea to tho drawer, and go homo to k.ss his wife and fondle his children, instead ot breakuig heads, china, and tho third comm.-u.dmcnt. shine"" "f *"""' "'^' '^''''■' "l'""" '''""'« ^* "' '""- Two or three days passed away without any thinj? happening that is worth troubling you with. Rides and walks, in which Mr Mather himself uniformly joined occupied tho mornings; and in tho evenings tic whole family were together. I was always expecti.ig that somebody or other, either tho Minister, or his wife, or Katharine would say something that might lead to tho subjects I had been so desirous of hearing broached, but I expected in vain. The utmost hilarity, the utmost apparent openness and friendship, prevailed ; but I began to feel, somehow or other, that those about me had! as well as myself, thoughts enough that they did not choose to express ; and nameless nothings suggested, or rather, perhaps I ought to say, confirmed, the suspicion, that I mysolt, I, was the cause of this reserve. Nothing struck me as so odd, when, aft'er a little time had gone by, I was meditating on the state of affairs on my pillow, as the foct, that 1 should have been hours, day/, at Blackford, without having passed one half hour alone with my cousin. I was well aware that we were no longer the children, the boy and the girl, we had been • but we were, after all, if there had been nothing more! the only two of our blood ; and each of us, surely, was CHAPTKR VII. 217 per- . tho oldest frientl tlio other l.jid i„ tl.o worl.l. Surejy there must be somewhere a reason for this • Was it in ine? or in her ?-or in the art and eontrivance of those about us? I was sensible, indeed, that on many little occasions my feelings of awkward pride had held mo back : nor was I quite without the suspicion that there iinght have been something repulsive in the whole cast ot my bearing. Hut Katharine was at home-- I was now at least, .-.o more than the visiter. Ay, but the sex --was there nothing due to that? -was not that the apology? ]3„t, then, Laseelyne ?- why did J .0 that she was alone with him, though never with me ?- Why had I found them sitting tog.-ther tlu.t very morning, nobody else with them, when I went down to breakfast ? Why, when we were all riding, did they so often ride side by side?- And why not i If 1 had chanced to rise a quarter of an hour earlier, might not Mr Lascelyno have found me, not I him, in the parlour with Katha- rine —Was It not a horse of his she rode, and what wonder if two animals that ha, ,f not ont>rdy, for .-ill his ch.'uicos of success b I!otod yr • •""'''^'' ^^"^'""'' *'"'^* the flay should while .. 7' i'f '"-r"'' '^" ^^••^'•'^* natural beauty, ^rd. Ml, Mather was fur once to be of our i)arty • and uZToo't T!"'r' ^'^"^'^'^"^ -•*" '^' ^^^ " ^'i^^ "^^0^- -TJ'o day was one of the loveliest thit oyer May w tnessed. The sky was cloudle s bl e ev rv pure streamlet murnn.rod in music, tho leave h'acithn bnghtness of spring upon them amidst al the dL^f summer, every bank was yellow with broom Td tho ST^l 'ir* '^'1' "•^'^''^"-'' *'^^ l^-t^on/s'and JiM^ apple-trees were burstn^g their blossoms above th?Z7^l ^f *r •'' ^^'''' ^^ ^'•'^ ''"^^^ »"Jc«» i^y through he ancient forest, and there being no regular nath T trom the party, and was not able to discover exactlv in what direction they had passed on. The trees L^ the,r branches so low every ]»ere and there, that on waf tju *',"''^' ''^"''""^^^ ^'^«'"ts, and I became nS bewildered among the coppices. At last I saw a To g S nkinfotloT'"? ''.? ''''' '''' -^^^' -^ -^tl ouf tlimking of looking for tho marks of horses' feet I chnf purs to my pony, and dashed on at a hand-g.^ op. Once and agani I thought I heard voices calling'^but in several paces I had come upon trees evide^iily q'uite newly felled, so that I could not be sure of re ove,^n^ my party by following these indistinct echoes iTher"? fore judged, that the best thing would be to find my w^y Ir M.'itlior s from tlio beholden »f success. 00 of tlio •ly sliould 1 beauty, Tu I31;ick- I'ty ; and find dino liost tliat lie, every liad tlio ! glow of , and tho jrns and IS above through path, I, cparatcd actly in es hung one was 10 quite a long without 1 1 clapt . Onco but, in y quite overing [ there- ly way, CHAPTER vrir. 219 no matter how, to tho . Id castle, which I knew thoy were to be at some timo in tho course of tho day ; and after vam experiments in many dificrent directions, f was at last fortunate enough to nurt with a woodman who gave mo an intelligible plan of route. I followed this ; and ere long heard the river rushing over the rocks tar down below me. Once within sight of tho stream, my business was simple. 1 jc.gcnl along the summit of 1 10 high rocky bank, until I came to a place where I thought my pony might keep his feet, descended, forded to the other side, on which 1 knew the ruin was situated, and advanced up the river at a leisurely pace, upon the sottest turf, I think, I have ever seen, and beneath tho shadow of fine old oaks and beeches. _ I had got a little off the river, to avoid some apparently impassable thickets, and was walking my little High- lander quietly along the top of tiie knoll, whoii I heard what seemed to bo a woman's voice down below. I halted for a moment, heard that sound again, .and Advancing a few paces, saw distinctly Ratharino Wald and Mr Lasceljne seated together at the root of a tree fast by tho brink of tho water. Tall trees were growing all down the bank, but tho underwood consisted of bushes and thorns, and I had a perfect view of the pair though they were perhaps fifty paces under tho spot where I stood. A thousand tumultuous feelings throbbed upon my brain ; and yet a mortal coldness shook me as I gazed. Her right hand covered her eyes as she wept not aloud, but audibly, beside him. Ho held the left grasped in his fingers on her knee. I saw him kissing the drops off it as they fell. She withdrew that hand also, clasped them both fervently upon her face, and groaned and sobbed again, as if her heart would break I heard him speaking to her all the while, but not one word of what ho said. I caught, however, a glimpse of his cheek, and it was burning red. Katharine rose sud- denly from beside him, and walked some paces alone by the margin of tho stream. He paused — and followed. I saw him seize her hand and press it to his lips — I saw t ,1 i; •l\\ n. '■'i; k w ■ ■.'ii M I til ; ' ••h\ K;i I III 220 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. her struggle for an instant to release her he it, and then recline •ad upon his shoulder— I saw him, yes ! I saw him with my eyes, — I saw him encircle her waist with his arm — I saw them glide away together under the trees, lingering upon every footstep, his arm all the while bearing her up. Heavens and earth ! I saw all this as distmctly as I now see this paper before me — and yet, after they had been a few moments beyond my view, I was calm — calm did I say? — I was even cheerful — I felt something buoyant within me. I whistled aloud, and spurred into a canter, bending gaily on my saddle, that I might pass beneath the spreading branches. _ I soon saw the old ivied walls of the castle, bounded airily over the sward until I had reached the bridge, gave my pony to the servants, who were lounging about the rum, and joined Mr and Mrs Mather, who were already seated in one of the windows of what had been the great hall — the luncheon set forth near them in great order upon the grass-grown floor. " So you have found us out at last, Matthew," said the Minister — « I was afraid you would come after pudding-time." " Ay, catch me at that tritk if you can," cried I, as eav as a lark. * ^ "Well," says he, "I wish these voung people would please to come back again ; they have been seeking for you this half hour." " Indeed!" said I ; « I am heartily sorry they should be wasting their time on such a goose-chase— one might wander a week here without being discovered — I was never in such a wilderness. But I believe I must go and see if I can't find them in my turn." I stepped toward the gateway in this vein, and was fortunate enough to perceive that they had already mched the place where the servants and horses were. Katharine had pulled her bonnet low down over her eyes • but she smiled very sweetly, (though I could not but think a little confusedly,) as I told her we were waiting for her, and apologized for the trouble I had been ffivin?. Iieii reclino I saw him t with Ills r the trees, the while all this as -and A-et, ay view, I eerful — I led aloud, ny saddle, les. , bounded idgc, gave about the ro already the great eat order 3w," said )nie after I, as gay le would sking for y should le might — I was t go and ind was already 3S were, er eyes ; not but waiting ffivinc- CHAPTER VIII. 221 tne soul of the luncheon party : It was I who drew the corks and carved the pio : It was I who pi ng d down «e precipice to fill the bottles with water : U wri in my o^^ n proper person, twice as many bumijcrs as fel flee'".:^Tr"'r' '7 ""''''''• I '-''''' aJay with a it fir ;\^'"^'''"^^%*'^''^t "othing could check or resist. At fir t, they seemed to be a little surprised with the rine t o f ,-f '"^'^ '-^^/fartily as myself. Even Katha- I wa chcd her eyes, and met them once or twict, and saw that there was gloom behind the vapour of radiance. 1 supported this happy humour with much success during great part of the ride homewards, but purposely fe 1 behmd agam for a mile or two ere we reached mlZ for Mr mT '"^'T'^ *''' ^'"^^« ^ immediately inquired harden T f%' '"^"'' f°!'^ ''^ ''"' J"^* «*«PP*^^ i"to the filling the EoZ:'' ""^ '^""' ^^^'" ^'-^^^"'^ "^y ^"--'^ "I have been wishing, sir," said I, «to have a little {;JS ----*-- -th you. Are'you^tTd^jfi: di^n^^of ^all^foTn^eV"^""^^'" "" ^''^ ^"^^^^ ^ ^^ ^ h.lT'']'/'''"' f' ^^''^*^'^'-'" ^ ^^^''i"^ "although you have had too much delicacy to say any thing about ifl know very well that you must have been surmised w'th yoTwin f \ -T^* ^ '"""" ^"* *° «''^>^' '^"J I ai sure you will see I could not well have done otherwise." thin. nnJf"'"^' • ^^^'"^•^^•^"Pt'^d me, " you are taking tho tning quite seriously now " '' ^ Z ;" r ,M±^ .5f f ?J'' »'»".-. ?» "now a. • t ! myself how old I am nd really begin in 222 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. think, it is high time I should bo considering wliat pro- fession I am to choose." " Nothing can be more proper. Quito natural— quite as It should bo." ^ " Well, now, Mr Mather, to come to the point at once I wish to be informed exactly what is the amount of my patrimony. I know 'tis very inconsiderable, but still something may depend upon a trifling difference in such a case." " Very considerate, indeed, this is of you, my young friend ; but I am sure you will not dream, that your friends are not very willing to assist you in any thing that is for your advantage, if you happen to need their assistance. But as to your own money, that question is the hrst, and 'tis easily answered. Your fortune is at present within a trifle of a thousand pounds." " Quite enough," said I, gaily—" quite enough for my ideas, I assure you." "Quite enough, certainly," responded Mather, «to enable you to give yourself the best education the country can afford, and to place yourself handsomely in any honourable profession you may happen to prefer. Have you, as yet, formed a i)redi lection, may I ask, for any particular line of life ?" ^ y j "Why, no," said I. «I must honestly confess that my mind is still very undetermined as to these matters • and, to tell you the truth, I think there can bo no harm m my seeing a little more of the world ere I do finally hx my profession. I suppose there would bo no harm in my going abroad for a year or so, and looking about me ?" * "Oh, none, certainly none," he answered ; — « none in the world. You can afford it, and why not? Every young man is much improved by a little travelling. Mr Lascelyne has been three years on the Continent, and he can give you every information about routes, and other particulars. But would you like the notion of going quite alone ?" imd CHAPTER VII r. 223 « Alone, most certainly," said I. « I can't afford to take a tutor with mo ; and, as for friends and compa- nions, no fear but 1 sliall find them any where. 1 think If you don't disapprove of it, of going to Leyden, to begin with. I know sever : young men who luive gone Irom St Andrews thither, and they ail like it extrcmely.'» An excellent idea,— a most sensible idea," quoth the Minister « Leyden is an admirably conducted univer- sity. Whether you turn your thoughts to the law, or pliysic, or-— But I dare say you have no thoughts of the church V I smiled a negative. " ^y-;^^^ «'»"'•*' whatever lino you fix upon, you will hiid the best preparation in the world there. There's the ftimous Doctor Vantomius-a perfect host in him- sell -ay, and Zuillius, and the great Wolfius, and Van iiore, too. In short, there 's a j)erfect constellation of them. And, then, 'tis a sound Protestant university — excellent Calvinist divines. And when should you think of going ?" " Instantly," said I ; « why lose time? Instantly - immediately — to-morrow morning." ^^ « Well, to be sure," said ho -I saw his eyes sparkling to bo sure, as you observe, why lose time? Your baggage is at St Andrews ; you can easily send for it to Ldniburgh ; and there are smacks to Rotterdam every week, I believe. But, dear mo, Mr Matthew, what a short visit this will be ! Your aunt and Katharine will, I am sure, be sadly mortified. But then, as you observe, time is precious. This is fine weather for your voyage too -couldn't bo better weather if you waited a twelve- month." The Minister took my arm in a most friendly and confidential style as we walked together round the gar- den, and so to the house. I purposely allowed him to go in before me ; and did not make my appearance until the bell told me, that the family, servants and all were assomblcHl for prayers. I thou stepped into tho parlour, and took my seat within one of tho windows ' ■■ '■^ II K' ''I li 224 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. Still preserving, at least I think I did so, the most per- lect appeanuico of composure. I could not prevent myself, however, from observing, that Katharine, who happened to sit opposite to me although she never lifted her eyes from her Psalm-Book did not once open her mouth to sing. Her clear notes were all silent. I saw her lips white, and pressed to- gether; I saw them quiver once or twice in spite of all her efforts. When we rose from our knees, she went out of the room with the servants ; and, a few minutes afterwards, her mother, who had followed her, came back and told us Katharine found herself a good deal fatigued with her ride, had a headach, and was gone to bed, I said nothing, but kept my eyes on Mr Lasce- lyne. I satv him bite his lip, and turn round to take up a book. * My plans, however, were discussed at some length (luring supper ; and Lascelyne talked away very easily about packets, posts, bills of exchange, Amsterdam, Paris, the I yrcnean, and the river Po.» I was the last to go up stairs ; and, although I trod as quickly as I could past my cousin's door, I could not shut my ears. There was profound silence in the house, and I heard one or two deep, choking sobs — some space between them. I paused for a moment, and sprung up to my old garret. 1 had strained the string to its uttermost stretch. My heart was full, and it would have broken had I not yielded. I flung myself half undressed upon my bed and wept like a child. And why not?_l was a bov a mere boy. •' ' Never having once closed my eyes the whole night, I found when I rose, (about five o'clock,) that they were shockingly red and swollen ; and the more I bathed them m my basin, the worse I thought did they look. — «' Nay nay," I said to my proud self, « this will never do! Ihis part of the thing, at least, shall not bo seen." I put on my clothes, and crept down stairs as quietly as was possible, and found my way into the sitting-room, that I might write a note to Mr Mather. I w ote two CIIAPTEP VI 11. 22.5 most per- obscrving, ite to me, !ilm-Book, ;lear notes •resscd to- pite of Jill she went V minutes lier, came good deal s gone to \^Ir Lasce- ;o take up ne length ery easily im, Paris, last to go 3 I could 3, There d one or them. I Id garret. ;cli. My ad I not my bed, IS a boy, night, I ley were led them -"Nay, ever do. or three and tore them all into bits.-" It will do iust as wel ,» I .said, " to write from tlie village- or Z fi st ^wn I s op at better still. I can say I 4lked ou and finding the morning fine, was tempted to go on I can say I hated the thoughts of takingSeave-'that"at e will be true enough." ' thn,S T''''\ r/' ^^ *^'° window-shutters, and I now thought It would be as well to close it again. As I was iTttlo'bfnT ^'^iV "Tf' *'^' ''^^"^' ™y ^y« f^^" on two at for Tn ^'"f' '^ ^H^*''"""^ ^-^"^^ '»y««'f' that we had and win. 1 i" ,'''"* ^T''' ^^"" ^^ ^«r« «J^"^lren, and winch had ever since hung over the chimney-piece took Katharine's off the nail, and held itfor amhiute two in my hand ; but the folly of the thing flashed IIZ "'" r ?i '"^"''"*' ^"^ ^ '•^P'^^^^1 '*• Her work- able was by the window, and I was so idle as to open the drawer of It A blue sash was the first thing I saw, bai 1 .f "^'"^ ;' ^'^' " '^'''^ "'*« "^y b««o»'- I then buftri.!!^'''^"'';^:.'^^"'^'^^"^'''""^"^---"^* ^ «o""j but the birds about the trees. I walked once, just once round the garden, which lay close to the hou'e- 'it down for a moment in the arbour where my father died - and then moved rapidly away from Blackford. 1 could never describe the feelings with which I took s"cirtK''' '' '' '""l*'^ ^^^^^^- The pride, he scorn, the burning scorn, that boiled above,-tlie cold curdling anguish below,-the bruised, trampled heart— 1 plucked the blue ribbon from my breast, kissed it oiice as I coiled it up. and flung it into'the water below WP hnJ ,T T '•^ *^^' P"^'' ^™^"g *he rocks, Where got under the bridge, and moved on. 3 quietly ig-room, ote two ^ 220 THE lUSTORV OF MATTHEW WALD. CHAPTER IX. Apter staying for some days at St Andrews, I pro- ceeded to pay a few visits I had long before promised to certain of my follow-students who resided in the neigh- bouring district of Fife, and reached Edinburgh about the end of the month. One of the first things I did here was to go in quest of a gentleman, from whom, Mr Mather had informed mo by letter, I -should receive money for my voyage and immediate expenses abroad. This person received mo with great politeness, and surprised me not a. little by intimating that Mr Mather (acting for his wife, my guardian) had lodged the whole of m fortune in the hands of one of the bankers of the city, and that, upon signing some necessary papers, I might, if I pleased, assume forthwith the entire and uncontrolled command of the money. This procedure struck me as Tiot a littlo strange certainly ; but, after a moment'a consideration, I felt extremely pleased with it. I am completely thrown off, said I ; — well, thank God I am not to go pennyless into the wide world — this is some comfort. In a word, I signed the releases next day, and walked to the bank with an order for the money in my pocket. My first intention had been to draw out a hundred guineas, and carry them with me to Holland ; but, when the cashier had counted fifty pieces, the heap appeared so prodigious, that I was content to leave the rest of my wealth where it was. Under whatever circumstances, a sum of money, whether in hard cash, as in this instance, or in any less substantial shape, can no more bo put into a man's pocket without to a certain extent elevating his spirits, than a bumper of champaigne can bo poured down his throat. So, at least, I have commonly found the case to be ; and this particular occasion formed no exception to the rule. I walked down to Leith to inquire about the ciiAPTRn IX. 22'' Rottord.'un smnclfQ if o ..... i l»lwth„ST ,"'"'''/''; ~"S'-'-*''to; and whcTo I least tho «.wi 1 . ' •^^'^""'"g:. I'ko Ji beau of at *«-a»i, ific second order rlown T^.;+i. wr n i . chum T-inL- T , , '*''^' '^*^^" ^-^-'ith Walk, but my old doftcdtlic sorely-washed corduroy breeches' and t At .) I ; 7 , ''*' '^'-''^ ''''' '•'•''•^^^'l ^<^ splendidly earned the whole history of his being established r, l^dmburgh as apprentice to his brother i so il nr f some distinction, but in return c—ie^t^r^^^^^^^ w lictTlnd'^stT^"""^'^"^ '''' disappointntnt wnicn 1 luul just been oncountorinff. Ho shewnrl «,, warm a feeling for my interests, that I gave h m ^1 o Z -e went, a candid account of the situatEn wht nn^ placed. Upon hearing of the thousand pounds my friend said, J x.as a fortunate fellow • that few Lmi r my r'n f ^Jf/?.^ "^^'^ ^^^^^ -^ ^ "f was my own fault if I did not meet with every success in whatever profession I might choose to follow. ^"Se's Z2ltL!^l'Tf'\''''' ''^'^ "-'^-^ think ye o him? He had but a hundred pounds to begin with and now after being some twelve or fifteen years i E,^^ burgh, he ,s universally considered as one of e mo t I' H\ H i ■?' ' ) It. i 31 i-'ul I '? ■'4\ 2i0 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. .say, that he would liavo been at the head of his profos- siou years and years ago, liad he happened to havi but a tew hundreds more at his command when he started ' ~ ii^lTi^Vu''^'^ ^ '^?"'''' ^*^" '''^"^^ t^^'"k of wasting time in Holland - what can Leyden teach better than St Andrews or Edinburgh ?- what signifies bothering ones self with all their Dutch gibberish? -why don't you stay where you are, Matthew ? Here you will have triends and acquaintance in plenty, there you would be a stranger to the end of time. Hang Holland !" He concluded with pressing me to go and dine with him at g aS^n/ '"' *' *'"^ ''''' P^^* of the strain I had no great difficulty in assenting. vPrvT t7f.\'''^f 'IF. '''' ^^ '"^^" P^^^ «f stairs into a very neat little dwelling, where every thing spoke thriv- ing business, wealth, comfort, and good tasle.^ Jack left me for a moment among three or four sharp-eyed clerks who were driving their pens in a room surLnded wTth fZZ ^""T'.T^ P'^'' '^ P^P^^^' ^»d «««" after intro- duced rne to the master of the house, who, seated in an e bow-chair m the corner of an inner apartment, wa" dictating, ore rotunda, to my friend's brother-apprentice, perched upon a three-legged stool at a high desk ove^ ZTJT' /''^ ^^"'^^ °" ^^^''*' ^^^^" °^« his best word ere I made my apr -.-^nce ; for Mr Todd received me in the most friendly le manner. Immersed as he evidently was in .. , it was surprising to me to see such a fine, open, good-humoured, rosy, hearty physiognomy. I had no notion of such a lawyer as being ^^r«^a^^,^^,_ least of all of such a writer. And then he had so much the air of a man of condition- such grand-looking black satin breeches, such splendid ace down to his knuckles, such brilliant buckles. It was truly surprising to see one of this profession so unlike in al hings the sa irical pictures I had been made familiar with -so completely different from your dry, yellow skin-and-hone, peering, wrinkled pettifogger of the play- books. This was odd enough ; but how much S CHAPTER IX. 229 delightful t mn strange to find, that such a being might TnlfT ^T^ ''^'" '"'^^ ^ ^-'^'^ °^ ^'^"' ^"* V'^'VOT so nobly ^1- ^- r circumstance was enough to knock fifty old prejudices to shatters. ^ This happened to be a half-holiday, so that the clerks were dismissed early, and I sat down to a small but ex- quisitely neat repast, in company with only the two brothers, and a single friend besides, who, as I found in sZf M T^^^"' '*^*'^^' "^^"^^« ^^"^^^ from Aberdeen- shire Mr lodd sent round the bottle in a joyous man- Z'iH r',"^' *•??* ^^^'' ''^''''^ ^^y«' hard work, he ?riPn?h rf ^f '"*^*'^^ ''^ ^^^^'^t'-' <^"« evening to friendship "And, indeed, Multurelaws," said he, ad- dre sing he Laird, "what should carry us poor devils that live by the sweat of the brow through life at all, if It were not for these occasional relaxations ? I like ^v work sir; I owe every thing to my profession, and I ntVA' .1' ""T '.V ^ ^^'^^^^ ^^"^ ^^ a gentleman one night m the week, if I could." "If you could !" cries the Laird -« come, come, Todd don t quiz a Buchan body- I 'm ower far north for you' now, my friend." ^ "Well, well," says the honest scribe, pushing the bottle on Its course, - « I shall say nothing. - Hang it • you re so sharp in your country, that a plain man get^ no lung but a laugh for his pains when he speaks a bit of his mind smack out before one of you. - Come, come now aiulturelaws do you really take me for a born fingers ?^''''"' ''^ ™^ ^^''' '''* ^"'^ *^"'^ ^° "^^ " tu ' *^® ^'^ ^'^^ ^°"^*' J"^"'" q^oth Aberdeen. w ,i^f''^ "o^'" continued our host -"there now, Mr Wald, just take notice what a sneer the Laird speaks with. Why he can't open his mouth without letting out some Jibe that s enough to dumfounder one, if one did not know, that is to say, that he means no harm. -Here put round the bottle ! - hang it, there 's nobody likes to be made a fool of -fill your glasses, I say, every one of • 4 ,;• 11^ 280 THE 'IISTOUY OF MATTHKW WAI-U. you. _ Ah, Mr Matthew," ho proceeded, .-ifter his bumper had dcscondoil ffuttatim-.^' You see what it is to be dili^ gont. I.Khistry is nmch in this woHd. Iinhistry enables mo to give you as good a bottle of N>ino, though I say it as IS to be found in all the rarliament Close ; but if in* dustry and attention have done so much, not forgetting the kindness of worthy friends, (here he bowed^ to the Laird,) for the like of me, vhat should not you look for- ward to? Ah, sir! you don't know, you are not old enough yet to know, the advantages you come into life with. I, sir, every body knows it, — and why should I bo ashamed to say it? -I, Mr Wald, am a mere terrcB films, as the saying is. — I am nobodv, sirs ; Jack there and I can't tell who our grandfather was. But you, Mr Wald, you ha^oa pedigree, I am told, like a lord's -A grand descent, a clear line, Multurelaws, about as noblo a one as your own. — This is a thing which industry can not purchase. No, no, gentlemen, I am sensible o'f my own place. I feel my place - 1 know where I am. God bless me, if I had had a hvf ounces of some of your blood in my veins, what a man would I not have been by this time of day .' Noth ing can make us amends for the want of this. The heralds give us coats of arms, no doubt — faith, I believe we may get supporters, if we will stretch our strings far enough; but what signiHes talking? — ^o, no, hang it ! the King himself can't change the blood." During this effusion, the Laird of Multurelaws chantred his position more than once in his chair, and his counte- nance also varied its expression from the quizzical to the lofty, and almost, but not quite, back again. « Foul fa' me," Avas his response ; " now, foul fa' me, Todd, but you're m the wrong — clean in the wrong, to speak so before a young lad like Mr Wald. 'Tis manners makes the man, sir, take my word for that." " I can't agree with you, Multurelaws," said the writer casting up his ipild eyes _ " Tis the man that makes the manners: What signifies talking -we never can catch the true tone, sir ; we have our own things, and they are cuAPTEn IX. 231 so.nc of tl,em very goo.l things, an.l thankful shouhl wo bo -- but wo c.-in novcT conio that, sir ; wo can never reach the «tylo of tho oM Terrarnm Dominir Mr Corncraik retire.l tolerably tipsy about nine o'clock being engaged to sup at that hour with his Lady Lieu tenant. A r Nathaniel. Jack, an.l I, then closed rmn I a Sr '''V ^ 'r ^""' ««"«'^-^'''^' conversa i n ook place ; and J soothed by tho kindness of the n.an and ho n.anners, and elevated by tho blood of tho Modoc told niore, and hinted a great ,leal more, of n.y p vato i.story-than, five hours earlier in the day,^' could have^supposed it possible 1 should over do to .uly huu;;!;; The sympathy my communications wore met with was not more remarkable than the acuteness with which their tenor was e^^^^ t a I lad rove.Vl a „,ost every thing ; but then I felt that It wjifi to a friend mdeed I had revealed it. - A ^er- vant was sent to the Canongate for my portmanteau - 1 retired to the same room with my old chum - and found lo^ftLT '""'■' ^"'"^^t'^^^t^^ beneath a roof of genuine CHAPTER X. I DID not see my kind host until towards dinner-time next day - and then, as it happened, Jack was obliged, in consequence of some business out of town, to be absent from his brother's board. I had spent the morning in viewing the ranties of tho place; in tho evening Mr To.ld took me with him to the theatre ;- and we ad- journed from thence to one of those obscure resorts which ^^tro then fashionable under the name and title of oyster- cellars. Here my friend, supper being over, and a small bowl scientifically mixed, filled the glasses to tho br m and began as follows. -<' You will scarcely guess, m; dear fellow, what has been this morning's work with me or at least a part of it," ' " ~ ^ ^» • \ >• if ' 1 1 ,':.:-^ ?:u, ■ •:! 'i 1 * W' ■ \\. 11 232 THE IIISTOUY OV MATTHEW WAI n. No, truly, Mr Todd — h ow should I V shall 1 No matter-but yo,i shall hear, my fine fellow, you 1 hear. Well, then," ho continued, after a Jlight pause, "you must know I have been at the llg sTe ct wil f T rT'*^ '" ^•"''-^-i'iH }'<>'"• glass, my d^r Wald, for I beheve 1 have news that will astonish , " Why, nothing about those matters can very much interest me, 1 think," was my reply. ^ "Softly, softly," whis,,ere(l he, with a gentle smile of ^ononty " What would you say if your father' wil was nothing but waste paper?" "I should say nothing about it," I replied • " 'tis Ms Will, and that 's enough." ^ ' ^ inZ!""" /'i^\"^? *';"""' '""y >^^""^ ^'•'^^"^' «"« f^'^>Ji"g ndte - but listen to me, notwithstanding. When vou have lived as long in the world as I have done, you li know that a man is seldom the best judge h hi oJ concerns: and in the meantime, I am fure you wi pardon my taking the freedom of looking a little into yours for you. You love your cousin, Wald ?" 1 blushed, half conscious, half irate. lov^Js'yr-" ^"' """ '"'*'"*' ''"^ ''■'"* on -"And she I smiled my scorn. " She loved yon, certainly." " Nonsense. We were children." " She is much under the influence of her mother, and her mother's husband 1" ' " No doubt." famiM"'^' ''''^^ ^" ^'' promotions to the Lascelyne I nodded assent. " He is about to repay them with Miss Wald's hand and this old estate!" ' I nodded again. " Was this sort of thing contemplated by your father when he made his will 1" CIIAPTKR X. 2.1;} Come, conio cr.0,1 ho, throwing himself back i„ his eha.r ; wo must not suttbr all thi.s. I tdl you now n.y dear fellow, the case is a clear one. Yonl fttl "s V. 1 was execute.1 only three weeks before his death. I believe It w.ll be easy to prove that he was ill before it was signed, and extren.ely difHcult to prove that he was ether at k.rk or market after. The deed is not voT h twopence ; he estate is yours. Your cousin is wo ke upon duped, ma.le a tool of, a bauble, a coin b 1 1 is sanct>hed scoundrel; we nn.st look to thi^ aflair'sharpl" ' wo must get the estate into the right hands. We slal hen see both the Mathers and the Lascely ,esTn 1 d uo colours -and what's n.ore. Miss WnUl will "eo inTf r . " ' --'.the poor young lady is not g"t- tmg^r play; „.a ,„, ,,^^^^ g^j .^^ J^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^ *' Taking her land from her would bo fair play ?" t^ Como r" '"'"•' ^ ^''^^^-'•^"'^ «« «''" *'"« Court say the hnd .'n r.T' ^'" "'"'* ^^""'^ "'^ l.eart-take br.ck the Jand-and then you may marry your cousin if it so pleases you both ; (you will, . >' if I' ' I? t .ti l:U ■4 234 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. gotten those things ; — but never, never since I be^^an to go down the hill of life. Age has the memory of other feelings, both good and bad ; but one leaves no shadow ; It stays itself. Indulge a thousand evil passions, and you may wash out their traces with tears — but yield once, ay once, to a base one, and you will find it not only difficult to weep, but vain. With a thousand paltry little pretences I half— for it was never more than this — I half-deceived myself at the time. I believe I did really persuade myself, just at the beginning, that I was attacking Mr Mather, not my cousin. But as to the means of my attack — the ques- tioning the will of my father— as to this I certainly never did succeed in blinding myself. The pitiful unction I laid to the wound, which the sense of guilt that I always did retain as to this part of the affair created and kept open, — my pitiful unction was nothing but that I should always, under whatever circumstances, have the power of undoing what I might do. I persuaded myself, therefore, that I was onlt/ seeking to gratify my vanity — and this, forsooth, this miserable onli/ was my conso- lation. But once more, allow me to hasten over what tortures myself, and cannot but distress you. I gave in to Mr Todd's devices. I abandoned my scheme of going to Leyden, and placed my little fortune at his disposal. At my petition, he was appointed my tutor ad litem by tlie Court of Session ; and I was a play-thing in his hands — and a trick of the High Street. Several months elapsed ere the business was brought to a conclusion. Long ere then, convinced, no doubt, how it was to terminate, — or willing, it may possibly have been, to run a small risk for the sake of such a fine appearanceof disinterestedness — the heir of the Lasce- lynes was married to Katliarine Wald. I was humbled sorely by this news ; but I had a plentiful harvest of that kind to gather. I secretly wrote to mv cousin, declaring my intention to give up my suit. My letter was re- turned in a blank cover — and I persi'sted in it. For \ CHAPTER X. 235 and i some time things bore a favourable appearance. It was proved distinctly that my father had not lived more than three weeks after signing his deed. It was very nearly proved that he had been ill during the whole of these weeks. But at last the decisive day came ; and it was proved that all these facts were of no sort of consequence, because he had, the very day before his death, walked unsupported across Blackford Bridge — and that the common immediately beyond that bridge was, by some ancient charter, a legal market-place. The will, therefore, was sustained unanimously. I was present when the cause was determined. From a corner of the little dark gallery, I saw, myself unseen or unnoticed, the fifteen old men in purple and fine linen crowded round their table. I saw Mr Mather's finely powdered wig among the counsel at tlie bar. I heard the presiding Judge conclude his speech with expressing , the opinion of the Court, that, under all the circum- stances of the case, no blame — none whatever — no blame in the world, could be laid to the door of the pursuer in this action : that things had borne a very dubious aspect : that the facts on which the decision ultimately followed were of such a nature, that it was almost impossible their existence should have been suspected in certain quarters : that, on the whole, the Court approved of every thing that had been done — " assoilzie the defender, grant full costs, and decern."— You may imagine the feelings with which 1 walked home after this scene. Mr Todd gave me to understand in the course of the evening, that the expenses of this action — what with proofs, witnesses, fees, &c. — amounted in all to L.600: but this was a trifling item in the account which I had to sum up for myself. I knew that, between this and the money I had been expending on my own foolish, and sometimes highly reprehensible pleasures during my residence in Edinburgh, I was all but a beggar. But I believe it would have added little to my burden had I been told distinctly that I was not almost, but altogether M ' i. ,^l W' 286 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW W.VLD. one Around me every thing was dark enough • but what was his to the night, the stormy night, wfthin . I was still Labouring with the first Lef of^rame and remorse when Mr Todd came into my roon a "d put into my hands two letters. The one of the n was ad dressed to himself- and here it is. *t, Sir, " Uoltjroodhmtfc, lJ ^'^^ ^r Wald to proper fTJ' '" '"^''''!?' T^ ^'"" "^"^y «'^»««i^« »^o«t proper, that our agent has been instructed to defray the whole costs of the late suit. You will, therefore have the kindness to hand your account to M^ Whyte 1 have the honour to be, &c. &c. Szc. « M^ 7^ rr y-, , „ " ^- I^ASCELYNE WaLD." Mr N. Toddy S^c. &;c. S;c.r nJw.'Tt"^/ ^u^ ""^^ *'"^ production, I told Mr Nathan.el Todd, that I trusted he would permit me to z::iXX' ' -r^'"^'^*'^" whirtncrn d myt,elt only. He saw the scowl on mv face no dm,hf and perceived both what my intent^n wis and the vanity of attempting to controvert it. He must have known something of my temper by tSs t me He nodded gravelv «!aid T i«„c+ * i ^ ' "® withdrew Tfnl?,? must take my own way, and cover «wifh mm l'? *^^' "^'"'^' ^^^^^ ^^thin the cover, with Mr Matthew Wald's compliments " ad dressed the packet to Mr Lascelyne, and without t moment's delay, sent it down to Hulyrood saw. CHAPTER X. 23" I belicvo more than half an hour had passed ere I remembered that there had been two letters/ The Jco„d had been tossed on the ground : I now picked it up ad o::^i/'f "\* \ "'"* '"''"'^^' '''' handwriting of my cousin. I read these words : — s * lujr « I write under the greatest embarrassment, and with- tttl^nrsl^fn"'^""- ^h-rtbleed'otTink to t link "f !l * k'/^^- ^"* ^ «^"»«* ^'•i"g myself hone to r'T'"-' ^'^'''' ^ ''^^'° ^'-^^^ i» ««'»« ^^v, that believe hat H '"%'''' ""^ *" ^° ^^''''^''g^r^- ^ '^'^""ot believe that there has ever been enmity, or any tiling hat any body could say was enmity, between us God bless you, dear Matthew, and prospe^ you. " Ilolin-ood, eleven o'clock, r.'urday night." " ^^' ^' ^ '' The inoment ^ i.aa perused this little note I de- ermmed that, come what might, I would see my cousin. Ln tv T\?^^'^^ "othing-to make her hea; einplited the scene of this extreme humiliation : I felt .IS If Its pain would ease me of half my burden, i qui - he ZacT^r''^''''^^' ""^ walked'down the hill to ^lic Palace. The open space in front of it was. as usu'il "«'« door forwarn .;,,"? ' '"" ^r',"' ""^''"'f constrained to look Xany wCe To" h"ht: ."',° "!'"°'' r'^"'^' ^l'™* "■ - to be'the n.m,gpC^f'' ''"'■'"'^' ""O o^'^'tation, we«= my slnioS'. t!l'i"° '!"• T"1' '™ *"" tl-™ or four of met w ho' T • ""'■'•'"l''^' ''» "Ot remember to have Sv it the * ■■ ''"'■"'''■^""' ''™" »' " f^noral- The table in a roar and tirw,? '' "'"' """«'' '"'P* *'«> tried to h„T'T "f ,'>o'tIe was a peiyetuum moUle. I inea to laugh, I even tried to listen • but I di.l Hri,.!, i poured do>v^ bumper after bumpe"; but it wfsttin JprngTwi'r'/ha'T ^r '""" "•» •"- - "->; imDofsihle M " '"'"''' '* ^'d """t it is absolutely now clear is the image of that moment before me now? HHi Street r '''^ ^^'™t^vilight- the swarming in those d'l^sV ^ , ''-'' "^''^ i''^^ ^ ^^"''^••^ than « street wards and^l'r a ^'T' ^^ g^"«««>«'^ talking back- wards and forwards -the iadies in their chairs, witli ■'''■:;; if •I'l; Mill I 240 mm^ THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. footmen, and some of them flambeaux— the whole effect gay, though not glittering, full of an endless variety of colour iind shadow — a softened scene of sprightliness grace, and beauty. Some strolling Savoyards, with' brown shining faces full of mirth, were exhibiting their wares to a crowd of girls under our window, and this had occasioned the noise that drew mo from the table, or, rather, that gave me a pretence for quitting u for r' moment. I looked down upon this airy picture, and heard the jolly lads behind me commencing in full chorus, " We abandon all ale, And beer that is stale, Rosa solis, and damnable hum ; Uiit we will rack In the praise of sack, Against oinne quod exit in um," &c. I looked and I heard, John— and I really could stand the thing no longer. I stole out without being noticed, and was soon quiet enough, and dark enough too, in the httle back-room which I had so long occupied in Mr lodd s house, and of which I felt thoroughly convinced that I sliould be the tenant but for one night more. I sat for some time in the darkening room ; and then I cannot very well tell why, went to get my candle iighted. I perceived that I might do this in the writing- chamber, and opened the door. One of the clerks was busy writing ; and, in lighting my candle at his, I could not help noticing my own name on the paper before him. 1 asked him what he was doing ; and the young man answered me, in some confusion, that he was only mak- ing out some accounts for his master. " My accounts, I believe," said I — « I think my name is there — let me see the paper." He hesitated a moment, mumbled something about Mr Todd's orders," and « to-morrow ;" but I cut him short, begged he would lay aside his scruples, if they arose from any notion of giving me annoyance ; and, in a word, half forced or.t of his hand several large and hole effect variety of ightliness, rds, with ting their id this hud table, CHAPTER X. 241 or. ? it for li ture, and s in full iild stand noticed, •o, in the id in Mr onvinced ore. nd then, y candle writing- Drks was , I could ore him. nig man ly mak- ly name ? about cut him if they and, in 'ge and comely sheets, which were alreadystitchcd together with pnik ribbon in the most business-like fashion, and which bore for superscription those words, engrossed in letters ot majestic stature, and enveloped amidst a maze of the most captivating flourishes, ^^ Account of Charge and Discharjie between Matthew IVald, Esquire, and Nathaniel ■toady (y, o. For the principal item in this bill I was already pre- pared, as you are aware. But I confess that I expect you will be scarcely Jess astonished with hearing, than I was at the moment with seeing, "To board and lodging during twe vo months, L.lOO !" I glanced my eye hastily over the columns, gave the paper back again to the clerk who v^s pretending to mend his pen, and withdrew forthwith to my chamber. I sat down in a storm of wrath and indignation, hatinff at length equally the world and mvself. My own rash herce, and vindictive passions had deprived me of mi se f-respect : but, eve;, in this situation, it was an ad- ditional blow to know for certain, instead of onlv ob- scurely suspecting, that I had been the play-thin/ the sport, the bubble of every one in whom I had placed any sort of dependence. This low fawning knave, too, had all the while been laughing at me in his sleeve : this miserable, even he, was about to strip off the last frag- ment of his mask, and laugh in my face. This caitiff whom I had just left drinking and singing among his boon companions, had coolly, before he repaired to his tavern, given orders for preparing this document: With- out doubt, he would put It into my hands in the morn- ing and turn me out of his house-pennyless-a beffear And what prospect before me? -Despised even by my- self where could I shew my face? Proud, yes, in spite of all I had done, proud -idle -without meang-, without character -a disgrace to my name, and a burden to myself, what should I do? -what should I look for? — what remained ? A certain dark thought had ri«en in it" v.-po~* -,- than once withm the last ten days, and 1 had crushed 4 » '.'! tp\ V : Ji ^"V. ■', iwmt 242 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. the suggestion. It now recurred, and I made no effort to banish the fiend that was tempting me. I went de- hberately towards a little closet in the corner of the room where my clothes, &c. were kept. I put mv wand into my trunk -it was a great old sea-chest of my lather's — and tumbled over the contents, until I found what I wanted — his broadsword. I grasped the end of the scabbard, and in lifting it from the trunk, there dropt out of the basket-handle a certain little red psalm- book, of which I think I once before nade some mention. T Tu "''^V" ^}^ ^^* ^^ V'^c^ing up the book, (though why 1 thought of doing so at all I cannot well say,) when I heard a knock at my chamber-door. I had locked it, and when I opened it, there was Mr Todd, in a sleepy, half idiotical condition of drunkenness, wanting a light. I went and got a candle for him, saw him stagger to- wards his room, and once more bolted my door. But that minute — that moment, had been sufficient. That sleek,fat-faced, unfeeling brute — should I really suffer myself to be hastened out of the world for any thing that he could or could not do ? - Could I really have bef n the fool to forget that he would be the first to treat such a proceeding as a piece of the merest imbecility ? And laying him altogether out of view, what right had I to die in a grand Roman fashion, forsooth, and by that sword, too, that had never yet been stained with one drop of dishonoured or dishonourable blood ? « No no " I said to myself, « let me at least bear what I have bound on : Heroes may perhaps be entitled to sctk another sphere : surely this is as high a one as I have any right to. No, no, let me bend, stoop, work, sweat — let me cease at least to think of pride." At that moment, at least, I was a stranger to it : I was humble enough, whatever else I might be. I laid my father's sword again into its place, and then opened the little psalm-book, am read sqme lines in it. Old thoughts began to come back almost in their old shapes ; and I could scarcely help rubbing my eyes, to see whether I bad not been dreaming some long black dream. How- CHAPTER X. 243 ever, I was very low and humble • and if T «r^»i i ^ • ' I .,,.:r , ■(' ',ti CHAPTER XI. ca^llTm^^f^T '"* ''' V'^' "^y ^««'» ' ^"* I took wre 10 see him m the course of the morning and hid a conclusjve conversation. I could not b n^g mysefto wasabZft\ "" closing of all our accounts ; and Tm-t * ^h't ^"^"'"^ ^"^ ^^"^« immediately with i..iU0~the whole remains of my fortune -in mv totn^ Th'at h'e^d f^^'f ' entirel^o^h'Ln ^cco'd^ of mvsdnf I wnf?/;;''^ ^ P^"" for my future disposa or myseit, it 1 would do him the favour to listen tn if llll^ 'T^' '"' ^^^^^ ^"- "«her in .it m"ny fine* flounshes, the proposal, that I should devote Sf to fnHhilP'°^''''"°' ^"^ ^'^^'^ that view, binTmysel? forthwith apprentice to himself. The entrance-feTho observed would no doubt swallow up most of my readv SX^VrVro^ 'r"^ ^^PP^^* myself etefa'^S J J fy; P'^ofits of my pen. I need scarcely say that ot him and something of the law too. I vuerefore answered very gravely, that my inclinations laylZ ^ eat ctmtv"'?"' "". '^"^' ^"* ^^ '^« ^-- ^ ToM W ^' '*'". °^V"''' "P *^ *'"« '^our, that Jack Todd had ever ceased to be my friend ; but my disgust at the time extended itself to him also so I wis brno TtZZ^f'-^'^r'^"*^^ ^'^^-^ fromtLnlave rI opportunity of avoiding a formal adieu. Behold me, then, like the apostle of the Gentiles, I t ;M1 'II mi 1 ( J * ii 'a ll IWhVi i 244 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. established pro tempore "in mine own hired house,'* in other words, tenant of a garret at tlirco shillings a-week, in a lodging-house near tlio foot of the Covenant Close; master of a very tolerable wardrobe, (for you may well suppose I had run out considerably as to such matters during these months of idleness and folly,) my father's gold watch and Andrew Ferrara, — a cheque for L.lOO upon the Bank of Scotland,-— and some five guineas odd shillings in cash, — master, moreover, of a strong and muscular body — and perhaps not quite master of an active, aimless, and miserabl.; mind. I spent the day in building and demolishing a variety, not of castles in the air certainly, but of what served the same purpose, and in the evening repaired to a neigh- bouring tavern, where I knew I was most likely to meet with the most familiar of my recent associates — one Spreule, a medical student, a clever, shrewd, lively fellow, though certainly no great head for a consulta- tion touching life and fortune, whatever he might be in a case of life and death. Tom left the crowded room which he was enlivening, and adjourned with me very good-naturedly, into a smaller one, where, not to waste words, we both prosed away for an hour or two, as if we had been two Lycurguses, shaping and arraying the future duties and destinies of hu.f the globe. Tom was clearfor medicine — I confessed myself inclined to give that walk the preference over any of the other modes of peaceful life within the scope of my chances, but avowed, upon the whole, that I still thought I should like the sword better than any modification of the gown. Tom laughed at this very heartily ; pointed out, as he ima- gined, in a most satisfactory manner, the absurdity of going to be shot at, without the smallest probability of ever being promoted for any thing I could do, or remem- bered for any thing I could suffer. But these arguments had no more effect with me than they have had with so many millions of better men, from the days of the Flood down to those of the French Revolution. On the contrary, what was only one, though certainly rather the most CUAPTER XI. 245 favoured ono of many plans in the morning, became now, snnply because it had found a keen opponent in the person of a friend, not merely the favourite of a se ngho, but the one only flame - the passion. To say from sl^fi ""f^ Tf,'* *'''"••" ^'^« ^"^ ^« '-^t ^ ^li^tanco from Scotland, and I knew of nothing that was so likely to serve for my passport as a red coatf ^ My friend, perceiving my resolution was taken, now began to anqu>re through what channel of interest (since money was evidently out of the question) I proposed to thlt Poni r ' T"' '^''^y I^"'-^^^^ *« P«"'t «"t '-^"y thing hv 1'. • '"''^ *'''''' "'^' ^^^t plan wouM be to begin hnr.h ir 'V'*'"" "^^^" '«'•*'' then resident in Edin- ta^nlv r 7 T / 'f ^ "° '°'* «^ acquaintance, cer- battllinn Ti ' ''"?' / ^^" ^"^"'' ^^^^^'^1 i" the same infl fir T\ !"^ ^^*'^'' ^* *^'° Havannah, and whose exerted 1' ^^''^^f ° ^^'"^ reason to believe, had been unc e's fn f f '^^ Tr'^''' ^'^'""^^ '•^* *'^« time of mj mv r.^ "''•. ^ ^J^^terminod, therefore, to draw up Sor^nr'' ''''"^^ '* **" ^'' ^'''''''"^'' ^''"'' "* *^^^ of some difficul y I was anxious to preface my request someVttl "^, ' niterference in my own favour, lith some imie apology for some parts of my behaviour, of which I supposed It impossible he should not have heard. on^l.^^^ ''^' '" '*''• ^ ""* '''^^' ^"^ ^ ^'^^ "^'-^"y internal qualms to suppress in the course of grappling with it. It was not finished till late in the day, in shoft ; and I did not carry, but sent it- intimating, however, that I mon L ;' '^' ^"'"'' '^ ^""'^ ''' ^" -»«-er the morning afterwards. T f '"^';!i"S^y i. ^as at the door of his house as early as I thought consistent with propriety, and after cooling my heels for some time in an anti-nlmmb... v^.j^g j^..^ duced to the presence of the Peer. You may suppose 'M 1 , :■( I I. .m 1i li iWlBiki 2i6 THE IITSTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. tlon iT:^r;^;^';r^''^'''-'^'^'" ^^""«-^ tropin uniikrwh^'. n "''' ';''•'' ':?"" *''*'^" ^ '•"'' ^^'Pected, and as ho h,gl.cs degree. His lady was knitting, and ho h Sr""''^/'''; ^'"^''"^ "^^^t^'J «^« I disturbed i ske i^ r^ ^ ' ^"' \^" J^'g'^-backed cl.airs, with mild] of »'^ Hcross them, were connpicuous in the n uldle of the room, and there was certainly nothing on the table in he shape of a book, or even of a new^p.-Lr. J\fter a world of civil nothings, we proceeded to busi- pS* v^n T ''' '^' ^"^^^'l'' '"^"^ '' >'^" ^'•'^'^ ^««t the 1^ !f fTiL ' I "" '^"^^ '"'^'"^ - ^^^^y Sorn and I were just talking of you - Bless my heart, won't you appeal ? won't you appeal? won't you try the Lords? heTl!e! " Ah, yes, indeed, Mr Wald," said the Countess, "you must take my lord's advice. I think no one has had better opportunities - take his advice, young gentleman --try London. You will turn the tabL ofi Tern yet perhaps, he! he! he!" and she nodded her highly powdered curls, and my lord echoed, « He ! he » turn tLlf^''^'^'' ^^^'' "^^-^' ^^-' '-^ tuVn Te "Indeed'' said I, « I already repent most sincerely having meddled with the thing at all-I endeavoureT n my letter to satisfy your lordship as to this " "Very good, indeed, ah! very good - apologize for h7"he -'' ^'' ^'''' ''*'*' • ^'^^ S°"^ indeed- He [ " My father's intentions, my lord, should to me have been sacred, and " " Lord ! Lord ! what a foolish fellow my old friend (beg your pardon) was pleased to make of himself. Leave v« ' . CHAPTER XT. 247 the estate lack again to tl.o forfeited lino ! Rucli a joke, 1)1 l-D.d yon ever hear the like of it, my love ? Cut out lus own son ! -- ho ! he ! Oh fie ! Oh fie ! I c.W help laughing at the notion of it-IJe ! he !» "And why did you not marry the young lady?" cried iho Countess, pointing her large black dim old eyes upon maZrV r^ '"^^'^l - "« • ''^ ■' - Why did not you smnr^''*' * ■"'* ^''''^''"^ ^'''' I'owrvc . ;• ,ai-J I, forcing a "True, true — very good indeed, sh^'s woo'd and hummed a bar or two of the air. ^ thnt'^i'l f^^f "'/''"'* *!•'" ^'"*'"'''^^ *^ ^«™'n '" * ^^'^ "^"'^*^^' "^^ ^"end _ foJl ~ "vo^i^fl' -^'^ •''■' '" *^"'" ^'^P^^ *h^ other old ^001 you know, you were always so tall - Do voi, hp I ^" Mortified and disappointed, as I might well be, I could rpl- I •'''"""^ "/ *'^® ''^"^^ ^i*h ^J"cJi Mr Spreule received my narrative. He insisted on my accompanying him to his favourite haunt, where some of his broierf of the scalpel were, he said, to dine that day in honour Of one of their number, who, having just received his diploma, was to set off next morning for his native country, Ireland. I knew very well that the socX wa. not likely to be of the most courtly order • but o1"y !"' it ^"^-^-^ ^^ - ' of specimen' dLn^ H fT""' ^^^'' ^ "^"^* own, not over much disposed to be scrupulous on this score : and I may also confess, since I am about it, that I had some dread of a solitary evening. To the sign of the Hen-coop, therefore, we repaired ; and m company with some dozen rough ranting careless blades, I did my best to forget for a while the wounds, not of my vanity and my pride merely, but of my heart and my conscience. A merry crew they were and as motley as merry : - three Scotch, if I re- member rightly, and as many Irish -a Yorksl.ireman, M 'wf ^^' "^ ^^"t«''n^a". a Dane, a Yanky, a Jew, and a Mulatto : -stout, well-bearded lads, most of them - audacious whiskers of every dye -oaths and » ''"dXd; fStonco out „f tT '" >;"' ""^ """« "ko a steady whoje ,,a„„et w„u':r b: ,;; s„tt " ^"^ '^"''^"' "•« stream 1 1^''' f ""«"" ""''<»" ''o^itation i„t„ the f |.?l ^t "*'" «*"nrao.-, and was deli?l,tcd to find keJTj> "''''' '"yr"'J"""'"' »'*» «""• wen and we mrts'Lf b "'"'■'"'''' ""'" ""'" I "'"'k we wek three! tiiat w e should do very well vet •.« t.„„<, , r 4i *' seemed to have fiken thLf !' ' "'" Poasants stunned "; "•■'"«■> 'f water -when I was totally abonM^r ^''^ ''''''' ''* ^'•^"^ discussion going on tUe,»ramoun?SoV:ora:o:.t:!;°"'™'''°'''''»« Ky stumor, however, was dispersed onee more by a ii ■" ,'■ if II; ; '■'-■ ■ ; i '.»,ii> « 252 THE HISTCmv OF MATTHEW WALD. bumper of brandy for.e « ^ How long I slept I do not exactly know ; but I lay still for a long time after I was awake, ere I thought of f^eblef """"yf^'l-'^ «"«h a degree had I been en- feebled - and so true (applied as it ought to be in the case of hanged and dro w ned men) is the poet's ' ' Facilis descensus . er-* — Sed revocare," &c. However, I at last lifted aside my bed-curtains, and was aware," as the ballads have it, of an old man of the most venerable aspect, with long hair as white as snow hanging upon his shoulders, sitting with a book in his hand by the half-opened window.^ He heard the rustling of the curtains, rose, and asked me in a voice of silvery sweetness, how I felt myself. But, before I could answer, he said, " Nay, nay, I was wrong to bid you speak- 1 feel that you are doing well - there is a fine moisture on your hand -your are cool now, my dear. brdone » ^^""^ ™^°' ^"^ ^® ^^^^ ^^® ^^^* ^^ *" He glided out of the room, and returned in a little fi I CHAPTER XII. 253 while with an old woman, who carried on a salver some white-wine whey, and a bit of toast. They conversed in low whispers, and shook their heads at me when I offered to speak. I was so faint, that it was no great hardship to obey. I drank the whey, eat a mouthful or two, and then the female arranged the bed-clothes a little for me. and they both left me -but not until the old gentleman had shewn me that a bell-cord was fastened to the end of the pillow-slip, and whispered in my ear, with a placid and benignant smile, « Good night -you will be your- self to-morrow - Blessed be the mercy that has saved CHAPTER XIII. The old woman-servant was the first person who came to my bedside in the morning, and from her Ilearned, that I was in the house of Mr Meikle, the minister of Kynnemond; who, being roused by the tumult in his village, had gone out into his garden, and saw me sink m the river, which ran close beneath its hedge. The m m'^ ^^^ ""^^ "^""^^ watched my recovery, but saved Perceiving how much I was recruited, the ancient nandmaiden did not resist my proposals about rising immediately, but fetched me clean linen of her master's • and I was soon up and dressed. I found myself a ghastly figure, to be surej but I felt the vis rmovatrix tairly at work within, and was anxious, as well I miffht be to express my sense of the kindness 1 had met with and also to trespass as little farther as might be possible upon the hospitality of this benevolent stranger Before leaving my room, however, I made another discovery - a woful discovery it was. In short, John my pocket-book -the pocket-book that contained tU bank-note — was amissing! My purse with the five guineas was safe on the dressing-table ; but I rumma<^ed |;.# i lit' 1*' If, ■:: If. ' ■ In I( I ^'1 ili 'I 2/54 mmi THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. bed and bed-clothes, ainl coat, waistcoat, and breef^.«s, nU m vain for my poor pf)cket-book. I rememberui wi;tj despair that it had been in my coat-pocket ; while, npou the true principle of penny wisdom, the pnrse with the com had occupied one within the breast of my waist oat. Some chance, however, there might yet be; mv kind host might have discovered my treasure, aa 1 thought proper to secure it for me until 1 was able to get up. I rung my bell, therefore, in a tremor of anxiety; ;ind, l.-hold the good old man himself cnme into tiie r .om, leauin^^ rn^his hand a beautiful little boy, of perhap. thae yearc- "Ah! sard he, *'and so you're fairlv on your le'^s agami-aTMl kre's my 'ittle Tommy- he would nSt be contented M^ess 1 brought him with me to see 'the drowned m,T. ;' for that's Tommy's word for >ou,my dear sfr ; and, indeed, there's none of us can prefond to have the light one—" " Oh ! sir," said I, "before I answer any thing, let me know if you have my pocket-book." The old man saw at once how much I was agitatfd • and the glance he threw upon me confirmed, ere he opened his mouth, all m> ^ars. " Alas ! not so — there was no pocket-book about you, sir. 1 trust the loss is not great." I shook my head, and answered, «'Tis no matter." Alas ! alas !» said he, « I fear it must be much mat- ter, bpeak, my young man — 'et me know what you nave lost — let me know who you are." I can't help wondering, John, when I recall that moment, that I should have been able to command so much coolness. I sat down beside the old gentleman, and to.d him ma few sentences, that my name was warn — that I had, by an unfortunate accident, been led to accompany some medical students on the expediti.n the result of which he knew ; but that I was not it- ' ]f m anyway connected either with their professi^ ■ their pursuits — thn* I was an unfortunate v^-ng n •*- and, in a word * ' " * ** ' -J - -" except these five guiiv ny end wi;?). bile, upon ! with the waistcoat, kind host lit proper I ning I, Ivhold, 5, Jeauirig ree years p'our legs ould not ' iee ' tlio yon, my retend to J, kt me gitated ; , ere he Dut you, tei'." eh mat- liat you all that land so tleman, me was )een led jditioD, TX ^ If si^ c.r ^ i'-iM ; » my CHAPTER Xlir. 255 purse, I had lost in that pocket-book all the money I was worth m the world. It would have been no great wonder, surely, if Mr Meikle had listened to me with some distrust ; but such was not the case. I saw the kindness, the simplicity of his heart, in every look he f^T^-''?? "''• ^^ '^""^^^'l '''y ^^^^> --^"d left me l7ZtT^'\.^'"' ^'^'''' ''^'^ ^'^ '^'^' ^^' i»q^iring npthi A^'^^^,""''' ^"^ ^'•^-^'"^ *^»^ "^^r- I^onfess neither of these plans appeared to me to promise much ; but I allowed Mr Meikle to do as he pleased, and in the mean ime continued to use all my efforts in calming and collecting my own spirits. wli^ 7^"*''^ Minister remained from home till sunset; but he had exerted himself to no purpose. Not a trace theTjJM- T^ ^^^ ^''" ^^^"^- He communicated latP nnn ^^'"'u ^\T "^'^^ ^ ^^'^ ^^ ^^0 most disconso- bodilv Jr;; '' ^" \^'^'^ '^'"^"^ entertained no hopes : and bodily weakness had so much deepened the settled melan- choly of my spirits, that, strange as it may seem to you, Ihac during a great part of the day, regarded this loss ZZ ,V'^.?''?^'''^^y unworthy of occupying my tmte'd to -r \! '"^^ V" ™^^^^^' '^'' money, if 1 had trusted to It, would soon have failed, and at the distance Imu.fT'"'"^ ''.^'' ^* *'^" "*"^^*' ^f ^ J'^' <^r so, mtdr;^ ^ff^^^r"^ ^^"^^^^^ within : and pre- pared to think any mode of life sufficiently good for me m winch I could earn food and raiment, lik'e an honit man, by my own exertion. The old gentleman treated me in such a fatherly man- ovpV^wT ;,',''" ^ere sitting together, and talking over what had happened in the evening, I felt it gave me relief to open my heart to him ; and I fairly told him a most all the events of my life. He listened to me with tenderness and gravity ; and cheered me with a thousand hopeful suggestions. The faults I had com- mitted he said, appeared to have been sincerely repented I had learned something of the world, and, above all of myself; and surely, if I were disposed to submit to my |;pj^n. !l^. i S m miSdif 250 TUE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. i| m !' fortune, and to make the best of it in a jjutient and un- repining spirit, there could be no fear but that I might find the means of completing my education, and settling myself in some respectable profession in due time. " You were born a gentleman," he said, " and brought up in a way that must, no doubt, make it more difficult for you to encounter the rough blasts of the world ; but this will soon wear off. You are young, and you will soon be strong again. Despondency is not for your years. The world is all before you yet ; and, whatever you may think, you have already got over the time of life when poverty is most formidable — you are a man. " Ay," he continued, " how often did my poor mother say when I was a lad, that virtue and a trade were the best portion. for bairns ! — You were born and bred in a hall-house, Mr Wald, and I in a cot-house ; but, for all that, my young man, flesh and blood are the same : and ill-ofF as you think yourself, you will never have harder things to come through than I had. — " My father," he said, " was a poor man — a common working wright in a little village not far from Glasgow. My mother and he pinched themselves blue to give me my education. I went to College when I was about fif- teen years old, and they sent me in cheese and vegetables, even oatmeal to make my porridge, every week by the carrier. I did not taste butcher-meat three times I be- lieve in the first three years I was a student. But then I began to do something for myself — I got a little pri- vate teaching ; and, by degrees, ceased to be a burden on the old people. Step by step I wrought on, till I became tutor in a gentleman's family. Then I was licensed ; and I remained a preacher for twenty years — sometimes living in a family, — sometimes teaching from house to house — and latterly I had a school of my own in Glas- gow. I was forty years old and upwards ere I got the kirk, Mr Wald ; and my dear parents never lived to see mo in it. I married — 1 had a wife, and I had a son." — Little Tommy had been playing about the room all this while. The old man now called the child to him. b ij ! CHAPTER XIll. 267 and took him on his knee ; and I saw, as he stooped to kiss him, a tear or two steal slowly down the furrows of his cheek. "I am now alone in the world, Mr Wald — almost alone, as you see." The servant came in to take the little follow to bed ; and the venerable man gave him his blessing, in a very passionate manner, ere he put him into her arms. I could not but observe with sorrow, that the child's loveliness was of an extremely delicate order; and thought I could see something like the fixed expectation of evil in the old man's gaze of affection. He sat silent for some minutes after the child had been taken away, and then said, fixing his eyes upon me, " You have seen, young man, the frail offspring of frailty. That poor child will never see man's years ! Alas! ought you I not to wish that his father never had ? — Oh ! sir, cannot know what it is to have a father's heart. My only son has bequeathed mo no relic but one of guilty love — a poor, feeble, little memorial of guilt — I would fain persuade myself that I may say, of repented guilt."— The old man groaned aloud, and paused again for several minutes ere he proceeded. — " The story may do you good, young man — you shall hear it. " My boy was educated for the Church : he pleased all his teachers at the University, and he pleased us all here at home. He had been licensed to preach, and came — it is now four years ago — to spend the summer here with me ; expecting, through some friends we had, to obtain his appointment as my Helper and Successor in my charge. But his mother's disease had been ripening in him : he became suddenly quite another creature — drooped from day to day ; and the doctors declared that we must needs part. There was no hope for Thomas, but in a change of climate. " We i)artcd. He went to Devonshire, and remained there foj some months; but all would not do. He came slowly home ap. i ; and he came only to die. He expired the very d^; a.ter his arrival ; and, woe is me I 'fill I iii \Wm* 258 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. I was not with h' had done, she was sae visibly in the very daftness and hght-headedness of youth. Oh, how she sang, and played, and galloped about on the wildest horses in the stable, as fearlessly as if she had been a man ! The house was full of fun and glee ; and Sir Claud and she were both so young and so comely, that it was enough to break ane's very heart to behold their thoughtlessness, bhe was aye sitting on hU knee, wi' her arm about his neck — and weeks and months this love and merriment lasted. The poor body had no airs wi' her — she was just as humble in her speech to the like of us, as if she bad been a cottar's lassie. I believe there was not one of us that could help liking her, for a' her faults. She was a glaikit creature ; but gentle, and tender-hearted as a perfect lamb : and sae bonny ! — I never set eves upon her match. She was drcst just as you see her' there — never any other colour but black for her gown • and it was commonly satin, like that ane, and aye made in that same fashion ; and a' that pearling about her bosom, and that great gowden chain stuck full of precious rubies and diamonds. She never put powder on her head neither ; oh, proud proud was she of her hair ! I've often known her comb and comb at it for an hour on end ; and, when It was out of the buckle, the bonny black curls fell as low as her knee. You never saw such a head of hair since ye^were born. ^ She was daughter to a rich auld Jev/ in Flanders, and mn awa' frae the house wi' Sir I • 1: li b i ! ,P immi mn 270 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. " sS'ch, f" \T''"T'">'> *>»• and she went on :_ »a,r than a fortnight a,„„, LvingTho™ ^^Xs"" «„H ?, "'\T''* '=^P««"'«1 body about the house now '™°J"5'' T!'" P"" youngthing was quite changed now. Often and often did she greet herself blifd ament.ng to me about Sir Claud's no mar rin. her foi she said she did not take meiklo thought about k!! things afore ; but that now she had a bafrn to S^n ri ^ town^"\nd wi'?'' ^T'' ^""^ ^''"^" ^^' CJ'-^nd into the him if he rl^ n^, "'! i^ ^"'^^^ ^^ery penny he had past h m^plf A V P''* •^°'''" ''^'^^^' ^nd marry a lady like CoIoLrVnf ft went aw-ay to the north wi' the v^uionei, and the marriage between him or.^ t / Jn .ana was agreed upon, fnd eveTrtw'" settled '^' ablufl'ft-"'^"'™* "-^ '■""^^ ■^^d hefrd m fr'orless anast Sir n "Vk'' " r''' "^ '* «™« ^er length 5 at last Sir Claud himself writes a lon^ lette- '-"'— hi lu CHAPTER XIV. a' what was to be ; and and send our John 271 offering . y\c her a heap o' siller, ower the sea wi' her, to see her safe liked ^'V'i'r::J'":?!' ■■•"".""» I'? ''P"i^'P^^ ^^ '-^"^ <>•• t-^ things niair that I have no seen mysell this gay while " bhe always wore a bunch of keys at her girdle • and w,th one of these grasped in her fi'ngers, and\er lamp "„' the other hand, Mammy silently led me, by many wi?,i? ing passages, to a part of the house wliere I had never before been She unlocked a door, and stalked before me mto a chamber, which had a close heavy smell, as if L^eJoLT '"'^ ^'^ " ^*^"^ '^'' The curtains of her Lt r'"' ""^ ^"'*^'' ^^''^^^™5^ ^ook another her keys, and, openmg a cabinet in one corner, drew kce ^ « Th '^*"' f ''■"'. ^"^ * ^""^'^ *^^ ^^ded yellow iace. This was her am chamber, Mr Waldie" she ^'hispered ; « it's been keepit lockit up aye sinsyne and 1 have aye had the key. That 's the Perling I was speak ing about. Look round, and say whether this looks like KanSms - ^^- '''' ''''' ^ '"' ^^ '^ -^' ^^ ^- "Oh! that bed, that bed !" says Mammy, drawing the curtams open at the bottom -« Little did she hink ance that I was to stretch her on that verv bed » " I'oor Sir Claud !" said I, involuntarily. s s ■CM 11 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. /- :a ^ |9 1.0 I.I 11.25 " 1^ 12.2 2.0 1^ i^ 1^ Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 1 V iV •1>^ ^^ t/u mmi 274 THE HISTORY OP MATTHEW WALD. « Ay, ay," said Mammy ; « Folks say there 's naething dries sae soon as a tear, and ifc's true maybe ; but for a' that, I believe ye may weel say, Poor Sir Claud! " Do ye ken," said she, whispering very low, and look- ing me steadfastly in the face— "do yo ken what the country clatter is about Sir Claud *s aye gaun out by the back-door?" "Why, Mammy," said I, "you are surely forgetting yourself — he has never been over the threshold since I cam to the house." " Ay, ay," said she, " I was forgetting ; but, between ourselves, there 's many aone believes that Sir Claud saw Perling Joan ae star-light night at the end of the shrub- bery. John Baird never said the word ; but I 'm far wrang, if oi^r John did not carry that to his grave wi' him." CHAPTER XV. I CANNOT affect to deny that I regarded Miss Joanne with a deeper interest from the date of my hearing Mammy Baird's sad story. The absence of Lady Juliana and her daughters was protracted considerably beyond what had been expected ; and, the baronet being con- fined to his room, the trio were almost continually together. One day we had been walking as usual together, and Miss Blamyre had led us, as was not unusual, to a seat in a remote part of the grounds, from which we had a delightful view of the village. The governess had been rather sentimental upon the situation of the parsonage, and dropt several hints, which, by this time, I really could not misunderstand, about the age of the incumbent, and the fine provision which Sir Claud would, at some not very distant period, have it in his power to bestow upon some deserving young man, in whose fortunes he might happen to take an interest. Miss Joanne also had CHAPTER XV. 275 been unusually pensive ; and the day bein Jhom. ^ bv Sir, T "™ ''"^'' ""= fi'^' bell had rang, and Hkratifi^rhur" '''«''«'-™- — d Jr J?^ ^ '^'"'^ - ^°^^"§^ *'^^ first, a lady, a young and graceful lady, arrayed in the deepest sihli ru^ was darkish ; but {he figure, the g'ait he pro^ll^ uZ them all distinctly- With slow and stately stenT he^WbLyr ^'f 1^ ^^- passedte'dot?!: inn Zo . '" ^''**'^ ^^^r *^^« threshold. I was owed" and TthTr^ ^7"' ^^'^'"^ ^-^ *»^'t 7o - bf Hhai^ r ^*/'^. ^^"^P^"^ -" ^ td btenX^gec by a Cham I would have bounded up the staircase bu the servan s were all arranged in the blazing hiu Id crept, I stole into the dining-room. My eye glanced once Tf tie t/ble on tt ? "^/'^ "^^''^^ '"^ ^* *he botton But I was completely in a dream. The lights, the .!:' 41; li; f Hll li I,: ■■; * n mmt 276 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. crowd, the buzz — they found me, and they left me alone. If I eat and drank, I was no more aware of what I was doing than the silver or glass before me. There was a ringing in my ears— a dizziness on my brain. I knew not whether I had lived an hour or a minute, when my neighbours rose, and I perceived that the ladies were about to withdraw. Instinctively I kept my face to the table, and fixed my eyes on the opposite wall — the side of the room along which she was not to pass. I was fixed — I was a statue ; and yet I trembled to the bone to think, that perhaps the skirt of her garment might be rubbing the back of my chair - even of my coat. She had happened to take the other way: she appeared right before my eyes — I had not power to^avert them. On she came — she caught my dead gaze full ; and I saw a sudden tremor agitate every fibre in her glorious frame. She opened her lips, and instantly compressed them again as if they had been frozen. It was the work of a moment — less than a moment. She walked on : the door was closed upon the last of them. I had met those eyes once more — who could ever read their hazel depths?— It was Katharine — the same Katharine — the same unapproachable, inef- fable loveliness ; — and j >w changed in aspect and in bearing! What cold so. . .e sorrow was this that had seated itself upon the world's throne of beauty? whence that vestal gloom— that more than matron gravity — that solemn, melancholy, dreary majesty ? Had I seen her before sho saw me, or only when she was seeing me ? — had I seen or had I fancied ? And why that sable garb — that attire of deepest mourning? Burn, dull sleepy brain ! throbj throb once more, thou crushed and trampled, but still living heart ! Is Lascelyne dead — is the traitor below the sod — are the worms feeding upon his beauty — is Katharine a widow — is she free ? Out upon the thought ! Fool ! slave ! — crawling slave ! where IS the dream of thy youth — the holy virgin dream ? Had the poor tutor remained in the room after the ladies were gone, it might have excited some notice— my CHAPTER XV. 277 immediate disappearance, of course, did not. I was gasping for breath, and I made my way at once to the open air. I stood, I dare say, for half an hour propped against the wall, just beyond the door. It was a dark wmdy night, and the old trees about the house were groaning, and the leaves falling thick about me. Suddenly, two horsemen came cantering close by me. The first reined his horse, and the light from the hall streamed full upon Lascelyne's face. He dismounted, and I could not but hear what he said to his groom. " Tell them," said he, " that your lady will require the carriage immediately after breakfost in the morning. My horses at the same time ; for we have a longish stage to- morrow." " Yes, my lord," said the man : and I saw the one enter the house, and the other take the way towards the stables. I prowled about the woods a while, and then denned myself in my garret : and I need scarcely say that I did not honour the distinguished company with my presence at tb.ir breakftist table next morning. But how acute was my ear ! How distinctly did I hear the carriage-steps slap, and the wheels begin to roll ! CHAPTER XVI. From this time forward, I was haunted by a painful dread that Lord Lascelyne and his wife might some day or other return to Barrmains, and a strong desire of re- moving mjiself beyond the chance of being again exposed to their eyes, in my present situation, began to stir with- in me. That I had, however, some other feelings, which warred, though with fluctuating and uneven power, against this, I certainly cannot conceal from you. The tenor of my life, meantime, held on in its usual stream ; and how, or at least how soon, I might have decided, I cannot tell ; — for fortune cut short my hesitations. il *1' t ■% mtsiii m f ! 278 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. Sir Claud Barr was found dead in his bed one morning; and as soon as the decorous sorrow of Lady Juliana per- mitted her to fix her thoughts upon such matters, it was announced that tho establishment at Barrmains was forthwith to be broken up ; that her Ladyship meant to reside for some years in England ; that tho young Baro- net was to go to Eton school ; that Miss Blamyre was to accompany the family southwards ; and that, my services being no longer requisite, the friends of the family would, without delay, exert themselves in pro- curing for me some other situation of the same kind. I learned also, that it was not understood that Miss Joanne was any longer to form a part of the Lady Juliana Barr's household ; and indeed this intelligence, although it could not but interest, did by no means sur- prise me. That part of the news which most directly concerned myself, was confirmed next day by the factor, who on the instant paid me the arrears that were due to me ; which promptitude I could not but understand as a hint that it was not expected I should protract my stay at the mansion-house. I lost no time, therefore, in packing up the few books and clothes I possessed, and in sending my trunk to my good friend Doctor Dalrymple's, who had, mimediately after Sir Claud's death, invited me in the most cordial manner to make his house my home, until I should have had anopportunity of arranging my future schemes with deliberation. I had not seen the ladies of the family since the day before Sir Claud died ; and I hardly expected to see them ere I departed. But no sooner was it known that my portmanteau had actually been despatched to the village, than I received a message from Lady Juliana, requesting to see me in her dressing-room. I obeved • and found her Ladyship, her two daughters, and Miss Blamyre, plunged, each exactly to the proper depth in the solemnities of grief. A few sentences of most polite solicitude as to my future fortunes were uttered; the four white handkerchiefs were applied once more to their CHAPTER XVI. 279 morning; liana per- 3rs, it was lains was meant to mg Baro- nyro was that, my ds of the s in pro- kind. I hat Miss the Lady clligence, cans sur- loncerned , who on to me ; as a hint T stay at I packing I sending who had, e in the lie, until ly future the day d to see wn that i to the Juliana, obeyed ; nd Miss ^pth, in it polite ed; the ! to their office ; and I bowed my grateful adieu. Tlio two Misses rose from their seats, and the Lady-Mother not only rose, but — for the first and last time, I suppose — she conde- scended to shake a poor tutor by the hand. Miss Blamyre stood still — but I saw what she would have done, and took the will for the deed. Farewell then to Barrmains, said I to myself, as I was quitting her Ladyship's apartments — but no — not until I have seen Mammy — and at least heard of Miss Joanne. I went forthwith in search of Mammy ; and being admitted to her sanctum^ found her seated in her elbow-chair, in her new black gown, bonnet, and red cloak. She had her great horn-headed walking-cane across her knee, and an enormous blue chest stood, doubly, and trebly corded, upon the floor. The canary bird's cage, dismounted from its usual position in the window, appeared enveloped in a pocket-handkerchief on the table ; and the prints of King William, the Pro- digal Son, and Mr John Knox, had deserted the wall, leaving yellow spots and brown outlines as the only memorials of all their splendour. " You too a-flitting. Mammy ?" said I. " This is more than I had been looking for " " It 's nae mair than I had been looking for, though," says Mammy ; « but I thought you had been forgettin' me a'thegither. Ilae you gotten ony inklins o' a new place for yoursell ?" « No, indeed, Mammy ; but it 's not quite so difficult changing places at my time o' day." " I kenna, Mr Waldie, how that may be wi' other folk," says Mammy ; " but for me I 've won ower moiJy things —and that 's ane o' them. I was brought a bairn to the meikle house, Mr Waldie, and it 's an auld, auld wife that I gang frae 't ; but, trowth, for aught I 've seen, the cuddie, wi' its nose to the yearth, is better riding than the hie-flinging horse. I'm just as weel pleased that I have my father's auld chimley-neuk to beik in, now that I 'm failin', and a' about mo failin'. — Ye 've seen the Ladv?" !-! •■:.i f*- ' fS: Hill isfi -l! ^•' It '.It' t§ 280 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. Br i, Jn I ^'""^fj^'^^ ' " ^"^ ^ '•''^^^ seen the young ladies too, except Miss Joanne." ^ Tnrj''rl"''*{ -^"'^ '''' ""'^^^ ^■'^3' ^'y tJ^e Miss, and ca' her Joan, hke her mother afore her, noo- They 've fl, n. ^0 pn.r lassie clean aff, Mr Waldie. G recti ngTorhf father arunae thought for the bairn-that 's tlfe warld's way, Mr Waldie.-But God strikes not wi' Lh lands young man : for to the sea there are havens, a do the mer there are foords ; and when the tree 's b awn down the birds may bigg i„ the bushes." ' « XA ""^.^^y ^ ^''"^"^'^ ^^ M'^s J«^""^ Mammy ?" ye think that as lang as I have a fireside, her father's tT;. ^ rf- ^ ^^^^^^ ™''*^'' s'"«'' tl^an ye wad be like JofnnT 1 .: f ' '' "^r^' ^"^^ ^^*'--^ ' -^ Mi' Joanne has a penny o' her ain too, God be thanked! ha^ beer.'^' '^^; ''", "^'^^^^'^ "^' ' " «''^ ^^e house Sen ?J F:ir""' comfortabler than she would ever have been in Embro or Lunnun either, with them that never cro'^k^d s^^k r ' ~ "^"^ '' ''' ' ''''''''' ^'^'^^ ^- - hJ^T.T^. w *'''^^" ''"" °^'" ^tafFinto her hand-so I she td to do h 7V ^- -*--Pti«g I'cr in sometMng alreadv fnrl ' Ar '^'T'^' " ^''^' "^' ^ '^^ t'^^-^^ ^ists awa' tlS,- ^'' ?!;'' ^"^""^'« things- and this ane and when t ' "'' 1 '^;"''f *" ^""^ ^•' ^">'«e"' '" t''« cart! weretohTrH-^''^^ ^"*'''^"*'^ true, they tauld me ye ve 'I? 11 ^l^-"" ^^y ^" *^^ ^* I^^^tor Dalrymple'sl- bft shSg^i'^' "^ "'' "^ ^^'^^ •^— -^ "- i" our MlmTl''''^''" ""' '' "'"* -'-- ^^^-" I fi»d it, mI7^'T?'?*''''K '"'' '-''" ''^'^^^ y' *'^^ g^t« ^-eel enough, man. ^ It s no be me that will ever even her masl; " Come, Mammy," said I j « you must not lightly the 281 CHAPTER XVI. 2gj us, then, ore ye leave the country side ?" ^ CHAPTER XVII. of 'thTZ™"f S,'"™'' ^r' ^'^''y^Vlo's . reception doi and ' t> /'^'"".^^'•J^ I'-^rge cats, as many very little S ravens and rkZ'' f"?"^""' ""'^^*^^' ^^i- cornpr in ft • ""^ ""^^ '^'i'"^* besides, still left a q" tltf r wirhl""'""""' ""^^O"'' "'•d i^ 'ike to go Huiie as r.ir with him as another's." We rode over to Maldoim accordingly the next morn ng, and were fortunate enough to find%he oirgent^man" n he act of refreshing himself with a hugf Msin of inanv 4 illin n f *''''' "^'''■'' ''^"'' ^^''"ed a fee of as Swi 1^ ' Da Iryniple took advantage of the mo! you It h th?'' T^ ' •''^'^^*"^^'^ ' ^"^'' "«t to botTer tne beef and greens, and at least a bowl of toddy II \'4 rfli r - ' 282 THE HISTORY OF MATTIIKVV WALD. ^er man lie result was, that if I could pass my oxami- ..atiuu w, Inn six months, either at Edinburgh or Glasgow, assistant -It being understood that the night work and the long rides were to fall to my share, and that I should be satished, for the fir.t year of my pi'actice, with boa d and lodging in the house of my principal, and a payment of ten pounds sterling in cash. These terms, I must confess, appcarcl to me not illiberal ; and indeed I may as M-c 1 tell you at once, that I afterwards found consi- derable reason to suspect that I was obliged to Dalrymnle m more ways than I had imagined at the time. ^ T ^T' *!"?' ''''''' ^ ^"° stimulus to my industry ; and I resolved to proceed immediately to Glasgow, (^hich ZIZT T''"f ^ ^f'"''^ *" *''^ ''^''^^^^) and devote myse f heart and soul, to such a course of labour as might enable me to claim, at the appointed time, 'the fulhlment of this highly fortunate engagement. I had but a few pounds, to be sure, but I never despaired of being aWe to light through the winter in some way o other. Neither toil nor privation were very formidable bugbears m those days to my imagination. It was now October, and as the University was to be dplTv Af'"* i""'"f^'^'*'''^'' ^ '''''^^'''^ *« ^t'-^^t without delay. A few days, however, I did remain, that I might set forth with Dalrymple's full advice as to my course of til^'ir^^"' /.?•'?'/""' ^'' ^^"^^""g ««"^« little time. I could not think of going without having called at Mammy Baird's cottage ; and I felt that it would not be quite right to call ere the first bustle of their arrange- ments should be over. * I deferred this visit, therefore, till the last evening of my stay ; when I easily found my way to a lonelv and as ovely a retreat, certainly, as ever sheltered the'infir- mities of age or the sorrows of youth. Fast by the green margin of the noble Ora, and embowered among the fading foliage of his birches, stood the little rustic shieling, for which that gentle child of misfortune had my exami- ir Glasgow, ic to bo bi8 ; work and at I should with board a payment IS, I must )cd I may Hid consi- Dalrymple > stry ; and V, (which nd devote labour, as time, tlie t. I had spaired of le way or )rmidable las to be t without i I might course of ne little called at d not be arrange- ening of lely and lie infir- lie green )ng the 3 rustic line had CHAPTER XVII. 283 left the hall of her fathers. The hill rose precipitous behind, clothed to the loftiest crag with copsewood, from the midst of which, here and there, the red gigantic trunks of the native pine towered up;vards with their broad sable canopies. The wide stream rolling in heavy munnurs close undornoath the branches of the trees, its dark-brown waters gleaming with the gold of the sunset, appeared to cut off the wilderness it embellished from every intrusion of the world. A small skiff lay cliaincd to the bank — and slowly did I urge it, with my single strength, against the deep and steady flow of tho autumnal river. From without, the appearance of the cottage itself was rude, and even desolate ; but within, the habits of another life had already, in the course of but a few days, begun their triumph. I had to stoop ere I could pass tho threshold ; and I trod upon a floor of naked earth. But the exquisite cleanliness that had entered with tho new inhabitants, had of itself robbed poverty of all its mean- ness. Every thing upon the walls shone bright in the blaze of the nicely-trimmed wood fire, and Mammy sat in her elbow-chair at the side of it, a perfect specimen of the majestic repose of extreme, but unbending age. It seemed to me that there was something far more grand about the whole appearance of the old woman, now that I saw her under her owii paternal roof. The bluntness of address and expression, which had before been a sort of oddity t^ r^nuse a circle of tolerant superiors, was now the natural privilege of independence ; though, indeed, I am not sure that tho sense of home, and the instinct of hospitality, had not somewhat softened already tho ex- ternal manifestations of a temper, which no change of circumstances could have essentially altered. I was received with courtesy — even with grace ; and when, a minute or two afterwards, Miss Joanne came into the room, and, modestly saluting me, drew her stool towards Mammy's knee, I really could not help thinking, that, m spite of all the young lady's native elegance of aspect and carriage, a stranger migiit easily have been deceived, ! <. m I'll .1 :'"-c Ml r .-■' ai:i ill P I: •''II' iffii fli' 2W THE HISTORY OF MATTffEW WALD. «nd_^,upp„,ed himself to bo contompl„ti,',g a family I, yon will have no groat diffiailty in beliovinff -m.u iiess, as well as of admirat on. The situ'ifion !» ,. i • i I .w JoamjoBarr wasnevv; and hLl" u'^^J^;^^ not help thinking, was almost as greatly diaZ.] w had been used to treat each othef ke i^^ e Z .n^ fipoll scorned now to hover over us both n~ :SLr thfotr'^^'^^ adrse^ „l:i\h.:;; r I contnvecl to make it bo understood that ? hid cole to toke my farewell ; that I was to leave th ountrTthe tionlT""!; T '^^^"""^' ^'-^^^ "^^ '^- blessing ver^^te tionately and I bowed to Joanne. The poor girl saKl «o hmg, but (m a very low whisper it was)^" 1 S you ^ani ^''' A^'^^r^^, y«" go." She did no put out her hand, and I retired, stammering more good-byes 2t:srr;roZ'.ri?rrt:/e!;^h? Bomething towards mo iuhor l,an" i ran Th' Sin^ agam ind she stooped to give me «,y S!v swidci, ? had loft behind ,„o. 0„r hands touched eS "tt J confusion of my own, I eould not be blind to the blu™, that a shadow was still lingering in the windowland sh u Id tX\ 'r' °^"' °^^ '^-*' '^-' "oti dayl soud indeed return, and that the world, after all, might SrZ^L-""^' '' '°P^-^^' '' tendern;sTand soothing consolation, for me -even for me. No fiery CHAPTER XVII. 285 (il u family 'ing, could awkward- 1 in which »r, I could igt'd. We ds — some Our eyes an a few and I silt At last, d come to untry the 'ery affec- girl said wish you ; out her s. d myself ly name t she had holding skiff in which I other — of some e blush, workings ss in a n again ope had e river, irceived — and > day I , might ess and fiery pulse beat -no maddening ecstasy of passion fluttered jn my bram : - these were strings which had been snant • but a ca m, pensive feeling, was deep upon me. I can' not explain it. No man loves twice, perhaps, in tho same sense of the word. But, although the pine-tree will never sprout again after he has been levelled to the groui.,1, what need hinder plants of humbler stature, vet of softer foliage, to spring from the soil beneath which Ins ponderous roots are mouldering? CHAPTER XVIII. I LEFT my kind friends the Dalrymples, and wa^ soon established at my new University. Having but one season to work there, I was, of course, constrained to fee an extraordinary number of Professors ; and, by the time I had done this, and purchased the books which they severally informed me were necessary, I found my originally slender purse very light indeed in my pocket. As tor surgical instruments, I was entirely spared that expense, being furnished already with a very complete set by Dr Dalrymple's kindiioss. If I was poor, however, I had no objections to living poorly. After attending classes and hospitals from day- break to sunset, I contented myself, young gentleman, with a dinner and supper in one, of bread and milk — or, perhaps, a mess of potatoes, with salt for their only sauce. When you, in shooting or fishing, happen to enter a peasant's cottage, I have no doubt you think the smell of the potato pot is extremely delightful, and con- sider the meal it furnishes almost as a luxury. But you have never tried the thing fairly, as I did. Depend on It, tis worth a trial, notwithstanding. The expe- rience of that winter has not, I assure you, been thrown away upon me. I despised then, and I despise now, the name of luxury. I never worked half so hard, nor lived Half so miserably, and yet, never was my head more clear, my nerves more firmly strung, mv bodilv condition ill fe'. II 1 P'. ,r mA^i 286 1 N -k THE HISTORY OP MATTHEW WALD. more strenuously athletic; -and yet, I had come to this a 1 at once from a mansion and table of the most refined order. True, sir ; but I had come to it also from a man- Si". ""tmsT' ''tr' '-^"^ ''' "- - "^-""° nirehng. This also is what you never have experienced • in that miserable dungeon in the Auld Vennel of Glas- gow, and scrape my kebbock with the feelings of a kin- compared to what I had when I was picking^ and cW i^g among all the made dishes of tlfe soleln table a Barrmains A deal table, a half-broken chair, ami a straw pa let were all the furniture I ha ^° ^ ^ ^^^ired come to this most refined rom a man- 3 a domestic xperionced : biiro board, lel of Glas- :sof a king, and choos- in table at lair, and a it mc ; and But I could md plunge CHAPTER XVIII. 287 ound that, ething. I bssors, and our or two icy which kvas sorae- ould have mxiety to luy possi- ion in my B wealthy his lobby 3at, rum- I nothing ted with n I had a if en pas- I desired .Jr /^ ^''™ *^''""'^' however, to mark ma ceedmg days with the whiic stone; and two unhappy accidents - the first was an accident, and I was accident SrnntT:^ "^^V^'^ other-came successively to XZ^ ir '' "'^ '^"'^^' ''^'^'^'^ '^'> ' ^^y .vlt *1^° ^f «««pg-room, I one day chanced to make a stfiti^iTh ',;" ?J ^"^'-^"^^^ ^'^'^ ^ ^''y filthy s alpel. I thought nothing of the wound at the moment ; rnl T ] u r *r ''^^t^'-^ards, as I was sitting in m^ unhTn r M * V'^^^"^ "^ *''^ ^^'''^ t'^^t alarmed me, anc^ he mt? * f ^'l"'l r^'^^"^ ' ^^^'-^'^ ^•■^^"-l^ P"^t«H I P.1 W 1 "'^''^' ' '°"^^^ "^* ^^' ^'' "'^tant mistake nn^ f u I? '' •• «t"^»cnt whose room adjoined mine, and told him that I know I had poisoned myself, and S 1 J T T'^ ^'"""".^ ^^''^ ''^^'^^ '"^"^ t'-«"^bl«d like a fill; nn.^ "»y thread tied round the root of the finger, and desired him to cut forthwith. He made his incsion bravely; but the moment he saw tlTe blood spout, he grew quite sick, and the knife fell from his fiand. I saw there was nothing for it but to act entirely for myself. He stood by me, and saw me, with horror no doubt, grasp the cord in my teeth, and scrape the 3ono h'T.f *'' 5""- ' ^^"'*^^ '''' -«-^««t it was done ; but this was fortunate, for a neighbouring surgeon came ere the blood would flow again, and my poor S was soon doctored secundum artem. This accident con- fined me for some time to my room ; and, when I was able once more to go out, behold I had new pupils to seek, for my old ones had provided themselves in the interim with skin-whole preceptors. Alfhn^ TiVv'^y '' "^"^ °^ "" "^°'*^ ^^"«"« character; and although I believe you may have heard it in some shape I must be permitted to give my own version. ^ ' T i K '" *'^^ ^^°"^® ^^ '•' poor shoemaker, by name John M«Ewan. He had no fLily but his wifj. wTo! ke himself, was considerably beyond the meridian of lire. The couple were very poor, as their house, and ' t. iWI 288 Ml I THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. every thing about their style of living, shewed ; but a ZZlZ T^ ?' } ^^T^!^ ''^^^ '''?' ."^ difficulty in saying, Were not to be found in the whole city. When I „;.,• . " """ "iiuiuuiLv. w lien 1 was s tt ng in my own httle cell, busy with my books, late at uig It, 1 used to listen with reverence and delight to the psalm which the two old bodies sung, or rather, I should say, croon d together, before they went to bed. Tune there was almost none ; but the low articulate, quiet chaunt had something so impressive and solemnizing about ,t, that I missed not melody. John himself was a hard-working man, and, like most of his trade, had acquired a stooping attitude, and a dark, saffron hue of comp exion. His close-cut greasy black hair suited admirably a set of strong, massive, iron features. His brow was seamed with firm, broad-drawn wrinkles, and ms large grey eyes seemed to gleam, when he deigned to uplift them, with the cold, liaughty independence of virtuous poverty. John was a rigid Cameronian, indeed • and every thing about his manners spoke the world- despising pride of his sect. His wife was a quiet, good body, and seemed to live in perpetual adoration of her stern cobbler. I had the strictest confidence in their probity, and would no more have thought of locking my chest ere I went out, than if I had been under the roof of an apostle. One evening I came home, as usual, from my tutorial trudge, and entered the kitchen, where they commonly S.f!'l T"' '"^ ^T^' '* ^^'' ^''' ^"^ set my candle hghted. Jean ^^vls by herself at the fireside, and I sat down beside her for a minute or two. I heard voices in whi.b T'l '"T^ ""'"^ '""''^y recognized the hoarse grunt which John M'Ewan condescended, on rare occasions, to set forth as the representative of laughter. The old woman told me that the goodman had a friend from the country w.tu him -a farmer, who had come from a distance to sell ewes at the market. Jean, indeed, seemed to take some pride in the acquaintance, enlarging upon the great substance and respectability of the stranger. J was chatting away with her, when we heard mme noise CHAPTER XVIII. 289 0(1 ; but a T in saying, '^licn I was oks, late at §lit to the r, I should cd. Tune ate, quiet lomnizing mself was nide, had iFron hue air suited res. His kles, and eigned to idcnce of I, indeed ; 10 world- liet, good »n of her in their 3king my • the roof ^ tutorial inmonly y candle ind I sat i^oices ill se grunt sions, to The old :rom the from a , seemed ig upon iger. I le noise irom the spcnce as if a table or chair had fallen -but wo thought nothing of this, and talked on. A minute after, John cjime from the rooni, and shutting the door behind Jimi, said, ' I 'in going out for a moment, Jean ; Andrew's had owor muckle of the fleshers' whisky the day, and I maun stap up the close to see after his beast for him - Ye ncodna gang near him till I come back." The cobbler said this, for any thing that I could observe 111 his usual manner ; and, walking across the kitchen, Mcnt down stairs as he had said. But imagine, my Inend, for I cannot describe the feelings with which, some hve niinutes perhaps after he had disappeared, I, chancing to throw my eyes downwards, perceived a dark flood creeping firmly and broadly, inch by inch, across the sanded floor towards the place where I sat. The old woman had her stocking in her hand - 1 called to her without moving, for I was nailed to my chair —« See there ! what is that ?" « Andrew Bell has coupit our water-stoup," said she, rising. * I sprung forwards, and dipt my finger in the stream — Blood, Jean, blood !" The old woman stooped over it, and touched it also • she instantly screamed out, « Blood, ay, blood !" while I rushed on to the door from below which it was oozing, f /"J"^. *'\^*^''^^^H and found it was locked-and spurned It off Its hinges with one kick of my foot. The instant the timber gave way, the black tide rolled out as if a dam had been breaking up, and I heard my feet plash in the abomination as I advanced. What a sight within ! The man was lying all his length on the floor ; his throat absolutely severed to the spine. The whole blood of the body had run out. The table, with a pewter pot or two. and a bottle upon it, stood close beside him, and two chairs, one half-tumbled down and supported against the otJier. I rushed instantly out of the house, and cried out, in a tone that brought the whole neighbourhood about me. They entered the house -Jean had dis- appeared -there was nothing in it but the corpse and the I r !. I. ' ■" ■•? ;i. '; 1 ■•) I >j '■i 1! 1M! .■^*i ^i \M i 290 hi] I i THE HISTOUY OP MATTHEW WALD. blood, wh,ch had already found its way to the outer stiir case, makmg the whole floor one puddle. S\v^,such a clamour of surprise and horror for a little wl?i In flfo.T scarce y heard one word that was sii A^e u'i^thJ neighbourhood had been set in motion -cLn core, hundreds o people were heard rushing fro n e^rV direc- ^jjt ^1 pos.ssion-of n:i^:;if;t:in ^; j'^;^'^ bl'odyTnil^^^^^^^^^^^ a Town's-offieer p^.H/gX inff « 'Tis n rwT ' 1 •/ ^•'^''" '''*'^^' '^♦^••<^ scream- knife ri! Li ™," f'"""' •■""' ^"''•' "I' i^-ny WrotclU wretch n J t/:o";,a4^r." ""*'"' the alarm, and that M'Ewan and hi. Jfl . ^''^'fl^ best and the kindest thing he could do to ZT \ ,1 to place me forthwith wifhJn the w.H .f "^""'''^ ^^ there I should be safe at all vent, am 1 1 1"' ^T^ ' if proper exertions were m dP fh. ""^ "^^^^^^ outer stair- re was such Iiilo, that I bell in tho 3ns, scores, very direc- aiid alarm absolutely ^se]f grap- )inting the 1*0 scream- ing doctor possession. 'It is my I'Ewan is 36 of ten- nurdercr ! )on as the le chains T'Ev;an.» tlio dead ed one of me until is gentle- first gave ere both oing me ad given le people 'uce, the vould be prison ; doubt, ould not Ju beinff id upon CHAPTER XViri. 291 in- J.ii IS situiited 111 the licart of tlic town wlior^ tho four principal streets moot ; „nd the gL"o!hZ°y^tl 1,L' If *i ^, " ~ "'"'0 ••'" '■"•■"^l^J me throu^l, the ^f mono in M^l" " B?" l.avi«g received',, large'sum seen walking to tlie Vennel afterwards, arm in arm JiM^I,,ad^ZeT:tjt-^l^r-rjli: iTin r drti'r„rre r '^ "'^^^ "^^ •^"p'" *» Tliey traced tlie same dark man to Irvine and fo,,-,' that Le had embarked on board of a veidrttuTas . ( ' 'I L4 I' m 292 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. just getting under sail for Ireland. The officers imme- diately hired a small brig, and sailed also. A violent gale arose, and drove them for shelter to the Isle of Arran. They landed, the second night after they had left Irvine, on that bare and desolate shore— they landed, and behold, the shii) they were in pursuit of at the quay. The captain acknowledged at once that a man cor- responding to their description, had been one of his pas- sengers from Irvine — he had gone ashore but an hour ago. They searched— they found M'Ewan striding by him- self close to the sea-beach, amidst the dashing spray — his Bible in his hand. The instant he saw them he said — " You need not tell me your errand — I am he you seek— I am .J'ohn Mc.s ■ for t hi plain reason, that pooplo arc always u, u or ^ It ' a tact, by tlio way, which shews tho utter absuiditv of nlojnngmen to take holy orders at a verv eX eld ;:"'"" Church of K„jl,.„<, ...M •„,;'', "^^ smmm ISSisils can play .„e hypocritreffc ta ;/„° iSrtioT' n'' sir, people cannot wear the m-,./ni ,, ' ^<^ church on sZtil ".l"^' "" "''''■>'"■« W«>rance in a-rowe-ldvlM^V'''"' """'^ ^^f" a"d family -.all the Tyrant if i, ,,' ''T ^V'""^"- ""t » "Me of exempCvivcs not L ""' .""" ' ''"" f"""" ""^ whenU„zri:^tsratfr\r;:::L' vcs about ; for this .1 certain ;Iio room ; surdity of 'ly period l-t\vciity, nowiedgo lie may are ; but think, if place of ic divine ; lawyer, t excep- len, and Persons tierosity, 7 begun, ho ever borough But not 3 of my and few >r. No, 3ome in 7 diver- i to see, I, for is kind is true, ; of his ceived, nee in y "all ttle of 1 most ioctor, e seen ClIAPTRR XIX. 297 many more agreeable matters than these. I have ^secn tho rough cynic of the world sitting up three nights on end at a bod-sido ;_I have seen tho gay, line lady per- tormuig offices from which a menial would have shrunk • -- 1 have scon heirs shed genuine tears. Tho old proverb toils us, that " tho sun melts the snow, and shews the dirt below ;" btit, in spite of fifty adages, 1 believe the roots of real virtue gain strength beneath the frost of adversity. ^ You wonder a little, I perceive, that I have indulged in this digression before saying any thing about a certain romantic cottage by the banks of Ora. Many a time nevertheless, had I found my Avay thither all this Willie, t rom many widely separate points of the horizon did my way homewards to Maldoun lie by that noble stream. Many a cup of tea did I drink in that little lowly cabin, which might now lay claim to tho character ot a very neat and comfortable parlour ; many a comely slice of bread and butter did Mammy dip in her saucer of carvtes for me there ; many a i)otato did she skilfully toast in the ashes of that bright hearth ; not a few qmigJts did she brim from that queer, old, paunchy, Uutch bottle, the unobtrusive tenant of that quiet little aumrie; ay, and many a time had I, ere the summer was over, sat under those old spreading trees, and watched the sun-set die upon that glassy stream with Joanne. Many times had I climbed the wooded hill with her, and, stretched upon tho blooming heather, gazed, or seemed to gaze, on the wide rich valley, river, lake, and hamlet, sleeping in the twilight below. Need I whisper the result ? Long ere the winter came to freeze tho waters of Ora, I believed myself to bo every thing to this gentle soul, and Avould fain have believed, also, that sho was every thing to me. I will not disguise myself- I will conceal nothing from yon. There was always a certain dark, self-reproaching thought that haunted me. A thousand and a thousand times did my lips tremble to utter, «I love you, Joanne ; but it is not that love " A thousand times did I say to myself, « You are deceiv- if!. t 1 J.-I,'.I 1 ililfl P fll ^H 298 THE IIISTOHY OF MATTHKW WA LD, ing this .nil.l angcl.-13ut then, why give pain in tho in«l..t of pleiisiiro^-. why scare thoso gcntio eyes with the -NlK^uro of that soared and blasted bosom? No „o forget id e dminis, a,.d live. ]Jo a man ; rely upon 'your' manhood. Your heart is not exhauste.l.' Let tie gemlo stream wol freely, though the torrent be dried up." I. lovec this meekest of won.e!. ; and I married her as soon as the yenr of n.y probation had expired onlrir'''TT''' "'*'' '"'''''' •^''' ^^-"^'"^I^'>n and 1 uud on ered, enabled mo to carry my wife home to a small but not uncon.fortable house at the end of the Wellg^te o«ard8 tho river. It had been strongly the wish of both Joanne and myself, that our friend Alammy should have one. But Mammy was decidedly against this nl-ui • and we had the satisfaction of seein/a ^ery res^S e young woman, a distant relation, established with her in the cottage ere my wife left it. We were married in tl o presen..e o our venerable friend; and walked b;^! abode: "' ' ^"'^ '^ '^'' ^'"^'"^ ^^^^""'»^' ^^ 0^' ne^ tenf.vl"n* ^^''''^^^ff" ^ savage indeed had I not been con- tented novv. What a difference, after coming from a long and heavy day's work, between repairing o Mr Ronaldson s house, and going kome ! Instead of a dry old p.gtailed oddity of a bachelor, poring over some antiquated newspaper, with his pipe in his nfouth, in t^e chrmney corner, or boring me with eternal quests and busied, --wha a different > n of affair '.v. it, to be M^elcomed at the door o^ n.y cw. House, by that ^entle placid, affectionate creature, who though of no ling buj my reireshment and comfort, - who Jiad niv sHnner! amng for me at the fender, an'd some ni^ lit fe 1^ lltTol r.'T ^^^^^^>V-^ ^^^^y to be serveTu'p? ^ery small one, and the fow Inmdred pounds which '^oanne possessed had been almost all sunk in iheCse CHAPTER XrX. )ain in the I eyes with ? No, no ; ■ upon your t thegentlo (1 up." ric'y, occupied, seeing a variety of peopl..; she was at .ome. and ahnost always alone, working or reading in hor window, or attending to the flowers in her garden. tenor ;riif ""' ^'/^ '"T ^""^'^'•>^' '' '^' "^^''^ "--'«< turn of l,fe ; yot how far was she from any thing like woarymg of ,t, or repining ! I never found her, w hen I upon her face -always tho same quk t cheerfulness, - Ituro"'^^- ! ,''• '"'"^'"^ t^'"<'^^'-"««« ;— -ery look, ev'ery - la' nhapp'yp ""■''" " ^°" aro my husband On Sunday evenings, whenever I was i d particularly engaged with some patient, we used t. tike a stroU together up the nve, , and drink tea with ^. nnmy. The old woman received us with looks of pride a . m1 joy, called happy '"" ''" ""^ ^'■'''"'•^^^ '^'' c.uld now die in the meantime, I was not only constant) employed he exercise of my calling, but making rap ,1 and sen- siblo progress in professional skill. I was fortunate enough to effect cures, that excited consideral o remark all over the neighbourhood, in several cases With which my prnicipal, Ronaldson, had ha,l no concern ; . .d began be called in by not a few respectable famili. s widch had never at any period, employed him as their medical tin ttm 1 "'-o^'ted, about this time, the atheter that still bears my name ; and its ingenuitv an.i useful- ness were remarked upon in terms of deci.led approbation. (I assure you, I was not the writer myself,) n the most authoritative Medical Journal then pibli^lied in eX burgh A man had poisoned his wife in the comitrv and I benig summoned, among the rest of the provincial practitioners, to give my opinion on the circun stan esof he case before the Circuit Court of Justiciary nt hi. - al happened, as it was gener.-llv thought, to throw more 4: Vi'l 300 ^4 K- THE HISTORY OF BIATTHEW WALD. ight on the questionable points than any other doctor onL^""^', evidence before or after me, and was warmly commended accordingly from the bench. ^ Ihese, and some other little occurrences of the same m w ?" ^"^ P'^^,"'" ^^'''' "^"^1 ^ffe«t« o" poor human nature. In a word, my vanity was touched ; and it appeared to me that when the twelvemonth's agreement Lr ofXnrnfir';* '' '^'^ '"™^ '' ^ ™-« ^^^--^1 mvl]f o« .r ""^ ^ '°"''''" ^^ ^h'«^ I »ow regarded myself as the most efficient support, and with the t^^^T"" f ^}^f' ^'' I^onaldson had certainly ee? extrt^lelv lii;r "" ^"*' the partnership, given himself extremely little annoyance. tnWohi* *'"' *""^' i"«t ^vhen my intoxication was in tolerably rapid progress, the Marquis of N , and his tamily, happened, after an absence of several years on the Continent, to come home, and take possession of one of their seats, winch lies about fifteen miles up the river from Maldoun. We had no patients so far off in that particular direction, so that thi^ arrival did not at first rfn^n"^?/"*'!;?'* "' "^^' °""^ ' ^"* "^^3^ l^ad not been a fortnight in the country ere I was sent for -/- not Ronaldson & Waldie-but /, Doctor Waldie, to visit ?he Marchioness, who had had an overturn from her garden- chair, and fractured an arm. J^f TT^' ''^.T'^ *^*^ summons with great readiness; and had the good fortune to perfect her ladyship's cure m the course of a few weeks, in a stylo that gave entire satisfaction. Having slept many nights in the house in the course of my cure, I found myself regarded by all the tamily but especially by my patient, in somewhat the iig t of a friend, ere my attendance came to be dispensed with ; and, on taking my leave, I received a pressing in- vitation to revisit N House, whenever I happened to be near its domain. "l^penea The fee which followed the completion of this job was out of an sight the handsomest that I had happenelto meet with ; and you may believe, that in my then somo- wuai dissatisfied mood, it was with feelings of not the CHAPTER XIX. 301 ler doctor IS warmly the same or human I ; and it greement re liberal regarded with the nly, ever II himself 1 was in , and his years on >n of one the river F in that it at first tiot been / — not visit the garden- adiness; )'s cure, Q entire louse in f all the hat the spensed 5ing in- ppened ob was, ined to I som.e- lot the most entire acquiescence that I saw nine guineas booked to Mr Ronaldson, while one was all that, according to the terms of our contract, fell to the share of him who alone had earned the whole of this splendid honorarium. I took occasion to hint something of my notions to my triend Dr Dalrymple not long afterwards ; and the worthy man, generous in the extreme himself, expressed, unfor- tunately for me, a strong sense of the hard situation in Which I seemed to be placed, labouring for an old bachelor s behoof, who had no near kindred that ho knew of, to come after him, while I, with a young wife, and the probability of a family, was earning, by the labour of my life, nothing but a bare subsistence. The iJoctor had, as I have hinted formerly, some private rights, of which I at this time knew nothing, to speak something of his mind on this subject to Mr Ronaldson; and he did so; and tJie crusty old lad took his interference m so much dudgeon, that from that day I found myself very uncomfortably situated in my intercourse with my partner. To say truth, I believe the message from . ~~ House, with its xonsequences, had rankled deep in his bosom, and he was not sorry to have a pretence given him for shewing something of his sulkiness, with- out incurring the open blame of aggression. His sulkiness, however, when he did shew it, was what my temper was by no means likely to endure. One or two skirmishes paved the way for a serious bout of angry discussion. I spoke little, to be sure, compared with my old gentleman ; but what I did say, was said with quite enough of bitterness. He, on the other hand, reproached me openly with ingratitude, and even went so far as to drop a hint that I had introduced myself to him originally with the settled pr rpose of embracing the first fevourable opportunity to supplant him in the affections of his cus- tomers, and then cut the connection. This was intole- rable. I was rash enough to tell him, that had he fewer white hairs on his scalp, I would have drubbed him where he stood. He absolutely foamed with racr« and I iMf: III ■^ left his room — never to enter it again. Our articles 302 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. although were cancelled a good many weeks inlol'Jt"'" excit^drof course, considerable interest m so small a community. Ronaldson was old and rich and he was hesKles these merits, a member of the Wdt Cldb, which met regularly every night in the year i::tT,,T,T'''V'''' r''''^'' Public-hiuse o the town and the members of this fraternity, includin- J d half-pay captain or two, the chief quidiu n s of"the vost, and two shopkeepers, who had, time out of m nd officiated as the bailies, and a palsied slave-dr ver £ Barbadoes, who, by annual presents of coffee a id r.tafie contrived to make both the male and the fern' l?ma?nat^ colot dTt:.7^' f ^'" q-stionables c. hisinany! coloured establishment -and the writer foi- wonderful to be told, there was but one -all these worthies bein with one accord, to wag their tongues agah me lith cautious virulence, in every cornerlheref a. "omeans 1 d ShMif':;-™^ 'r ' "'"^^ ''^^ «*^-* ^- '- "- at Mr p. '' '^''"^ "^^^""^ ^"t turn up his nose at Mr Ronaldson, now acted a truly Christian nnrt u H upheld his old rival, tooth and nail, or rat ler o sne k more correctly, shrug and snuffle, the mSe o f ht na 1 '^; ', T •" ""/''r ^'" ^'"^^* ^'-^ afan'ab n nation, and his wife, who had been much edified Av^th ofT kiif:V:*r "'r-" ''' ^^'^^^'^-- alsolhfe;^^ with the mmich.7l /" ' ''"'' '^ ^''^'"'''^^ '^^^^ilities iin ino municipal body, in consequence of varion<5 rU« putable points of management, and partfcu a rly ote" cor^flicting claims touching the superintendence of charT Iti r/'"^''"'!;' '^''''' ^'''^ "moreover the midS who, c<^tens panbus, was in the habit of preferrinr^ young married man to an old bachelor with tho^i? exciseman whose head I had niendS T c f^ ^ th h'dTeef "f r' ^"'"■''^' ^'"""^ townsmen, to whom I had been useful on private occasions, and the milirer ^^ho made my wife's wedding-clothes-all and e- ch .) these, openly espoused my sid^ in the cJn ; '^1;:'''^^ CHAPTER XIX. 303 n had yet le interest and rich, the Whist the year, ise of the hiding an ics of the the pro- of mind, vcr, from id ratafie, magnates is many- •onderful 3s began, me, with 10 means tor, who his nose )art, and io speak ', on the : abomi- ed with le ciders )stilities ous dis- y some f chari- lidwife, rring a :lie old le with horn I iliiner, ?ach of '. No wonder that the contest was a hot one ; and almost as little, I take it, that I had the worst of it, so far as the noble city of Maldoun was concerned. In truth, I soon gave up all thoughts of the town ; and even from the country I neither got nor expected much for some time ; for I was scrupulous in revisiting none of my patients there, until the dissolution of our partner- ship had been announced publicly, and Mr Ronaldsoii had had every opportunity of re-cementing his inter- rupted acquaintance with the different families whom he had formerly attended. _ The consequence was, that the old gentleman took a nde round the country, in company with his ancient antagonist, with whom (he now mentioned) ho had formed a partnership, in consequence of that disagreeable temper, and unhandsome behaviour, which had rendered It impossible for him to avail himself in future of my services. Having thus fairly introduced Mr Mackay, Ronaldson left him to contest the rural practice with me, it having been arranged that the senior partner of the new firm should confine his exertions to the town, as he had of late been wont to do ; an arrangement which, in point of fact, the state of his health and strength rendered the reverse of optional. Certain awkward feelings of my own kept me back almost as much as the zeal of this new alliance ; but by degrees many of my friends of the glens deserted the practitioner, (assuredly he was no great witch,) who had thus been, in a manner, forced upon them ; and by the end of that summer I was in possession of a free and in- dependent business, less extensive, indeed, but much better paid than that which I had quitted. During all this time of trouble and vexation, nothing could exceed the composure and sweetness of temper with which my poor Joanne submitted to every thing that happened. Her calm, hopeful, confiding spirit, had a thousand times more real heroism about it, than my cold pride and stubborn scorn could ever equal. The only thing that I took better than she, was a tolerably clever >' 1 ■ J i i- n\{ n'l :>U: *|l \-tll j:I i.i: mtrnt I 304 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. lampoon, in the shape of a song, the production of the schoolmaster. This effusion, in which I was very scurvily treated, was communicated to her ears by the wife of our clergyman ; and Joanne told me of it when I came home, with teai^ of sorrow and indignation in her eye. I saw that the notion of my being made a laughing-stock had almost broken her heart ; but I sung it over to her my- self next day, and my gaiety not only restored her to her equanimity, but robbed the satire, such as it was, of its stmg elsewhere. Spreta exolescmiL CHAPTER XX. It was jupt when I was maintaining this battle with worldly difficulties that the itinerant Methodists of England first made their appearance in our part of the country. My wife had heard these preachers once or twice, and as it appeared to me that she came home rather low- spirited, I endeavoured to discourage her from going near them again ; but she excited my own curiosity by the terms in which she spoke of the eloquence of the person she had listened to ; and one evening, when Mr White- field next came to Maldoun, I determined to accompany her, being desirous of judging for myself as to the man's powers of declamation, and also willing to have some- thing in the shape of distinct knowledge in my possession, in case I should afterwards see fit to oppose Joanne more seriously in her zeal for an entertainment, (such onlv I considered it,) the tendency of which I strongly suspected to be somewhat dangerous. We repaired together, ac- cordingly, to the church-yard one fine summer's evening, and taking our seat on a tombstone, awaited, amidst a multitude, such as I should not have supposed the whole of our valley could have furnished, the forthcoming of the far-famed orator. And an orator indeed he was. I need not describe ion of the y scurvily vife of our Line home, ^e. I saw stock had her my- her to her vas, of its CHAPTER XX. 305 ittle with lodists of irt of the wice, and her low- sing near iy by the le person r White- 30inpany ho man's ve some- )S£ession, ine more h only I uspected ther, ac- evening, amidst a le whole ming of descril)fi him, since you must have read many better descriptions than I could frame ; but I will say what I believe, and that is, that Whitefield was, as an orator, out of all sight superior to any thing my time, or yours either, has witnessed. The fervour, the passion, the storm of en- thusiasm, spoke in every awful, yet melodious vibration of by far the finest human voice I have ever heard. Every note roverborated, clear as a silver trumpet, in the stillness of the evening atmosphere. A glorious sun, slowly descending in a sultry sky, threw a gleam of ethereal crimson over the man and the scene. The im- mense multitude sat, silent as the dead below them, while the hand of a consummate genius swept, as with the mastery of inspiration, every chord of passion. My poor girl sat beside me, her eyes filled sometimes to the brink of tears, with that deep, dreamy, lovely melancholy, which so often bespeaks, in woman's gaze, the habit of preferring the romance of earthly things to their truth — and Avhich reveals also her natural disposition to sigh for an unknown something, better than even the most exquisite of earthly romances can supply : but Joanne's look expressed frequently — as I observed with sorrow and anxiety, in spite of the interest and emotion created for the moment within my own bosom — not that gentle sadness merely, but a dark and almost despairing gloom. I said to myself, as I drew her arm within mine to go home, This man is a prince of orators, but my wife shall hear him no more. I said what I thought most likely to turn Joanne's thoughts the same night; but although she did not enter into any argument with me, I perceived that all I said was useless. There are some points on which it is in^ vain to fight with a woman ; and religion, or any thing that takes the name of religion, is among them. If I had been an idle man, and always at home, perhaps it might have been otherwise ; but I soon suspected that Joanne's long and solitary days must require, now that the first brilliant bloom of things was gone by, somo Qcuupation, or some diversion, to relieve their natural u I'-' i ^'1 \ " 1 ■;.' *l! 1 J 11 il ifm •■■'i 1 Ij H J f 1 am 1 iwrmtf S06 THE HISTORY OP MATTHEW WALD. tednim and acquiesced, or seemed at least to do so, in win ftX "'"w'^ "^'^ ^"^^"'* *^ resist-kd Joanne s new fancies niterfered, at all events, with none of the great diities she had to perform ; and I found mv iome such as it had wont to be, and my welcome too I often sau to myself, Well, 'tis much better thus, than >f my wife had taken to the paltry gaieties v ch occupy so many of her neighbours'in tL fame spher o mvs^lf tW "'" T' ""^ *'"^^ "^^^» I did n«t '^y to myself, that her extreme was at least better than the other one of utter thoughtlessness and worldly-minded! Still however it ,s not to be denied, that from the time Isn^ tT^'^T"'^''^^^'^^^*^"^^^ with this enthu! eased to t Ji '' ?"'*'"* ^^^^^"- *^'"* '^'^ had ceased to be all mine-only mine. Distrusting my own temper, I soon gave up entirely conversing with her on the topics of dispute. But occasional lapses wouM always, under such circumstances, take place; and I ometimes almost suspected, even when le w'ere far- thest from disputation, that she doubted whether her belt! T '^^'^ ^^^'"'*- ^^dest, gentle creature, I for thTs. '''' ''''"' '"''"''''''"' ^^™°'* ^^^^d her the better tbnVf ^ n^'^ch shame to myself, however, in confessing, ind th« '"^ ^"^'^"^ "^^ ^^^^'^ i.ltra:serious mood . nd the impossibility which I had found or imagined of dispersing It, to act on my own mind as a sort of ex use tor fo owing occasionally a course of life even less domes ic than my professional engagement^ rendered abso utely necessary When, by some%xtra exerjfon, 1 myself to be persuaded, that there was no great harm if I stayed where I happened to be; and, being inTigl health, and successful in my business I wfs, on S do so, in •esist — and ed and de- 3 desirable, with none found my Icome too. thus, than iies which 3 sphere of lid not say r than the y-minded- matter.) 1 the time lis enthu- ; slie had y my own h lier on 3S Avould ); and I were far- Bther her views of i that she eature, I he better nfessing, IS mood, igined of f excuse ven less rendered ertion, I suffered harm if in high on the CHAPTER XX. 307 whole, possessed of a flow of spirits at this time that made my company acceptable among the rural lairds of whose hospitality I thus partook. I rode a good hoJse, too and was never indisposed, when I could spare the time for a coursing match ; nay, I occasionally went to tm! r ^T^^""'^^ t^^^^^ off. ••^"^l was tempted to go on. rhis last, to be sure, was far from being a piece of mere miprudence ; since many were the broken heads that I sTnl T. ' P'*'!'' '"^ '""y ""^'""^ ^^ ^ collar-bone to set now and then in short, both I and my horse were HmL r'"- \ "i I^ ^*^^^' ""^^ "^^ lancet-case has some- times furnished the means of absccting a brush. They called me the Game Doctor in the county club, with whom I had frequently the honour of dining My wife took this with her usual tempo?. It some- times cut me to the heart, when I saw her come down in her bed-gown to let me in at three or four o'clock in the morning Once-indeed, only once-I was brought home entirely drunk, and hurt a good deal about the nead also, in consequence of some squabble which had taken place between the party I dined with and a troop of smugglers, who happened not to have the tact to bo on good terms with our host, a leading Justice of the Peace m the county. This gave great affliction to poor Joanne ; and, I confess, she said ?ome things next day that vexed me a good deal. I knew I had been all in the wrong ; but my head had been cut, and my body was all over bruises, and I was in a bad condition for a ecture, even a curtain one, and from the most affec tionate of wives. But you can easily imagine all this sort of thing. Let me get on with my story. My wife was sincerely afflicted about this time by the news of the death of her brother, my late pupil, who was drowned in the Thames, near Eton, while bathing with ^''^\''\ ^'l<^^^m^^om. Joanne had been tenderly attached to Claud, although I can scarcely say so much m regard to the young ladies of that family ; and I also was not without my feelings on this occasion, for, in J! %^ X m Ml! ' 1 m/K&t 308 THE mSTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. truth, tlic little baronet had always appeared, while under my tuition, a most amiable and promising boy. This event was announced to us in a very formal manner from the Lady Juliana ; and we soon afterwards heard that Matilda, now a great heiress, was on the eve of being married to a young captain of the Guards, who had the honour to be nearly connected with her mother's family. I believe both of us would have mourned much more deeply for the youthful Sir Claud, had not other events followed rapidly to distract and occupy all our thoughts. Poor Mammy Baird was struck with the palsy in the course of the same month, and you may be sure my wife and I were in constant attendance at her bed-side, from the moment in which this calamity reached us. At first, the old woman's mind seemed to be almost entirely gone. She sometimes spoke to us by our own names, but much more frequently addressed herself to me, as if I had been the late Sir Claud Barr, and Joanne her unfortunate mother. " Marry her. Sir Claud ; marry her out of hand," she cried once, when we were standing together before her. " Ye think I 'm sleeping, but I see and hear very weel a* that ye 're saying. Marry the bonny lassie, young man. I 'm sure it 's true she says, that ye promised that ; and if ye break your word, Claud Barr, ye '11 maybe find, when ye 're an auld dying body like me, that happier are the hands compassed with irons, than the heart wi' thoughts " The dream floated away ; and, in a few minutes after- wards, she would be quite self-possessed again, apparently unconscious of every thing that she had been saying. Mammy survived the shock several days. The evening on which she died she had been particularly self-possessed, and, among other things, given full directions as to her own funeral. She also desired her cousin, who lived with her, to fetch her bunch of keys, and pointed out one which she told Joanne belonged of right to nobody but her. — "It's the key of the green trunk," said Mammy; " and baith trunk and key should have been sent hame CHAPTER XX. no9 while under boy. This lannor from heard that ve of being ho had the er's family, much more ther events r thoughts, •alsy in the ire my wife I-side, from IS. be almost )y our own 1 herself to md Joanne hand," she before lier. ery weel a' oung man. that; and laybe find, happier are heart wi* lutes after- Eipparently saying, he evening -possessed, s as to her lived with d out one abody but Mammy; sent hame wi* you when you were married, but I thought, just then, the sight of some of the things might bo a pain to you. Ye '11 find a' your mother's bit odds and ends there. I gathered them together when we were to leave the Mains." Mammy, when she found her end to be close at hand, desired the women that were about her to open a par- ticular drawer, and give her the first thing they should see in it. It was a shroud, which she had many years before prepared with her own hands. They gave it her, and, after it was put on, she requested that I should be readmitted. I found her lying in the garment of death, with a stern serenity upon her brow. " Now kiss me," said she, " one and all of you, for I cannot raise my head again." When we had done this, Mammy said, in a distinct and audible voice, — "Leave me now, bairns, — leave me, ,11 of you ; for I 've a lang journey before me, and I would fain set off by my lane. — Leave me, and may God bless you all !" I drew Joanne away, for I understood Mammy's eye. We all withdrew, and watched for a while in the next room. At last the cousin stole in, and came back to us immediately to say that our friend was no more. She was, indeed, our friend. Joanne closed her eyes with reverential fingers ; and the second head that I laid in the grave was Mammy's. CHAPTER XXI. A DAY or two after poor Mammy's burial, the little green trunk, of which she had spoken, was conveyed to our house at Maldoun ; and I took an opportunity of looking over its contents by myself, lest perhaps my wife should meet with something that might unnecessarily give her pain. ! > ^(1 i^l ;'••■ J) -* iiif^ mamt m 310 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. I recognized the moth-eaten dress of dark satin, and the bundle of old yellow lace, which my departed friend had shewn me long before in the forbidden chamber at Barr- nianis ; and a variety of little female ornaments, and shreds and patches of embroidery, lay beside them. Two caskets, one nmch smaller than the other, were at tho bottom of all ; and, after searching in vain for their keys I proceeded to break them both open. In the smaller one I found two miniatures ; the one representing evi- dently the same beautiful form which I had admired in the portrait of the garret, the other Sir Claud Barr in his youth, — totally unlike, certainl)'. my recollection of its origuial, but so much the same uil'i a picture of him in the dmnig-room, that I knew verv well for whom it was meant. These I restored to their case for the present intendmg to-have them put into larger frames, and hung m my wife's bed-room. The larger casket, when I forced its lid, presented to my view a packet sealed with three seals in black >vax but nothing written on its envelope. I broke the seals! and found that the contents were letters ; the letters in shoi% which had passed between Sir Claud Barr and his lovely Flemnig previous to their elopement. My first thought was to destroy them immediately; but, glancing my eye over one, I was so much struck with the natural and touching elegance of the language, that I could not resist the inclination which rose within me, and fairly sat down to peruse the whole at my leisure. They were all in French ; Jind most interesting as well as curious productions certainly they were. I have never read many genuine love-letters, and I doubt very much xv'hether most of them would reward a third person for the trouble of reading them. But here - 1 speak of the poor girl's epistles -there was such an openness of heart such a free, infantine simplicity of expression, such a pride of passion, that I knew not whether my admiration and pity, or my scorn and indignation, were uppermost. One letter, written just before the elopement, was a thing the like of which I have never seen, =^ I had never even CHAPTER XXI. 311 in, and the friend had ^r at Barr- lonts, and nn. Two cro at tho heir keys, c smaller iting cvi- Iniircd in iarr in his ion of its if him in )m it was ) present, ind hung iented to sick ^vax, he seals, Jttors, in and his ^ly first glancing natural )uld not id fairly ', as well 'c never y much •son for c of the f lieart, such a liratioii ermost. a thing ir eveii imagined. Such lamentation, such reproaches, mingled with such floods of tenderness, such intense yet remorse- ful lingering over an intoxication of terror, joy, pride, and tears! Men, after all, ])rohably know but little of what passes in the secret heart of woman ; and how little does woman dare to say, far less to write, that might illuminate them ! But hero was tho heart of a woman, beating, and burning, and trembling, beneath tho bosom of an artless child. No concealment — none whatever; — the victim glorying in the sacrifice in the same breath with which she plorcd herself! — How much tho meanest and the ba.-cst of all selfishness is man's ! The deceiver's letters were written in bad French comparatively speaking, and altogether bore the impress of a totally inferior mind ; yet some of them were not without their bursts of eloquence too. At the beginning, said I to myself, this man meant not to betray her. I read a long letter through ; and found, after a world of verbiage, one line that startled mo, — " Oui, mon ange, oui, je vous le jure ; vous serez, yous etes, mon epo'jse." I knew enough of the law of my country, to be aware of the extreme danger to which tho use of expressions of this sort had often led ; and I could not help passing a sleepless night, revolving a thousand fancies, the most remote shadow of which had never before suggested itself to me. Joanne observed how restless I was, but I re- solved not to give her the annoyance of partaking in an agitation which might, I was sufficiently aware, termi- nate in absolutely nothing. So I kept my thoughts to myself for the present, but spent a great part of next day in conning over the section Marriage, in half a dozen different law-books, which I contrived to borrow among my neighbours. Still I found myself entirely in the dark. I could make no clear sense out of all the con- flicting authorities I saw quoted and requoted, concerning consensus de futuro, consensus de prcesenti, copuhe subse- quentes, consent rebus ipsis et factis, promises in cestu datce, and I know not how much more similar jargon. I recollected, that one of the Judges of the Court of i'i M ffPl immi 312 THE niSTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. Session, witli wlioiii I luid inet sometimes at the county- club, had just come lionio to his seat in our neighbour- hood, and resolved to comnuinicato my scruples to him, rather than to any of the pettifoggers in the country. Accordingly, I mounted my horse, and arrived about noon, with all my papers in my pocket, at that beautiful villa from which tho Lord Thirleton took his title of courtesy. I found his lordship sitting on tho turfen fence of one of his belts of fir, in his usual rural costume of a scratch- wig, a green jacket, Shetland hose, and short black gaiters. A small instrument, ingeniously devised for serving at onco as a walking cane, a hoe, and a weed- grubber, rested against his knee ; and, while reposing a little to recruit his wind, he was indulging himself with a quiet perusUl of a " condescendence and answers," which he had brought with him in his pocket. I waited till, having finished a paragraph, he lifted his eyes from his paper ; aufl then, with as little periphrasis as I could, introduced to him myself and my errand. " Love-letters, lad?" said he, rubbing his hands; "let's see them, let's see them. I like a love-letter from my heart, man— what signifies si)euk\ug-—smelinsanimmu3 omnes." I picked out the two letters which, 1 thought, con- tained the cream of the 'matter, and watched his face yery diligently while he read them. " Od, man," says he, " but that lassie writes wecl. I cannot say that I make every word of the lingo out, but I see the drift.'— Puir thing ! she's been a bit awmorous young body." " The point, my lord," said I, " is to know what the Court would think of that passage ?" — (I pointed out the line of Sir Claud's penmanship, which I have already quoted) — '-You are aware how they lived together afterwards. What, if I may ask, is the law of Scotland as to such matters ?" " Hooly, hooly," quoth the Judge ; " let mo gang ower this again.— Troth, they're queer words those." CHAPTER XXI. 313 10 county ?ighbour- is to liini, country, D(l about beautiful s title of CO of one I scratch- >rt black k'ised for a weed- iposing a ^elf with I," which lifted his [•iplirasis and. 3; "let's 1*0 in my anivimus ht, con- his face kveel. I out, but .'morous hat the out the already ;ogether Icotland ig ower " My dear Lord," said I, " I want to know what the Court would be likely to say to them." His lordship took oft" his spectacles, a;«d restoring thom to their case, rose, hoo in hand, from his seat — "My dear Doctor," quoth lie, laying his hand on my shoulder, " it really surprises me to sec how little the people of this country ken about the affairs that maist nearly concern them." "True, my lord," said I ; " I am very sensible that I am no lawyer. But it is our greatest happiness that we have among us learned persons who arc able to instruct us in these matters when wo have occasion. — Your lordship can easily inform mo what the law of Scot- land " " The law of Scotland !" cried he, interrupting me : "the law of Scotland, Doctor Waldie ! Gudo faith, my worthy friend, it's eneugh to gar a horse laugh to hear you — The law o' Scotland ! I wonder ye 're no speaking about the crown o' Scotland too ; for I 'm sure ye might as weel speir after the anc frae the Bullers o' Buchan, as the other frae their Woolsacks. They might hac gaen on lang eneugh forme, if they had been content wi' their auld impruvements o' ca'ing a ilae a ilea, and a puinding a poinding — but now, tapsal-teiiie's the word — But whccsht, whcesht, — we maun e'en keep a calm sough, my lad." " I am afraid," said I, " your loraship conceives the law to be very unsettled, then, as to these matters V* " The law was settled enough. Doctor Waldie," he replied ; " but what signifies speaking ? I suppose, ere long, we shall be Englified, shoulder and croupe. Isna that a grand law, my man, that let's folk blaw for forty years about the matter of forty merks, if they will, and yet tries a puir devil for his life, :uid hangs him within the three days, ay, and that without giving him leave to have ony body to speak a word for him, either to Judge or Jury ? — My word, they might learn to look nearer hame." His lordship was thumping away at the turf with his III SI I m immi 314 THE hoe all this whil HISTOnv OF MATTHEW WALD seemed taking things in fix general so hotly, that I desp^^red of go to" him f « while tire's I e th el" L"e ,""" '""' "" "■'''^"' """ really thinlc that I ^^Z I rZl^ZUZto Z Z " Me inS^^ r . '; '"/''""' *° ""nk favourably •> tent wiyr4\*™"f/''r?"^;, ?-T"'^ »'™ •'- '=>■'• to incline t»tfi.^»-S ^ ' ' ""'' *'"'' ^ '» S*"" here, o . my* in d L f °'' /"™"""''>' »'■ ""favourably that I e'oS Klnd\h:7 T'.'"'^'"'" ™''' '»»«'■>« ■ue. I only mefnt to Lkyl^ i" ' Ztd",";'? "*'"'™ £a':ir::rybVsi;;:LrdSet-i:':;::,ri^^ bold ret" S' ^'^''P'Vpo" "■- "' «"« moment; I -i"Jo r'''"iiage3, in a lurnip-fiekl not far ? things in liim to fix d said, the io the short ould bo no uito in his 10 oak, and . Do you to bid you 'icd how it Doctor." ably " m I — tak' I'm gaun avourably ' be called sauI and 's hence? ' — young er." t imagine ming any 11 inipar- mistaken may pre- whether the risk my good I they 're -setting. nent ; I inform- her side nquired old that not far CHAPTER XXI. 315 off. I desired that he might be sent for, and the youn^ gentleman obeyed forthwith. ° By the time he joined me, I had sealed up five guineas, under a sheet of paper, and superscribed it " For Michael Thirler, younger of Thirleton, Esq. Advocate." I placed this in his hand, and found that I had at least secured a most patient and attentive, if not a very intelligent lis- tener. In a word, I saw plainly enough, that the young advocate, thus suddenly taken, was no more able to give me an opinion, touching the law of marriage, than to cut a man for the stone — but this did not discourage me. I left my papers with him, saying, that the chief favour he could confer on me, would bo to weigh the matter with the utmost deliberation ere he said one word about it ; and adding, that I should have the honour of calling on bim next day about the same hour, if he had no objec- tions. 1 saw how much this arrangement delighted him, and departed in full confidence that I should soon get value for my gold. Accordingly, when I returned next day, I received from the hands of my young counsellor, a long, formal, and masterly opinion, in which every disputable point of the case was gone into fully, and which concluded Avith a clear and distinct recommendation of my projected action. The old lord came into the room, while I was conning it over, and, stepping up to my ear, whispered, « Ay, ay, ye ken there 's an auld saying, Young lawyers and auld doctors— and maybe half of it may bo true." I nodded in answer to his friendly gesture, and received a cordial invitation to stay and try " whether a puir paper-lord might not hao a drap of tolerable Bourdeaux in his aught." This temptation, however, you may suppose I for once resisted. It was now high time that my wife should be informed of an affair that so nearly interested her. Poor soul ! she heard me to an end without speaking ; took the lawyer's opinion into her hand, and read it once more over; and then threw herself, weeping aloud, upon my bosom. — « I am not a base-born girl," she cried ; 11 m iwmii 1^^' 316 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. "you will, after all, have no reason to be ashamed of your wife!" "Tears," says the proverb, "may be sweeter than manna,"— Surely these were such. CHAPTER XXII. Law-suits, John, are like the conversations of lovers not very amusing to those not immediately concerned in them. I shall therefore spare you the voluminous his- tory of the action of declarator of marriage, Barr v. Barr ; and content myself with merely mentioning in general^ that, after a prodigious variety of private letters and public pleadings had been interchanged, the lawyers on both sides were satisfied that the point was one of the extremest doubt and difficulty, and mutually recom- mended to their clients the settling of the dispute, if possible, by some compromise out of doors. My temper was sanguine ; and the " savage virtue of the chase," as the poet calls it, was by this time in full excitement within me, so I treated at first this poposition with great coldness. But when I found that I really had it in my power to establish immediately the legitimacy of my wife's birth, (a thing much nearer her heart, I believed then, and I believe now, than any thing besides,) and to enter the same moment into possession of one half of the estate of Barrmains— while, if I persisted in my litiga- tion, there was at least a very considerable chance of our failing entirely, both in regard to the honour we were seeking, and the wealth consequent upon it; — I could not, I say, calmly balance these accounts, without per- ceiving that Joanne's dearest interests required me to accept of the offered compromise. The delight with which she heard me say that I was willing to act in this manner, (for she would nevor give her advice,) was more than I could describe ; the arrangements were soon per- fected ; we were allowed to carry through our declarator without farther opposition ; and the estate was divided shamed of "may be h. of lovers, icerned in inous his- rr V. Barr ; n general, 3tters and Lwyers on >ne of the \y recom- lispute, if [y temper chase," as iccitement tion with ' had it in icy of my [ believed s,) and to alf of the iiy litiga- ice of our we were -I could lout per- !d me to jlit with 3t in this ivas more oon per- eclarator i divided CHAPTER XXII. 317 between the sisters, according to the judgment of three impartial private individuals — Barrmains house falling to the share of Joanne, as the elder of the two. Here, then, was a reverse of fortune with a witness. So long as the afFair was of doubtful termination, I had resolutely stuck by the exercise of my profession, and we had, in no respect whatever, altered our mode of life at Maldoun. The change in our circumstances, therefore, was every way as sudden as complete. We soon took possession of Barrmains, and found our- selves involved in all the tumults of rural congratulation. For several weeks we were never a day alone. Cousins remembered, half remembered, and before unheard of, arrived in troops, to claim Joanne's kindred ; and I, my own name and family being of course well known by this time, Avas embraced, upon terms of perfect equality, to say the least of it, by all those provincial dons, who had previously admitted me to their society on a some- what different foot, and also by many with whom I had previously maintained no intercourse whatever. Joanne, the overlooked, the forgotten Joanne, was hailed as the ornament of the county. Barrmains resounded with the bustle of eternal festivity. Another month was mostly spent in returning the visits of the gentry who had thus honoured us. By this time the winter was setting in, and we retired to Barr- mains, rather wearied of the life we had been leading, and desirous of a little domestic quiet. Wo had arrange- ments to make concerning farms and tenants ; we had also to consider, more carefully than could have been expected at the first, what our establishment ought to be ; and I, for myself, began to feel that I ouglit to pro- vide some plan of useful occupation for a part of my time. For, accustomed as I had been to activity, a very few weeks had been quite sufficient to give mo some glimpses of the danger of enimi. My neighbours were, many of them, excellent fellows ; and in a hunting-field, or over a bottle, I found their company sufficiently palatable ; but there was not among them any one with i ' ■ i ' mmi S18 THE HISTORY OP MATTHEW WALD. voir.! f^T r'' ^' *^'"^^* '* ^'^'^y I «>^«ul^l ever be, voi> particularly intimate. They were squires • and T was one too ; but I felt that I was not thorS; so I was a young man, it is true, but I had lived lon^ enough and m ways sufficiently diversified, to give me a fS ' that the habits of my mind were fixed. ^ Was I happy, then, with this splendid residence this hbml, ,f not splendid fortune, and' this amiable w^fb^! feuiely. If I answer with the least hesitation, you will pronounce the failure to have been the consoquenc o My firm expectation, I confess, had been thit mv wjf^ when removed into a sphere'of life mo^e'd vlfieS with the intercourses of society, and, moreover, neces- sanly bringing with it the obligation of many h S selves beneficent duties, and lastly, (not in m^in^g^^^^^ tion, certainly, leastly,) enabling me to be ^ucTSore her companion than my business as a medical man had hitherto permitted me to be,-I expected assuredly, that placed under hese novel and favourable circumsl;nces Joanne would soon shake off that tinge .f rdS melancholy which had, ever since the Method t preacher Irl , ?.^ ''^T''^'' supposed the retired, and, indeed sohtary habits of our life of poverty, to have bn the ^fJT'?^^ "'^"'"^^- ^^' '''' ^^'^ -hich Joanne mingled m the society that our new fortunes at first drew around us, persuaded me still farther that this honT would not eventually be disappointed; anJl abstan^d from saying any thing on the ^ibject, i i the beli f hit circumsances must always, in such cases, be more wordf a T'' *^/^"-o^J«^- above all, thai'i anyTuch words as J. conceived, were likely to come from me in S^ wmrrV' "'"'^ ' ""^^^^*^«^ ^"* J^tH and 1(1 ever be, 2s; and I Illy so. I g enough, ■ a feeling ence, this e wife ? — you will juence of jment of ^ou alto- tliat my i versified I*, neces- n them- magina- ch more nan had ly, that, stances, 'eligious )reacher and of indeed, 3en the Joanne st drew s hope stained ef that s more ly such me, in le, and ipathy CHAPTER XXII. 319 How grievously was I disappointed as to all this ' Ihese people were nothing slower than others in' pay- mg court, after their own fashion, to the new Lady of Barrmams. With daily increasing uneasiness, I per- ceived what progress their most artful of all flatteries ^as enabling them to make in the establisliment of their mrxr" ui r* ^^'^ *""'^' '^'^'^ ^^^^^^ disposition. But what could I do ; unless, indeed, I had resolved at once to commence a totally new system, and introduce regular controversy to my fire-side? Was not she the rea owner of all this new wealth? Was not this, in truth, her table, her roof, her every thing ? How refuse to receive guests whom she chose to welcome: how object to any expenditure in whicli she chose to indulge 2 My tongue was fettered as to all this. I sat silent, while men, whose conversation I despised, seemed to consider themselves at home, beneath the roof of one whom they styled their sister. I sat silent, while day after day, mamfe^tatiGii of the same growing mania. 1 saw my wife s name blazoned, in a hundred tracts and pamphlets, as the patroness of institutions, the professed intention of which neither I nor any body could deny to be good and fair, while the names of those at the head of them inspired me wi h perpetual distrust, and aversion, and contempt. Ihat period was one in which this endemic raged far and near m our county, to an extent of which your own experience can have furnished you with no notion. The eternal visitations of wandering fanatics, some of them men of strong talents, .and respectable acquirements, the far greater part ignorant, uninformed, wild, raving raecha.iics,--the enormous assemblages of people which the harangues of these p.,.ons never failed fo command, «^e country -the scenes of, literally speaking, mere madness which their enthusiastic and often impious declamations excited, and in which even the most emi- nent of them condescended to triumnh, n,s tho mr. tests of the divinity of the peculiar dogmas which they "enun- 'ft 'A r }■' m M 1' <■! ■ ,i 1 7'f M .! ^m m i." 1 ^MMM 1' ^^^ i^m \)mm% 320 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. i ciated, — those, and the subscriptions for schools, chapels, and I know not what— all to be under the control of tlie apostles of this perilous sect,— all these things spread and flourished in a style of which you can happily form but a slender conception. Whatever circumstances might have originally favoured the growth of this mania in England, I am sure there were none in Scotland that could be drawn into any semblance of apology or palliative. Our people were then, as they are now, well taught, well disposed, devout by habit, and superintended by a simple, zealous, and most laborious priesthood of their own. Yet men, and churchmen too, were not wanting to lend countenance and encouragement to these wild itinerants even there ; and if I had enterc(' into any serious arguments with my wife, I am ashamed lo acknowledge that she might have cited against mo names, so universally, and, indeed, so deservedly venerable, that it must have been no easy matter to convince her, no very pleasant matter even to insinuate, that they were all in the wrong. Almost by way of dernier resort I was meditating a journey to Edinburgh, where T hoped crowds, and bustle, and total novelty, might produce some favourable efl'ect in Joanne's mind, when a new field of interest and occu- pation was suddenly and unexpectedly opened upon my- self. In a word, the Marquis of N called one day at Barrmains, and, requesting a private conversation, in- formed me that his second son, Lord James, (the same who was afterwards Admiral,) had just received his appointment to the command of a frigate, which was likely to be kept, for several years to come, on the Spanish Main — that this rendered it desirable for his lordship to vacate his seat in Parliament for the present — and that he, the Marquis, had, upon considering the state of feel- ing in the country, taken it into his head that I was exactly the man who ought to start for the boroughs. His lordship knew my politics too well to be under any apprehension on that score ; and he therefore said, w ith perfect safety, a great many pretty things, the meaning " ' • . . I CHAPTER XXII. 321 and and of which I thoroughly understood, about the perfect in- dependence, &c. &c. &c. with which I shoukl, if success- ful in the canvass he proposed, come into Parliament. All this was so new, so totally new, that at first I felt somewhat puzzled ; but I was not to give my answer until the next day, and, ere that hour came, I had easily satisfied myself, that a scheme which flattered my vanity, was also, under all the circumstances, the very best and wisest which I could follow. Public business would come to occupy a mind which dreaded stagnation ; and I should carry my wife with me to London, which would be fifty times better for the purpose I had had in view, than the now merely nominal capital of Scotland. Our operations, therefore, (I may say our, for they were at least as much Lord N 's as mine,) were com- menced without delay, after the most approved fashion of all such commencements. That is to say, a clever agent arrived from Edinburgh, and made a tour through the two towns and three villages whose representation was vacant, where he cultivated, very assiduously, Pio- vost. Dean of Guild, Bailie, and Counsellor, preparing the way before the candidate, whose own visitations were shortly to follow. It is not necessary for me to say any thing about what the writer did : — my own personal part was an easier, probably, and a more simple one. I gave dinners and dinner-like suppers to the notables of the several places, made speeches that shook the very walls, sung songs that made periwigs fly, and drank any thing drinkable, from claret to whisky, until my eyes and nose began to look as if I myself had been for years a leading member of some independent municipal corpo- ration. I played whist with the lady-bailies, and lost every rubber ; danced with their daughters, until my wind was half-broken ; slobbered the children, squeezed the hands of the chambermaids, and did every thing that becomes " a most kind, loving, kissing gentleman," (it is Cowper, I think, that so defines a parliamentary candi- date.) I was opposed by an old army contractor, who, upon the peace, had joined the Opposition ; but I soon s. t!' Itf *fl i immt 322 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. i!'lli found that he had no serious intentions of contesting the point with me, being merely employed, according to a good old custom, for the purpose of making us feel and express, as we best might, the more gratitude for that support which we should finally expei-ience. In a word, I was at last elected unanimously M.P. for the five eminently respectable royal burghs of ]\Iuldoun, (or, according to the more authentic spelling of their charter, Maltdown,) Cannygates, Waimiss, Wetcraigs, and Cross- myloof. Joanne was, no doubt, flattered with this new eleva- tion : at all events, she, with much good-humour, con- sented to the ball and supper which I proposed giving at Barrmains to the neighbouring gentry upon the occasion. But even when the fete was in its fullest vigour, I had the mortification to see her retire to a corner with two or three elderly ladies, whose private propensities I well knew to be somewhat in harmony with her own ; and, when standing near their knot in the pauses of the dance, I could not help hearing quite enough to satisfy me, that chalked floors, chandeliers, minuettes, and country-dances, were all alike the subjects of a sorrowful and de-hant-en- has sort of contemplation. I looked at the lean and shrivelled old Grcatur<,s about Joanne, and excused them readily — but she — young, ^ely, beautiful, made to live, in the true sense of the ■ .J,("«2V<3 c'est sentir la me,") — ih&i she should be thus sinking before my eyes into a condition destructive of all sympathy even with ?»e— this, I confess, did give me pain. I determined that these particular spinsters at least should not come into contact with her again for some time ; and hastened my preparations for the journey to London with all possible zeal. I should have mentioned that there was another very good reason for my wishing that this journey, since it was to take place, should take place soon. Joanne was now-, for the first time, supposed to be in a certain inte- resting situation ; and more especially, considering the natural delicacy of her constitution and health, it was obvious tliat such ClIAPTEU XXII. .32.? she had ma.o^rti^^::^' '^ 1-s advisable when We were just about to take leave of Barrmains then nutnber of months, when I received a letter from my nu ^^~7'^^J"^1^ constrained us in some measure to alter our plans. The Marquis, who was at thTtin e at tontion to move southwards thus early in the season wi h tr ^^""1/^- ^'"*^' *^'^^ he'-^a paS"; \m ^'^ ^^ ®*'^ ^ ^cft Scotland. but sendiJ JT"^ *^"' *2 ^'^ *'^^ '^''^ ^ ^^^ "othing for it Dut sending Joanne so far as Edinburgh by herself there to wait until I should join her from the Norl^^ fo^ Is t carrying her with me, her situation, and the tolc of invitattn fn ' 'J^'' ^'f "''" ^'^^ ^^^"^"'•ed with an invitation o spend a week there -a neighbour of ours and an ancient hanger-on of the N family! ' CHAPTER XXIII. A RIDE of rather more than a hundred miles brn,m>i* tM W rd?\*'n-^^' ^"^ -gnificlt^Tht' ims great lords hunting-seat, a new and elegant villa t down m the midst of Alpine mountains, rolrin^^^^^^^^^ Wt'o n n r'^^."' ''''' '^'' ^^^"^«"« tourik-chapel of Loretto could have done after any of its excursions. and m?rtl?^^ .''"'^l" ^"^ ^ ^^""^^ ^^^^^^^^d a large and mirthful party, who had been for some time enjof! Lcfrd hin? "''"' ''*,'' '^'''''' ^" ^" ^*« varieties, onl ftom Pil S'"^' ^^™^"^- ^«P« of the first water iiom Pall Mali were seen seated at table, by the side M 'f k II ^l! ,1 I ■ 4- I I mmi 324 THE lITSTOnV OF MATTHEW WALD. of specimens of tlic aboriginal " Barbarous Folk" of the distiict, whose attempts towards civilized coxcombry re- minded one of a negro in a white neckcloth. And next day, the same fine gentlemen appeared, by the side of the same mountaineers, under circumstances of awkward- ness and absurdity, which, to say the Icp.st of it, might ■well restore the equilibrium between tliem. Though not only a laird, but a member of Parliament, I, from old habit, still had my cases of instruments and medicines in my saddle-bags ; and I promise you the usefulness of these appendages was not very long of being discovered. The Marquis, meanwhile, one of the best shots in Chris- tendom trotted about the heath as if he had been in a paddock, njinding nothing but his sport. Part of that, however, might have consisted in observing the sore scrapes into which some of his guests were always sure to be getting. I, for my part, was quite the Chiron of the set ; my presence being as fatal to the bucks of one species, as it was beneficial to those of another. I was well amused with all this — yet I was anxious to rejoin my wife : and, therefore, rather annoyed to find, that two or three days had passer^ without his lord- ship's honouring me with the conversation which I had been promised. He was so much surrounded with his guests, however, so early astir for the chas? in the morn- ing, and so late at his bottle in the evening, that I really could have had no opportunity of introducing the subject with much likelihood of having it satisfactorily discussed. I was awaiting my fate, therefore, with tolerable patience, when, on the third or fourth day, I overheard at his table some conversation between two gentlemen sitting opposite to me, that not a little quickened my desire to do my errand, and be gone. " And so Lascelyne," said one, " is not to be here after all. Well, I 'm sorry to hear it." « So am I," says the other. " Lascelyne is a princely shot. I would have backed him against the field." " Nay," was the reply, " Lord Lasccl)'no is a good shot, I admit ; but I should never think of comparing him CHAPTEK XXIII. 325 with the Marquis at this sort of work. lie is more your man for the pigeon-box than tlie moors, in my humble opinion." "I don't know that," quoth tlie otlier ; "the same coohiess — tliat, after all, is the chief thing in both cases. Nothing can be more steady than Lascclyne. — But what 's the use of talking, since he's not to conic?" " Hang it !" he answers, " one should have thought he might have been a little calmed by this time of day. I never heard of such an intoxication. — A devilish tine woman, certainly ; but still " "A taking creature, sir! — a world of fascination, I understand." " Yes, yes ; up to all that, I dare say. Well, he'll be here next autumn at all events." " Ay, I think we may say so much. Do you mean to look in upon him as you go southwards ?" "I don't know whether he's at home. — Pray, my lord," says this gentleman, turning to the IVIarquis, " can you tell us where Lord Lascelync is at present ? Some one said, he had left that old chateau of his " " I don't know, really," said the Marquis ; and happen- ing to catch his eye at the moment, I could not help thinking that he spoke in a little confusion. The conversation took another turn ; and not long afterwards we joined the ladies in the drawing-room. Lord N came up to me in the course of the even- ing, and drew mo aside. — " My dear Barr," said he, (for he now generally called me by that name,) " I saw you were rather uneasy when those gentlemen talked of Lascelyne's affair so openly before you ; but the truth is, you must just excuse them ; they don't know any thing of your connection. I'm sure they would have been extremely sorry to say any thing they thought could hurt you, Barr." " Nay nay," said I, " I beg your Lordship's pardon, but I really can't see that any apology of this kind is neces- sary. Why should I care about hearing Lord Lascelyne's name mentioned more than another's ?" ): I ^1, ill i 32G ii THE niSTORY OP MATTnEW WALD. Barr. vou 'n> rlnsn • nn,i «/ , under >) " Come, come, ^ all the circumstances, 'tis the best way.'' ^ *| Close, my Lord ! I really don't understand - No matter, no matter, my good friend. I'm sure I icel very sincerely " I ",^""'|j;^'''^^t'"-'-' your Lordship is vastly serious, in- deed. — What is all this to mo V « Nay, nay, if that's the way you are taking the matter, I beg pardon, indeed. -I had heard, to bo sure," he added 11. rather a .liferent tone, - " I had liear.l of some old Jaw-suit between you." "A mere folly, my Lord Marquess, -a thing I have long wished to forget, I assure you." " But you can't, that's it. Well, well, Barr, we've all of us our points.^ I heartily beg pardon for having broached the disagreeable subject at all ; but, between ourselves, I was really much taken with Lady Lascelyno, ana But I beg pardon, I see you are resolved, — no matter, no matter." I must own, I was something disgusted with all this mumbling ; so I took the opportunity our retirement Happened to have given me of leading the Peer to talk ot the business I had come upon, by mentioning how anxious I was to get on to Edinburgh forthwith He plunged immediately into the theme I had started, and Held me in close confabulation for more than an hour about a bill concerning the Scotch Fisheries, which it was understood, Ministers meant to bring forward early m the session, and the progress of which he wished me to watch with all my attention, he himself, as it seemed not^having it in his power to be in London before As soon as I had made myself master, as I thought, of his Lordship's ideas upon this subject, I considered my affairs at the Lodge as for the present bro ^ght to a happy termmatiou ; and, accordingly, I took my leave ot the family the same evening, and began, at a very early liour next morning, my ride towards the low ips, under 'rn sure I nous, iTi- 10 rn.ittcr, 5iiro," lie il of some ; I have ^vc've all • having between ascelyne, ed, — no 1 all this tircment p to talk ing how ;h. He ted, and m hour, hich, it rd early ihed me seemed, 1 before bought, msidered ?ht to a ly leave a very the low CHATTEIl XXni. 327 To say truth, I had experienced a world of most dia- agreeable sensations during the conversation which I have just been recalling. All the faults and follies of mv boyhood thus treasured up a.ul dwelt upon,evcn by people vvho no one could have supposed would ever have thought It worth whilo to waste three minutes' consideration on any private affairs of a person so totallyout of their sphere. 1 hat most painful of all subjects,_that paltry, miserable Jaw-suit to be thus reniemben.d ! - and any body that did remember it to dream of mentioning it-above all of mentioning it to me! -And the exquisite disgust of having It supposed, that I, forsooth, could not hear Lord Lascelyne's name uttered by a stranger, in a mixed company without suffering uneasiness sufficient to justify a formal apology from such a person as my Lord ^ : flic whole of this was gall to me,— and wh v ? V\ ny simply, beaiuse the fiict was exactly as these idle meddlers seemed to be supposing. I was conscious in my own heart, that I was not able to hear that name without f I* i :i1 mm\ 332 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WAl.D. dition ; and I saw that he was rather surprised with my exhibiting so little concern for my cattl(>, a s])eoics of in- attention, certainly, with which I was f;ir from being chargeable in general. However, on we rode, at our moderated pace, nntil a turning of the road brought us close upon a spot which demanded, not merely a walk, but a halt. In a word, three different roads met very near the extremity of a small, p. very small lake, on the farther bank of which, but still, as it seemed, quite close to us, (for the water was very narro\;,) there appeared some fragments of an ancient Castle, and one or two cottages, propped like bee-hives against the old wall. I began calling out, in hopes of getting some one to direct us as to our road ; and presently forth came a countryman, but so deaf, or so stupid, that I was forced to dismount, and ferry my- self over to his station, in a sort of punt that was lying in the water. Upon reaching the other side, I had no difficulty in making myself understood ; and having received the in- formation I wanted, was about to return to my horses, when the old cottager asked if I would not like to see the Castle, since I was under its walls, adding, that many people came thither for no other purpose. " Its name ?' said I. « Lascelyne Castle, to be sure," says he. « This is the true Auld Place ; but the family left it after it was burnt down in Queen Mary's days, and built in the haugh yonder," By this time we had climbed the stair in one of the towers still extant ; and coming out upon the battlement, I perceived that I was in reality within the park of Lasce- lyne House, which appeared below me at much less dis- tance than I should have supposed — a vista among the trees terminating in one of its fronts. « The Castle," I remarked, " must form a fine feature in the view from those windows." « Ay, indeed, it does that," says my cicerone ; " they with my tiies of in- om beiiig 26, tin til a pot which n !i word, 111 it y of a of which, the water ents of an »pped like tjg out, in our road ; so deaf, or ferry niy- was lying fficulty in :ed the in- tny horses, like to see that many This is the was hurnt the haugh one of the )attlcment, k of Lasce- ch less dis- among the ine feature CHAPTER XXIV. 833 ne " they come often our length when they are at hame in the summer evenings. My Lady was wonderfu' fond of the auld tower." " Where we are now ?" " Ay, I'cre ; we 're on the top of the tower, ye see, sir — this is just where they used to come and take their four- hours sometimes, that summer my Lord was married — but these days are by now." The man was silent ; and not choosing to put any more leading questions, I stood beside him for a few minutes as silent as he. " As I shall answer," cries he, " that 's the new gig ; weel, I had not heard my Lord was come hame." " What ! Lord Lascelyne ?" " Ay, just himsel). I ken the way he sits — ay, that 's just himsell, and Madam wi' him." " W^hat ? who ? — coming this way too ?" Imagine the feelings with which I saw this vehicle drive rapidly up to the walls of the tower — Lascelyne leap from his seat -— and handing down a lady.—" They '11 come up stairs," said L "I'se warrant they're coming up," says the m:in ; " and I maun e'en leave j ou, sir, for J '11 maybe be wanted." He did leave me. I paused, irresolute ; I was consider- ing whether I could not hide myself somewhere amidst the ivy; a thousand schemes and dreams hurried over my brain. I knew not what to do. Behold some one is ascending the stair — I hear once jnore the broken- winded pant of my cicerore and his heavy tread — Thank heaven ! no other step seems to follow. " Well," said I, when he appeared — " you are soon returned." " Ay^, sir," said he, blowing very shortly ; " my Lord said he would wait till ye came down. I thought I would tell you that." I put a trifle into the old lad's hand, and tied my handkerchief high over my chin, as I stalked down the dark and steep ascent. i M ! ^^It mmr 334 THE HISTOHY OF MATTflEW WALD. To my delighted surprise, there was no one at the bottom when I reached it ; and I clambered up to a window, on the side next the- water, in hopes of escap- ing, by choosing that egress, all farther risk of meeting with Lascolyne, who, I concluded, from what the old man said, had remained within his park. But — that every thing might be exactly as was most disagreeable for me — his Lordship had walked round the ruin, and was now standing almost immediately below me, by the brink of the lake, with his back turned, however, upon the window, at the moment when I shewed myself. I say shewtJ ; for although his back was towards me, not so that of his companion. Her eye was full upon me in my awkward position — but that eye was not Katha- rine's. I had no time to make reflections, and let myself down upon the turf. The lady took a glance or two at mo through a glass which she wore suspended around her neck, and turned to Lord Lascelyne, who, however, deigned not to desist from his occupation, which was that of drawing lines on the margin with his walking cane. I hurried to my punt, and shoved off. I was in the middle of the pool ere, throwing a single glance on the shore, I perceived that Lord Lascelyne's eyes were fixed intently upon me. I could not withdraw my glance. We continued eyeing each other, but interchanged no symptoms of recognition. I almost doubted, on reach- ing the side, whether, after all, L lad known me. Many years had passed — my dress was altogether different — nothing could have been farther from his imagination than the possibility of my being there. The lady — who could she be ? Beautiful she was ; boldness was in that bright eye — some haughty high-born dame — sister, or friend. I felt as if I had been rubbing shoulders with humi- liation. What could Lord Lascelyne think of me, if he really did recognize me? — what meanness in me to be visiting his pleasure-grounds, his castles — throwing my- self in his way on his own domain ! And Kf^tharine, had she happened to be with him, what must her feel- CHAPtER XXIV. 335 mgs have been! -how ungentlemanJy, how umninlv my behaviour I If I wished to be onJe more her S' man her friend, why not say so? -why not writ I" her?__why not ride up to hJr door hke^. iLV^But cn^ rn ? ' studying views and ruins, or gratifvin^ some still baser curiosity! In ^^'hatever way T ooked r-^^dZ^ 1 ^^' •l^"'"'^' °^^^^ miserably, and more rapidly too, than any I could remember. CHAPTER XXV. NoTwiTiisTANDiNa the mental uneasinesses of the day or I iTnof ' 'T? '''^' "^^ ^"J°>-^ «- «-- hours. ' """'^ ^''' *^^^" "'"^ uninterrupted In short, I did not awake until about ei^^ht in thp sS"/-":, "\' ^"'^'^ ^"^^ *»^-t I should 1 av been Wo^ '^", ^'^^"*'' "^^^^ I ha • -a. , I ;i mmi 338 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW W XIV. Robin's hat flew off in a moment ; and tlio fiery-faced minion of Themis, understanding wlio I was, shewed no want of ahicrity in following the courteous example. With many flourishes after his ftxshion, this ]iersonage at length informed me, that ho was the bearer of a war- rant of the chief criminal power in Scotland for the instant arrest of my person. You may suppose that this startled me a good deal, though I was not, by this time, without some slight gleam of suspicion as to the general nature of t'le mistake. I, however, put a good face upon the matter. In short, 1 laughed very heartily, and desired a sight of his warrant ; wherewith, after a little hesitation about trusting the paper out of his hand, ho complied. I retired 'a pace or two from the window, and read (you may spare me the trouble of describing with what sort of feelings) two formal documents, engrossed on one foUo sheet of paper ;— the first a " petition and com- plaint," from an Advocate-depute to the Judges of the Court of Justiciary, setting forth, that Matthew Wald Barr of Barrmains, alias Matthew Waldie, had, according to tlie sworn belief of sundry credible persons, set oft' for the northern part of this kingdom, with a fixed intention of p-ovoking the Right Honourable George Lord Lasce- lyne to fight a duel, or to commit some grievous breach of the peace against the person of the said Lord, and to the damage of the King, his Crown, and dignity ; likeas, that the said George Lord Lascelyne was art and part in the design to fight the said duel, or otherwise to commit some grievous breach of the peace against the body of the said Matthew, &c. &c. &c. ; and praying the Court to grant warrant for the immediate arrest of the said per- sons, aye and until they should find caution, iko. ike. &c. to the satisfaction of the said Lords, &c. &c. The second efiiision was, accordingly, the very warrant thus prayed for ; and the Judge who signed it appeared to be no other than my worthy acquaintance, the Lord Thirloton. Exquisitely ridiculous as the whole aftair a])peared in one point of view, and bitterly as I was disposed to resent CHAPTER XXV. 339 It m another, I still had sense enough to perceive, that no good end could be served by my offering any sort of resistance to authority so formally embodied. Instead tHorefore, of entering into any farther discussion witji the messenger I simply told hin., that I saw he had done his duty ; and tliat, as I was going to Edinburgh at any mte. It could give me no sort of annoyance to obey the man- date of which he was tin bearer. The man was evidently quite confounded by the calm- ness with which I had taken the affair, and stammered out a world of such apologies and explanations, as it wns more ikely his imagination should suggest than my cars should listen to. One fact, however, he did connnimi- cate; and this was, that although the warrant had been granted at Edinburgh, the Lord Thirloton was probably at Stirling already, or, at least, would bo so in the course ot the same day, for the purpose of attending the Circuit Court. " So much the better," said I ; " we shall see his Lord- ship thirty miles sooner than we should otherwise have been able to manage." In H word, I ordered breakfast immediately, and took horse with all gaiety so soon as it was over. m ill 'I ., CHAPTER XXVI. It was fine weather when we started ; but the day became overcast about noon, and it rained incessantly the greater part of the evening. In short, we had but an uncomfortable ride, and arrived late at night at Stirling m a very draggie-tailed condition. *' My commander led the way to the inn at which the Judges were accustomed to take up their quarters ; and I found, from the appearance of matters about the porch- way, that the Court had not as yet broken up for tho aay. Hungry-looking jurymen were sauntering up and down, and the landlord was fidgotting about, evidently much distressed about the over-roasting of his mutton. i iMmni 340 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD, This situation of things, liowevor, was in so far favourable, that it gave me an opportunity of changing my dress, and the mcssfnger having talici. his place, with a nipper- kin of brandy before him, at the door of the room, I patiently awaited the arrival of the personage whose mandate, I had no doubt, would instantly restore mo to my liberty. Accordingly, in about half an liour, (it was by this time close upon midnight,) my ears were at length grati- fied with the well-known " Justicc-ayre march," per- formed upon a couple of cracked trumpets in the street below me, and accomntmied with a sufficient buzz of "the Lords!!! — the Lords!!!" and, throwing up my window, I could soon distinguish the principal feature of the advancing procession. His Lordship held in his right hand an umbrella, for the protection of his wig and cocked hat ; and his left being, with equal propriety, occupied in tucking up the skirts of his robe, his short bandy-legs were seen stumping vigorously through the mud — the bailies and trumpeters in advance, on each side a waiter or two with tallow-candles in paper-lan- terns, and the usual rabble in the rear. My messenger had taken care that our arrival should be announced the moment his Lordship came up stairs ; and, in a minute or two, I was summoned to his private apartment, where I found him already stripped of his judicial trappings, and thundering about dinner, with his hands in soap and water. T!io officer staid without, and Thirleton ordered his servant off also, the instant he perceived me. "And what's the upshot, doctor? Eh, man, what 's comeo'tr "Oh, my Lord, there's been some total mistake. I shan't blame your Lordship ; but you 'vc been deceived, played upon, altogether." " Deceived, doctor ! — The deil's i' the man ! was yon no gaun to fight him after all ?" " Nothing farther from my thoughts, Lord Thirleton, I never dreamt of such a thing." CHAPTER XXVI. .141 « Ca' canny now, doctor ; dinna, think to f|uizzify nie, man. — I 'so liaud ye bound owor in five hunu..d nierks —•no a penny less— the law 's'imporative. I canna heij) it, if yo were my father." " You may bind mo over in five thousand pounds if you have a mind, my Lord. I only wish to know where all this nonsense has come from. — Who told you all this cock-and-a-bull stuff?" "Na, -;vfp you're laughing, friend, I believe I maun bclicv • ye.~ God pity mo! what could have put this in the vori.an'.si .'id?" " j.hc svoma. , my Lord?— what woman?" " Wl "-'i.ian, doctor ? Wha but your ain wife, to bo sure. — I'm sure of it, had it no beenlher coming to mo hersell, wi' the drap in her een, I 'm free to say 't, that, gown or no gown, I'm ano of the last that would have liked to interfere in ony sic a job between gentle- men, mair especially when ane o' them was a friend o' mine ain." " My wife come to you ! Good Heavens ! what is all this ? — I 'm made a fool of, my Lord — I 've been jested with — I '11 trace it out somehow." " Trace it out, man? theio'Il bo nae great wark there- away.— But you really did not gang north to ca' out Lord Lascelyno ? Speak truth now, doctor ; nae mair o' your fun." " Fun ? I never was mor:; serious in my life. I have no acquaintance with Lord Lascclyne,— no quarrel with him. — I should as soon have thought of calling out your Lordship." " Hoots, hoots, where are we now ? — Pity my heart ! do you no ken what a' the warld 's been ringing about ? Do you no ken how he 's treated your cousin ?" " My cousin, my Lord ?— If you mean Lady Lascclyne, I have neither seen her nor heard of her for years." "0 dear, dear! here's been a braw rumpus about naething. — Od, man, is't possible that ye really have not heard about Lord Lriscelynf^'s parting wi' his wife, and the French madam, and a' thae dofngs ? — Ye 'vo ■fcSt r mmt 342 TIIK HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. surely been in a dream, or else out o' this warld a'to- gether. — No heard o 'tV " Never, never — not a syllable — at least, not one that I understood." " Ay, ay," said he, " I begin to hae a glimpse o't now. Folk, kenning the connection, hae been blawin' laigh afore you.— Od, man, but this is wonderful !— And what garr'd ye take that auld firebrand Captain Cuthill wi' you ?" « Me take Captain Cuthill with me ! why, I took none of him. He was invited to the Marquis's shooting-party, and we happened to ride together — that's all. — I left him at Lord N- 's." "Bodyo' my saul, but that's a story ! —.Poor lady ! Od, man, your poor wife's had a sair time o't, though. We maun send aff an express to her directly." "Nay, my Lord," said I, "that's my work. I shall set off instantly." " No till ye've ta'on your dinner at ony rate, man. — Ay, and now I think on't, I'll baud you to our bond yet. Od, I '11 hae you down for the five hundred merks." " Five hundred devils !" I cried, losing at lengtli all patience. " Does your Lordship really mean to insult me ? Have I not told you — do I not tell you now, as I am a man and a gentleman, that the whole of this is nonsense — mere impertinence — balderdash ?" " Hooly, hooly — Ye said ye had heard nothing of his treatment o' the lady ; and how do I ken what ye '11 be after, now that ye have heard of it ? I '11 have ye bound -yeneedna say a word. Here, Thomas, (ringing the bell,) he:, ^"'^ away and bring in the clerk o' court. — Ne'er ^ foot sail ye b^'i- till it' s done, my braw man." I ;ook this in high au^geon ; but seeing that he was quit ) beyond my powers o.' arguing, I submitted to the nece ?sity of the case, went through the required cere- mon} and then bowed, retir ng. " Na, na, doctor ; noo that we've gotten our turn done, ye must mt cast up your no le that gate. Od, man ! do you not see ^ ^ursell that I could not help it? The diel CHAPTER XXVI. 343 may care wha kens, I hate these jobs as bitterly as ony poison that ever was brewed — but what could I do? Women greeting, oaths on saul and conscience, a regular petition frao that gomeril of a Depute, (that I should say sae !) that ramstam gomeril. — If I had been in kis place, I can tell you I would have seen them far eneugh or I would have — But what signifies si>eaking, man? it's a' settled now — send ye afF vour man to Edinburgh, and stay to your supper wi' ILe Court. Bless your heart, man, ye little ken me. Did I no pick out the very drunkenest messenger we have? Sure, I thought Davie Macalister would have taigled at every public, and never gotten to the Highlands until ye had a' time to be in France, if yc liket. Cume, come, it's no wi' my will that I meddle wi' gentlemen on these occasions. Troth, man, I wadna be blate if it were sae. I 've maybe dune as ill a deed mysell or now, in the days o' my youth — And, after all, is not she your near kinswoman? And what was the mighty marvel, if folk did think that ye would like to see what his skin was made of? Ye've your ain reasons, nae doubt ; but faith, man, I'se make nae round-abouts wi' you ; I think if I had been as sib to her as you are, I might have been drawn on to take some notice of such behaviour mysell. — Here, rax me the ink- stand ; stay a moment — I '11 write just a line." I stood by him while he scribbled a note. He rung his bell again, and said, ere I could interfere to prevent him — " Here, man and horse directly, and let that be in Edinburgh ere we 're six hours aulder." The servant vanished, and he turned to me agam. " Come away to your dinner now ; your horse is forjaskit at any rate, and sae 's yoursell. He '11 be in Edinburgh lang ere you could be — Come away to your dinner — 1 liear the trumpets." To say truth, I felt so much annoyed and perplexed, that, upon a very little reflection, I was easily satisfied it was quite as well to take matters leisurely. My wife'n behaviour was still inexplicable — the storyof my cousin was still a mystery— a thousand agitating thoughts were mm^ 344 THE HISTOUY OF MATTHEW WALD. about me. I said to myself, I shall at least go coolly to the unravelling of this knot. I obeyed, therefore, the commands of my Lord Thirle- ton, and proceeded in his train to the scene of action. A large party of magistrates, jurymen, advocates, solictors, all the hangers-on of a Scots Circuit Court, dined (or supped) together at a long table ; the Judge at the heail thereof, and the clerk officiating as croupier. An impos- ing scene, certainl)'', if it still linger in all its honours. The two cracked trumpets brayed forth the triumph of every pledge ; and the most fearful culprit, who was to grace the next day's bar, might at least have consoled himself with the assurance that he could not sleep lesa that night than those who were to try him. CHAPTER XXVII. Having no concern with the judicial business, I took my sleep out ; and it was late in the day ere I drew my bridle at the mouth of Lady Stair's close, where Joanne had taken up her abode, in a lodging-house, kept, as I afterwards discovered, by a leading member of the Society for the Conversion of the Chinese. However much I had been annoyed with the absurd incident of yesterday, you may believe that nothing could be farther from my thoughts than seriously to blame my poor wife for the part she had acted. She burst into tears on seeing me, and clung round my neck with infinite passion. It was some time ere I could get her calmed sufficiently to answer in an intelligible manner the questions I natu- rally proposed, touching the mistake into which she had fallen, and the circumstances which had given rise to it. " Oh, Matthew," sobbed she, " what could I do ? Mrs Mather told me she was sure it was so ; and the Principal too, the good worthy Principal, he said he knew your temper, and that nothing would restrain you " CIIAFTEK XXVir. 345 "Mather! Good heavens! Joanne, where, how have you fallen in with these people? You know how I abominate them ?'* " Oh, now, Mathhew, don 't speak that way : I 'm sure you have not a better friend in this world.— I met them both at Lady Carjarg's ; and when they knew who I was, I m sure they spoke as kindly of you,a3 if you had been their own child. He 's an eminent man, the Principal. dear ! to t>..uk of remembering old trifles of that sort, and especially now, when they are in this sore affliction —this grievous distress indeed — and voung Mr Mather too, and the girl — oh, ]-ou have no notion what a state the whole family are in." " The family ! — the farrow ! — Don 't breathe that name again, Joanne, if you love me." "Oh, Matthew, this is a very unchristian temper. Do, my dearest, do but consider hcwr many suns you have let go down upon this wrath." " Come, come, Joanne, you have not eat a bushel of salt with these gentry yet ; I beg you will not mention them. I hato them — is not that enough ?" " Hate ? Oh, what a word is that ? But surely you don't hate your poor cousin too, that they all told mo you were so fond of, when you were children about the house together. Poor woman ! I 'm sure you '11 at least pity her. I never saw her, j^ou know, but once, and that 's a long time ago now ; but from any thing I recollect, I'm sure she is not a creature to be hated. How blr)ck you look, Matthew ! — Oh ! your look dis- tresses—it frightens me to see you. Oh, my dear Matthew, you must strive with this violent temper of yours. My dear, dear Matthew !"— and so she burst into tears again. "I wish, my love," said I, when she had recovered herse f again-" I wish, my dear girl, you would tell me plainly what all this story is. That old crafty lawyer told nothing that was intelligible. Lord Lascelyiio and his wife have parted ? How ? when? why? Tell mo the story as it is." "He has treated her like a beast these two years, i iwmf 346 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. ■^■i Matthew ; but altliougli every body else suspected some- thing of it, she never said a word to any of her own people — She never gave the least hint of it to poor Mrs Mather." " Mather again !— for God's sake, Joanne — -'* "Oh, don't speak such words, Matthew ! — But she bore it all in quietness, you see, till at last he went the length of bringing that woman home to the house." " Woman ! what woman ?" " That bad bad Frenchwoman, Matthew ; a player, an opera-dancer, with a husband of her own too, they say. He brought her to the very house, and made her sit down at his wife's table." "Ana." .jft the brute?" " Ay, br,ute indeed. She went off directly ; that is, in the middle of that very night— she and her child." " And whither ? Where is Katharine ?" " That no one can tell. She has not been heard of yet. Nobody knows any thing ; but most people think she has gone abroad. As for the poor Mathers " " Once more, never say that word again, Joanne. — Katharine has really disappeared V " ' tally— totally. Lord Lascelyne has sent in every direction, iov he was mad at the boy being taken away — but all in vain. Her mother too — but no trace — none whatever." " Poor Katharine !" " Ah ! that 's my own Matthew ! I knew you would feel for your cousin. I knew you could not have the heart to dislike her." *' Dislike her ! Joanne, little do you know me!" " I do know you, Matthew ; I know you better than you do yourself. I always said that I was sure you would feel this most deeply ; and indeed, you know, if it had not been for that, they could never have persuaded me to go to Lord Thirleton's." "Ay, ay — I see how it all is now, Joanne. But stay, are all your things ready? Shall we set off in the morning ?" CHAPTEU XXVII. S47 " To-morrow morning?" «'Yes, why not to-morrow? What have we to do here ?" "There's the annual Anti-popery sermon to-morrow in Lady Yester's. I would fain stay one day, Matthew, if you please. I have never heard the Principal." " Eternally confound the canting scoundrel ! — Come, Joanne, give dir'^ctions to your maid, and I '11 order +he carriage. I can't hear to stay here, after all that has happened. That rascal — rascal — Lascelyne !" "0 my dear Matthew ! let's go by all means ; don't frighten me with those looks of yours — remember who says ' Vengeance is mine.' You must not— you will not — Matthew ! consider that you are not alone in this world." " My dear girl," said I, taking her in my arms, « I was not oven thinking of what you imagine. Let us go to London, though ; I can't bear to be stared at here." " My dearest Matthew, I am your wife, your own wife --I will do any thing you please. —Let us go, since you siy so." CHAPTER XXVIII. ■f ,!" I HAD never been in London before ; so I need not tell you how my first two or three weeks were spent. I made my wife see as immy of the sights as her health could justify, or my persuasion accomplish ; and, after changing our quarters three c. four times, from a hotel to a lodging hou.'-c, back to the hotel again, and so forth, we at last settled down into the quiet tenants o^' a smallish but very comfortable Louse of our own - 1 ot the house in which you have so often visited me, bui in the same street, though of rather a more elegant cha- racter. Here we awaited the meeting of Parliament in rather (; !i mmi 348 THE HISTORY 01 M.Vi'THKW WALD. ■:>: *1*?< a humdrum style of exliiteni;'^ ; for f iiad ftlmost no ac- quaintances, and my wife's w >i']l-spnnnrg iuood was, as you may probably have s-i«pcct»'d long ere )ou reach this page, too deeply eated k'V any excrtionr tiuit I could bend to its eradication. Vhen Parliament met, I, of course, bcoanie involved in a world of purely masculine esiiploymcnt'^.. I was introduced to ministers and men in office ; I w,^s admitted into club? ; I s;,t on committees in the morr.iMg, ;)nd ho;u(l debates 'u\ the evening: I was visited by Scotch aspirants, v.f every shade of the disgusting. Dinners, disputt .=■. Pitt, Ameiica, Franklin, —all the bustle of the day and the hour rung in my ears. My poor wife heard as many sermons, and gave as many tea-drinkings as she had a mind. I really began to fancy myself quite a public <'haracter. The grandest epoch, liowever, was that when the Hon- ourable Member for M ddouu made his maiden speech. This occurred when tI;o before-mentioned Fishery bill was brought forward. I had lived for several years near the coast, I had property on it, had made myself master of the subject, and I really did deliver a very ftiir speech. ~A business-like sensible statement of facts, unhack- neyed arguments, briefly and unflourishingly produced ; — such were my materials, — and the outlandish utter- ance, I believe, did more good than harm ; for its novel barbarity excited good humour at the opening of the affiiir, and that is generally, in such cases, more than half the battle. In short, I did make a very respectable appearance, (for a Scotch Member,) and we carried our bill by a triumphant majority. It would have been as well, in every point of view, if I had continued Single-speech Wald ; but this was not the case. On the contrary, sir, I was so much gratified with my success on that great occasion, that nothing, forsooth, would please n>o, but I must say a few words when, in about a fo- ht after, a question of quite another description, - ^ ablic, political, national ques- tion, — a question al>/ '■ America and England, — came on the carpet. T jt;u lailure 'rv^as the consequence ; the CHAPTER XXVin. 349 House had no notion of listening to my Sawney brogue in relation to a theme of this sort. In short, I felt, ere I had been on my legs three minutes, that every one considered my uprising as a piece of arrant presumption. I caught glimpses of sarcastic eyes twinkling upon rao from every corner, and the solemn, fixed attention of the Speaker struck me all of a sudden as mere mockery. I perceived I was quizzed ; I heard feet shuffling — noses blowing — hems — coughs -- snuffing — sneezing. In a word, I understood my situation ; and, rousing myself to the utmost, thundered out one great, long, unmean- ing lump of a sentence, with the confidence of a kettle- drum ; and then, with a ton, at leasr, of bile in full ferment within me, I floundered myself down into my seat. No notice of any thing I had uttered was taken by the two speakers who followed ; and, indeed, this was not very wonderful, since of what I had meant to say before- hand, I, upon reflection, was quite sensible that I had in reality brought forth scarcely a fragment. The third in hand, however, being a professed joker of the House, a very fine, polished, courtly punster, thought fit not only to advert to something of my attempt towards argument, but, in doing so, to make some sly allusions to my quondam profession ; and, moreover, to mimic one or two of the tones of my voice, and not a few of my improve- ments on the pronunciation of the English tongue, in a way that produced an universal titter, which again ter- minated in something very like a horse-laugh. I sat boiling — every eye upon me — imtil he had finished his oration ; and then, starting up, rattled forth, to the tota] astoundment of every one who had the least knowledge of what is usual there, a coarse, blunt strain of angry in- vective, in which (for my sins) were interwoven certain most unparliamentary flowers of rhetoric, such as stuffs impertinence. Saddler's- Wells' oit, and I know not what atrocities besides. A prodigious fuss of order! order! followed — worlds of appeals to the chair — all manner of solemn cant ; and, after fuming for a quarter of an liii i mm^ 350 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. I hour, "the gentlemen mutually explained," — " Mr Speaker took the honourable members' word, that this affe,ir should go no farther," &c. &c. &c. as is the esta- blished and venerable etiquette of St Stephen's, when- ever Truth [as between man and man] is so forgetful of propriety as to come forth in her own naked unloveli- ness. It so happened, that a certain old, officious numskull, by name, The Right Honourable Sir Jonathan Le Grand, of Bulmerhampsleigh Priory, in the county of Notting- ham, Baronet, thought himself entitled to come forward upon this occasion as the " mutual friend," forsooth, of the two honourable members who had officiated as the heroes of this " highly unpleasant little fracas." This jackass was seen fidgetting about from bench to bench during the rest of the debate; and, when the House broke up, behold I found that a party had been made up to sup the same evening in Spring-Gardens, for the ex- press purpose of bringing Messrs Wald Barr and Skip- pington together over a bottle of champagne, that no remains of any thing like misunderstanding might linger in the minds of two gentlemen, who, if they but knew each other's real merits, could not fiiil to be on the best possible footing I — Mr Skippington having agreed, I, sensible thai;, if he had b jon first, I had been most, in the wrong, did not well know how to refuse ; — and to the tavern in question we, about eight or nine in number, some Whigs, some Tories, did accordingly and forthwith adjourn. The supper went off very pleasantly ; and, the bottle circulating with great rapidity, all were soon in prodi- gious spirits, my witty antagonist included. He was the soul of the festivity ; he sung delightfully, and told Joe Millers to admiration. In a word, even my sulky temper was smoothing itself before the fascination, when the same worthy who had originally projected this festivity of conciliation, being now in a state of the most egregious hilarity, took it into his head tr all upon Mr Skipping- ton for a specimen of one talent, one extraordinary talent, cuArrr.K xxvrii. 351 " — « Mr that this the esta- 's, wheii- rgetful of unloveli- lumskull, jG Grand, Notting- forward •sooth, of ;ed as the f." This to bench le House made up ir the ex- nd Skip- , that no ;;ht linger lut know I the best greed, I, most, in — and to nine in ngly and he bottle in prodi- 3 was the told Joe y temper hen the festivity egregious kipping- y talent, with which the company had not yet been favoured. This request was, after the usual allowance of entreaty, complied with; and I soon perceived that the witty creature was pouring forth an extemporary ditty, each several stanza of which was devoted to some particular member of the company round the table — a piece of the merest buffoonery, though, I admit, not executed without a very considerable display of a certain sort of cleverness. The wine had so completely done its duty, that when he came to me, (for ho went round the table quite regularly,) behold once more an exquisite mimick- ing of the Scotch doctor ! — I could not stand it : — it was the affair of half a moment : — my glass flew at his head, and missed the mark by a hair's-breadth. You may picture for yourself the hubbub — and you may also figure the solemn pause of dead, universal silence winch followed that. In three miimtes four of the party were enclosed with- in an adjoining apartment, and Skippington Mid I lung- ing at each other by the light of two pairs of candle^ I was quite cool, sensible to the very core ji my absurd misbehaviour ; he, on the other hand, was as hot as Lucifer — and with some reason, indeed, might he be so. Three or four passes were interchanged : I received his point in the flesh of my sword-arm ; and was never more happy than when this afforded me the opportunity of making a very handsome apology. In a word, it had been fated that I should be the doctor that night. I fastened my bandage secundum artem, and was conveyed home in considerai'lc T)P.in and shame, and, in spite of champagne, I assure ^ u^:, in the most perfect sobriety. ^1 r '^'^A i iwmi 352 THr HISTORY OF MATTIIKW W.VLD. If CHAPTER XXIX. , Mv wouikI though at fi rst of little apparent importance, prr. ,d ^iuiiljit'somo, in consequence, perhaps, of the irrit- able and feverish condition of my feelings when I re- ceived it ; and, even after it was healed up, the deep dis- gust I had conceived for St Stephen's Chapel, or (which was the same thing) my own unfortunate exhibition there, left me little disposition to go abroad. My wife, too, who had, I need scarcely say, been terribly shocked with what had happenef^", was now in a very fecMo state both of iqind and body, and demanded all my attention. In a word, I became a recluse in the mid^t of the great city ; and, of course, nobody took the trouble to notice if. I seldom quitted my hr se at all until dusk, and then used to walk up and down the streets wrh as per- fect a feeling of solitude, as if the crowds of peopi- massing and repassing me, had been the trrr^ of some contra! forest, or waves roaring below me upon some untrci len beach. During my recovery, Joanne used often to entertain mo with the curiosity which some servants' stories had excite in her provincial mind in regard to the house next . ours, aiul the strange behaviour of its unknown inhabitants. The windows in front of this house, she said, had never once been opened since we came to reside there, f .or, so far s she could hear, for some time before. To the street it had all the appearance of total desertion. No per«^ ever knocked at the door, — no carriage ever st( ppeti tiiere ; the window-shutters were always barred, u. the fjiasses as dim and dusty as if the air had not K hc' hem for years and years. Yet the house was iuliabited. A little dog had been heard barking through the partition-wall : this >> as the first hint of iheic being any body within. But, aft( rwards, a young woman- servant had been seen in the little garden buuiud, aj^»pa- portance, the irrit- icu I re- deep dis- r (which >chibition My wife, ■ shocked side state ttontion, the great to notice usk, and h as per- ', passing e central Qtroi len 3ntertain )ries had lie house mknown Duse, she to reside le before, lesertion. iagc ever s barred, had not ouse wets ■ through ere being woman- id, aj^)pa- CHAPTBR XXIX. 353 jently returning to the house in that way from the Mews- ^no More ateJy, a beautiful child, evidcMiH. a alZl s"m?ii t.o ' '''^ ''"' r" I^''-^^'"^ -- - ^^'i he same iittlo garden — but quite aloiiP «;f5ii *\ desertion reigned al, over tie e^tSXp^l^^^^^^ satlfLr^'"*,' l''^'' '^ '"'"•^^' ^'^"^'^ many more or less satisfactory solutions of all this mystery. One reneatoH ZZ^niT' '^ ^''^''' ^"'^ «°'"'r^' '^"d shreVdly sus^ pected, that some dark traffic of that kind was carrLl Tn ^^"^'.^7^ ^^"^\'^- Another'told oT vnili ,^ 7oln^' . n ""^ ">^<^'g''ng persohs into some quiet corner, whore all means of detection are absent and or'r'evZf"'! 7' "^''V^' *^^"^' ^^ their monVr^r wfth vis m; .• 7^ '"^'^''^ *" *^"^' *'^^* ^ d«ad body, nnf In ^ /'^? °^ strangulation about the neck had not long before been found floating in the river and a IZlu 'f fr, ''''''' ''''' "^"'•'e red men wer'e occa- Sd S ';t ""^. '' '''' ^^-* sewers andso pa^^' ^'^'/r"*™f' ^'^ "'^^ "I^P^^'-^^ f«r 'ome days hatso?n. n ^^'^ '\' ^^'^ "'"^*^«t P^^^U'-^^led herself I lauTed t\ f th'™ 'if' ^'"^ '''' *^^ ^^**'^ -"-cent baSv slrn; i "i observn,<., that it was most pro- tors'^ buT aHb. '''' ''.'^''""^ ^^™^^^^ ^^^«^ his credt touched ' and .VT, ^71' ™^ ^""^^'^^^ ^^« ^ kittle evenini''r '; 7 ^ ^'^ ^"""" '"^ ^*^«" ^bout in the ZZfoJZr^/^'\''^''' '''''''' -^"template the without any scmblanoc of attention bein^ paH to it i-very .tder garden about had been newly Irfmmed for z I mmi au THE niSTonV OF SIATTIIEW WALD. the season, and ours among the rest ; but there, all was desolate, just as the winter had left it. At last, one afternoon, :ts I was alone in my apartment, accident (for I had really begun to desist from thinking of these matters) drew me to the window, and behold there was a child in the garden. The wall between was not low, but I could see him distinctly — a very fine-look- ing little fellow, dragging a child's cart and horses through the long ragged grass of the neglected plot. I perceived that ho looked up towards the windows of the house now and then, and smiled as if somebody was attending to his motions ; but, although I would fain have thrown up my own window, I was sensible that this could not bo done wjthout some noise, and, therefore, contented myself with keeping my eye on the boy until ho left the garden ; — which he did not long afterwards. This stimulated anew a curiosity, which certainly could not lay claim to any very dignified character ; but I was idle, and fanciful at any rate, — and, thenceforth, I never allowed my window-sash to be down in the day- time, thinking that the next time the little gentleman made his appearance, I should be able, if there were nothing before me but my Venetian blind, to obtain, perhaps, some glimpse of the person, who, as I thought, had been watching him from within the house while he was at his sport ; and thus, in short, to penetrate some- thing of the mystery which had so long been perplexing us all. I adhered to this new device for a week or two, but finding nothing to result from it, and even the little boy not appearing again, had begun to depart from it. I was sitting, however, by myself one night, reading my book, when, happening to feel my room overheated, I threw open the window, and was detained leaning over it by the extreme beauty and serenity of the moonlight. Suddenly my ear caught sounds — sounds of grief appa- rently — and, watching for a moment, I became satisfied that they proceeded from the neighbouring house. How- ever I had smiU ^ at the servants' dark conjectures and CHAPTEB XX:X. g^^ togothcr with U.ol„iencs°of tl,^ ?„ "'o groan, I J.card, douth-Iike si,e„co wtehX- X ^ ov"c"y tt, ^'"T'' —I confess that all this niovcl l,! ,.; ^ ! i" '""'™ simple curiosity more ly bu a cro 1 of%"°r " ''•"•''i"* "' couj not anal vzo ,„/;,,■.. °' '^'"''"8^ ^'"ch I ononghtoat ;i; ue„ri "IS "" ''"t" ' '"' ""« that I obeyed tifo i.n ul ?f' rnTont^^Vf "t"""!.' a cord to tho litfln iL,. i i '"omcnt. I fastened tbat a certa „ hi Ik' "t„ut t'^ ""'" '"f"'" "»'■««' K>mo of its branehe, ™nt I ^f '" "y S^''''™ *Tew yard or two farther I rmVhf ,..^111 "'^ ^ S^®* a what was going ^^'w 't^:^' it:" " UoTrnd '"^ "' a£™, h:,cr,g i^ trg^-a^dS'j-;?- -^.^ am 1 uot bring my sword with mo 2 t Ti ", ^^ that-in the me-uitimp i«f I ^ ''°"^*^ ^o back for This was for a moment— no mnro t „„+u »P insta„tly_at ieast so it iZd io Lf a^f hZ,f g mj xeacurcs by ihe Jjght of his lamp. « As I I; i iwmr 356 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. live, Mr Matthew ! — Oh, my lady, 'tis Mr Matthew, our own Mr Wald, my lady !" I sprung to my feet. Before me, right before me, three paces off, no more — " Is this under the cope of heaven? — do I dream? — am I mad? — am I dead and buried, and among the beings of eternity? — Katharine, Katha- rine Wald ! do I indeed see thee ? Is this life or vision ? Behold me once more at thy feet ! Katharine ! angel ! victim! martyred loveliness! Speak — speak — forgive- ness !" She gazed, she extended her arms, she dropt — but not upon the ground — I received her ; I lifted her, faint, speechless, shivering, sobbing. I lifted her in my arms ; I could have borne her to the end of earth, althougii I had been pierced with fifty daggers. I bore her into the house — I followed, and the man led me — I placed her ■where he pointed. She lay with her long dishevelled curls upon my bosom. The man, with instinctive reve- rence withdrew. — We were alone ; no, not quite alone. Her child was asleep, smiling close beside us in the serenity of happy dreams. I gazed upon the infant. She looked upon him too, and she sunk again upon my breast in a passion of lamentation. How mechanically these old wrinkled fingers do their work ! Is it thus that I live over again those moments ? Alas ! when was that day that I did not live thei ? What humiliation on both sides! — and yet what was mine ? What signified it to me to say out that which had for years curdled at the roots of my heart? — I had suffered vanity and sinful revenge to lead astray a mind irritated by imaginary wrongs — wrongs at least shape- less, nameless, incapable of being clothed in words. I had suffered for this? Perhaps so — perhaps not. The ex- ternal tenor of my life at least had been fortunate, eminently fortunate. Had I not a wife of my own choice — an estate — a station equal at least to my earliest hopes? But her story — how different was this? For any woman to tell the cruelty of her husband is enough, but for Katharine Wald to tell her husband's cruelty to CHAPTER XXIX. 35^ me~to mo tliat had hated him, and shewn my hatred trom the first moment our eyes met-to me that Ind never spoken to her since she was his wifTlthat h^d acted acts of hostility, ay, and worse, of S.temp -to me tha had ceased to be her kinsman'from theZur n which I saw Jnm-ihh was bitterness indeed ! And would she have breathed any thing of all this to ^« even now, unless I had forced her to do soTy a violent intrinsic n upon her privacy, and afterwards by all the torrent of our mingled anguish. I cursed, madman that I was, I cursed the hour in which she saw him ' I cursed him like a fiend. I described the French iam W and" r "^'^ ^^ ^'' ^""^-"^ her favourite haunt-and grinding my teeth, in an agony that forgot all the world beyond the one spot where she was seatfd strini .f '^'. '"^ ^ ''^^^"' «^"*«^^i"g at the heart^ strings of a prostrate victim, demanded, ay, and wrun- from her, the confession that once she had Ln mine ^ Such confessions are not made in words-I have no Wnl , T?*-- ^^ *^^"^ ^^' ''' Perdition on my n'otn? f T '""f'^ *'"^ ^^S^'' "^ that heart in Z My poor wife had left her bed, thinking I was sitting un too late and came into my room (this, indeed, was no ve S I need not be particular ; you may easily imagine what her feelings were, when she found the wLowTpen and the cord The servants being alarmed instanUy- they discovered one of my slippers on the green, close under the horse-ch.stnut. A ladder was brou|ht, and one of the first ol them that passed the wall was m; poor Joanne made strong and bold both, in spite of hefnature and tl ZT"' "^ ''' '""' *'' ""' ''''' which a^iUted Katharine was weeping on my bosom, and T toot n. note of the outcry and bustle - nor did she. Suddenly a '■1 I i wmi 858 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. piercing cry was uttered quite close to us. Joanne was within the chamber-door. She had seen with her eyes the agony of that tenderness, and she sr«w no more. One convulsion chased another over her delicate frame. Wild reproaches, melancholy wailings there were ; but they were all sunk immediately in the screams of her untimely travail. Horrible hour ! I stood in the presence of Katharine a husband, a parent — a widowed husband and a childless father! I stood it all, however. Yes, my soul was chained up within me ; — I could contemplate all this havoc — understand it I could not. I found myself— how long after I know not — in my own house f- in my own bed. The same dull leaden stupor still sat upon my brain — the same dead crust of despair dry upon my heart. CHAPTER XXX. In this lost condition of tearless despair I remained for three days, contemplating with as much indifference of disgust as if they had been worms, the servants and doc- tors that occasionally crept about my darkened chamber before me. I drank as much water in this time as would have drowned me, but broke no bread — absolutely none. That night, still lying on my bed, I heard a sort of bustling of feet, and a suppressed whispering going on in the staircase with which my room communicated, and a sudden sup? icion rushed into my mind, which as sud- denly made me rise from my bed. I slipped on my dressing-gown, and opening the door, perceived the end of the pall, which two or three men, treading on their stocking-soles, were carrying into the next apartment. I followed them, and startled by my appearance the whole array of women-servants who were there busied in their preparations. I ordered them all to leave the room inofantlir T'lio tiioTi ""*■ Ar'ttm ^Ur^l^ U....J i i i CHAPTER XXX. 859 all but one, who stopped for a moment to turn to the women and say, that he was the person wlio was to fasten the screws, and that they would call him up again when chisels, and followed the others, still stalking upon the points of his toes, as if the dead were to hear, or the living notice his tread. I said to the females when he had disappeared, "Leave me, all of you, and tell those men too that they have nothing more to do here at pre- sent. — Leave me." ^ I suppose, I spoke in such a manner as to frighten che poor creatures. They all stole away immediately without sayiig a word -they scarcely even dared to by the door^ "*' *^^^ ^""''^"^ "'^' ^""^ ^ '"'''' ^t^ndiug close I was alone with my dead - and who the slayer ? Murdered innocents ! no hand but mine shall touch theHTT'S7!u'^ ^^' "^^ *h""^^^* ^' I approached sidet nl7 ^'^ l^t?;"""^ ^'^^ lying-the infant be- side Its mother. I hfted the cloth from Joanne's face. Ah ! how calm, how celestially calm I - what a holy tranquillity ! -A smile - yes, a smile was fixed on the lips ; those soft, silken eye-la.hes, in what serenity did they sleep upon the marble ! -Poor little floweret ! thy leaves were scarcely opened ; what a light dream must this world be to thee I - 1 lifted my wife in my armT- tlie cold ice crept through every fibre of my frame. - Gentle soul ! what a warm and humble heart has been frozen here !-I laidher in the coffin, and then b oS her baby and plaeed it on her breas't, - fastening one be disturbed I kissed them both, and covered them up lor ever ! -I had seen too much of death not to bo well acquainted with my duty, I did every thing that is commonly done I shook in the saw-dust ; I scattered the perfumes ; I drew the napkin over the cold, sweet faces. ~« larewell, farewell for ever!" said I. « At least Joanne, no other wife shall ever lie unon tlm br.*nn, ih.l mmi 360 THE HISTORY OP MATTHEW WALD. I srid was yours ! No other baby but yours shall ever claim the last office from these hands !" I lifted the lid, and laid it in its place, and screwed down the nails. The bodily exertion, perhaps, had roused me too much ; or it might be, that I was more softened while they still seemed to be with me. I cannot tell ; but I know that I spent the whole night in striding up and down the room beside them, and that when the entering day-light dimmed the lamp, I was still equally without the resolution to go, or the tenderness to weep. CHAPTER XXXI. ■ ) r> ^' I WAS stalking about, then, in the same dull half frenzy, when some one knocked at the door. Taking it for granted it was some of the servants. I answered in a voice of rage, " Begone !"— but the knock was repeated. I rushed to the door and opened it, (for it was both locked and barred within,) and there was Katharine ! She was dressed as if for going out, and her boy was in her hand. " Come in, Katharine," said I ; " I did not dream that it was you. —Come in." She entered, still leading the child with her. — I gazed upon her with a sort of awe, and even dread ; l.er cheek was so pale, so bloodless, — her lips so white and bleached, — her eyes so fixed in the gloomy steadfastness of utter desolation. " Our meeting, Matthew," she said, " has been a sore one ; we must now part. I have come to bid you fare- well — I, and my boy." " What ! all leave me, Katharine ? Look there — do you see what partings I have had already? You tool Alas! why? whither? Are you not still my sister? Is not our blood the same?" " I must go, Matthew, my retreat has been di»* CHAPTER XXXI. ever 301 covered. I knew from the first moment it must be so. How could that be kept secret that was known to so many,— and under such circumstances, too?" " Stop, Katharine, stop !" I cried ; « let me bury my dead, and I will go with you wherever you will lead me. Alas ! what matters place to me now ? Do you not see that I am alone in this world ? No, no ; not alone neither; not quite alone, while I have you to weep with me. Oh, would that I could weep ! While I have still an arm to defend you — blood, floods and floods of blood, to flow for you ! — Do you not see that Providence has given me to you for your protector? — What fear you from man?— Why fly ?— from whom? —What is it that you foar ?— Here, any where, 'tis all one— sit down here— sit down beside this black casket of my jewels.— Here let us rest together : what need we care for this world now ?" I had forced her to sit down, but she rose the moment I unclasped her hand. " Nay, Matthew," said she, still fixing her large glazed eyes upon me-« Nay, Matthew, this is not the way in which we must take what God sends. Remember your- self, I pray you. Be once more a man and a Christian. I, too, have had my sorrows, and I partake yours : but we must not be thus." "Not thus? God pity me! how can we be? — Can you raze out years and years ? Can you recall the days that are gone ? Can you blot out the tears that have flowed ? Can you smooth the heart that is seared and scarred all over ? Can you soften stone into flesh again ? Can you breathe life into the dead ?" "No, no, no, Matthew— you rave, you are mad— you frighten me —even me. Alas ! how can I leave you thus — and yet how can I stay?" " Where is this fiend, this beautiful fiend of yours, that torments you, and never will let you rest? Where is this persecuting fiend ?"— " Matthew Wald !" — " Where is your liuiiband, your lord, your Lasceljno?" I: II J vma 862 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. " Here — here in London — he has been here for several weeks — and now I know that he has traced j/ott — and me too, he must have traced me too ; he must have heard all this dark woeful story — he will be seeking me anon." I* Seek you ! I think I may seek him as soon — What is it that he wants ? Is he not contented yet ?" " My boy, my boy, my only boy, Matthew — he will not leave me even my boy — and the law is on his side — he will tear my child from my breast." " Demon — devil — he shall tear my heart out of its socket first — Stay here — this arm is the law — Have I not my father's sword yet ? Ah ! Katharine, would not the old map smile " " Matthew Wuld — You must not speak so of the father of my child — be calm — be yourself —and I will listen to you." " I am calm as these," said I, laying my hand on the bier beside us — "forgive me my wild words — but do not leave me — stay here— under this roof at least, there is no one can touch you — Stay here, my pretty boy," said I, "these ringlets are for a mother's' fingers yet — no step-dame — no dancing adulteress shall pollute these glossy curls with her envious touch — come hither, boy — you have your mother's eyes at least." I caught up the little fellow, and while I kissed his fair brow, he began smiling and playing with the silken cords, and tinsel ornaments. I saw Katharine's eye swim— and mine too found water at last. _ We were sitting by them in this way— I for the first time really melted even to the ]>rink of soothing, when a servant tapped at the door of the room, and I was no longer in a humour to be rude with any tiling.— I rose and opened the door immediately. He put a letter into my hand, and told me the person who had brought it insisted upon staying below for an answer. " I can't be answering letters now, Robert — tell him I shall attend to it to-morrow." man ma«e a s]gn to me to step without the door At. *av v» CHAPTER XXXT. 393 -his looks had something so significant that I obeyed it-~ My dear master/' said he, "I thought it best to door this half hour, and they have at last got into the house and searched it, and I believe this letter is from Lord Lascelyne himself- 1 think I know the livery ; but the man would not say any thing." l^lhlf^^t'^l^^.^^? '■^^°' again for an instant -told ^r ^rr",- f ^ ^'^ ^ ^^"^^ ^"^^"^««' ^"t ^^o^ld be with her immediately -and tt^n I read as follows ;- "Sir, "Nothing could have been farther from my wishes in rpS f •^'«^*»7.' i° «"y shape, with you ; above all, iprnT V ^"^ '"^J"'* ^" ^^'«h Lady Lascelyne is con- ZZL t """^^ f^""^^'* ^'^«' *^<^^^^e^' compelled me to act as I am now doing. .Z^ ^'"''^ ^f^^ ™y'^^^ ^^"^^ "Pon to enter into any explanation ot any part of my own conduct, to one who simple facts of the case. ml'l^'^l ""'''* *"" I^ascelyne Castle appeared strange to me at the moment; but I soon was put in possession Sv.wj! necessary for sufficiently explaining that nZfTZ P^r'^"'"' *^^"gh I confess something con- obscure.'' '''" ''''''''''' ''^* ™^^^* i« «t"^'^ther "The total ignorance, however, which vou, on everv sZeZ'''"'rf. '^ ^^'^ ^^^'^^'^"^'^ movements, fS this matter without any communication with her lady- ^ "How far and how long I was right in affixing this Sf'^" *\''^ language which reached me'from various quarters of unquestionable authority, I must now decline expressing any opinion. T «!i^ V' '"f'''^"t that I have at last succeeded in tracing Lady Lascelyne to the retreat, where, in voiir irpm.^;.*! Dtigiibourhood, and apparently iu pretty close"inter^ 364 THE HISTORY OP MATTHEW WALD. course with your establishment, she has so long baffled my inquiries. " I am perfectly aware where Lady Lascelyne at this moment is ; and I take this method of conveying to her the intimation, that, if she supposes herself to have been, or to be, in any way, the primary or the proper subject of my inquiries, no idea can be more perfectly mistaken. " Her ladyship may set her mind completely at rest on this head. 1 have not the remotest inclination to disturb her in the enjoyment of that protection which she has been fortunate enough to secure for herself. " But I am not ambitious that my son should continue to form a part of the same circle. " My legal title to the possession of my son's person was always indisputable ; and I can scarcely imagine that even Lady Lascelyne could have found an adviser to sanction any doubt she might possibly, in the first in- stance, have entertained as to this. " But let that be as it may, I have now simply to in- form you, sir, that I am in possession of the proper war- rant ; and to suggest that the immediate surrender of my boy's person may be, under all the circumstances of the case, not only the most proper, but also the most prudent, method of terminating this branch of the affair —a branch of it in which I cannot conclude without saying, that I am not a little puzzled to account for your interference. " The bearer will convey to me immediately your answer : and I trust it will be such as to preclude the necessity of my making any farther use, (which, how- ever, I am instantly prepared to do) of the legal autho- rity now in my hands. " I have the honour to be " Your most obedient humble servant, &c. &c. &c. "Wald Lascelyne." " Thurtday morning, 6 o'clock." " Wald Lascelyne I — This is well ! — * Here 's much, Orlando V" CHAPTER XXXI. d()5 I dressed myself, (for as yet I had but half my clothes on,) and, going down stairs on tiptoe, desired to see the messenger. — " You belong to Lord Lascelyne?" said I — " Sliew mo where your master is." The man looked considerably confused, and hesitated for a little. " I carry the answer myself," said I — "lead the way — walk." He did not dare to shuffle any longer. — " My lord," said he, " is but at the end of the street." " Very well," said I, with a smile, " that is just as it should be. Stay here a moment, and I shall return." " My lord bade mo come back with the answer, sir." " Ay, ay, stay where you are, my lad ; we shall be all with you directly—" and I pushed him into an anti- room, and was instantly beyond my door. I found him at the corner, close to the turn-stile. " My Lord Lascelyne," said I, bowing to the ground — " I fear your Lordship has been early disturbed this morning. Will it please you to take a turn in the park there — the air is better than here in this narrow street ; and we shall talk over our little matters more easily, perhaps." Lascelyne followed me in silence — I walked very rapidly, I promise you — until we were fairly among the trees. I halted, and flinging my cloak on the turf, bade him choose for himself. "Swords!" said he— "two swords, Mr Wald ! — I was not prepared for this, sir, — I assure you I had no such intention." " Choose, my Lord, choose," I answered ; « the blades are good, both of them." " Sir," said he, and he drew himself up in a very stately fashion — I mu^t say that for Lascelyne — " Sir, I refuse no man's challenge ; but neither do I accept it but upon certain conditions — name your quarrel, sir, and your friend." " My quarrel !" " Yes, sir, your .--arrel— Do you pretend to say that >:,; mm 366 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. you havo any rights over my child ? — It was that only my letter referred to." ** Oil no, my Lord Lascelyno, not to that only. Come, come, hero is no time for trifling ; choose." " I insist upon hearing what is your quarrel, Mr Wald." " My quarrel ? — You sign yourself, ' Wald Lascelyne,* I think, too? — Come, my lord, draw." " And wherefore ? — Speak plainly, at all events." " In nie, sir, you see the representative of an insulted blood — that is not all, but that is enough — choose, and choose quickly." " Why, sir, if you think that you have any particular title to figh|; me because I havo happened to have some disagreement with your cousin, that is well enough in its way, and I sh 'ant be the man to baulk you — but not hero, nor thus, if you please. — I must have my boy, sir, first ; and, secondly, I must place him in hands that I happen to approve of — that 's my fancy, sir ; — and then, Mr Wald, if you have no very particular objection, I rather prefer going through such things in the most received fashion — in short, I choose among my own friends, ere I pick among your blades — that also is my fancy." " Friends ! — Friends to see us ! — Seconds, forsooth!" " Ay, sir, seconds ; 'tis the rule, and I have no passion for singularities, whatever may be your taste." " Come, come — when you next fall out with some fop about a pointer, or a dancer, my lord — some pirouet- ting dancer — this puppy legislation will do finely. I thought we were serious." " Serious ! partly so, partly not, Mr Wald. I consider, (but I won't baulk you, though,) I consider this as rather a laughable hurry of yours, Mr Wald." " Laughable ? ha ! — was that your word ?" "Ay, laughable — extremely laughable — quite h no more, wn ! One I lemeni- CHAPTER XXXII. S69 height above me upon those dark slimy stones • - this It TV as I that raved up and down that dungeon like a new-caught lion ;_it was I that bellowed to^the moon' -- It was I that coiled myself up like a trampled wZ' haul-faced barbarian stood, whip in hand, before me. terThlf ,^^^^^'"^ fears -what icy sweats -what terror ^/^^"\^ ~ '"^^^ terrible even than the waking dreTfo I?"^^"'"'- T^Y '•* *^'''^*' «"d y^t what I total obl.von-what agonies of remembrance - what If willingly Fain have s those of moment, 3 me any isy-chair, ing at Diy inc. Old Tceptions my days. I were a iiio when :io on the ) drained it wilder- hat were ie are the one dim cusiirublc clonl rf T *'!" '""'"^'* ^^ '•* P«^«>P'ce high ns the above '. ^1 "' "^rV'' '^'' '^y ' "» ^^'^' ^'^ •aright diX'.l;77"^ ^^^'l ^"^ "^^-^^"'•«1««^ plains of snow, balls, and see some white mass moving near me and then sudden y the great, black, clumsy bear crawlh.g on fT« ? "f Vu' ^^P'"^' sl'-^^ering jaws. The groan of leeprvt; ti;:*'" ''""'^ '"'^^>' '^^^-^ «^ '- ^i^^- lean dnJn , ««7" s»ve struggle -the headlong leap-down-down mto the fathomless abyss woThI n?^"f "^ ?" *^^ '^"'"'"^ '•^^k '» the midst of a J^IL Zt'^^Trf'"'^^''''' ^-oods-but no shade for me- the tumult of the ever-sounding cataract in mv Sk and"f '"? r" *'^* '^^' glowing'tongue -Z^ b ack and furred hps. To feel the flies crawling and h ,m 7 fir'' ^''''* '''"'' ^""^' ^'>*'^ t'^^t eternal busy hie needles - to see one's self eaten away -to trace, worker ^'^''':.*'''^•^^''""^"^*h^ ^««t«^~to see them* working out and in, as in a hive-, to see the green creatures dancing up and down your bared nerve-riding iwm* 370 THE inSTOnY OF MATTHEW WALD. on your strctehcd vein, and powerless to move even one fibre — a self-loathsome mass of corrupted clay — rotting, but not dead— a living jelly— oh ! how exquisitely, how intensely living ! Ila ! how glorious to be thus moxmted. On, on, I say, thou most magnificent of Arabs ! The snow will chill your hoofs if wc linger — they shall have a warm bath, though, and that right soon. Come on, I say — advance, ye blackening squadrons ! — Ay, flap all your banners, and blow your trumpets — I love the sound of them. Down, down, I hew you ! Do you think to wound me? — Strike, tjien, with a thousand swords — ha! I have been steeped, like Achilles, in Lethe ; but heel and all, ye ruftians ! heel and all !— Maces ! straws ! this skull is fire — can your hammers cut the flame ! These are splendid cuirasses — ha ! do they shiver so easily ? Ho ! ho ! falcon, dost thou scream ? and thou too, black one ? Come, little raven, you may come down now — here is blood enough for you to wade in. Such are thousands of the fragments .., mind has been able to retain of its then shattered image — Gleams — snatches out of the waste of blackness. A softer in so far, — at all events, a more connected dream, floats at this moment over my memory. Let mo arrest the vision. Remain for an instant, thou little mountain-lake, and let no wind disturb the image of that old castle upon thy calm cold bosom ! How dead is the stillness of this water — how deep, and yet how clear — not one weed, one ripple, to inter- cept the view — ^ every pebble at the bottom might be counted— 'tis sheer rock here in the middle — How deep may it be, old man?— did you never sound it— you that have ferried it so many hundreds of times ! You shake CHAPTER XXXII. 371 your bead, my friend — 'tis no matter — Wliat is this pavement here upon the brink ?— how deeply the stones are worn !— Many strange tales, I daresay, have been told about this old castle of yours — Your mill, I see is partly built against the old wall— The great wheel stands idle to-day— will you climb the tower with nic ? Ah ! this has been a grand place in its day, too : What windows —what galleries — what immense fire-places — what a roar the flame must have gone up with — what odd staircases — what dark strange passages — heavens ! how gigantic a plant is the ivy— what broad leaves, when they are not troubled with the wall— An apple-tree, too ! — Here in the very heart of the hall —just where the table stood— What a dungeon this must have been — the hd rested on that ledge, no doubt — Ila ! I see the rings in the wall yet— what a dark hole for :i poor creature — that little slit is a mere mockery — Is there any way of gettmg down? — I think one might venture the leap •— but you smile — how to get up again ? — ay, that 's the difficulty — well, we T stay where we are -How black the wall IS on that side— the rafters, also, have left rotten ends here and there — they, also, are black enough — Fire? — I understand you— quite burnt out? — How Jong ago was all this ruin ? — you can't say — well well. '' * What a beautiful view from this gap — here, stand be- side me, there is room enough for us both — What a fin© descending sweep to the sea, the silver sea— How clearly one sees all those hills beyond — How richly the coast is wooded; but here you are rather bare, I think — Your turf has never an oak to shade it — How green and luxuriant is the ok! pasture grass. And more ruins too, I think. Why, you are rich in ruins here. Is this an- other castle ? if so, methinks they must have been good neighbours. A church, say you ? — Ay, the chapel — I understand. Will you walk so far down the hill with me, old man? I should like to see their chapel also, since I have se^n their hall. Why, you are a very com- fortable-lookiug old lad — who knows but if you had iwmi 872 THE HISTORY OF MATTHEW WALD. lived in those days they might have made a monk of you? you would have looked nobly in the cowl — better, I assure you, than the white hat ; and better dinners too I will be sworn — but you are contented — you thrive as it is. You have a cheerful cottage here under the tower. How prettily your smoke curls up along'.that bartizan ! I wish you had a few old trees about you, 'tis the only thing you want. — Cut down ? What ! all of them at once ? — Well, this was not very like a lord ; but they can't take the water away, and that is beauty enough. As for shelter, why, after all, the tower is between you and the northern blast. You hear it whistling loud enough, no doubt, but what signifies that when the door is barred, and the fire bright, and the pot singing ? You may e'en laiigh at the wind. The old man descended from the tower with me, and walked by my side down the hill towards the chapel. There was a light airy wind now, and we could see the sea beyond, quite through the archway. " How entire is this !" said I ; " how clean and neat every thing about it is! How cheerily the breeze sweeps through this vaulted passage ! — how white the stones are beneath our feet !" "That," said he, opening a door on the one side, " that, sir, is the chapel itself. You may walk in, if you have a mind." " How perfect is this too !" said I, uncovering myself as I stepped across the threshold — "No decay at all here, my friend ; if the glass were put into the windows again, they might sing mass here to-morrow as well as ever. The brasses on the pavement, however, are a little dimmed for want of feet to polish them. These old knights have few to trcable them now with pacing over their graves." I walked about, examining monument after monu- ment, and spelling out as I best could the inscriptions and the blazons. What these last were I cannot remem- ber, but they were all the same arms. " And here," said i, " my friend, here is ouo of a kind CHAPTER XXXn. 373 rather singular — quite out upon the floor by itself. And stop — is not this wood that they liave laid by way of lid over the marble ? — 'tis so white with age that I took it for stone too at the first. You should push this oflF, I think. It only hides the top of the carved work." I wa.s approaching closer to it, when the old miller said, with a very grave and solemn sort of smile upon his face, " Nay, sir, you must not touch that part of it — 'tis not the custom. You had better leave it as it is." "Why, what folly is this? — You may be sure such a fair tomb must have something pretty on its own cover. -— I must see it, my friend." " Nay, sir, you may do what you please ; but I warn you, that you will wish it undone afterwards. You will only frighten yourself." "Fright ! old boy," said I ; "nay, then, here for the adventure." I touched the edge of the timber, and found it rise casdy; — but, at that Instant— at that very moment when I raised it— I heard a little, feeble cry come out from below it. I leaped back, and cast my eyes upon the old man. He met my look without changing his. — And then, from the same tomb, came three distinct sobs— the same tomb, but not the same voice — and all was again silent. "Old man," said I, "what is this? Can the dead people utter sounds like these from their coffins? — Surely, I thought there had been rest in the grave old man " ' "Ah, sir," said he, moving now at length from the door-way, in which he had all this while been standing, — " we cannot tell what strange things are in this world ; the quick and the dead have their marvels.— But you have broken the spell, sir— you may lift the lid now — there will be nothing more to alarm you. They never do so, but at the first touch." His coming so near me gave me courage, and I touched the wood again. No sound followed; -and I moved it gently — quite off its place. 374 TUB HISTORY 01' MATTHEW WALD. « A pall," said I, " old man ! — a velvet pall ! — They have left this tomb strangely unfinished, man. — Might one, perchance, remove this too?" " Sir," says my grave-eyed, yet cheerful-looking senior, « you may do so if you like ; but I will tell you what is the truth of it first. — The last lord of the old family — ho that lived in our castle, and owned all the country round this place — had but one daughter. A bad, cruel man came, and ho married the lady, and became lord of the land too. Sho had a child, sir ; and he, they say, could not bear tiie sight of it, nor of her, then : — and he drowned them yonder in our lake. That cry that you heard was from the baby ; and the three sobs, they were from the mother. They always do so — just as Avhen they were murdered, it is thought — whenever any one touches their tomb.- But we have been used to this all our days, sir, and wo make little of it now. — If you wish to sec them you may lift the cloth." I did so, and beheld a glass cover, dim and dusty. The old man took the corner of the pall, and, rubbing it a little, said, " Now, sir, here you may see them both, quite entire ; they have been so beautifully embalmed. — Look " " Oh, Joanne ! that white face once again ! — " I screamed in my agony, and awoke «* Here, sir," cries the keeper, — " here 's a pretty- behaved gentleman, truly ? — If it were night it were less matter ; but no screaming hero in the day-time. — Here, squire, get up ! Do you feel this — and this — and this ? If you wish to halloo so much, we must e'en try to give you some excuse for your noise, — And here 's the barber come to shave your head again. Do you think to frighten the barber, Mr Squire ? — " LETTER TO P. E. ESQ. (enclosino the foregoing memoirs.) Tlie blackbird In the summer trees, The hirk upon tlie hill, Let loose their carols when they please. Are quiet when they will. With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife, — they see A happy youth : and their old ago Is beautiful and free. Ihit we are press'd by heavy laws, And often, glad no more. We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. Wordsworth. St'CH, dear R , is the account which our old frien. has bequeathed to us of that early part of his life, con- cerning which neither you nor I ever heard him speak. With the exception of a few piissages, which I have found it necessary to strike out of the last two or three chapters, [especially the last of all,] you have the Memoir exactly as he left it in his cabinet. Why he finished so abruptly, his letter does not say. Whether ho did so in consequence of having been pain- fully agitated in the composition of the concluding pages which you have just read, and therefore fearing to pro- ceed farther ; or whether the many years of which he has said nothing had really appeared to him, in his morbid retrospect, incapable of furnishing us with .iny material|, either of amusement or instruction, I am 370 LETTER TO P. E. ESQ. somewhat at a loss to dctcrmiiio. You arc quite as well qualified to make guesses upon the matter as I am. I think you will now have little difficulty in confessing that I was right, and you wrong, in the dispute we have so frequently renewed concerning him. I certainly had formed at first, and retained for a considerable time, an opinion pretty much the same with your own. That a man who possessed health and bodily strength to an extent so very uncommon in people of his years, who took so much exercise daily, who almost every year travelled several thousands of miles, and to the last thought little more of a trip to Paris than of a walk into the city — and, above all, who was, whenever any of us met him in society, the soul of the party, — light, buoyant, airy, and cheerful, to the distancing, not unfre- qnently, even of our own boyish spirits — that this man should have been in reality the habitual victim of the darkest and most melancholy reflections, was, undoubt- edly, a thing not likely to be suspected by observers so young and thoughtless as wo both were when we first knew Mr Wald. The notion that such was the fact — that our " grey- haired man of glee," (as you used to call him,) was in reality the secret slave of despondency — this notion did certainly find its way by degrees into my mind. The very silence which so lively a companion preserved touching so large a portion of his own life, was perhaps the circumstance that chiefly influenced me in the adop- tion of the opinion which you always continued to controvert. Was his merriment, then, a'matter of mere affectation? — I believe nothing of the sort. I believe that when •we were fairly with him — when the system of seclusion had been fairly broken in upon, the dinner ordered, the cellar ransacked, the company assembled — our friend was exactly what he seemed. I believe he, upon such occasions, entered most thoroughly into all the enjoy- ments of those whom he had summoned about him. With what an air did he decant a bottle of that old, that i.irrTKH TO p. n. esq. gwy ho mU'r/r' ^'^'" seal, -with what sprightliness did ho not CH upon son.c of us youngsters for a song. - with wha festivity did he not join in the choru;-with Z^J ^'''^^''^^ ^^'^ ''*^ "^' V'^V^'^ '•!« fanciful i Hut tf.on how seldom did such scenes occur, - who over heard of h.s giving n.ore than one, two, or, at most, three dinners ,„ the twelvemonth ? And why was thi. ? lie was rich far, very far, beyond his expen.'iiture • his generosity we all knew. With his establishment it cou d have cost him no personal trouble to j.repare for a partyof that sort -and, God knows, none of us were l.key to refuse his invitation. - Why, then, did the crcle, the only circle, assemble so seldom around his charming board? And why, in like manner, did he. ^^ ho spent half of every day out of doors, and walked and rode as freely and boldly as any man of thirtv, why '"'^ ^"^•^^•>' th^'-^' should «niong all his rambles, never visit his native country You may, therefore, imagine how much it surprised tis, when wo heard that the tour of this summer had carried him northwards. He had calle.l at my house when I happened not to be at home. He told my wife that he was to set off ^ext morning on his usual summer's excursion, but without mentioning m what direction. I called on him ex day, but he was already gone off. His servant sjud. they believed Mr Wald was going as far as York. 378 LETTER TO P. R. ESQ. I tliought Tiotliliig more of it until (this might be abont six weeks afterwards) I received a letter from h\x (»1(1 valet, .stating that Mr Wald was very ill indeed, and that ho (tho valet) earnestly hoped I would proceed, without delay, to tho place where he was lying, — Ulackford. I set off immediately, and travelled night and day without intermission ; but I was too late. H(> was not dead when I arrived, but he had been fur many hours speechless, and apparently (piito insensible. I think, however, ho did know me. I think I cannot be mistaken as to this. His eyes— those finest of all nmsouline eyes I ever saw — remained fixed upon me — yes, until thoy wore fixed forever. At all events, I had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing that ho expired without pain, and of closing his eye-lids. Wo buried him with his fathers — a very striking old cenletery, I assure you — piles and piles of leaden coffins all about, the undermost ones, of course, beat (piitc flat with tho weight of the superveners, and one or two rude but highly-curious monuments in the midst. There we laid him — tho last of the right line. His disease was, I believe, nothing but apoplexy. He had wandered out by himself, and was found, iiftermany hours had elapsed, lying in a state of perfect stupor, beside a little waterfall in one of tho glens among the hills behind his house. The same noble disposition which led him to give up the possession of his wife's estate (although the law of Scotland made it his for his life, if he pleased) the moment he recovered the possession of his faculties — the same noble and generous disposition breathes, I assure you in every line of his testament. He has provided, in the handsomest manner, for all his old domestics and depen- dents ; and yet never, I believe, was master or patron more sincerely lamented than he to this hour is, by the whole of these. I am sure, when you come to London again, you will feel what a blank has been created. Among other matters, he has left me his house here. I went into it the otlier day, but shall certainly not do so again. To of I I.KrrKll TO p. R. ESQ. 870 see his stuffed chair standing in tho usual corner — his walking-cano resting against it — his flute hung tip on the old nail — all the hooks about — his paper knife re- maining in the heart of Candide— two or tliree Couriers and Cohbetts still lying upon the table — I confess all this was too niucli fur nie. Tho Hogarths, you know, are yours ; I sIkiII have them [)acked up forthwith. Tho set is certainly a very tine one. What a fortunate thing it is for mo that Lord Lascelyno has no son. If he had had but one, I should have been cut out, fur a time at least, as the entail oidy prevents tho two estates from being actually held at tlio same moment by the same person. As it is, I mean to go down and take possession next month, in all form ; and the sooner you come to Black- ford, tho better. Yours always, J. \V. R. LoyDo^i, August, 1616, THE END. I KDINBTTBOII : PHINTED BY ANDREW 8H0RTRBDR. uiiOHUB IV. URIRGK.